MOM'S COOKING
Mom would love to cook her boys breakfast.  Her breakfast would consist of a short stack of pancakes and bacon or sausage, always with a pot of fresh-brewed coffee.  She enjoyed mixing the batter, its sound, and the viscosity of whipping.  There may not be a more comforting feeling than to see one's mother standing in the kitchen, herself warmed by the heat of the pan, preparing breakfast on your behalf.  All was right.  All was love.  She would time the cooking of the pancakes by boiling a pan of water in which to place the syrup and heat it so that it would pour thinly over the pancakes.  She always purchased Mrs. Buttersworth syrup.  Though we knew that the ingredients were probably not the best, I felt that her hand transformed everything she touched.  She'd place the bottle of syrup in the boiling water and let it thin.  Taking it out, she'd place the bottle on a saucer, next to the plate of butter from which we'd slab generously.  As I see my mother cooking in the kitchen I can't help but think of her cooking in Aunt Gertrude's kitchen on Clarkson in Denver, where she was domesticated right out of high school.