She opened the cookbook.
Scented memories from the past flooded her mind.
Sugar, wax and chocolate
Bookmarking the years.
5 hours of anticipation in great gran’s Limoges tureen .
The smell of tradition wrapped in love.
Brought out for special occasions
With a secret ingredient not included on the page
That gran was said to have whispered in her daughter’s ear
Just before leaving for the hospital
That last time.
She had never realized how much the book mirrored the treasured family Bible;
A testament to their shared past.
It was the realm of her grandfather.
The names of all the males proudly emblazoned
On the inside cover.
The prime source written in bold letters at the top.
A testament to survival:
A stark contrast to the milk smudges, chocolate marks and tear stains
Of the cookbook.
Ink scratches mark the personal stories
Found in the margin:
“Her favourite cake,”
“ The first time he helped mom, “
“Our first Summer together,”
“First Christmas without him.”
A labour of love;
A story to be shared and developed with time.
Rather than a Law.