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Thursday, January 19, 2012

Mother’s Slice of Tomato

One of my most cherished memories as a youngster was founded when our family was on vacation.  In the 50’s we traveled to Tuscaloosa, Alabama from Florida on two-lane roads going through many farming areas.  Sometimes we would stop at a roadside stand for local fruits or vegetables.  We would also stop at stores selling bread, sodas, and luncheon meat.  We would park under the shade of tree.  Mother would be on the passenger side in the front seat with daddy.  She would make sandwiches and pass them around.  She would turn towards the back and ask us boys what we wanted on our sandwich.  I recall vividly her cutting a thick tomato slice and looking inquisitively at me asking if I wanted tomato.  Years later on a trip to North Carolina I wanted mother to reestablish this mental snapshot.  We were at a rest area and I asked mother to please cut me a slice of tomato we had just purchased at a roadside stand.  I took the photo above at that time.  This particular image means much to me for the loving focus and solicitation shown typified her approach to family—indeed, to everything.