Crying
Lee and I just had our last meal here before he leaves. I cried and cried, after being all cooking and collected.
I am going to keep this short, as this it the second to last night I will spend in my bed with him.
We got into what we always get into; it is us, and it is so predictable and such a waste of our ….
And I need to learn some more new recipes, (she says changing the subject rapidly). I thought about expanding for something unknown and tasty today and decided that was dumb given my on edge state, and gleefully tossed aside The Joy of Cooking and Good Fast Fish, or something like that, to say to myself, “screw it, make something you know how to make and you both like”.
And I did and it was yummy and safe.
But there is tomorrow which I, and perhaps we, are so unprepared for in so many ways.
To be followed by the big day. The day the Indians gave food to the interlopers who displaced and killed most of them. Maybe they did something that was yummy and safe too and it backfired in a way that no one could see coming.
So much for the Cornucopia. I used to love that image as a child, in fact I think it has been embedded in my imagination to the point that I believe that if we all contribute, and all believe, we can indeed have the cornucopia on our thanksgiving tables.
And since I am in limbo for this odd holiday, and have given a little shout out, I am proud and humble to say that I have been invited to six laden tables with dozens of great people.
Thank you.
