Stirring the cookie batter this morning I felt her presence next to me. I folded the batter over and over again and I looked at my hand and instead of seeing my hand I saw hers. The cookie recipe I sell at the tea house is my mother's. When people ask for the recipe, I tell them it's my mother's recipe and that there is not a written recipe to share and that I make these cookies slightly differently everyday just going off my memory.
And her ever present guidance.