This weekend we went to Boston for a potluck dinner my Brother and I organized to commemorate the 5th anniversary of our Mom’s death. It was an excellent excuse to see friends and family who we don’t spend nearly enough time with. In keeping with family tradition, there was a ton of good food and much warm conversation; the entire thing was a testament to how much she is still missed. Her Grandson was a big hit, and justifiably found to be adorable by all present. I made more of the ricotta gnocchi (just like for Christmas) but this time tossed with kale pesto, and sushi of rare duck breast with kumquat marmalade and togarashi. Linda, our host, made wicked lemon squares that she wisely forgot to put out; we brought many home with us today. I made us all brunch this morning: rosemary fingerling home fries in the rendered duck fat and scrambled eggs with the kale pesto beaten in.
Life is what it is; 57 is a terribly young age to die, and her never meeting Milo is something I still have a hard time with. But we put our shoulders to the wheel and try to do justice to the memories of our honored departed with word, deed, progeny, community, and food.