It's true no matter who you are -- no matter how famous, or independent, or successful -- when you go home to your parents' house, you fall into familiar patterns, familiar roles. All the items of your childhood still sit around you, and in some quiet corner of your soul, you're eight years old again.
My mother keeps things, for a very long time. They may be worn and tattered, but if they're still useful, they're still used. I have emotional attachments to so many of my mother's tattered things. See the little cookbook below? I remember when she got that, as a gift, I think. It's one of those "write-your-favorite-recipes-here" books. I started copying all our cherished family dishes in there. I still remember when I started the copying. At the top of the page, it said "Name." I carefully wrote my mother's name there. Only when I saw the same thing at the top of each page did I realize that I should have put the recipe name. How silly I felt, to have already made a big mistake in a brand new book! I was about twelve years old.
So, what was mother making last night? French Silk Chocolate Pie, my favorite! Anna requested it because she is leaving for college again tomorrow. She has a Winterim class to take.
If you want the recipe for this pie, click here. It's a post I did before. Scroll down a bit in the post. Before getting around to the pie, I wax eloquent about mountains, daffodils, and other things. Here's a picture of today's pie: