I do a lot of cooking and baking. It gives my creativity somewhere to go (usually to my hips and belly). The irony there is that my husband did most of the cooking when he was alive. He’d cook, I’d bake. It was a good balance of chores. I miss having someone cook for me. It always made me feel cherished in a way that going out to eat, no matter how nice the place, just doesn’t.
My husband was the king of the grill at our house, always charcoal, and he could grill anything, although he tended to overdo the chicken just a little. Now, I grill on an LP grill that has no smoke or soul.
I miss my husband.

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