Her Hand
Years ago, my mother compiled this beautiful scrapbook of
recipes she’d collected. She decorated the pages with pictures of the food and
ingredients, even including dried herbs on a few, and every recipe was
beautifully handwritten.
Each page was so beautiful,
I got a few of them printed onto tea towels.
When I showed them to
my sister, she asked why I did it.
“Because Mum’s
handwriting was just so beautiful.”
She snorted in
derision.
“What are you talking
about? Mum’s handwriting was awful, do you have any idea how long it took for
her to make these look good?”
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