A delicious dose of now
Tis the season! This weekend we launch what is perhaps my favorite time of the year. Beginning with Halloween I get to make candy, bake confections, roast succulent meats and whir together substantial soups to my heart’s content!
I just have no one to feed.
Be patient with me if I invite you for dinner. Humor me. Say yes. Bring your children. Weather all sorts of questions about allergies and preferences between cream, blue, brie, and Gruyère cheeses. Don’t mind me if I also quiz you on onions, mushrooms, garlic, and celery since I like to cook with those too. Except mushrooms- but for you and your children, I will conquer mushrooms given your desire and demand! I want your kids to like what I make. I want them to eat it and like it.
I want you to like it too, of course. You matter to me. I see you. I’m not ignoring you.
Better yet, let’s cook together. Having never shared a kitchen with anyone other than my children, who I simultaneously bossed and instructed, I’m not sure I’m good at that. But I’m willing to try.
I promise not to yell at you or shame you for scalding the milk or huff at you for getting in my way. I won’t tell you to move twice as fast and get the pepper slices uniform. I PROMISE! Not that I’ve ever done any of that before. Don’t worry, I live in reality. I know you aren’t my son or daughter and we don’t have a holiday meal to perform ten dishes and feed twenty, plating on two separate tables with separate matching dishes for each.
It’ll be a relaxing time sipping wine and sharing techniques. (C’mon, if you’ve ever said we’d cook together, look at your calendar; now’s the time!)
Pretty soon I will be posting glossy pics of dipped candies and rolled doughs and delicately sprinkled spices rolled between layers of poultry. I will. I’m gearing up. And I’m excited!
All the years of teaching I whined for time at home from now until Christmas break to revel in my domestic diva-ness. Nearly every day, I had visions of gingerbread men, of towering layered tortes, of piped and chocolate-dipped drunken apricot orbs dancing in my head. To say nothing of the garlands of tangled fauna I mentally strung on every railing. While I was teaching.
This season, although I have the luxury of more time at home, I also have other demands on my time and an equally pressing demand on my pocketbook. More than that, however, I’ve learned to Get Real and enjoy what is.
That means I am going to enjoy getting up before first light to write. (November is National Novel Writing Month; I’m participating this year.) Then I shall enjoy the YMCA where I will sweat copious amounts and feel refreshed, return home to edit photos and do some writing I’ll be paid for. In the evenings I will enjoy shooting hockey, perhaps some basketball, maybe down-hill skiing if I get my contracts in order. I will enjoy dancing at least three times a week, entertaining friends, and cooking!
The important thing: what’s right in front of me. That means this post. Never mind I’m sitting in a 62 degree kitchen wearing my bath towel and the Afghani scarf ManBoy brought last June. (Those scarves make excellent head and hip wear for the pirate I became last night for a costume birthday party and will repeat tonight for pre-Halloween dancing festivities. Thank you, Heath!)
I’m ignoring the two sinks of dishes stacked kitty-wampous from last night’s successful venture mixing, rolling, braising, finishing, and saucing six pounds of delectable beef and pork meatballs in about thirty minutes. I’m ignoring the splotches of sauce on the floor, the loaded dishwasher, the dirty and satisfyingly empty crock I brought home at 1:00 last night.
I’m ignoring the camera sitting on the table next to me, whose settings I must check for the 2pm semi-final Section playoff game I will delightfully capture in brilliant vivid color starting just about an hour from now.
I am not lying when I say I love my life. Every single moment of it is just delicious. Including the shower I will take in about five minutes from now.
