There is nothing more reassuring than the smell of sauce simmering on the stove all day.  It speaks to a primal base in everyone.  It tells you that someone cared enough about you to sear the pork until its crusty and golden, mix the meatballs by hand, chop all the vegetables, and use only the freshest ingredients. 

It tells you that even in this fast paced world tradition can endure.  That many hearts and hands have passed along the basics so that you could make your own version to please and pass along to others.

It can stop people in their tracks as they pass your open window and conjure up some memory from childhood.  It can draw people to your home bearing plastic containers just begging to be filled. It can create the most memorable meal some might ever have.

It tells you that you can just come home.

Today was the perfect summer day.  The breeze was blowing just like it did through the two sugar maples that held my father’s hammock when we were kids.  It was warm and dry and smelled like grass.  It was the perfect day to move from one form of doing nothing to another.  Coffee on the deck in the coolness of the morning, listening to the birds and squirrels foraging for breakfast.  Start a new book.  Lunch on the deck.  Laze around the pool, shower and let your hair air dry.  Wine and a light dinner with friends, back to the deck for the evening breezes and a dessert of dark chocolate covered almonds that melted ever so slightly in your hand.  Perfect.