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Raw Amber

“So tell me…, are you my daughter or my granddaughter?”

“Granddaughter, Grandma.”

“Granddaughter. My beloved granddaughter.” She was

looking into my face with warmth in her eyes. “Very good.”

Reassured in the facts, she returned to peeling vegetables.

“Just after we finish making the soup, I’m going to give you

something. A necklace of raw amber.”

“You’ve already given it to me. It’s exquisite. I tell everybody

it’s a present from you.”

“Well, no need to tell it to everybody.” She laughed with

restraint, but joy was present in her voice.

Moderation and restraint ruled her life. When I was a child,

I was fascinated with how she could make something out of

nothing. In her house nothing was ever wasted. I loved

listening to her stories about which vegetables get along

well and which ones do not like growing in each other’s

company and why. “Some of it is science and some of it is

my own philosophy,” she would emphasize. The vegetables

competed with each other in quality and quantity, just to

get into Grandma’s good graces. Cucumbers multiplied.