Because if I've learned anything from this tumultuous timeline it's that I've got to go for it with all my heart. I have to believe in myself. I have to try.
It made me think about a lot of times in my life when I felt at peace. And then I remember the halibut. So I went and bought some.
Is it great to lip grab a bass and snap a picture? It is great to toss a few in the basket, hoping maybe this time we'll catch enough for a fish dinner? It is thrilling when your son catches a fish for the first time, only to have a larger fish jump out of the water to try to grab the fish he's pulling through the surface? Yes. But when I think of fishing I don't think of a taut line. I don't think of a wild reel. I don't think of the dance it requires to succeed.
My husband's birthday was this past week. It was his second pandemic birthday. One was hard enough for my Aries, but we made it through. Hopefully this is the last he has to spend isolation from the rest of the world. He loves the world. And being in it. And I can't wait to go back into it with him.
Only the best, most wonderful, most simple pork chops known to man. Only the incredible pork chops the require three ingredients and should never be eaten with anything other than roasted broccoli and mashed potatoes. Only the pork chops covered in that amazing gravy that is the actual epitome of what your childhood tasted like.
What has lasted in her absence is what often seems to last: Food. Her perfect, perfect Salmon Soufflé. Now, because both Aunt Sue and Mamaw are beyond us, I can say what I'm about to say, without fear of an uprising. Aunt Sue's Salmon Soufflé wins. It is the winner of a life-long feud: Mamaw's Salmon Loaf or Aunt Sue's Salmon Soufflé?
Tonight I made this soup with Mom for the first time. We talked through her youth. We did math and recollected dates. I corrected the order of the time before they knew one another in my memory.
I remember reading Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Coney Island Mind on the dock of my grandparent's summer home in Okoboji, Iowa one summer a lifetime ago. One of the last summers I had before obligation became year round.
Dad wasn't perfect. He was good. He was a good person. He did good for others. He saw people. He loved people. And he often surprised people with quiet thoughtfulness. He was a savior. He was a confidant. He was a vigilante for your individuality in the middle of the night. He always wanted to curate an experience.
When I'm afraid of or uncomfortable with certain things, it's generally because I lack understanding. When I push myself past that initial fear or discomfort, I am always pleasantly surprised.