Recipe for love
Dad stopped in his tracks, inhaled deeply, smiled, and declared: It smells like Mom! No, I didn’t sneak a spritz from the perfume bottle that still sits on her dresser. And I didn’t raid their bathroom cabinet for shampoo or lotion. Even better. Gary and I had a pot roast simmering in the slow cooker. I wish I’d taken a photo of the finished product. But then again, pot roast is not known for its photogenic qualities. Sidenote: If you…