I answered an unknown number on my cell phone yesterday. I’m so glad that I did.
It was my daughter calling from Bolivia. It was sweet to hear her voice. The nature of her question and this picture that she posted were clues that she just might have been making Friday night pizza.
This made me smile.
For years homemade pizza was a Friday night staple in this house. Many a batch of pizza dough was mixed up and spread over pans by my biggest girls. I’m sure there are stories they could tell.
I hope it continues to be a staple. though this season may shift it to Saturday ~ or ~ Sunday night pizza. Friday nights lend themselves to convenience food these working-mama days.
It’s amazing how food connects us.
It’s amazing how we can wonder if any of it matters, the mixing and rising and stretching and tradition. Week after week. Coming and going.
And then one day a phone call comes and a picture is posted and connection is felt over thousands of miles.
I am grateful to have glimpsed the goodness of family memories and traditions. Started by me! The one who feels totally inadequate to mother was reminded that it is all grace, and it is good.