Laughter, sharing, love.

In bounds Elizabeth, carrying her weight in cookbooks, groceries and a laptop. Our day begins.

Harwich Hermits, cool in the sun, scenting the kitchen of Christmas.

The dried beans had been soaked, cooked and cooled. There was no real need to follow a recipe. Elizabeth pureed, tasted, adding more garlic, olive oil and salt to the beans, Tahini and lemon juice. Fresh Hummus, I sometimes forget how satisfyingly simple things can be.

Our jam sparkles in the afternoon sun. Chatting today we concluded, everyone in our new family of six needs their own jam, in celebration of their birthday, in honor of them. Summer, Fall and Winter, (we have no Springs) a new jam, preserve or jelly will be created, just for them. This jam is for Jon, my charming son-in-law of not quite six months. It is rhubarb, green apple and pink grapefruit, some of his favorites. I have store bought presents too, but this is the one that is going to touch his heart, I know that about him.

If we are to have cold curried Summer squash soup for dinner we'd best get on it while the day is young. The squash, simmering in chicken broth with sliced onions and curry powder becomes another layer of deliciousness in the kitchen's air.
Supper-time. Cold soup, fresh Hummus, crusty bread, ricotta with pesto, transparent slices of salty ham.

We sat together as the day turned to evening. I read aloud, remembering a different time and space. She wrote, gleaning more than recipes. Because she is patient I tell her, "This one was from Jackie. We used to canter over freshly mowed fields, sharing recipes and dreams. Other times, Jackie would ride next to me as the fire flies came out, all the while she recited The Hobbit. Yes, she knew it by heart. I did not care much for The Hobbit, but my time on horseback with Jackie was so precious to me I listened intently as we imagined ourselves in Middle Earth."

"Oh, that is one of Susy's. It is so funny, I have a whole folder of Susy's recipes and half of them involve rhubarb!"
I explain, again, how Susy had died.

While celebrating her 50th birthday with her mother who was celebrating her 75th, the small plane they were in went into the side of a mountain in Costa Rica.

And how her daughter, a young bride at the time, sent me these recipes upon their deaths.
What kind of a young woman does that? One Susy raised.