My Version: The Results

Did the girls like coming home to a “delectable smell coming from the kitchen?” Did they love the dinner their Mommy made them? Did they eat it all up, right to the last morsel?

Oh, yes they did. They know better than to bruise my ego.

My Version

I’m waiting, the work has been done.  My version of beef barley stew sits simmering on the stove top.

I have to say Becky was entirely wrong about how it would take less time doing it on my own.  Whatever she and I added to the prep time with our chit-chatting, I used the commensurate in trying to locate ingredients and tools and second-guessing myself.

Just like Becky makes

The Relationship

Becky was born 6 years and 2 months after me.  I already had an older sister and a younger brother; I was desperate for an ally.  My mom (and dad) accommodated my unspoken request and gave birth to one of my favourite people on the planet.  From the moment she was born, I claimed Becky for my own.  I would take her everywhere I went.  I taught her the alphabet and how to wear make-up.  She taught me how to make-believe and, today, how to cook. Or, to be fair, today she taught me how to make beef barley stew.

Of all of us Galbraith girls, Becky has embraced her dark domestic side the most.  She is creative and crafty and is always delighted to play the part of hostess.  She happily embraces activities like scrap-booking or make-your-own Christmas decorations.  She loves the letters D-I-Y.  Everything she touches turns into beauty. This gift applies to cooking as well. She gets such great joy out of creating and dreaming up new dishes even says things like “I’m so in love with cooking.”  Why don’t you marry it then, right?  Plus Joy is her middle name.  It was appropriate  that Becky was my first teacher.