Asparagus and Mother’s Day

I was 30 years old before I realized I liked asparagus.  Steamed but still a little crisp, with a splash of olive oil and garlic, it’s one of my favorite vegetables to accompany a steak or a nice piece of fish.  But I’d only ever had it the way my mother made it, which was literally half butter by weight and cooked to the consistency of pudding.

Mom’s been gone for nine years now, and for some reason, that was one of the first things that popped in my head this morning when our church service began inviting me to remember her.  Perhaps I consider it an emblematic little microcosm of the kinds of disconnections Mom and I were working through when she died.

Already done all of the flagellating I have to do on that here, and I won’t repeat it.  I’ll quote this part of that post, though:

When I do miss Mom, it’s acute.  I’m missing her badly this afternoon.  I’m still carrying a thousand private jokes.  She has two grandsons she never knew.  And no hug is like one from your mom.  If you can still hug your mom, please appreciate it every time it happens.  I can’t adequately express how much I’d like to hug mine one more time.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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