Everyone I know cooks really well. I can't cook to save my life. I once tried to grill some hot dogs, and nearly burnt my leg off near the grill. So the question of the night is? Why can’t I cook? I have met many African Americans who can really cook great food. We will be talking and getting excited…then all a sudden the question comes up. Can you cook? The answer is no. I’m good at steaming vegetables. However I burnt boiled eggs. My husband was so sweet about it. He was getting ready to go to Iraq for the first time, and I wanted to cook his favorite. So after we had our plates and started eating I knew it was all wrong. He didn’t say anything until I said wow, these are really bad. We started laughing and got take out. So, tonight I’m telling my ancestors...You forgot to leave directions. I recall when I was a small girl. My mother was a great cook. I don’t think she ever made anything that I hated. I loved her butter roll. It’s almost like a peach pie, but it has butter. I don’t think I will ever taste one again.
I miss her so much. She never met Alison. Alison is named after her. I wish I could put my arms around her and hug her for dear life. I know people say it’s not the same without them, but in my case it’s very true. I can’t call her and say…hey mom are you up? Knowing it’s 11 at night and she was sleeping, but I couldn’t help myself I just wanted to hear her voice.
Oh well enough of that stuff..nite nite