Comfort reminds me of food. It reminds me of how wonderful my grandma’s house smelled when she was making dinner. She did not set off fire alarms nearly as much as I do now. I still haven’t figured out how her spaghetti sauce tasted so much better than anyone else’s. In the last fifteen years, I have tried everything I can think of to copy her sauce but to no avail. I should have paid more attention to what she was doing in the kitchen.
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