Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?
My favorite breakfast was Grandpa’s “porridge”.
Yeah, it was actually oatmeal. But he was the only one that could make it just right.
I asked many time, how do you do that. Ingredients, I have down. I watched over and over but to no avail.
I even asked my aunt to give it a try, hoping the secret was in the genes. No joy.
I can come close, but something about the magic is lost.
My grandparents house was my happy place, my escape. I used to sit on the bathroom floor while mom was drying my hair and wish I’d be there, at their tiny little home that grandpa built. You know, like Dorothy, if I could wish it hard enough and enough times, I could actually be there.
They have both passed and the house was sold to my bone-headed step brother. I don’t want to imagine what he’s done to it.
I’ll not stop and visit. I’ll leave it in my memory as is. Untouched, and perfect.
Good morning, Sunday. 💜
Julie M Anderson 