I couldn’t have planned it better and I had no idea it would work out this way. Tomorrow, it will be eight years since my mother passed. I counted it this morning and I just couldn’t believe it. Eight years ago today was the last time I saw her. It just doesn’t seem possible. My mother’s presence has been so vivid in my entire life, and she’s still with me now. I think about her often, talk to her in my head, and sometimes my desire to just call her up, hear her voice and be able to vent to her about everything going on in my life right now is so palpable I can barely breathe. She gave me the book below as a Christmas gift years ago, maybe when I first got married, maybe even before. Honestly, I don’t remember. I do remember that the first copy got lost in a move, in transition, somewhere along the way of my life. I mourned it and she sent me another copy before I could buy one for myself. I can’t ever pull it out to make biscuits or cobbler or brownies without thinking of her. It’s falling apart again, a lot of recipes have my handwritten notations next to the printed instructions, and I’m not sure how I’m going to preserve it, but one thing is sure–this one will not leave my possession until I’ve joined Meeps on the other side.