Amy Johnson Crow from Generations Cafe is again hosting the blog writing prompt this year called 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks: 2021. I'm going to try to participate more fully this year. I like that she gives us "permission" to interpret the prompt however we wish and share it however we wish. It doesn't have to be a blog post; it could be a family video, a letter to a child or grandchild, an e-mail, etc.
The Theme for Week 5 (Feb 1-7) is In the Kitchen.
The kitchen is truly the heart of a home. The love put into preparing loved ones' food and the time shared with each other during cooking is the heartbeat.
Any time someone was visiting, the women gathered in the kitchen. Most helped out, and all of them talked and shared stories and experiences with each other. It was the same way anywhere we visited. When we visited Colene, Mom spent time with her in the kitchen. (Well, we all did since her dining table is in the kitchen.) When else were the women going to have a chance to catch up?
I've been told that no matter what time of day or night you arrived at Uncle James' (Fella) and Aunt Reida Mae's house in Macon, she would get up and cook you a meal.
We went to Jacksonville for Thanksgiving and ate with my cousin, Ronnie, and his then wife, Toula, who is Greek. She and her mother cooked a fantastic meal that we have never forgotten. When my Uncle Hugh (Ronnie's dad) was sick, it was only Toula's cooking that could get him to eat. Cooked with love.
Mom and I still talk about the time she got sick from some red eye gravy a family member cooked when we visited. For those of you who don't know exactly what red eye gravy is... well, it's pure grease. My mother's stomach wasn't completely Southern. But that family member cooked that meal and gravy out of love.
We still talk about how good Colene's cornbread is. How my father loved her rum cake. Everything she cooked was prepared with love.
When I was growing up, my mother spent almost every single day preparing one or two meals for my father and me (plus whoever was visiting or living with us at the moment). She dealt with my Uncle Dempsey who wouldn't eat pineapple. She dealt with my cousin, Gary, when he was a vegetarian. She dealt with my father who wouldn't eat ground meat and didn't have teeth so he couldn't chew much that wasn't cooked in a pressure cooker. She dealt with me who wouldn't eat vegetables. She probably prepared two meals at a time too many times to try to please both of us. She did that out of love.
One of my favorite memories from my childhood, is fish fries. My dad would cook the fish outside in a deep fryer, but my Mom was in the kitchen, preparing the sides (french fries for me and grits for everyone else.)
The annual tradition on Christmas Eve was to cook and eat Oyster Stew. I didn't like it so I ate Eggo Waffles.
Once I grew up and married, sometimes my parents, or his parents, or friends would come over for a meal. My husband and I worked together to prepare those meals, and they were cooked with love.
When I visit my best friend, Stacey, in Snellville, Georgia, she always wants to cook at least one or two meals for me during my stay. I am particularly fond of the bacon wrapped hot dogs and the garlic blend seasoned shrimp. She wants to cook for me out of love.
The kitchen has always provided nourishment for the body and the soul. Everyone enjoys sharing a meal with those most important to them.
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