Yesterday, afternoon while we were preparing Sunday lunch at La Madone a
spilled box of alphabet pasta brought a flood of memories to the
surface. Don't you just love when out of the blue something comes and taps you on your shoulder bringing you a memory that causes you to stop and smile?
The alphabet pasta spilled on the floor, it was an accident that reminded me of my Mother.
She made chores into a game. Spilled milk was after all was not a big deal when we were taught that cleaning it up is far more fun than crying about it.
Cleaning up… The Game… Spell your name.
Raphael, (Nathalie and Jean Bernard's youngest son, and the child I want to claim as my own, but they won't hear of it!) is four years old. Aren't chubby hands edible?
Concentration.
On a snowy day a box of spilled pasta spells out a memory as warm as any hug.
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