Next couple of days should be nice here, 50s and 30s. Still, I'm very jealous of the Midwest. I'm sure there are plenty of people up there who'd tell me to stuff my jealousy as they dig out their cars to go to work, but I can't help it. Around this time last year, Meara and I were outside spinning and playing as the snow poured down around us. My knees ached the whole time we were up there, but I don't know when I've felt more alive. Delightfully ironic since we were there to honor Nanie, who'd finally gone to Summerland.
Meara heads to Milwaukee next weekend for a friend's wedding. I'd like to stow away in her suitcase.
My relationship with food is changing. There's something about preparing food that settles me, steadies my brain. When I'm working in the kitchen, I'm in a good place. It's a tricky proposition, recognizing that when I'm working to eat better...because the urge is there, especially with the holidays, to bake a crapload of, well, crap...breads, cookies, fudge. I hope to bake quite a bit in the next 2 weeks, but I'll give most of it away. But what I'm getting at is that I feel the need to explore this part of me more.
The other day I went over to Mom's to loan her some rice, because it's all the dog could eat initially while she's on the mend. Mom was in a scattered place, checking mail, getting changed, chatting me up, so I got a pan out and cooked up some rice for the little hairball. I've been enjoying hypoglycemia more lately and had had a dull headache all afternoon, but I realized that the simple acts of measuring water, setting the timer, checking the doneness of the rice was making me feel better.
I doubt it means I should go to culinary school, but I look forward to exploring food preparation more, especially as it becomes evident how healthy I need to be eating.