Old recipes and old recipe boxes fill me with happiness and contentment. The red plaid one was my mothers. And I am lucky to have it. I remember it sitting on the drainboard in our kitchen when I was a little girl. Every afternoon my mom would start going through it wondering what to make for supper.I treasure her handwriting on those recipes. My mom passed away 3 years ago this August from cancer. But having those old recipes is like having a piece of her here with me still. The meatball recipe was from my Aunt in Santa Cruz. I love to serve those with boiled white rice and gravy. We are still in bbq mode around here, but I am sensing a shift. I am growing tired of bbqed burgers and chicken right about now. I want those meatballs and some gravy and corn that is no longer on a cob, but in a can. I know. Canned corn? But it reminds me of my childhood. And how can that be a bad thing?
So, once again, tonight we will sit outside and bbq those burgers and eat that corn off the cob. And I better enjoy every second of it, because, before long, I will look out to that garden and watch the rain pour down and remember those late August bbqed suppers. And I will smile.
the night will never stay, the night will still go by, though with a million stars you pin it to the sky; though you bind it with the blowing wind, and buckle it with the moon, the night will slip away like sorrow or a tune.