I have an image in my mind of my grandmother, my mother’s mother. In my mind, she is the giver of things, warm, loving, generous. The maker of good food, the matriarch of her family. I don’t care so much about being a matriarch, but I would like to be remembered for love, joy, generosity, and really good food. My grandmother - bushia - haunts my imagination, whispering recipes as I cook and helping me grow into the woman I want to be remembered as.