It all started with the neighbor’s rhubarb
“Would you like some?” “Oh, yes … I love rhubarb”
Childhood memories of late summer stalks, sun-drenched bitter goodness
And an entire grocery bag full was handed over the fence.
Until that day, flour had never dusted my counter.
Mom was the pie maker – and a fierce competitor.
I stayed in my lane.
Perfected chocolate chip cookies
(The ones Dad liked.)
She stayed in hers –
…pies, homemade cinnamon rolls, gidgy-gadgets, pineapple upside down to die for…
Cookies were for rookies.
There it was right in front of me –
an opportunity to check off a bucket-list item:
Make a pie crust from scratch
…and fill it with this late summer, perfectly ripe rhubarb.
She’s been gone for over three years now.
I took a picture of that first pie…shimmery golden crust, fresh from the oven.
Shared it with the neighbors – it was delicious!
She sewed my prom dresses without a pattern.
I won’t mend a hem.
Mother-daughter relationships can be complicated.