Mom and Daughters

crocus-flower-spring-buhen-55828 (1)At least one continent is celebrating Mother’s Day today and since this great Nation adopted us, we celebrate it like everybody else. Flowers, gifts and kisses on my cheeks,I have a sweet time with my two daughters in the Bay Area up North in California.

As they sat up in bed next to me with a cup of coffee this morning, I was so grateful for my two beautiful little girls who turned into such amazing women. I remember them crawling on my lap, coloring a card with the word “mom” on top, with sticky fingers from a lollypop.

I love you, my girls!



Mom’s Picture – Poem


Mom’s Picture

Poem By Rodica Iova

My heart is full of your love.

I look at your picture on my nightstand

And I see you smiling at me.

I remember your blouse

With white and black pattern

And the scarf from dad.

You never had a necklace, mom

Because you placed yourself

On the bottom of the list all the time.

You gave me not only life,

But you gave yourself to me

To see me stretching my wings

To conquer the sky.



Ice Cream during the Communism


There were basically two kinds of ice cream when I was little. Number one in the nation was vanilla ice cream. That was because the cost to make it was the lowest. Cocoa powder ice cream (not chocolate) was the second. Cocoa powder ice cream was the most popular one. Light brown, with a slim pinch of cocoa powder per piece to keep the cost of the production as low as possible, cocoa powder ice cream was out of this world for us.

I found out many years later that the base for the ice cream recipe was heavy cream in the beginning of the communism. They switched to milk with water after that when food started to be a problem.

There were another two kinds of ice cream you could get only in the sweet shops, raisins ice cream, pink and watery, and pistachio ice cream. I have no idea why they called it “pistachio” because nothing in it resembled with that flavor or color. The ice cream was green and had a sugary taste. But the elegant ladies wearing their floral dresses on summers ordered that kind at the cake shop. Once a week everybody could be a little snobbish.

I ate my first ice cream in my second grade. Not in a cone, but in a shell. Small and delicious, I was so grateful to my parents for buying it for me. They let me walk in front of them that Sunday, while mom and dad were arm in arm. Mom was wearing a pair of white lace gloves, the pride of her wardrobe, and high hills.

That was happiness.