If you have watched this blog over many long years, you know I happen to like pea soup.
My mother likes to cook sometimes, so when she asked if there was anything I was craving, I told her I hadn’t made pea soup for myself in a long time. I think I just got lazy, after the cancer thing dulled my tasting ability, and I just haven’t bothered in recent years, since everything I make that I crave ends up being a bit disappointing.
Anyway, we bought the ingredients and she made pea soup. In fact, I already knew it wasn’t something she commonly made – I grew to like it after I was living on my own – it’s not anything like a “nostalgia” dish from my childhood. But I was quite surprised when she announced, after we were eating it for dinner, that it was the first time she’d made pea soup.
It was a good pea soup, I think.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Day: September 8, 2017
Caveat: Random Poem #103
(Poem #404 on new numbering scheme)
Without those landmarks time can give, unmoored from daily grind, with ease I ceased to write my verse - no blog posts came to mind.