About Fabianne

Fabianne’s personality was hard to outshine.  She was one of those people that you met and never forgot.  She was a dreamer – creative, always wanting to impress.  Her family was her lifeline, and she was proud of all of her family members and the people she called her friends.  I should know; she was my mother.

After my 3rd grade school play

 

My memories from my childhood are not the best – as in, I have a hard time remembering much.  Only snippets.  To give you the briefest background possible, for the better part of my adolescent and adult life, my mother and I had a very strained relationship.  In fact, as an adult, we went years without speaking.  I’d rather not go into the reasons why, but our relationship was challenging. 

We reconnected, after a 3-year break, in April of 2009 with the anticipation of my brother’s wedding.  Between that time and February 28, 2010, we had come to an understanding.  Sadly, it was on that day that she passed away.  As shocking as her death was, and as much as there were still things to be said, I have peace with knowing that we were able to somewhat reconcile. 

Taken the night before my brother's wedding (Oct '09)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  In the weeks that followed and as my brother and I sorted through her things and decided who would take the furniture, the mementos, the memories, I took home a bin filled with cookbooks.  It took me several months before I was able to look through this bin.  When I finally did, something magical happened.  I found her composition books – yellowed and stained with age and use – filled with hand-written recipes and notes.  I realized with each turn of the page, a recipe brought back a new memory – and each time I remembered the happiness and love of my family.  I started to reconnect with my mother via this legacy of food.

It was then that I decided that I would take a journey through her cookbooks.  I would recreate the recipes that she made, and tell the stories that are tied with them, and more importantly, our relationship.  Through the years, circumstances and hurt feelings came between us.  It’s time to remember the love.

*Note.. these are recipes that were handwritten in her composition books.  I don’t know where they came from – they could be copied from somewhere else, they could be family recipes or they could be her own creations.  I no longer have the opportunity to ask her that question.