Yesterday. Yesterday. Yesterday, during a quick spin through Instagram posts, I found one from a friend who has spent most of her adult life living in Florence, Italy as an American formerly married to an Italian. Her children were raised in Florence, speaking both languages as does their mother. Her post was simply a photo of a child's drawing. It was done by her now-adult daughter who resides in California, when she was five years old. She found the artwork as she was looking for something else and clearly, the little stick figured princess moved her to a place she was not at that moment seeking. I know the feeling. I also have adult children and the line drawings to prove that there was a yesterday. As rusty as my brain may be, there are moments I recall in detail and the two days that I spent sifting through year's-worth of art, prose and poetry done by tiny hands as we prepared to relocate from their early childhood home, come back at a moment's notice. I've never cried as much as I did that day. I don't ever want to go back there. I think I understand how my friend Katherine rode out her trajectory and I was back in touch with the belief that women, no matter where they are in the world, no matter what they are doing with their lives or have done, share emotions.
Yesterday. Later in the day, I decided to find a recipe in a cookbook. Not on-line. In a hard-copied book, one from a small collection that I keep on a shelf in my basement. I've weeded the cookbooks out over the years and kept only those I really love for one reason or another. A few are really "old" and have been in my collection from Day One for various reasons that perhaps only I can explain.
The Day Before Yesterday. I started that day with coffee at my neighbor, Pam's house. Coffee and talk. We're the same age and have lived lives beyond the walls of our condos. We're both content at where we now are but know the show's not over by any means. We talk about the now, the future and the past as kindred spirits and validate each other as we go along. Pam told me that every now and again (and more often now), she has flashbacks, reliving moments in her life, recalling details of events, and she wonders why. I admitted that I also have flashbacks and that I know, from observing my mother-in-law's behavior, that they will one day occupy most of my ancient brain if I live long enough.
Yesterday. I came back upstairs with a "neutral" cookbook in my hands. One that I could easily bear. It has no history. It was a hand-me-down from a friend. A big, fat book with lots of recipes inside.
I sat down and started to cry. Joe was in the kitchen and he sat down opposite me, ready to assist me in my time of need. I felt safe and ready to share my feelings. "I'm so sad"....."I know you are".....
"The cookbooks make me so sad"....
I touch them and I flash back. I leaf through pages and I recall all kinds of things. Early married days, kids, holidays, comfort foods, different kitchens, expectations, successes, failures. Children bounding in from school at this time of year, filled with stories, needing something. Cookies, cupcakes, casseroles. Gifts from my own mother, signed and dated. My own mother. My own life. I'm sad.
It isn't about cookbooks.
The days are growing shorter. The moon is full. The evenings are colder. The morning sun raises after I do. The wind is blowing. The guard is changing.
Today. Summer is officially over. The new Equinox is upon us. We usher in Autumn. It all happened so quickly, like the pages I turn in the books. It's not that I loved the passing Summer. I didn't. I love the coming Fall. I truly do.
But, as each season comes and goes, I flashback more and more.
Yesterday. Later in the day, I decided to find a recipe in a cookbook. Not on-line. In a hard-copied book, one from a small collection that I keep on a shelf in my basement. I've weeded the cookbooks out over the years and kept only those I really love for one reason or another. A few are really "old" and have been in my collection from Day One for various reasons that perhaps only I can explain.
The Day Before Yesterday. I started that day with coffee at my neighbor, Pam's house. Coffee and talk. We're the same age and have lived lives beyond the walls of our condos. We're both content at where we now are but know the show's not over by any means. We talk about the now, the future and the past as kindred spirits and validate each other as we go along. Pam told me that every now and again (and more often now), she has flashbacks, reliving moments in her life, recalling details of events, and she wonders why. I admitted that I also have flashbacks and that I know, from observing my mother-in-law's behavior, that they will one day occupy most of my ancient brain if I live long enough.
Yesterday. I came back upstairs with a "neutral" cookbook in my hands. One that I could easily bear. It has no history. It was a hand-me-down from a friend. A big, fat book with lots of recipes inside.
I sat down and started to cry. Joe was in the kitchen and he sat down opposite me, ready to assist me in my time of need. I felt safe and ready to share my feelings. "I'm so sad"....."I know you are".....
"The cookbooks make me so sad"....
I touch them and I flash back. I leaf through pages and I recall all kinds of things. Early married days, kids, holidays, comfort foods, different kitchens, expectations, successes, failures. Children bounding in from school at this time of year, filled with stories, needing something. Cookies, cupcakes, casseroles. Gifts from my own mother, signed and dated. My own mother. My own life. I'm sad.
It isn't about cookbooks.
The days are growing shorter. The moon is full. The evenings are colder. The morning sun raises after I do. The wind is blowing. The guard is changing.
Today. Summer is officially over. The new Equinox is upon us. We usher in Autumn. It all happened so quickly, like the pages I turn in the books. It's not that I loved the passing Summer. I didn't. I love the coming Fall. I truly do.
But, as each season comes and goes, I flashback more and more.
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