Farewell Food

Maybe its the vestigial remains of the mother's responsibility to feed newborns. Maybe it's a habit reinforced by decades of making sure kids were nourished. Maybe it's simply something I do to keep my hands busy while I'm trying to stay appropriately composed as I prepare to say "drive carefully."

Whatever the cause, I seem to believe my loved ones will starve to death if their cars are not filled with food when they pull away from the curb.

Friday night my father was in the guest room at the House on the Corner. He had promised to contribute dessert to a chili dinner Saturday, so I was up even before dawn cracked (thank you, long winter nights) to get a couple of pies in the oven.

Then a few hours later Boy#4 became the final one to clear out after Christmas break. Packed in among the five loads of freshly-laundered clothes, computer, trombones, music stands, and other detritus of a month-long break were two boxes of Cheerios, most of a sheetcake, and two dozen bierocks.

Some people say "I love you" with flowers--I say it with calories.