The Plan.

This happened back in '09. '10 was apparently busy enough that it didn't warrant a list. This summer brings us - as dictated by the offspring:

The fingers must be educated, the thumb is born knowing.

My baby* hasn't sucked his thumb for four days. Not for lack of want. The thumb is ravaged with saliva induced eczema. Cracked, swollen and bleeding. We've kept it covered in ointment and a bandage. He woke this morning at 5 am and started to cry. Sobbing. It was coming from his heart. I truly think he finally realized that he has to let go. He was crying out of heartache. The outpouring of tears lasted until 7:15 when he finally fell asleep in my arms, entirely spent. I understood. It's so hard for me to let go of things that hurt me yet comfort me. I'm too familiar with that aching heart. I think the expression of grief has allowed Cole to move on. To find another [safe] source of comfort. There are so many lessons my children will teach me.

*How long can I call him "baby?"

Food for Thought

The most sincere love of all is the love of food. - George Bernard Shaw

I'm a passionate person by nature. In thinking a bit the last few days about where my passions lie, it kept coming back over and over again to a singular word with vast possiblities: food. It's one of the most fullfilling things in this natural life. Of course you all know me well enough to know that I'm talking about "food" here. The real stuff. That grows in dirt. That roams free. That nourishes both body and soul. I'll never forget the first meal I had with our friends, H & A. I audibly "mmmed" and our friendship solidified in that moment. I adore people who eat audibly. You close your eyes in rapture while eating and we're friends for life.

Not much opens one's senses so completely than a good meal. I've used this comparison ) before, but it's a good one, so I'll use it again - nam pla prik pbon. It is a perfect balance. Absolutely perfect. There's this common phrase I love to hate "food isn't love." I often beg to differ. When my life seems to be thrown off kilter and things spin out of control - nothing settles me more than hitting up my Thai joint for a meal that brings me inner calm and centers me. It's nearly spiritual. A bowlful of tom yum with a hefty spoonful of nam pla prik pbon stirred in - it's like a bowl of meditation.

When I care about people - I want desperately to feed them. You could call me Grandma Ardis and not be far off. I worry and I feed. I may just adopt "eat now" and be completely okay with that. Quite often I come across a dish and it's so utterly amazing that I want to feed it to absolutely everyone I love. That happened two nights ago. Kimchi fried rice topped with a fried egg. Simple and yet complex. It tugged at my heartstrings. I swooned.

Food invokes memories. A particular texture, flavor, presentation, cuisine - can bring me back to someone. Great Aunt Dorothy - rosettes. Great Grandma Milly - lemons, peaches, cherries, blueberry scones and salt water taffy. Grandpa Homer - pan fried fish and Rolaids. It's guaranteed if I know you even a smidgen that I have a food related memory of you. I hang onto them fiercely.

Bon appetit!

When a woman stays at home and cooks with good judgement and understanding, peace and happiness result. She thus controls the family's health and destiny, also her husband's mood, disposition and feeling, and assures the futures of her children. - Unknown