After the funeral, nourishing plates of condolences brought by friends and neighbors are sitting on the table. Nothing looks good but the cornbread does offer a certain familiarity.
One bite, the memories gather, connect, conspire and fling me back in time. Not lost in thought but transported- body, mind and spirit. For a split second I am terrified. I have crashed at my grandmother’s feet in the middle of her kitchen. My Grandmother, on seeing her face and her hands I feel comforted.
Standing in her kitchen, butter beans on the stove, her cornbread still in the iron skillet. It’s been more than forty years since I would have eaten cornbread that she baked. If you had asked, I couldn’t have said if I had ever eaten cornbread that she’d made. I would have said-‘well of course I’m sure she made cornbread but I just don’t remember it.’
Now, nearly trembling, I offer it to my sister. “This is Grandmother’s cornbread, it tastes terrible.” Puzzled, she tastes it and nods, “It’s the bacon grease, it’s rancid.”
Bacon grease, that is the connecting memory. Sometimes saved too long and often used in baking cornbread. Someone is still baking their cornbread that way and offered it on a plate of condolence.
Memories, long forgotten, triggered by a taste. In an instant I had been picked up and plopped down in that other time; a little scary, but at the same time, a hug from the past. Enough emotion to quickly take my breath away and make my head tingle. For a split second , I am actually there. My heart is overwhelmed. I know I’ll be longing for her on my return, so I take her sweet smile back with me and now I carry it in my heart.
Be Well. Stay Safe. Much Love.
Story & Photos: © 2020 Molly Cox
Not sure I have evet seen this photo! So much like Leslie! And the whole falling is new story to me. Keep it up!