Let’s have aperol spritzes in the garden, we say.
And giggle as we send messages in text boxes on the weird little computers we carry in our pockets we’re growing less and less fond of.
A little while ago we grew tired of being tired so we decided to be the opposite instead just to see if it would work.
We began brewing cinnamon coffee at the first sign of a thunderstorm, no matter the time, and seeing who could laugh the loudest at our kids’ jokes.
We began going to concerts deep in the woods with 80-year-old guitarists just to be the ones to hold whatever magic he was leaving to the world and see what he was taking with him.
We toast our hot dogs in Yankee Stadium watching them never win a single game while our butts are in the seats, listening to home runs on the radio on the Major Deegan, and not regretting the decision to be in bed before midnight.
We have round table discussions that sound less like, “Did you pay the water bill?” than, “What would make you feel most like yourself?”
We are moving into something else.
Something very unlike the two children that married because they were in love and it was the right thing to do.
Something unlike the broken, terror-filled middle of fear and loss and betrayal- when we believed we were one, and that to pull apart would kill us both.
We are moving into becoming our own people. Our own, separate and apart who happen to walk alongside each other.
We didn’t really how, before.
We are learning that we didn’t break with the tearing but that instead we had limbs and fingers we had forgotten were our own- and damn, they are beautiful and useful and free and when we choose to, fun to intertwine.
When you are attached to someone else, it is impossible to stand face to face. But now we can see our eyes and the ages in them. 15, 22, 37, 40. We can see them and the harm that was done and the mess that was made and the beauty that was cultivated and the love that changed all the versions of us to become a people who “cheers” perspiring glasses in the yard by the brook and own a dog who is insane in her own right.
It’s just like in Hook when the littlest lost boy pushes back Robin Williams’ cheeks with surprise and says, “There you are, Peter.”
There we are.
We think we have been these people all along but we aren’t sure so we’re starting from square one for posterity.
What’s Nourishing Me Right Now?
I’m in a contest. Seriously. It’s very possible I could win 25k and a feature in Better Homes and Gardens and it has been ridiculous and delightful to think about getting to continue to write about and cook all the food for all the things. Voting is open- and if you would, please, do so here: https://favchef.com/2023/jenny-shannon
DO NOT JUDGE ME but I have lived here for closing in on three years and I just now figured out how to order books from the LIBRARY. It has seriously saved my Amazon habit.
I have an innate gift for determining what is good for others. Are they hungry? Do they need a ride? A hug? A rest? A minute? This does not translate to me- but I am attempting to bring myself into the equation by talking about myself in the third person. Is this ideal or integrated? No. But it is a start, and I will take it.
Diet Coke with a lot of ice and maraschino cherries. I know, I know. I don’t know why, either. But, truthfully, you should get these: https://www.amazon.com/Hotel-Starlino-Maraschino-Cocktails-Delicious/dp/B089712JHS/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?crid=1F525SJBVW8QU&keywords=starlino+maraschino+cherries&qid=1686855974&sprefix=starlino+%2Caps%2C109&sr=8-1-spons&sp_csd=d2lkZ2V0TmFtZT1zcF9hdGY&psc=1
Italian food? Sounds basic. But it’s NEVER been my favorite. Until the last few weeks when I went away for the weekend with a group of friends and one of them requested pork rags with my parmesan polenta for a birthday meal and now I’m allllllll about grilling calamari, making budino and kale salad.
Love this entire thing so much all the way down to my requested pork ragú over your amazing polenta. You're a gem my friend and I love you and your family to pieces. 💕