there's something so gratifying, pure, and right about cooking for a grandfather who lives 2760 miles away, and alone.
i can feel the weight of my grandmother and my mother on each shoulder, but not in a burdensome and painful way. they are just there, with me, peeling apples and grilling steak.
the joy experienced while using my grandmother's wooden spoons and ancient metal measuring spoons is indescribable. i feel contentment. i feel home.