Banana Cream Pie.

I pulled out my recipe book today.

This sounds like I actually use this recipe book.  But, not so much.  I only pull it out a few times a year.

Because in it are only a handful of things that I actually use.

Star Valley chocolate chip cookies.

Grandma K's german pancakes.

Homemade syrup.

Mom's chili.

And banana cream pie.

I could eat an entire pie by myself.  No problem.

And as I pulled out the worn 3x5 card with my mother's handwriting on it, I could feel my heart moving its way up to my throat followed by the sting in my eyes.  Tears were coming.  Because that banana cream pie means much more to me than just a delicious dessert.

It is represents everything good I know in my life.

It is family.

It is love.

Isn't it beautiful how food can connect us so easily to some of the most beautiful moments?

Grandma Gilligan dancing in the kitchen with her 

pudding spoon, slapping at any seeking hands, 

mom standing over the stove teaching me how to 

whisk, whisk, whisk to prevent the pudding from clumping, 

sitting at the Thanksgiving table with turkey comas 

and yet, somehow making room for pie.

My grandmother taught my mother how to make these pies and my mother taught me.  And today, I will gather my girls (and boys) around me  and teach them how to make pudding from scratch.  Just like my mother did.  And just like hers did.

And it will go on and on.  

I love how food connects us to the things we love most in life.

8 Bowls of Oatmeal.

Time is precious.

So, I've become very protective of my time.  I have learned that it is okay to say no to

favors 

and programs 

and extra practices.

To more commitments.

To meetings.  

And to PTA.  

And it is okay to do nothing but watch little fingers explore cupboards, and watch as little eyes widen at the touch of a fuzzy caterpillar, and sit back and enjoy the sounds of gurgles and coos and smiles. 

There is nothing wrong with doing less.  

Because I realize that before I can even blink, my little baby girl with the chipped tooth and toddled walking will one day be walking out of my home.  And into her own.

And so, I've learned that using my time to do things like fill these eight bowls of oatmeal is enough.

It just is.

Names.

Destiny and Stormy.

And those are just two names.

There's many, many more.

Marcus.

Tony, 

                                                       Timothy, 

Gilbert.

Noel                                      and Nicole.

                                 Dede

and Meisha.

Aana, 

                         Rita, 

                                                  Steve.

Betty.

Damian.  

                                               Jacob.

Rose.

Peati.

Marvin 

                                            and Jose.

People often ask where I received my college degree.  And I answer with true alumni pride, "The University of Utah."  But when asked where I received my education, I'd have to say,

 "From these guys."  

Because you see, I learned very quickly not to let schooling get in the way of my education.  I learned that real learning comes from the people around us.  And for me, that began with some of the most incredible people I've ever known.

Maya Angelou said,

"Your legacy is what you do every day.  Your legacy is every life you've touched, every person who's life was either moved or not.  It's every person you've harmed or helped.  

That's your legacy."

So thank you.  To all of you.  For really moving me to be better.  For really touching me.  For helping me to understand the world just a little bit better.

You've left a beautiful legacy 

on me 

and taught me more than I could have ever 

imagined possible.

You are more than just names to me.  I will never forget any of you.

Never.

Buckets.

Sometimes I feel 

e m p t y.

Like I have nothing else to give.

And nothing left to 

cope 

with what may come.

And when those moments come, I have to make a decision.

About what to do with the time that is given to me to fill up that emptiness.

There are many choices.

And those choices either fill me up

or 

drain 

me 

even 

more.

But I've learned where to fill my bucket.  Totally and completely.

It's in moments like these.

I hope it fills yours today.