I hear my Mother’s voice

I often hear my Mother’s gentle voice as I cook scrambled eggs. “Make sure the heat is not too high; you only need to stir every so often; never let them go brown”. Hers were always soooo good and all they needed was a little salt. And, if they were fried eggs cooked in bacon grease, they stood on their own without any fancy salsas or cheesy nonsense. Eggs in bacon grease – that was a special treat indeed, that only occurred on Saturdays and Sundays. Cartoons and eggs. Maybe bacon. It was an excellent combo, to say the least.

Not my actual Mother, though it well could have been. This looks startling similar to my childhood kitchen in the Sacramento suburbs (36th & T Street)
Not my actual Mother, though it well could have been. This looks startling similar to my childhood kitchen in the Sacramento suburbs (36th & T Street)

 

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2 thoughts on “I hear my Mother’s voice

  1. Love that photo, but its a little too tastefull! We had a hodgepodge of appliances, avocado fridge, orange and avocado cabinets (I picked out the color scheme and painted them) and orange, avocado and yellow wallpaper. Good god, what was I thinking! It was the seventies; my only excuse. I have some cute photos of you helping to wash dishes. You’re a good cook. I still don’t use enough salt.

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