Baking

I watched the debate last night but kept thinking of those Sundays when the family would gather for a feast at GrandPa’s house. A while back I passed by their old home and sitting in my car mentally walked through the rooms. I could remember the furniture and many of the bric-a-brac pieces and photos of relatives and religious statues. I loved the smell of gravy simmering on the stove and the welcome feeling embracing me as I walked through the door. Mandolin strings were strummed and accordions squeezed to hearty, luscious ballads sung with passion, leaving everyone feeling special in the moment. How many times did we think the problems of the world solved at a dinner table overflowing with homemade food? Our world worked and we fit into it. Ahhh, if I think of it any more I’ll lose the day… Yes, this is the Island of guys with ego, each of them either intimidated to not run a primary against Hillary, or one of the 17 who lost to Trump. But, no matter they have the answer… well, theirs wouldn’t be as good as that of Gramps, yours or mine.