Look Closer -But Keep your Distance - And Be Closer than Ever

In one of those West Texas winds a few years ago, the fence blew down. My neighbors and I decided to make the repairs to include  a path and a gate between our back yards. We made a joke of putting "mother-in-law" holes in the fence to spy on each other as well.

I'm peeking through that window of my life today. Grateful for the friends and family that make me who I am and we will become. 

Three days ago, my neighbor brought over a delicious soup made from the corned beef left over from our last family gathering on Sunday. The little yellow bowl passed through the fence was warm sunshine to my soul - the cabbage and carrots with lumps of corned beef in that creamy thick broth. Heartier because she had dredged the squares in flour and fried them in the rendered corned beef fat before adding them to the broth to soften. Like her mother taught her to do, but that she had abandoned in the age of cholesterol. Hearing her little laugh and chuckle as we navigated the awkward exchange keeps me smiling. 

The next day, I left the sanitized bowl and a corning-ware dish on one of those corroding metal porch chairs. Roast, like she taught me to cook. Stuffed with garlic cloves, seasoned simply with salt and pepper and forgotten in the harvest gold crock pot. Now tender and drowning in a rich gravy of marrow and meat drippings.

Yesterday, the text was simply, "Fence." I squeeled and tiptoed through the cold wet grass to find a plate of expertly crisp Indian frybread with just the right amount of honey. The fork crisped through the thin surface and the moist spirit escaped as maillard remembrances of camping in the redwoods and butane Coleman campstoves. 

Today, I called her to stick her head out of the door, just so I could peek through the holes. To see her and say, "Oh, Momma. I love you so much."