I couldn't have a conversation with my grandmother because she didn't speak English, but I miss her. She was gentle and kind.

She made wonderful food and had a broken heart but only love went in her food, I think because she was selfless. I didn't know then that she had lost a son and daughter, not to mention she left the only home she knew after living there almost her entire life.

When I see families in ethnic restaurants and smell the spices it makes me think of a small bit of home that was pleasurable. Food. The smell of saffron or the red stain of pomegranate juice invades my senses and I'm in the moment. I'm in the kitchen watching my Grandmother grind up saffron with a mortar and pestle or sitting with my Grandfather while he shows me how to eat a pomegranate.

Don't forget that food is a way to bring your family together and make conversation happen, make memories. Even if its dry cereal being shared from a bowl, smiles, an exchange of thoughts, they all count....