As the title lays it plain…I have not yet found the rhythm to write these essays with any kind of consistency. It isn’t that I don’t have plenty to say or share…it is because I lack the discipline required to be …well…reliable when it comes to this form of expression. Raising my glass…here’s to better days and a shift in perspective and behavior…
This is a weekend of choice for me. Translation? I don’t teach even a single person for the next several days…and it is the first spate of time in months that I have this…freedom? Don’t read me wrong…I love teaching more than almost anything else I get to do…but I have NOTHING scheduled on my docket right now but playing catch up on obligations…and doing things I WANT to do. It’s like Christmas come early and I might be a bit giddy…if not also shell shocked.
I should mention that while it is just past lunch time (wait for it) I’ve been up since 4:30 this morning. I woke up next to my friend Beau (English Foxhound) for those of you not heretofore in the know…and while he was sleeping peacefully, likely dreaming of the next squirrel to chase, I was thirsty for coffee and getting my first day of mine started.
With not having to be anywhere, I thought I’d get to sleep in, but my internal clock knew deep down I wouldn’t want to waste a minute lying around when I could be doing things around my house. Beau opened one eye, looked at me with his inimitable “are you kidding me?” expression. I threw him a shrug and was off to the kitchen to make a cappuccino and determine if being awake this early was a good idea….and it held.
My dear friend Chelsea, I hoped, would be by not long after sunrise with seven homegrown rose bushes, that she needed me to take under my thumb so that she could make room for other ventures in her magical garden. These roses will remain hers…but I will be their willing caretaker and I cannot wait to begin, by planting them in a place not yet named in my “sitting garden.”
I cannot help but think of Melania Trump as I plan this garden. My home is no White House but this is me doing my bit. I plan to summon the spirit of the young Jacqueline Kennedy when I plant and to cap it off I may burn a picture of our former forced lady as part of my ceremony. Petty? Sure. Angry? Definitely. Vengeful? Without question. Dark and fun…yep.
With lunch in my belly I did also want to share with you how I salvaged already cooked/dried out macaroni that I rediscovered sitting in their pot in the refrigerator and what I did to make it one of the best meals I’ve had in a very long time.
I took the two cups of macaroni, lying lifeless in the pot, put them on the stove on low heat and immediately added a full cup of half and half and four slices of butter. With a wooden spoon I made sure all of the elbows were loosened from the bottom of the pot and from one another while the butter melted.
Next I added
3 tablespoons of capers
1/4 of thinly sliced red onions
2 teaspoons of cracked black pepper
1 teaspoon of white pepper
1 tablespoon of liquid coconut aminos
and then a cup of heavy cream.
I stared and stirred as the elbows reswelled to their plump otherness and then it hit me. I could add an uncooked frozen salmon filet, keeping the temperature on low and let it just…well…meld.
For a final touch I added 1/2 cup of grated mozzarella and in another 10 minutes…It was, spoonful by spoonful sending my taste buds into orbit.
I have a fire roaring in the fireplace in the living room, making the room where I am typing feel too good to leave, but/and…it’s time to plant those beautiful bushes that Chelsea dug up and delivered . I haven’t gardened all year and now that it is cooler and much more bug free, I am raring to go. Yesterday I harvested Scuppernongs. Roses today and tomorrow I’ll rescue the Greek oregano from the English Ivy that has taken over the herb bed.
Two in the ground and I’ll add more roses over the next few hours. I’ll be sure to share a picture of the garden itself so you can see where I’m headed with this new space. Maybe I’ll even learn the meaning of the word “relax” in this place.
