Mama Wasn’t My Mother

Mama Wasn’t My Mother

She became the executive chef – and I don’t say this facetiously – of our home, cooking delicious meals that many of our friends still remember and, upon my mother’s instructions, baked perfect chiffon cakes and butter cookies, the likes of which we have not tasted again.  

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Memories of Rain

Memories of Rain

Rain to us was liberating. Not only was it water play, it allowed us to sink our bare feet into soil previously forbidding in its dryness.

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