cobbler

Sometimes I think that food is the best cure for the soul.

Gramps offered me M&Ms or a mocha today as payment for teasing me too much yesterday. He kissed my forehead. My mom's soft face spoke volumes.

I know he's trying to understand what it means to be 20, female and heart sore.

I think mostly what I need is to stop writing, and do something with my hands.

In New York, on hard days, I used to make my brothers cobbler. They rejoiced in my aproned self, bustling around with flour on my hands. Something good was coming. They knew it. Anyone bluegrass and I crooned our way through blueberries, blackberries, flour, sugar, butter. Sometimes late at night, too late for anyone to enjoy until breakfast. Mom would yell down the stairs that she was going to bed, and it would be good with coffee.

I suppose my cooking sprees aren't planned very well.

I tried once to make a 12 layer cake for Christmas.

I was finally finished New Years, and it wasn't even that good.

I think that, as people, we're meant to create beauty for ourselves, taste for ourselves, enjoyment for ourselves. I think our hands were meant to make things new, when our hearts can't.

I'm going to cook again today.


                                                                           (photos mine)

2 comments:

angela said...

i wholeheartedly concur. also playing with children can cure most ailments. which, i see, you've already learned.

Chuck Wilson said...

I liked the layer cake. Who is the dog?