Saturday, May 3, 2008

Grandma, Mom

I love raspberries. The scent, the texture, the taste, has always reminded me of being a small child when squishing the berries was a simple delight. My grandmother pulling up a stool beside the stove, stirring a large pot of homemade raspberry Jell-O, the scent wafting to my nostrils; it spoke of her love for a little girl whose rapt adoration was treasured like a little token. My mother bringing me fresh raspberries in a bright orange Tupperware bowl after having spent an entire day searching for them to satisfy a deathly sick little girl's was as if I knew the raspberries were the key to holding onto life. Every evening the aroma of a flower delicately scented with tinges of raspberry floats around my apartment. Living in San Diego has been difficult with unsuccessful job searches, law school rejections and money problems, but just the same, I can't help but stop to smell the flowers.

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