Waking
up to a soggy, dark world on an early September morning is sheer joy after the
heat of summer, even though this summer wasn’t as bad as some. It had rained
hard last night, again probably during the night, and it did it again this
morning. And today the high was only 82. I already have visions of fall—and a
big pot of freezer soup. My freezer has way too many small icebox dishes of
leftovers, just waiting to be made into soup. I asked Christian if he would eat
freezer soup, and he said he’d have to know what’s in it. I laughed aloud and
told him I wouldn’t know. I just dump all those tads and bits together, add a
can of diced tomatoes and maybe some broth, and call it soup.
The
bad thing about all that welcome rain is that is cancelled whatever slim social
life I have during quarantine. Last night, we abandoned our weekly Tuesday
happy hour with neighbors because the patio was soggy-wet. Much harder today
was to call a longtime and very dear friend to cancel lunch—she was going to
bring it so we could eat on the patio. I explained hesitantly that we were not
yet inviting people into my cottage. She had been travelling, because of a
death in the family, and mingling with people, and although she’d been masked,
I didn’t want to break the practice we’d worked so hard to follow. It’s worked
to far, and we’re sticking to it. That’s what’s golden about old friendships—people
who love you understand. And she did.
The
rain made it the kind of day to curl up with a good book, and I started the day
with every intention of being lazy. But my conscience, well-tuned to the work
ethic, dinged at me. I was leisurely about checking email and catching up on
the news of the day—so much of it discouraging but a few bright spots. But then
I turned to a partially finished lecture for the chef course—and, miracle of
miracles, I finished it. I’m not excited about it, it’s probably the last
important of the twelve lectures, but I’m happy enough with it to leave it
alone and move on.
So
then I did what struck me as a perfect rainy-day activity. In my past life,
when I had a fair-sized house, cooked anything I wanted, and collected recipes
like a madwoman, I had an entire drawer in an antique secretary filled with folders
of recipes—all labeled as to what meal they were for and whether or not I had
tried them. A few of those folders survive in a file cabinet in my closet that is
hard to get to. In this life, I have a bulging—and I mean ridiculously bulging--file
folder among several others in a wire rack next to my desk. It was clearly out
of hand, so I sorted through it and discarded maybe half the recipes—things that
given the restrictions of my cooking situation and my family’s rather limited
tastes, I would probably never cook. I think I collected them before pandemic
when I could still entertain occasionally. I did keep a few that nobody else in
the family will eat but I couldn’t bear to give up. Like gravlax—I’m determined
to make my own sometime.
My mom
always told me the Lord works in mysterious ways. No sooner had I sorted the
recipes than Jordan announced we had to do long-range meal planning. Oh my, was
I Johnny-on-the-sport. So now we have a week’s worth of menus, things like
cheesy grits with black beans, avocado, and radish or Grandma’s chicken or
Frito pie. We’ll eat high on the hog. Tonight? Slow cooker pork chops and corn
pudding. Yum! I’m hungry.
Tonight,
the sun has come out, and the world is bright again, though apparently the rain
is not over.
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