pimento cheese and hippies.

I ordered pimento cheese grits for breakfast yesterday in honor of Mother's Day.

I grew up with my mom eating pimento cheese sandwiches. Every time, I'd be grossed out by the smell, the look, the idea of it all. It wasn't until I was out of college and living on my own in Dallas did I come to know the glory of pimento cheese.

This year, I didn't get to spend Mother's Day weekend with my mom, but I did get to spend it in Asheville, NC. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, sprinkled with varieties of ethnic cuisines and organic stores, walked by hippies, and adored by its visitors, Asheville is a place I'd like to crawl up into and never leave its side.

As I'd walk down the sidewalks of the sloping streets of downtown, I'd turn to my co-worker and friend, Alison, and say, "Look at how cool everyone looks!" Asheville is a happy place, as any place should be that reeks of this type of perfection.

The foodie in me was satisfied. The musician in me, pleased. The hippie in me, welcomed. The soul of me, full. I will return to Asheville. As soon as possible, really.

I only wish I could have taken my mom there with me. She would have loved the pimento cheese grits. The fruit salad that accompanied them looked strikingly similar to her own. She is a woman who would fit in really well in Asheville (except she'd need to find a hotel as opposed to the number of hostels I intend to visit--the woman loves her privacy and comfy bed option).

So, to my mother on this Mother's Day--I missed you dearly, but I thought of you the entire time. Let's do Asheville together next.

Love you, Mom.