A Letter From Nana

Well, pull up a chair — this is the first letter, and it's coming to you from a week that did not go as planned.

Granddaughters visiting. A husband home from surgery. A kitchen that saw more chips, cheese, and nachos than anything resembling a real dinner plan. And you know what? That's okay. Nobody went hungry, everybody got loved on, and the kitchen will still be there next week.

Here's the one thing this crazy week taught worth passing along: when time runs short, everything in the kitchen sorts into two piles — what can wait, and what can't.

The broth simmering on my mental to-do list? It can wait. The bag of dried beans? They'll sit patiently for months — that's the whole point of them. But the peach tree out back is another story. The birds found it before the week did, and they are not waiting for anyone's schedule to clear. By week's end, those sweet treats will be gone — to us or to them.

So the beans got benched, and the peaches got picked — with extra hands, as it turned out. Those granddaughters rolled up their sleeves and jumped right in, and somewhere between the tree and the kitchen it hit me: what remarkable young women they've become. Each one her own person, each one worth watching grow. The peaches were almost beside the point.

Most of them never even made it inside — eaten right off the tree, juice down the chin, which might be exactly what peaches are for. A peach crisp may still happen. Jam will not. And that's a decision, not a failure.

That's the skill, if there is one this week: don't try to do it all. Just ask what can't wait, do that, and let the rest sit without guilt.

Now it's your turn — what's waiting in your kitchen this week, and what actually can't? Hit reply and tell me. Every answer gets read at this table.

Hugs!

Nana