Soaking it all in

 Another great Thanksgiving memory.... We all get to that point in our lives when we start to transition from adolescence to adulthood. We go out and get our first job. We find our own places to live, buy our own groceries and cook our own meals. Cooking our own meals — wait, what? Yes, at some point I had to start cooking, but leave it to me to do things backwards. I got a job, saved up, got my own place, moved out, bought my groceries and then stared at the oven and stovetop like they were foreign objects. I wanted the home-cooked meals my mom made. But I had never watched her cook or worked with her in the kitchen. I just showed up when she would call out, “Dinner is ready!” from the front door. (Remember that era, when kids played outside?) There I was, a strong independent Cuban woman who could boil an egg (sometimes), but didn’t know how to cook rice, let alone marinate a steak or chicken (what spices should I use?) or how long to even bake a potato. Pathetic right?...