My grandmother firmly believed that it was bad for you to eat raw dough - bread dough, cookie dough and the like. My grandmother was, let's just say, an opinionated worman. It was difficult to say no to her.
I rememeber my mother having fights with her about letting us eat dough. My mother made noodles, bread, muffins, biscuits. She was always busy. And my mother actually encouraged us to eat the raw dough. I think it was her little way of rebelling against a fairly firm and dominant person.
I have a house full of guests coming later in the week. A family wedding this Friday. More on that later. I'm doing a bit a preparation in the kitchen and pantry for their arrival. So here I am, mixing dough and scooping out fingerfuls straight into my mouth. And telling my husband about this story. He is rolling with laughter, having heard so many stories about my grandmother.
Here, today, Grandma, I forgive you for everything. I know that you had many challenges and that your life was hard. Having young children during the Depression must have been difficult. I don't even know what all of those challenges were. I wish that I had you here to tell me in a way that my mature mind could understand. I regret that I didn't listen a little better and try to understand a little more when I was younger. I know that you did the best you could. Thank you for teaching me what you knew, protecting me, and feeding me.
Remember to forgive.