The Comforts of Homemade

I'd bet my Nana made this.

Going to my grandparents’ as a child, was like going to a second home—I always felt safe and secure and my stomach was always full of Nana’s cooking… Nana had a schedule that included three meals a day: breakfast upon waking—mixed fruit and cereal or a bagel…. Lunch was served promptly at noon with the cowbell ringing, to let Pop and I know if we happened to be outside…. And dinner was always at five.  Nana passed away two years ago, and up until recently, Pop has been living alone.  

Le Foo, AJ, and I went to visit Pop this weekend.  He is 93 years old. So, whenever my family goes to visit him, I make sure to have a menu planned.  As I said, Nana used to cook religiously and I loved it, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would love cooking so much, or take so much pride in my ability to do so.  On Sunday, while my aunt was away, I provided him with a solid breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  He had cereal, fruit, and some juice.  For lunch, I made soup and grilled cheese, and for dinner, I cooked up some Sloppy Jo’s.  It is my Nana’s recipe and I know my grandfather enjoys it.  And, of course, I would never subject him to our vegetarian lifestyle that we usually practice at home.  

When I cook for Pop, I enjoy it more than usual.  I enjoy it because I like to cook, but up there it is more than that.  I have the privilege of serving a WWII veteran for one thing.  I also feel like I am providing him with some amount of comfort and normalcy that he had when my grandmother was alive.  I know he misses her, and I just feel like any comfort from  that time is a nice thing to be able to give to Pop.  Or, maybe it’s just for me; to feel like my cooking provides him these comforts, gives me more purpose and pride in my task.  

I also feel closer to Nana when I cook up there; connected to her through an understanding of all she did for her family.  I am thankful to have been given the gift of the drive to care for my family in a wholesome, meaningful way.  

This is on the wall near the stove. I really noticed it this visit.
It made me think a lot of my Nana, and hoped with all my heart
that my love of cooking for my family was the same love she felt.
I hoped that she saw her own worth as a human, a woman,
a mother, and a wife, just as I make a point to see my own.