She made a simple spaghetti. Noodles and V8 juice. Yep. Just noodles and V8 juice.
I still remember sitting at her dining room table. Slurping. Laughing. Eating.
I make a more involved spaghetti. Whole wheat noodles. Pasta sauce. Ground beef. Mushrooms. Garlic. Seasoning.
My boys sit at my table. They slurp. They laugh. They eat.
Every time I sauté the mushrooms, garlic and seasoning, I think of her. As the ground beef is browning, I remember the way she would move around her small kitchen.
As I pour the whole wheat noodles into the boiling water, I chuckle at her plain white noodles. I wonder would she use whole wheat now.
As I pour in the store-bought three cheese sauce to simmer, I can almost taste the V8 juice. As I watch my boys eat, I think of sitting at the table with my siblings and cousins.
My boys cheer for my spaghetti. I’m sure I cheered for my grandma’s spaghetti. What I wouldn’t give to slurpe, giggle and eat at her table just one more time. Her simple spaghetti of noodles and V8 juice.
My grandma died in a car accident almost fifteen years ago. The older I get, the more I miss her.