Write with TLC

Often when we long for one thing that craving is simply a mask for the thing we really want.  When I crave Grandma Stamm’s macaroni and tomatoes, boiled potatoes, or chocolate cake, it’s not the taste I want.  No one can ever duplicate her cooking even if they follow her recipes to the letter.  Grandma made those with her special love, and that’s what I really crave.  Grandma died twenty years ago, and I still long to spend time with her. She often expressed her love through cooking.  Every Sunday she fixed favorite dishes for family and friends she expected to visit.  There were no invitations, no RSVPs, no formality.  People wandered in and out of her house Sunday afternoon and into the evening.  They fixed a plate of food from the bowls and platters of food kept warm in the oven, played a game of cards, and chatted about the week past and the coming week.  She’d lay her cards down to greet the newest visitors, and after much protest, retur...

I recently went to a high school class reunion. I'll admit I felt hesitant about going. I'm not one of these people that remembers high school with all that much fondness. As I listened to my classmates exchange stories and memories, I felt a mix of emotions. We shared a formative part of our lives, and honestly I often felt like I didn't really fit in all that well. I felt surprised as I listened to other people express similar moments of those kinds of feelings. Among the laughs and the acknowledgements of how we've grown and the moments of looking forward, compassion came from unexpected places and attempts to connect came from others. Regrets were even expressed. Recognition of who we were then and even characteristics that haven't changed shone through. Hugs were abundant and promises to get together more frequently permeated the event. I was particularly struck by a discussion that arose once again about a particular classmate who has expressed to othe...