Spaghetti days

I miss your tasty meatballs, with onions, not cut fine, because you couldn’t be bothered. You broke up crackers into the meat instead of bread crumbs, and after you fried them, I would sneak and pick off the cracker pieces to eat when you weren’t looking.

When I came of age, I couldn’t see how much alike we were, and how marvelously different. I frustrated you by not balancing my checkbook, your eyes so big when I told you I was ‘only a dollar or so off.’ Once I saw you spend hours to find fifteen cents in the ledger.

You let me talk as much as I wanted. You never told me to be quiet, or ignored me. When I left home, we were on the phone often, even when I was missing birthdays and mother’s days, I knew you understood, because we never stopped speaking to one another, on the phone and in letters.

We made it through lay-offs and unemployment due to your ingenuity and frugality. I learned how to use a whole chicken, and how to feed a family of six on two dollars a meal.

I am red-faced remembering how I called you lazy, in regards to your predilection for long afternoons with the television and a bag of potato chips. Of course, now I know that is ridiculous ,remembering endless days in the hot summer garden, producing some of the best tomatoes I have ever had. There were weeks in the late summer and fall, making delicious jams and jellies, tomato sauce, pickles, and homemade sauerkraut. You rarely let me help you in the kitchen, which made me want to be in there even moreso.

When you were on chemotherapy, you let me cook for you the few foods that you could handle. It was an honor. After you died, I found piles of notepads in your desk full of prayer requests. We were all there, as were church members, family ,and virtual strangers. You were a prayer warrior, and I thank you for that.

What I remember the most is your laugh ringing out. You never held back a laugh as I have been known to do, or covered your mouth with your hand. You talked and laughed and ate and hugged like no one else, then or now.

Monday Random: cleaning out the refrigerator

• Buying healthy for two instead of four is challenging. I hate throwing food away, and did, often in the first months. But now I’m savvy
• It’s less hot and low humidity today so that means it’s time to make Italian red gravy and chicken vegetable soup for the month
• It was really scary opening the veg drawers in the fridge, and I did throw out half a cabbage and some potatoes that were beyond thought of food
• Celery–not too many stalks went in the bin, the rest chopped fine. Some for the soup, a little for the red sauce, the rest in the freezer in a container I keep for lean days and busy days
• Carrots–same as above–when I learned recently to make Bolognese sauce and put diced carrot in it–which I forgot to hide from hubby–I was astounded. Delicious addition my mother would not have approved of. It helped also with the acidity so I didn’t have to add sugar
• Green pepper–pepper and egg sandwiches for breakfast and the rest in the freezer for when I make chicken cacciatore
• So far–on one cup of coffee– the sauce is bubbling with meatballs in it, and the sink is full of sudsy water to wash dishes as I go.
• It should be noted here that when we were first married, my husband said, ‘if you just cook like this all the time, I will the dishes’
• Let’s not re-open that wound and put lemon juice in it
• Seriously, I should not be able to count on two hands how many times he did dishes in 27 years. That should be at least 27 Mother’s Days
• Okay, okay, we’ll skip to something positive, haha
• I wanted to show you this rose:

• I don’t know what type it is, but it was supposed to be a large yellow bloom. We planted the bush in remembrance of my mother-in-law and the other deep pink one for my own mother, may they rest in peace.
• If anyone knows what variety this is, do tell. Now that we have it, we love it. So delicate
• You may recall my neighbor mowed over these struggling bushes when the landlord let the grass get too high. One, this one, had a few mangled leaves left and the other was completely gone. Just a broken twig was all I saw left in the dirt
• My mother’s now has fresh growth on it and this one, well as you see, there is still life in the old girl
• The metaphor did not escape me for something that felt dead and was mangled and beat up, like my life was for awhile, and finding that there is still a spark inside
• If it weren’t for God I wouldn’t be making it. I was barely breathing. So grateful–

I can’t help but feel much hope that I have yet another Monday to work and grow and write and share.  I bid you a good day and wish for you a great, productive, creative week–

–Rose

lost in thought
winding spaghetti around my fork

it falls off
you across the table
bathing in your wine

I begin again

winding

unwinding