It’s weekend again.
This one I’ve spent peacefully with my family.
My grandmother, uncle and cousin came over for dinner Saturday night. My mom’s lamb meatballs with parsley and lemon zest cooked in tomato sauce and cream, were so tasty and the pavlova, with the semi-chewy meringue that we made the night before, served with lots of whipped cream, fresh strawberries, raspberries and blueberries and dark chocolate on top was a dream.
After our guests had left me and my mom crawled up in the couch and watched Martin Scorsese’s 1978 documentary about The Band – The Last Waltz.
Will I ever realize how precious this all is?
Running arrends for my grandmother. Running in the woods.
Running down memory line. Running toward the unknown.
And all the while, yellow red leaves keep whirling to the ground.