The aga was the sweetest of caramel browns, and forever took its place in the heart of my memories.
Upon that comforting black topped aga came the aromas of heaven, the fragrance of loving nurture.
The aga was ever warm, ever a symbol of the heart of our family, for my mother expressed her love through food.
There was a fire in that old aga everyday that I thought of myself as a child, and even long into adulthood. It was a whole thing, more than metal, more than nostalgia. Those aromas and the warmth it brought are so intwined with memories of my mother's love, those small moments of affection that built the foundation of who I am today.
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