Yesterday I spent the morning baking. I made zucchini bread since I had so many zucchinis from my garden this summer. I used up several bags of babanas from my freezer and made banana muffins. I had to make some chocolate chip cookies for Erica and our after school routine of cookies, milk, and sharing one good thing from the day. And I made my favorite, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, but this time I added a few bananas and the result was, YUM! Excuse me, I need to run to the kitchen for one right now!
As I was mixing the batter, watching my hands as I measured flour, or used the electric mixer, I saw my mothers hands. I was using the bowls she used, the measuring spoons from her kitchen drawer, the same loaf pan the she had used for so many years. And for a moment, these were her hands working the mixer, catching the dripping batter on a finger, licking it off. I find that my hands resemble hers more and more. On my right hand, I wear the ring that she wore as long as I can remember, same hand, same finger. My fingers are the same, knuckles round, fingernails square. And for that I am thankful, because I always, always find comfort in looking at my mothers hands that seem to envelop mine.
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