The phone rang, and my son’s sick. He had the idea to nurse himself back to health by making a pot of homemade beef barley soup; but he needed a soup pot, and could he borrow one? He’d be right over for it. While packing up the pot, I decided to include some of the ingredients he’d need; and when I reached for that familiar, red-handled flour scoop, my heart melted. Why? One, because he turned to a treasured family recipe passed down from my Mom to make himself feel better; and two, because my memory’s rich with my Mom’s chipped and dented and older-than-I-am scoop starting countless pots of feel better.
Great shot, Janet, and what lovely memories to have. I have a large spoon that was my mom's and I always think of her when I'm using it to stir things.
Aww- that's so special- love in a soup pot passed down from generation to generation. I recognize the Pfaltzcraft flour crock too- my mother had them. This shot makes me want to bake a cake!
Such a wonderful memory of your mom and now of your son too. Thanks for sharing a special part of your life with us. And great capture to go along with it. :)
