Speaking Words of Wisdom, Let it Be

Back in August I made this rustic brown rice.  Felt like being back in my mom's garden thousands of years ago in Indiana.   Working the imagination to make a big pot of soup, throwing in grass and flower petals to season the 'broth' in an old can filled with water from the hose.  I wanted to learn to cook like my mom, she always looked so pretty and graceful in the kitchen. She had purpose and focus and preparing food seemed to bring her lots of peace and contentment.   I remember sitting on the stool just watching her cut up vegetables, how she treated each one differently.  She'd smell the middle of the tomato and then I'd have to do it too.  She'd roll the lemon on the counter before she cut into it to and then comment if this batch had lots of juice or not.  She'd examine each jalapeno as if to know which was right for this particular dish.

It was during these times I could ask her my stupid questions I had been saving like interesting rocks in my pocket.  She seemed to be even slightly entertained by all my wild ideas.  That fueled me to open up even further and speak all current ruminations.  This was when she would give me creative responses and seemed to really contemplate what I was throwing down.  My mom is so interesting and I always felt so privileged to hear her thoughts. She wasn't someone who spoke for no reason.  And she was private, so when she let you in, it felt special.

Tomatoes, onions, cilantro, jalapeno, garlic was added vegetable broth for a earthy rustic brown rice.  It was my way of connecting with my mom and honoring her.