Cepelinai-Shaped Love

I don’t know how to make cepelinai.

Well… I could probably manage if I really focused and rolled something together. But then I think about peeling and grating all those “bulbs,” shaping them into dumplings, and finally boiling them. Most likely, what I’d end up with would be… cepelinai soup. So I abandon the thought.

Because in life, I indulge in the luxury of biting into ready-made ones at Mom’s—fresh off her hands.

For whom peeling or digging up potatoes is never a burden.
For whom scraping a whole batch in the early morning, after getting up before everyone else, is easy.
For whom rolling a few pots of cepelinai and making sure the filling isn’t just any meat—but organically raised meat ground by hand at home—is effortless.

I bite, savor, and think: I too rarely say “thank you” to Mom. Too often we take all this for granted.

Because just imagining having to make two pots of these dumplings myself—ugh—I’d be terribly unhappy.

Cepelinai full belly,
And happy.
V.