Interlude – drawing, cooking, wooden spoon | i heart uniqueness

 
As a boy, I watched my mother cook. Cut, chop, mix – wash, strain, simmer. Things boiled and bubbled on the stove; 
and, as she moved about the kitchen, I poked and shuffled the contents with her wooden spoon. 
The oven extended the experience by filling the house with smells. 
I didn’t have to be, do or say anything. 
I felt connected.

As a younger boy, I watched my grandmother draw. We would take turns making marks on a page till “it was done.” 
After a while, the game would devolve into me scribbling – with a grin – trying to defy her ability 
to make something out of my lines. She transformed my marks – like magic – into drawings 
that surprised as forms and patterns emerged. 
I was mesmerized.