Comfort Food

When I am having a bad day… I think of the creamer in my hot coffee. It settles into the heavy porcelain cup and swirls its way into the deep flavors of my morning... in the quiet, calm.

When I hear the angry words that fall like arrows into my soul… I think of the crusty pecan pie my grandmother worked to perfection in the old gas stove. Waiting on it to cool was as hard as waiting on Christmas morning. She made it sweet and chewy like glazed candy.

When I am hot and feel the sun draining my strength… I think of sweet Southern tea. The ice sang a familiar tune against the heavy glass that held the brew of my memories. The droplets of condensation felt sharp and cool against my hands…

When I feel the fire in my throat from a winter cold… I think of the old maple rolling pin in my mother’s hands. Its familiar rhythmic clink sings a comforting tune to the soft flour dumplings that would swell and simmer within the chicken stock waiting on the front burner of the stove of my youth.

When I feel the doldrums of the day… I think of the wooden ice-cream churn in my grandfather’s backyard. The hand crank played a gentle game of tag with the checkered cloth that covered the salty ice that we watched with wanting eyes. We rolled the wooden handle in squeaky circles knowing the paddle inside would provide a treasured treat.

When I feel the sadness or withdrawn... I think of the homemade chocolate chip cookies that brightened the darkest of days. The colorful glass mixing bowl held the time tested batter that was too tempting not to taste. The unmistakable aroma filled the house and spilled to the outside through the open window.

                                                          Shannon R Killman