It's been way too long since I've written anything on this sweet food blog o' mine.  I'm sitting here listening to Billie Holiday "All of Me" and trying to pull my head together after a late night of enjoying my Oldest Beauty's homecoming night.  I was the last in bed, waiting for her to get home from the homecoming dance, and for some unknown reason the first up. Of course!  It's a freaking weekend and I don't have to get up and go to work, so go figure!  Freaking middle age hormone crap!  Any Hoo.  I had this epiphany this morning that I need to get back on here.  I have ton's of pictures and recipes I've gathered to share, but what really hit me was that I need to share my reason for being here in the first place.  Why do I feel this need? It hit me, What I realized is,  it's coming up on the anniversary of my mother's death.  That melancholy seems to start building about this time. The last time I spent with her was our Apple Harvest Festival. Waiting for Cece to be born, 11 years ago. She was due any minute. She's her mother's daughter and does things on her own good time though. and my mother wasn't very patient about it (I am my mother's daughter)  So, why am I here?  I need to write. I need to cook.  I have made so many delicious things in the past year, all in spite of the complete turmoil of my life.  Which really isn't all that bad when you get right down to it.  I am married to one of the hottest men on the planet and have two incredibly beautiful and intelligent young ladies as daughters and have acquired two wonderful boys I can happily say to others that they're my boys.  Both absolutely wonderful in their own ways.  So here I am. 

Why am I so obsessed with food?  First and foremost?  My mother.  She was the queen of nurture.  When I think back about her there is so much that makes me angry (spicy)  But then I remember her smell ( so aromatic and sweet)  and her desire to please everyone in her world with her food.  (salty)  No one walked away from her home hungry unless is was their choice to do so.  There was always a full cookie jar and always a full refrigerator.  I have wonderful memories of my friends and my nieces and nephews friends showing up at the house and opening my mom's "fridge" and just staring at what might jump out and be eaten.  She lived to feed people.  And she did it well.  I struggle with my memories of her.  I still can't make pie dough because of her, but she gave me the desire and the need to feed people and to do it well.  I love her for that. 

My Dad on the other hand was the story teller.  He told the same stories over and over, but they never grew old for me.  They became richer in time for me. As they did for others.  This was a form of food for me as well.  They fed my imagination.  They fed my love for him. They were a tapestry.  I learned to live my life with him like it was a story.  The squirrel's dancing on his feet, the games of dice for cups of coffee at Don's, the sweet sparrow sitting on his finger.  My childhood was a wonderful dream because of that man.  I'll never stop missing him.  He was my best friend. 

So why am I here?  And what makes me so obsessed with food?  I honestly don't know.  These two people fed me heart and soul and they gave me something that makes me want to feed you.  Hospitality?  Kindness?  Love?  I'm not sure, but I do know  they both fed me and they gave me so much, so now I am here to feed you all of that love.