Potato Soup

It was pretty good potato soup, not too creamy, not too thick. Loads of flavor. But, still, it wasn't Mom's potato soup.

I lost my Mom two years ago, to a horrible blood cancer. She was always an amazing cook, until those last few months. Two years of treatment, chemo and radiation, much of it experimental, left her with many days of exhaustion. But still she cooked.

This was a woman who worked my whole life, often not cooking a meal during the week, thanks to her life as a realtor. But in her younger years, as the daughter of a rancher and as a young wife, she cooked. And in her later life, when children were out of the nest, she cooked again.

The most amazing beans, the best roast beef and gravy, even chipped beef on toast. And that potato soup. When I was sick, which thankfully wasn't often, it was what I wanted most. And she would make it. I suppose because I was sick I never watched her fix it, and so the secret is lost. Not that it matters since I've come to know a truth. No one can ever duplicate the remembered taste of a mother's meal. My potato soup, or potato salad will never stand up to any memory I have of Mom's. But they will stand on their own. My children love my potato soup, even if it lacks something in my mind. And I guess that's really the point. We all have to go our own way in the world. And each of us is different.

Potato Soup © 2008
Janice Arrowood