“When someone in the neighborhood is dying, no one really knows what to do. The very brave come to sit and visit. Others, more tentative, keep their sympathies to the phone. When my father was dying, we had a little bit of both, we had friends who came by and friends who called. But mainly, we had friends who cooked.
If there was anything to good about that time, anything to be missed after the fact, it was the constant influx of soups, stews, roasts, cookies, and pies. I never knew how many friends my parents had until the food started arriving.”
A Homemade Life, stories and recipes from my kitchen table