I believe in a home – cooked meal. The kind that warms frozen fingers and swirls around you like a bear hug from your grandfather on a cold and snowy winter afternoon. I believe that no matter your grief, a lasagna waiting in the fridge when you finally arrive home exhausted and drained, is a way without words to say ‘you are not alone.” I believe that a cup of tea and a plate full of freshly baked cookies is the best way to sit and catch up with an old friend. I believe that “break-up brownies” really do soothe an aching heart and that homemade chicken soup will cure every ailment. I believe there is nothing as sacred as a mother and daughter working side by side, laughing, sharing secrets and even crying as they prepare a meal for the ones they hold dear. Those moments are precious and fleeting, and I hold each one like a rare jewel to my heart. I believe that love is tangible when a favorite meal is prepared in anticipation of a visit. I believe in the kindness of the human spirit when a little extra is made for the widowed neighbor living alone. I believe there is nothing more humbling than sitting in a hospital room feeding your grandmother with a spoon because she is too weak to feed herself. I believe there is nothing quite like the feeling of someone raving over your cooking and asking for you to make that special something again and again. I believe there is power in a home-cooked meal; to make the world a little easier, a little kinder and a little more gentle. This I believe.
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