"Easter is new beginnings--new life. Easter's about hope." ~The Easter Bunny, Rise of the Guardians
This is one of my favorite quotes from Rise of the Guardians, and it actually occurs during one of the saddest scenes. It just goes to show that you can have something beautiful even during the darkest times. You just have to have hope.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Saturday, March 12, 2016
Step 84: Eat Strawberries at Your Mammaw's House
Strawberries taste different up at my Mammaw's house. A lot of foods taste different up there, but for the most part it's understandable. My Mammaw had a way with food. I think most peoples' grandmas have a way with food. Secret family recipes and all that.
But strawberries. All my Mammaw did was wash them, cut them up, and sprinkle some sugar on them. My mom does the exact same thing when she makes strawberries. But still they taste different.
No other fruit tastes different. Just the strawberries. Even after all these years.
Even when my Mammaw was too weak to make them herself.
It is the happiest last memory I have with her. Instead of her making me breakfast like she used to do when I was a kid, I served her dinner (mind you, I didn't make it--I'm not so skilled!--my aunt pre-made it). She didn't eat a lot. I didn't either. But like good old Mammaw, she wanted me to know there was desert. Shortbread cookies. Strawberries. Maybe some ice cream in the crowded freezer. Ice cream was another one Mammaw had a special touch with.
I told her I'd make some strawberries. She decided she didn't want any--maybe just a couple cookies instead. So I ate all of them myself. And they tasted just like they did when she'd make them.
I'm sure everyone has a special treat that they eat when they're with their grandparents. I love the strawberries up at my Mammaw's house, but even more than that, I loved spending the time with her. I loved her.
But strawberries. All my Mammaw did was wash them, cut them up, and sprinkle some sugar on them. My mom does the exact same thing when she makes strawberries. But still they taste different.
No other fruit tastes different. Just the strawberries. Even after all these years.
Even when my Mammaw was too weak to make them herself.
It is the happiest last memory I have with her. Instead of her making me breakfast like she used to do when I was a kid, I served her dinner (mind you, I didn't make it--I'm not so skilled!--my aunt pre-made it). She didn't eat a lot. I didn't either. But like good old Mammaw, she wanted me to know there was desert. Shortbread cookies. Strawberries. Maybe some ice cream in the crowded freezer. Ice cream was another one Mammaw had a special touch with.
I told her I'd make some strawberries. She decided she didn't want any--maybe just a couple cookies instead. So I ate all of them myself. And they tasted just like they did when she'd make them.
I'm sure everyone has a special treat that they eat when they're with their grandparents. I love the strawberries up at my Mammaw's house, but even more than that, I loved spending the time with her. I loved her.
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