there are few pictures i have left of my childhood due to constant moving, being kicked out, or poor planning, but the ones i have with my lolo in them are the ones i keep plotted in marked places through out my home. one blanketed in the safe journal when i travel from state to state. another, his arm is swung over my lola, her smug hard thick face almost mocking his goofish and clearly smitten love for her. him saying in whatever language suited him best, “whatever, you know you love me.” i bet just after that photo, she swatted him on the shoulder a little, a punishment for making her smirk despite her own unyielding exterior. both of them lodged in a midwestern click of a button, the rural mackinaw city sky vacant without the salt of ocean, this same vacancy dulling the glow of their eyes if you squint harder at the photo. i can’t imagine that level of missing your family. i also, cannot imagine missing the rituals and ingredients of family practice of eating, to adjust to seasonal harvests, to different food life, altogether, that type of re-training does something to the spirit, doesn’t it?
continue reading here at recipes for the people.