There have been many times, I'm almost certain, that I should have been a contestant on America's Most Wanted.  My passions were driven by booze and illicit drugs.  Not bad for a young lass from a state that is typically a rest stop for going somewhere else!  The breakfast table has always been my inspiration, my only hope at sobriety.  Far away and far from home at wit's end and at my rock's bottom, memories of warm Saturday mornings often were the link between the world outside and the insanity of alcoholism.

That being, said, inspiration for a confused budding chef such as myself came in the form of a quiet unassuming woman aptly named Ma!

My mother in the calm and innocence of her tranquility relinquished her own strong beliefs to bring me back from the depths of addiction.

In the depths of my depair a standard breakfast began with a raw egg in a mug full of beer.  I've vowed to not hold back in this story telling for I run an honest program.  After gasping and choking, regurgitating and crying, a strong cup of coffee laced with cheap vodka finished my morning meal.  Enough said.

Although, it may seem trite and well used, a daughter's homage to her mother will never fade.  As young as a preteen, my mother had known I was an alcoholic.  Born from an era that firmly believed in don't ask don't tell.  She never lost steam.  She held fast to sacrifice, conviction and love.  During my stays at rehab and my misguided and false attempts at social drinking my mother has been the cornerstone to all the purity that I had so longed for. 

I remember in my darkest hour, a hazy yet clear as forever day kept my spirits alive!  It is a Saturday morning in New Hampshire nineteen eighty five.  I'm looking for that toy that is never easily found in my box of Frosted Flakes.  Though way past the age of playing with toys, I look for it just the same.  The radio is playing at a playful level.  The well worn breakfast table supports the weight of this middle class family.  Or is that so?  Could it just be that the woman in the background?  Full of grace.  Full of spirituality.  Could it just be that she is the foundation to which all meals are met?

Quietly as the moment recedes into today, my tiny dancer, my mother full of refinement sings to me,"I just called to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart."  Her head tilts.  A quizzical poise strikes her.  I know now what she knew than.   Her life would be filled with many sacrifices.  She is the mother of a recovering addict. There are no words to describe such a surrender.  Only moments of awakenings.