Baffi Soup

Gently crackling in the heat of the olive oil the freshly chopped onions and celery took on their respective translucent and pale green color. The diced leftovers from the previous week along with beef and chicken stock renderings were waiting to be added. A few special spices and additives had taken their place early in the preparation. Now the “Baffi soup” would soon be ready for consumption.  With the smell and taste came fond memories, both distant and near. Distant were the days as the kids were growing up when we enjoyed our almost weekly weekend soup medley during a warm family dinner. Near were the memories of the past week when each meal was lovingly constructed as an artist applying his color to the once blank canvass. Absent in all those memories were the moments of challenge with stiffness or tremor. This mirror of the week and years gone by reflects more delight than dismay. Though challenged more than once, the victory over them is the blanket of memories of which they are only a minor part. I am grateful for the opportunity to construct the “Baffi soup” of life and savor its new flavor from things past.