Five Years a Writer

About a month ago, memories of my father listening to music came flooding back to me. They were triggered by having had delivered to our house the sound system on which Dad would play his CDs. (It had been taking up room in Mum’s suite and she was happy to gain the space by sending it along to us.) Dad loved classical music, often playing Bach, Vivaldi or Mozart at a volume the rest of us did not necessarily appreciate. But he persisted and he enjoyed every note. In among the boxes was also a pottery container with a wooden lid. This item brought to mind memories of my mother cooking. Mum used it to hold salt and it always sat on the counter beside the stove: She would flip open the lid, dip in with her fingers and add the pinch or two of salt to whatever she was making. While I’m not sure that Mum loved cooking as much as Dad loved listening to music, she was a wonderful cook and prepared countless delicious meals that her family and friends enjoyed with good conversation around the t