Carrots

I like food.

I mean I guess who doesn't. 

I used to like the process of it too, before I had hobbies. 

I liked the sound of potatoes being ripped out of their skin and the sauce apples made when they bled in the oven, the taste of cinnamon in the corner of your nails. 

I think more than the preparation, I liked being in the kitchen with another human, the music loud, the feet all lined up next to mine. If it was Christmas those feet would have socks on and the toes would bounce to music, in the summer the toes would be exposed and hairy, and still clicking to the music. The water would be running mostly, humming over top of vegetables or cherries in wire baskets. 

But then I got hobbies. I learned I love my hands soaked in oil paint (which will probably be the death of me, what with their toxic chemicals) & I also found writing along the way.  I think if I cook it's so I can write about it. 

Once in awhile after a heavy and lengthy trip to the groceries store, when my arms are steaming with a variety of flavors and cheeses and when there is a bottle of wine I will choose to cook.

 I will lay all the bags out on the floor, open the mouth of my refrigerator and start putting it all away. This process fascinates me. I make lists of all the different meals I will make and i start to feel very domestic and in charge of my adult life and think about how very very proud my husband will be of my accomplishments and how restful he will feel with a nice hardy homecooked meal. 

You know how I feel a few weeks later? when the spinach is cremating itself leaf by leaf and the apples are bruising themselves all jostled up against each other like buttcheeks? I think, what has become of you and how have you declined so far in these two short weeks? 

Some perspective: The other day someone gave me a lasagna after we had a church function and it wasn't eaten. It fed us for a few days. Listen, I cooked this thing. That counts? Right? I turned on the oven, i set it,  I cooked it but left the lid on and the cheese stuck to the top of it. I cut up some potatoes into small squares (and my dog scratched at my pant leg until I gave them to her, she loves vegetables. Yes potatoes are vegetables.) I looked at my multi-colored carrots thinking about how much work theyd be to peel. They were all hairy and their skin was kinda cracked like Grandpas knuckles and I had so many paintings to do that I just cooked them that way. Hairy. My husband told me they were delicious. 

We might die early, but at least they were organic.