Why is the soup filling you up

The salt in the soup - Vera Heinrich

The hearty scent of lovage and marjoram permeates the damp kitchen air. Mother stands by the coal stove and stirs in the large enamel pot. Just like she did for the past 50 years. Potato soup with sausages is available today. A recipe that her mother once cooked on the crackling hearth fire. Tradition and consistency are the values ​​that count here in the company. The fast-paced world with its unpredictable dynamics, its apps, its bloggers and payback cards seems just as real within these walls as a distant future with flying cars and vacation homes on Mars. Mother turns to me in her red and white patterned apron. "Will you set the table, please, Spätzle?" The fact that Spätzle now has three sparrows of its own, a house and a silver wedding anniversary next month doesn't bother her at all in her habit.

What irritates them is rather the salt shaker in the form of a cow that is not in its place. “Where do I have the salt again?” She asks. “I always have it here. Here in the spice rack. You know that, honey. Did you leave it somewhere and not put it back? ”I smile at her, put my hand on her shoulder. “We'll find it, Mutti.” In her gaze I can feel the uncertainty that has been showing up more and more recently in such situations. “The soup doesn't taste good without salt, child!” She calls out louder. "Help me find. You know how difficult it is for me to run. ”Before the mood changes, I start looking. First in the cupboard with the cups from all over the world, brought back from the many family vacations. Then the Art Nouveau showcase that was already in her parents' house. No salt to be found. My gaze wanders through the small kitchen, where I know every single corner. Nothing to see from the salt shaker. Mother goes to the refrigerator. “If we don't have any salt, then at least a couple of sausages.” She opens the refrigerator door and reaches for the sausage glass. Suddenly she is startled: “How did that get here?” Instead of the promised sausages, she takes the salt shaker out of the refrigerator. I shrug my shoulders and try to change the subject casually. "Ms. Holler called for you today, mom," I begin carefully. “A room will be free for you from the first day.” Mother stops adding salt to the soup. She takes the ladle and fills our plates with the steaming potato soup. "One or two sausages?" "One please," I answer. “Ms. Holler has organized a spacious single room for you with a view of the green area. Is not that great? What do you say, mom? ”I try to redirect the conversation. “Somebody else can be happy about the room with a beautiful view. I stay here. After all, I can manage very well on my own, ”she replies pointedly. “But you say yourself that you can't move that well anymore. How are you supposed to be able to keep this huge box in good shape all the time? Not to mention the garden. And there you don't need to worry about something like that any more. ”She looks me straight in the eye:“ I'm staying here and that's the end of the discussion. Eat your soup. ”I take another attempt:“ Mom, we've talked so often about it being the best for you. It's not easy for me either. I just want you to be in good hands. Of course you are much fitter than many others your age. But you yourself admitted that you have difficulties alone and often need help. That's perfectly fine too. Unfortunately, because of my work, I don't always manage to be here straight away. At St. Stephanus, someone is there for you around the clock. Besides, the children and I come to visit you every Sunday. ”She puts her spoon next to the soup plate. Tears are dripping into their soup. It stings my heart. I can no longer eat either and put the spoon down. "Please don't push me away," she pleads in a thin voice. “I don't want to be a burden to you. But please don't send me away, out of my home. ”I also cry. I take her in my arms: “No, no. Have no fear. We take care of you. We'll manage that somehow. The main thing is that you are fine, mom. ”We sit there for a while. When I say goodbye later, she gives me a tight hug and thanks me for coming. I leave my relieved mother behind in the dusty porch. When I'm back home, I'll call Ms. Holler right away to cancel my mother's place at home, I firmly plan. As soon as I have closed the gate behind me, I hear my mother leaving the house. Did she think of anything else she wanted to tell me? She comes out of the courtyard gate and joins me on the sidewalk. She looks at me with wide eyes: “Honey, I have to hurry. I have to go to the late shift. ”I catch my breath:“ Mom, you don't have a late shift today, ”I say with a lump in my throat. We'll go back into the house together.

From: Vera Heinrich

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This article was published on October 10, 2017 by Mandy written.