The cookbook of Pioche. The people who loved me first.

I loved the one I had. I have looked everywhere. I used it and looked in my closet. The shelf of cookbooks. All over. It had Erma’s recipes. A lot of the special women who have passed. She was my rock when it was so so hard. She knew I needed her. 💜. And she and my sewing group were the ones who just held me up. But Erma. She knew how hard it was. We spent so much time together. We emailed and called until she passed. And her son said she called my name in her semi conscious place. She was love. Is love. I guess that cookbook is my part of her. To hold. She made me divinity. She gave my kids divinity. We’d just sit and talk on her white carpet. And Marge. I still can’t believe she is gone. It doesn’t make sense. She and Terry were like parents to me there. I could just go and take my practice bakes around to them and my other buddies. I miss that love. They loved me and so many others like you and Trista when I was so very alone in my own home. You didn’t know how much your kindness truly meant to me. How those walks for me were to get out of the house. And to have my circle around town to see people ! I’d stop at the banks. The library. The post office. The museum. And then I’d go home. And luckily in the evening the sisters needed someone. I loved going with them. It fed my soul. It gave me the strength I needed. But I love the beauty of Pioche. The love of the people who loved this new gal who was so awkward. Felt so out of place. And was so alone. If I could come visit again I’d have to have a traveling buddy. But I just had to tell you how you impacted my life. And I know you do for others. I love you all.

Love ,



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