It wasn't very long ago in our society that we learned that Food = Love. You go to grandma's house and she welcomes you with a spread that rivals Thanksgiving. Even walking up to the door the smell of baked ham and cherry pie settles into your memories to be reawakened at your next visit. You pull up your chair and begin to pile food onto your plate. Even when your plate is full, you realize there's still food on the table you haven't tried yet. You have to clean your plate just so you can refill it with new goodies. It is a great time, the whole family chats, laughs, and catches up on family news (and gossip). You finish your meal and collapse in the family room around the TV to digest your feast. It's heaven.Wow, the love and care that was put into planning, shopping, preparing, cooking, serving, and clean up is unbelievable: Grandma's time and effort brought to life through her famous meals.
I'm afraid when I have grandkids they will not be graced with this same greeting. I HATE to cook. I HATE grocery shopping. I HATE spending time in the kitchen while everyone else is visiting. I HATE just finishing the cooking to turn around and clean the mound of dishes left over from the voracious mob. It is NOT my thing.
My kids don't get beautiful home cooked meals. In fact, I have begun putting each child in charge of one night of cooking each week. It's so great to pass that load on. At my house Food does not = Love. My grandkids will probably get a Papa Murphy's pizza while we play card games at the kitchen table. Or maybe a ham sandwich that we eat at the top of a mountain path while we count the bird calls, because we can never actually see the birds, just hear them. They will be welcomed into my home with the fresh smell of paint and playdough sitting ready for the day's activities.
I'm forever grateful for those who enjoy cooking, who enjoy sharing their love through their creative foods. But my memories are different. I will treasure the memories of time shared and adventures taken together. To me Time = Love.
