If you invite yourself to dinner at Don’s, and your invitation is accepted, you may be served sweet buttered corn so fresh it snuggles the memory of the garden’s afternoon sun, and carrots scrubbed glossy and turned in butter, and slices of fried ham, or roast of beef from the crockpot. And did I mention potatoes? Well, no matter what else, there will always be potatoes, for the garden has performed its usual wonders. And you may find it difficult to believe that up until a year ago Don’s meals had all been cooked by his mother, or his wife, or an unseen cook behind a swinging door.
So is this then the final proof that an old dog can learn new tricks, or is it simply Don’s indisputable declaration that eighty is not old at all for some dogs?
No comments:
Post a Comment