He says, “I don’t like to cook,
but I do like to eat”
and I suspect he remembers
that first Thanksgiving when
I plunged the chef knife,
a wedding gift, into the side
of the unbaked turkey
searching for the hole
in which to stuff the dressing,
and how the knife blade broke
in the bird and how I shoved
turkey (blade and gizzards included)
into the oven and served it for dinner.
Or perhaps it was the Christmas
I decided to bake cookies
and purchased eight bags of flour
and six bags of sugar based
on the number of measuring cups
I envisioned contained in each bag.
Or it could be the time
I made a pot roast
and severed my thumb
while slicing carrots
and had to be rushed to the ER
for stitches; or how I always
burn the sauteing onions
while multi-tasking with cleanup,
or how I measure a “pinch of salt”
using a sliver of a ¼ teaspoon,
or how “season to taste”
leaves me befuddled
to the point of tears,
or how I’m always
talking about diets
so as to weigh
what I did in college.
On this day I was born, the first day after the Winter Solstice, I wish you a life rich in increasing light, love and laughter. As 2025 draws to an end, Rubin and I hold close the memories of Mother, Mike Laflin, Mary Ann Laflin, Chuck Watts, Judith Canel, and Julie Judd.
Merry Christmas.
Mary and Rubin
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