Food + Foto No. 2: Born Again

Despite having survived two wars, seven surgeries, one unicycle accident, and an ill-advised tattoo by “El Salami” on the back porch of a house bordering a swamp, it wasn’t until Juan Rodolfo Cruz tried Señora Neira’s pretzel buns that he thought there might be something to all this “God” business. There was no other way to explain something so tasty.

Food + Foto No. 1: Wednesday’s Picnic

My mother in-law believes we are at our wisest as infants. Intelligence is an altogether different beast, and is something we pick up along the way to adulthood. The square root of π is 1.7725. The first law of thermodynamics states that neither matter nor energy can be created or destroyed. When two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking and says his own name.

Our ability to catalog facts and figures, names and dates, often comes at the expense of our wisdom. Slowly, bit by bit, we lose sight of the big picture and life becomes hard. We can factor binomials better than we can relate to our own selves.

Yesterday, Nicholas asked if we could go on a picnic. I didn’t want to go on a picnic. For one, I am tired. I’m also busy with things I need to do in and out of the house. Those are both good reasons to skip a picnic, but the biggest reason had me fiddling with the heat and looking at an overcast sky.

“I don’t want to, Nicholas. I’m cold. It’s cold outside.” Case closed.

“Then how come you can’t put on a sweatshirt, Mama?” Case brought up on appeal.

Therein lies the proof. Intelligence usurps the wisdom of our youth. For a three year old, it’s simple. If you are tired, sleep more, go to bed early. If you are busy, do less. If you are hungry, eat more. If you are sad, cry. If you want something, get it and then leave it alone when it no longer holds your interest. If it’s cold, put on a sweatshirt.

So I put on a sweatshirt and we had a picnic in the front yard under our very big tree. While we ate, I watched dozens of people go in and out of our neighbor’s home. The husband is dying, his short and furious battle with a fatal disease almost over and with it, his opportunity for picnics on Wednesdays. I pushed up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and rubbed my suddenly flushed skin. Nicholas leaned over for an Eskimo kiss, his favorite.

I would like to say that tomorrow or next week or next month I won’t be cold or tired or busy for a picnic on Wednesday, but I am almost 38 and far, far away from 3. Sometimes I will be fortunate to find a reminder of the wisdom I once held, and other times I won’t. The grace comes in acceptance. Besides, not all knowledge is pointless. For example, today I learned that the best thing about having a picnic on your front lawn is that you can carry out a week’s worth of leftovers and call it a spread. Roasted Brussel sprouts with caramelized onions and toasted almonds, cold bean salad with spinach, oven fries and dip, olives, cashews, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cookies all washed down with cold water…for Nicholas. I had my favorite chemical-laden Crystal Light Peach Mango Green Tea because even a 37 year old like me is wise enough to know that perfect is for Jesus.

Unstyled Life

I washed all the toss pillows on Sunday. The plan was to put them back on Monday, but this week was so filled with soccer practice, field trips, big decisions, medical mishaps and more that the task was too inconsequential to remember. Instead, at the end of every night this week I would sit on the couch and think something was different. A little off. Almost the same, but not quite. It wasn’t until today, when the long week of stress and Vampire Diaries brought about an impromptu power nap at around 4:30 that I realized the pillows were still sitting on the dryer.

Tired as I was, walking to the laundry room seemed far too complicated. I’m still not sure of my logic, but at that moment it seemed like far less work to walk into the bedroom for one of our pointless decorative pillows, completely bypass the bed, and trudge back towards an extra-firm sofa riddled with stains for a twenty minute nap. I could spin it and say that deep down, I just wanted to find comfort in the center of our home on a sofa that bends under the weight of memories. But, really, I think I was just delirious.

Unstyled Life

My unstyled life isn’t messy or clean or ugly or stunning. Instead, my goal is to create a home that reflects back the spirit and personality of our family. It’s a work in progress. Sometimes the beauty in my life is by accident, other times it’s intentional. It’s there, either way, because when I remember to fill my home with what I love–person, place, or thing–odds are it will be beautiful. Maybe not always appreciated, but always beautiful. If you feel the same, you are welcome to share a link to your own unstyled life in the comments.

Today I am making Nigella Lawson’s Guinness Chocolate Cake for my mother in-law’s birthday party. It’s only a family party, but still. Bah. Parties. I know I’ll have fun once I get there, but up until the moment I am there and enjoying myself, I dread get togethers. I would much rather be tucked up in the flannel sheets, reading a book and listening to the wind travel up and down the branches of our Chinese Elm tree.

I am a homebody.

Unstyled Life

My unstyled life isn’t messy or clean or ugly or stunning. Instead, my goal is to create a home that reflects back the spirit and personality of our family. It’s a work in progress. Sometimes the beauty in my life is by accident, other times it’s intentional. It’s there, either way, because when I remember to fill my home with what I love–person, place, or thing–odds are it will be beautiful. Maybe not always appreciated, but always beautiful. If you feel the same, you are welcome to share a link to your own unstyled life in the comments.

I left my plants on the counter to drain and dry after a long overdue bath in the sink. When I came back to fetch them a few hours later, they looked like a refreshed and rejuvenated gaggle of women back from a day at the spa.