Calling Home

Every once in a while, I am drawn back to my childhood when a thought, a smell, sight or sound reminds me of simple times.    This morning I was beckoned by the smell of fried apples.  My mother used to make them as a side to her delectable fried chicken.   I have been salivating over the prospect of indulging, so this morning I thought they would accompany my vegetable omelet nicely.   Instantly, the aroma of butter and cinnamon permeated the kitchen and reminded me of the intense pleasure my taste buds had whenever Mom would fix them.

It is so subtle the things that call us home to our childhood.    I find when life is transitioning and there are several unknowns, I like to draw upon the things that comforted me as a child.   Not surprising that food is one of the first things that comes to mind, but I also remember spending solitary time lying in the grass watching the clouds pass.   Interestingly enough, I still find that practice a favorite.

Whatever it is that triggers the reminiscing, I often like to dwell there.   It was simple.  It was easy.   It is familiar.  While I prepared my fried apples, trying to recall exactly how my mother made them, I thought how interesting it is that I have never actually made these before, yet I knew instinctively how to make them.   As I savored the bites of my comforting treat, it made me smile…….and all it took were some apples, butter, and cinnamon.    Simplicity as its finest.

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