Back yard salad

We've been eating salads from the garden. Lettuce and spinach that sat in the ground just holding on all winter have grown big and lush with a bit of warmth and spring rain. There is nothing like picking your dinner salad from the back yard.

"The return of comfort"

How to announce the return of comfort and well-being except by cooking something fragrant. This is what her mother always did. After every calamity of any signficance she would fill the atmosphere of the house with the smell of cinnamon rolls or brownies, or with chicken and dumplings, and it would mean, This house has a soul that loves us all, no matter what. It would mean peace if they had fought and amnesty if they had been in trouble. It had meant, You can come down to dinner now, and no one will say a thing to bother you, unless you have forgotten to wash your hands. And her father would offer the grace, inevitable with minor variations, thanking the Lord for all the wonderful faces he saw around his table.
-from Home by Marilynne Robinson

No calamity has befallen us, but I've been in a funk for a couple of days. Today though, the soul of this house said, I love you all and I am very glad you are here.

It said it with fresh, hot, homemade cinnamon rolls in the morning. It said it in the evening with black beans and rice, okra gumbo, corn salsa, roasted butternut squash with rosemary, homemade bread, and berry cobbler. Such fragrances. There is also a chicken simmering in the pot for soup for tomorrow. Noodles will be rolled out and cut for the soup and the house will say, More love to you.

When I spend a day in the kitchen...

feeling pliant dough resist and spread under the rolling pin,
cutting pinwheels of brown sugar and cinnamon filled dough,
chopping onions and peppers to saute and add to,
boiling bright purple-black beans,
measuring spices in the palm of my hand,
brushing olive oil on thick orange squash slices,
snipping cilantro, bay leaves, and rosemary from the garden...

When I spend a day doing these things, I think my family knows that I am "back", so to speak. Earlier this morning, the boys were recalling some other bad mood episodes of mine. They affirmed the truth of the saying, "When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

Ouch!

Oh dear, I don't want them to remember that. I want them to remember cinnamon rolls and rosemary, bubbling beans and hot bread and think, "My mother loves me so much."

I often say, when complimented on my food, "Well, I can cook."

It's what I do to establish equilibrium, to bless, to bring a measure of comfort, to give tangible expression to the soul of this house, the love of this family, my love. There are many things I can't do. Many things I don't do. But I can cook.

And I will always thank the Lord for the wonderful faces that assemble around my table. Even when we argue or get on each other's nerves, say unkind things or act rudely, when we disagree or misunderstand, when we are grouchy or sarcastic. Because no matter what, we love each other. I don't think any of my children would ever stay away from the table. They know "you can [always] come down to dinner now."

And then, we say grace because we experience grace. In our brokenness. In our funks. At our table. Every day.

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also posted at Ebenezer Stories