The summer she taught me to bake
I was eight, impatient, and certain I knew everything. She handed me an apron, smiled, and said, 'Then you'll be the one to wait for it to rise.' I think about that almost every day.
Margaret, granddaughter
Shared Memories
Stories from
the people who loved them.
The blue notebook
She kept a notebook of small, beautiful things — a bird at the feeder, a phrase from a book, the color of the sky on a particular Tuesday. I have it now. It is the most generous thing I own.
James, son
Her chair
There was always a cup of tea waiting. There was always time. I never once felt I was interrupting her, even though I almost always was.
Anna, neighbor