Food for Thought

From the time I was a child growing up in New Jersey，I loved spending weekends with my grandparents．Their big old house was cozy1)，and I felt especially welcome and relaxed in Granny's small kitchen．It was there that we had intimate conversations，and Granny always seemed to include morsels2) of wisdom with every recipe she prepared．

 

I remember one Saturday morning in particular．I was about １１years old and had spent the night3)．After breakfast I asked Granny，“What kind of soup are you making today？”I could smell the broth4) simmering5) in a blue－speckled enamelware pot6) on top of the old gas stove．

 

“Vegetable beef，”she answered．“And you can help by chopping7) some carrots and celery．”

 

Granny tied an apron around her full waist8)．We got the vegetables from the refrigerator：onions，carrots，celery，potatoes and cauliflower9)．She gave me a knife and cutting board so I could do my share of the work．

 

As I slowly peeled carrots，I lamented10)，“I've got to give an oral book report next week and I' m scared．”

 

Granny looked at me and then back to the handful of chopped onions she had measured in her hand．She dumped11) them into the soup pot and said，“Most people are afraid of public speaking．But remember，the only thing we have to fear is fear itself．So，what exactly are you afraid of？”

 

I slumped12) in my chair．“Everything，I guess．I don' t like standing up in front of everybody．What if I forget what I'm going to say？Or what if somebody laughs？”

 

“And what if you do just fine？”Granny asked．“Have you prepared notes？”

 

“Well，no．That would be a lot of extra work．”

 

“Hard work never hurt anyone，”Granny cautioned as she pointed the wooden spoon toward me．“You could try practicing in front of a mirror．”

 

I pushed the pieces of carrots to the side of the cutting board．The room was quiet except for Granny's thick－heeled13) lace－up14) shoes clicking across the worn linoleum15) floor．She took the chopped carrots to the stove and added them to the soup．Then，as I sliced celery，I went on to complain about schoolwork，friends and family．As far as I was concerned，I had more troubles than the amount of chopped vegetables on the wooden cutting board in front of me．

 

Granny took it all in16)，listening patiently while I sputtered17) about the bits and pieces of grief in my life．Wiping her hands on her apron，she brushed a strand18) of curly gray hair from her brow and sat down next to me．That close，I could smell the scent of her face powder19)．It not only whitened her face but made every wrinkle show up too．

 

I stopped cutting and looked into my grandmother's blue－gray eyes．Her expression was stern20) yet gentle．“Nancy，”she started，“there's nothing wrong with a little trouble in your life．It adds character．”

 

I sat back，but Granny leaned closer．Her glasses，which hung from a chain around her neck，hit the table，emphasizing her movement．I know she must have something important to say．

 

“Do you like my soup？”she asked．Soup？I wondered．I thought we were talking about my life．

 

“I love your soup，Granny．”I said．

 

“Well，you know，a lot of people don't make home－made soup these days．They say it's too much trouble．First you have to cook a nice broth and then chop all the vegetables into bite－size pieces．”

 

“But I don' t mind a little trouble，”she said．“It adds variety and flavor to my soup－－and to my life．My soup would be pretty bland without the vegetables，and so would my life if it didn't have the little ups and downs21)．”

 

After pausing she added，“Besides，you have to remember that God knows exactly what he' s cooking up in your life．You've got to trust him with the recipe22)．”She smiled and then walked to the sink to start washing the dishes．

 

While I helped Granny clean up，I thought about what she had said．I still had a few days to practice my oral report．

 

That Saturday，Granny gave me food for thought as well as a bowl of her homemade soup．Every spoonful of Granny's masterpiece23) was loaded with delicious bits of meat and vegetables．As I enjoyed the meal with my grandparents，somehow my problems didn't seem quite so big anymore．I would have to work on them，but Granny had said hard work paid off24)．Maybe I too could turn a little trouble into something as special as Granny's homemade soup．

 

by Nancy Otto Boffo