Cotton Candy Lemonade
I still remember the sound of my grandmother laughing as she spun a tuft of cotton candy above a paper cone, then watched my brother hold it over a tall …
Dalida MarinoI still remember the sound of my grandmother laughing as she spun a tuft of cotton candy above a paper cone, then watched my brother hold it over a tall …
Each time the first sparkling bubble touches the cotton candy, a thin cloud unfurls and a small laugh spills out of someone at the table. I remember the bright pink …
I still remember the first time I saw cotton candy melt into a glass. My niece had made a crown of pink floss then, with a giggle, lowered it over …
I remember the kitchen on a slow Sunday in late autumn. The light leaned low through the curtains and warmed the wooden table where my grandmother sat peeling Vidalia onions …
I remember the kitchen light in late afternoon, the slices of sweet onion catching the sun and turning soft and translucent in my mother’s hands. The air would fill with …
I still remember the warm hush in my childhood kitchen when the pecans clicked gently in my grandmother’s pan. The air filled with a sweet, toasty scent that felt like …
I can still smell the first sip. It was bright with cherry and raspberry, cool on my tongue, and warmed by the memory of my sister laughing across the kitchen …
I can still smell the toasted almonds when I close my eyes. I remember the soft clink of glasses and my grandmother’s hands moving with the ease of years, placing …
I remember the first time I made a Polar Bear Cocktail for my family. It was a small kitchen, warm from the oven, and my niece sat on the counter …
When the sun slides low and the porch becomes a pool of honeyed light, I still reach for a blender and a bowl of strawberries. The first sip of a …