Thursday, July 4, 2013
Cooking (From the Archives)
And I have carried it with me from place to place to place to place to place to...lots of places.
I have wondered why I have kept some of the things I have. I think it is because of the connection they hold to my childhood and my grandparents, and in particular my grandmother.
My grandmother is the one who taught me how to cook. When she was in and out of the hospital I was often doing the grocery shopping and cooking.
I remember one time there was a lamb in the freezer that needed to be cooked. I didn't know what I was doing, but somehow I found out/figured out what to do (maybe with the help of my aunt?) and I made it. My grandfather thought it was delicious. Me? Not so much. I think I decided at that point that if he liked it, and I didn't, that probably meant I didn't like lamb.
I often think about how I like to make things from scratch. I am not really sure where that came from. But I do enjoy the process of cooking. When I was going through chemo I tried to make a few things, but I found it really difficult to follow recipes. I think there was something to how the chemo was affecting me/my brain. I would read 1/2 cup of something, but would have to go back and re-read it several times because every time I looked away I couldn't remember how much was needed. Not to mention how much energy it took that I really didn't have. Some things seemed to take forever to make.
As I describe this, it seems like a whole other lifetime ago. In the middle of it it was incredibly frustrating. I was afraid that that was to be who I would be. Thankfully things are shifting, but I am still not as I once was, and the fact that a recurrence has announced itself unnerves me a bit every day. I don't want to go back to that.
I really hope I don't have to. It is nice being reintroduced to the me I have known myself to be.
As for the cookbook? I have said my good byes. It is leaving me in some form or fashion with this move. I wonder if that is a good thing. I wonder if letting go of our past is a way of just letting go and allowing ourselves to move forward. I imagine there is a place for the past. I am just not sure where that is, or how it looks. But what I do know is that when my time for departure comes in this life, there won't be much of my past left for someone to go through.
I don't know what I think of that. It sort of feels like I will be erased from existence. If no one cares about you, your message, what you stand for, when you're not here, none of that is, either. Kinda makes me wonder if in that there is a message about the immediacy of life and what it means in the moment, as when the moment is gone, so are so many other things.
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