Thinking

Fam. Family. Fam-damily.
Made my first gumbo tonight. And my first rue. Had to move the rue-in-process off of the stove to call my mom and make sure I was on the right path, something about the consistency just didn’t seem right. But it was. Oh, it was. The gumbo is simmering away right now, as are my thoughts. Had a lovely dinner last night with my great-cousin (?), second cousin (?) Eric and the somehow related Steven Meyer. Both lovely. We talked about all sorts of things but the conversation kept returning to my grandfather and we all shared fond stories. I told them something I often think to myself, which is if he were still here I think we would really get along and get a kick out of each other. So imagine my surprise (and pleasure) when, in the same rue-rescuing phone call, my mom told me that my grandfather used to make gumbo. Sometimes it all comes full circle. Of course I’m making a gumbo to celebrate Mardi Gras tomorrow night—after all I do have southern roots—not only did my grandfather spend some time in the South, my dear mother was born in Baton Rouge, Louisianna (when I was little I used to think Baton Rouge must be some sort of makeup). Coincidence? I think not. Coincidence's are signs you are on the right path.