I like this picture of me, at the beach, my husband up and about, he and I taking turns taking pictures of my grandchild and her friend frolicking in the water, on the trip back to the airport in Eureka.
I'm the doting wife in this shot, the loving grandmother, forever the educator. Right after this visit, I started the cooking blog, a continuation of classes for my grandchild, a reminder that cooking and family go together. (I doubt she frequents the blog, but it is there for her!)
My son Brian used to call me on week nights, when he was preparing a meal and needed substitutes, or a way to enhance a dish. We'd talk for a second or so. When my husband asked about the call, I'd say:
Brian is cooking.
What's new with him?
He's making spaghetti sauce and has no tomatoes.
What did you tell him?
Saute' any vegetables he has with lots of garlic and peperoncino, drop a tablespoon of vinegar and serve over any pasta he has.
I don't remember ever calling my mother, or my aunt, to ask about any dish I was preparing. I cook by improvising, and that's something that is not easy to teach.
All through my life, I never thought of myself as a good cook until I began entertaining here in my new home, after retiring, and having people ask about my techniques.
I'd hate it if my obituary said anything about my cooking!
I love to write. But, I'm not a writer for hire. So, that too, will not end up in my obituary.
People who write obituaries are in a hurry, constrained by time and cost, (yes, each word costs money), and most of all by grief. Grief entombs us.
What do I want to be remembered for?
I better ask my friends and line up the answers I like.