The phone rings and I answer it. I have just come inside to grab a knife for the corn I am husking for the freezer.
I assume it is my Jasmine wanting to let me know about pick up time for the high school introduction day she is attending.
It isn't. It's my oldest daughter Brittany, the one who was recently married here.
I was making cinnamon buns and when I took the pan out of the oven just now, it shattered and broke into a million pieces."
I listen to her and offer my sympathies as best I can. We discuss how and what made this happen; to not much avail. (I can only reason that the pan was either cracked or something because it just seems too odd!)
I understand how terribly frustrating something like this is, especially when you are at the end result of something that is SO labour intensive as yeast baking is.
I advise her that No it likely is not wise to eat them, no matter how delicious they appear, glass could have still gotten in there somehow.
I know she knows this, but in catastrophic moments such as this sometimes good judgement calls are waned.
We hang up and I head back out to my lawn chair in the sun. This afternoon has provided me with some rare time alone.
This is not a natural commodity in the summer. My kids have all left for some time with friends before school and routine. I welcome the quiet even if it means I am stuck husking corn by myself.
My sister's daughter moved away to school yesterday. My thoughts have been with her and her family much today.
I recall the day three years ago when my eldest left for school. The empty spot they leave and the way their vacancy is not easily replaced.
Now my daughter has graduated. She has married and moved on. Heart strings have expanded and stretched in all sorts of amazing ways.
I am glad for this time alone to be introspective.
My knife cuts off all of the sweet,juicy kernels that we will enjoy when the snow flies.
I think about mothers and daughters. The tenacity that this relationship has. I send my daughter a text to console her as she cleans up shattered glass and resists the urge to sample warm cinnamon buns.
Back outside in the warmth of the August sun, I can't help myself; I laugh!