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The Master Piece

The Master Piece

A Story by Cherrie Palmer
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A small thing, my grandma's mixing bowl is what I choose to bring home, not pictures or treasures but a simple red bowl that held my childhood memories.

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The Master Piece


             Take three! My mind yells as again, I rewrite this short  couplet.  A gentle warm and revealing smile spread across my face and colors my memory in bliss; as I gaze at the paltry little red mixing bowl, which is air drying in my sink.  At forty-six plus years I have no memories that it did not have a place in the background.  My mother washed it for my Grandma, as did my Aunt, my three cousins and myself.  


        Watching her whip up a meal was truly an art form.  She was a Christian woman, with simple speech and an honest measure for living. Not simple minded but her mind worked in a simple straight line. This line of thinking flavored her cooking but did not limit its flavor. This mixing bowl was used in her cooking daily. With the passing of each meal, it was washed and on most occasions, it was washed more than once.


           She would don her pale yellow and white checked apron, like the conductor would don his cummerbund. Fortified with a wood spoon the symphony of smells and sounds would commence. Soft running water to rinse freshly harvested scallions and basil would drip in the colander, while freshly rendered bacon grease crackles in the skillet. Dried-out cornbread and biscuits found themselves tossed on the counter as green peppers, mushrooms and cheese were taken to the blade.  

      Her arms waved about like a grand orchestra stood at her attention. Just as if Benjamin Zander himself was there the harmony of time and space began.  From out of thin air she pulled a cutting-board.  Six slices of pepper bacon were crumbled into pieces while small pinches of bread crumbs and herbs made the mound of  aromas drift higher. Braised veggies soaked in the smoky maple drippings only adding to the perfection of both smell and memory.  Slivers of turkey were folded in and the mixing bowl dumped its loot into a casserole dish the sauce pan that contained a robust broth of turkey patiently waited to soak the thirty crumbs’ of bread and as I stare at my grandma’s bowl I begin to scamper through my kitchen, to satisfy my need to create another master piece.




© 2015 Cherrie Palmer



Author's Note

Cherrie Palmer
someone please pass the stuffing

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Well I think I need to find my box of kleenex, this is so touching. Just wonderful
Made me think of my grandmother. Grandmothers are angels to us.
They are truly special. Just hope I can be as special to my granddaughter some day.
Love this one, very nice

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

this write is as warm and welcome as you smile

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

[send message][befriend] Subscribe
?
Well I think I need to find my box of kleenex, this is so touching. Just wonderful
Made me think of my grandmother. Grandmothers are angels to us.
They are truly special. Just hope I can be as special to my granddaughter some day.
Love this one, very nice

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Author

Cherrie Palmer
Cherrie Palmer

NE Corner , AR



About
I am a published poet and love poetry. I also have two books on Amazon Kindle: Obsession Starts with a smile, and a western The Knife That Knew No Mercy. Both stories are fast paced and entertainin.. more..

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