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     I like to think that Bruce's mom is happy about this blog that showcases her recipes and, in part, her life. I know for certain that Bruce loves tasting the memories from his past. That alone is a reason to continue. I must admit, though, that a large part of why I am doing this is for my own joy. When I hold Mom's recipes and see her handwriting I can almost hear her voice--almost see her as she moves about her kitchen preparing a breakfast casserole or glazed carrots or many of the other dishes that have become family favorites.

     She knew what vegetables I liked and that I didn't eat desserts unless chocolate was involved. She knew that Bruce loved liver and onions and that I did not prepare that for him--so she would. She always said, "We'd better call Amber," (Bruce's brother's youngest daughter) whenever she made the egg, sausage and cheese strata to which our niece is especially partial. Both of our sons, Mike and Dave have happy memories of simple breakfasts of what Mom named, Toast Midgees--two slices of buttered toast stacked and cut into several small rectangles--served alongside of scrambled eggs with cheese and bacon bits.Her kitchen was just another aspect of her life where what others wanted came first.

    I came across another recipe the other day that would not normally find its way into my kitchen. Snowy Apricot Bars did not appeal to me. What did catch my eye about this recipe, that looked as if it had been photocopied from the original, was Mom's handwritten note in the corner, "Very Good." That was enough to prompt me to share it with Bruce and Dad. Both of them smiled and I could see right away that simply reading the list of ingredients to them brought forth a flood of happy memories of Mom. Even though fruit bars of any sort do not appeal to me, I would make these.  

     When the bars were done, I cut the end off of one of them to give it a taste. Although a little bit of the "snow" fell on my shirt, the rest made it to my mouth and melted on my tongue. The apricot filling somehow reminded me of pecan pie, which I love. Mom did it again. I picture her smiling in a "gotcha" sort of way as she watches me finish off the rest of the slightly messy but incredibly delicious bit of goodness.

     In recreating these recipes, I feel that I am learning not only about Mom's way of cooking but her way of living as well. I hope that I am becoming a little more open-minded when it comes to unfamiliar flavors. I hope that I am becoming a little more open-hearted when it comes to serving others.

     Very good, Mom--very good indeed!