Feast

Everything served, Mae encouraged them to start and excused herself for a few minutes. She removed her shoes and socks, grabbed her shawl from the den, and walked out to the shed holding a small potato she'd saved from the mash. It was freezing. Mae let herself into the shed and, sitting on a wooden stool she'd set inside of the door, gave thanks and ate the potato plain (no butter, no oil, no salt). "This is who you were," she said to the quiet, "and these are the many gifts you gave me: gratitude, ferocity, acceptance, ingenuity, diligence, fight, humility, fortitude, and a sense of humor about all of it. In times when I have more than this, let me be keen to share; in times when I have less than this, let me allow someone to share with me. Let me be a source of comfort for others, and a pain in my own ass so that I never forget what it's like to be uncomfortable." Mae had placed a shot of whisky in the shed earlier; she finished the potato, did the shot, and stood carefully; her feet were numb from cold and she had to make her way back to the house slowly so as not to fall.