I’ll never forget sitting in my grandparent’s kitchen while family all around laughed and conversed with one another.
I sat, a young observer, watching life whirl around me. I sat with an empty bowl and spoon, waiting for grandma to notice. Of course she did.
She swooped down on me, earrings jangling, “Dear you have no food! What’s wrong?”
I looked up at her, trying to hide the sheepishness form my face. It didn’t work.
“I was hoping to have . . . To have some of your pears.”
She smiled and gave me a wink, “Of course you can!”
I watched her disappear into the cellar.
Enveloped by sights and sounds I waited.
“Here you are dear boy!” Grandma said, appearing at my side.
A trickle of clear juice and pear halves slid into my bowl with an aroma of mouthwatering sweetness.
The first bite was delicious, superb.
The second followed quickly by the third and fourth.
Grandma gave me a kiss and laughed her way into the party while I devoured her hard work.