I still remember Mom’s turkey soup.
She’d forbid anyone from throwing anything from the carcass out. I looked at that hacked up pile of bones and wonder how the heck anyone would ever be able to ingest anything from that mess? It was like magic – right from the moment she added water. It was at the very time when the water boiled with the mystery ingredients that comfort arrived. Those Glade candle commercials – you know the ones that show a room glowing from scent – hold nothing on her soup.
And when it was finished – it HAD to be consumed. Of course, there was never any question that we wouldn’t eat it – but sometimes a third bowl was required or it was considered that you, “didn’t like my cooking”, were Mom’s favorite words.
I’ve been suffering with the flu over the past few days and find myself craving her soup. I staggered to the kitchen and dropped a carcass into a vat of water – added the required elements – simmered and voila. My soup was good – but it was not delivered to me by the hand of my Mom.
And that makes all the difference. It was never the turkey soup that smelled so good – it was the warmth from her soul that nurtured us and soothed us back to health growing up. There is no medicine you can buy that works as well as my Mom’s loving service to her family.
I think Monday mornings need a little bit of Mom’s elixir to make them less like the carcass of the week-end and more like the soup that soothes the soul!
High Flight 