When I was a student, November seemed like a great month to commit to writing. It was generally a quiet month. The school year was well underway and my routines set. The Thanksgiving break meant extra hours at my computer while someone else baked and basted.
I love to cook. I love to chop and peel and knead and whisk–if there’s a menial kitchen task that most people delegate to an appliance or the processed food companies, I probably enjoy doing it by hand.
Not every day, of course. I have a food processor and a blender and a garlic press for everyday use. I use my KitchenAid mixer so much I’ve worn out several paddle attachments and one dough hook. I am no stranger to frozen pizzas and canned chili. These things help me (and my family) survive.
But every once in a while, an occasion calls for some serious cooking–and I actually have the time to do it. These are my favorite days.
Always casual, Violet declined to meet me for coffee but invited me to play blocks instead. She wore her favorite t-shirt (a cheeseburger driving a car on orange jersey) and a diaper; her hair was stylishly tousled as if she’d just awoken from a nap.
Mommy: Do you know what it means to be thankful?
M: Is it like things you like? You’re thankful for things you like?