Jamie and his guitar
I have always believed that
much as it nourishes our bodies, good food nourishes our souls, especially if
eaten with congenial company. And I have consciously been a nurturer all my
adult life. When pandemic hit, I welcomed Jordan, Christian, and Jacob to the
cottage for supper almost every night. We had a few friends who we knew were
quarantining as consciously as we were, and they came for happy hour on the
patio, our logic being that open-air visits were safer. As a family, we ate
well but not lavishly—no lobster and few steaks, but meatloaf and burgers that
Christian grilled and casseroles I made and sometimes invented. Jordan and I
made weekly menu plans and grocery lists, and one of my greatest joys was to
scan the internet and a few magazines, principally Southern Living, for
new ideas. By this Spring, of course, all that had changed. The Burtons had
social and business obligations, Jacob was off being a high school senior, and
I occasionally went to dinner with friends but was more likely to have friends
to the cottage for a light supper.
Almost three weeks ago, all
that changed again, all at once. I was told I should stick to soft food
(anything I can cut with the edge of a fork—yogurt, applesauce, oatmeal,
potatoes, etc.); I was told I can never have another glass of wine (If I wish
to survive); I pretty much lost interest in food (nausea seemed to linger close
to the surface). To my surprise I still enjoyed finding new recipes and already
have a bulging fold labeled “Recipes to try.” Someday, someday.
Meanwhile the Burtons pretty
much stopped showing up. I’m not sure what or how they and Jaie are eating, but
I don’t hear dinner plans,etc. Jordan comes many times a day to ask, “How’s it
ging?” or to discuss medical appointments, of which I have many. Christian
rarely comes, and I think Jacob has been out here twice (we did have that
lovely dinner at Pacific Table). Jamies is here now, for moral support and
company to doctors’ visits, but he has the most irregular eating habits I’ve
ever seen—he brought a jar of peanut butter and cans of ravioli with him—and
his working hours are just as irregular. He works remotely but hasn’t found the
perfect place yet—yesterday and today he’s at one of those rent an office by
the day places at Clearfork, and he came in at 1:30 this morning.
But the result of all this is
that I am alone, with Benji (and today Jamie’s dog) much more than I am used
to—at a time when it is perhaps not the best thing for introspective me to be
alone. But what this new schedule tells me most of all is that I was right—we gather
at the table for more than physical nourishment. Eating together feeds our souls
as well as our bodies. I will be glad to
get past this physical problem of mine and start cooking again. I will say that
music also feeds our souls—last night, about eight o’clock, Jamie brought out
his guitar. With memories of another pleasant evening when his guitar had
healing properties, I crawled into my bed, and he played softly for me for
about an hour. I was probably more relaxed than I have been in weeks.
Another Jamie adventure today:
on our way home from today’s doctor’s appointment, we passed a car apparently
stranded on the side of a high overpass. As we drove by Jame said, “Looks like
an old lady.” Next thing I knew we were in the totally wrong lane for going
home, and almost peevishly I asked, “Where are you going?” “Back to check on
that old lady,” he said. And so we made the whole circle around the highway exchange
and pulled up behind the stranded car. This scared me some, because you always
hear about good Samaritans being hit by passing cars, but Jamie was careful.
From the passenger seat, I watched him laughing and smiling. When he came back,
he said, “She’s got a tow truck on the way. I told her I’d be glad to change
the tire”—I looked at his white jeans—“but she said it was all taken care of.” Do
you wonder that I’m proud of the kids I raised?
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