I have a Pavlovian response to cold, rainy days. As soon as a day clouds up and gets chilly, I immediately want to A. make homemade beef stew with big chunks of potato and carrot, B. make soft, gooey chocolate chip cookies, stuffing them into my face while they're still almost too hot to bear, or C. both of the above. It's my mom. For whatever reason, that was her response to cold days and there was many an afternoon when I came home from school or work to find a big ol' vat of rich hot soup waiting for me. I could pretty much eat Mom's "homemade soup" (that's what we call it - no other specifications needed -- we know which homemade soup) all day every day and be happy. Same with the cookies. I don't think there's anything more perfect than a warm chocolate chip cookie. (The only thing close to this perfection is the cookie dough. I know you're not supposed to eat it - raw eggs and all that -- but I eat it. Oh, I eat it.)
Anyway, the pre-winter weather we're getting is making me jones for these things. The problem with the cookies, at least, is that we have big tubs of Halloween candy to get rid of and it doesn't make any sense to make more sugary things in a house already loaded with them. So I have to wait until our massive stores of Kit Kats and Tootsie Rolls lessen.
But it's this kind of stuff -- the memories of soup and cookies -- that makes me wish I could talk to my folks. I miss being able to call them on my way home from work and just check in. Mom would be at the house and Dad would probably be out and about doing something. I'd talk to Mom first and she'd ask about Suzy and the girls. She'd tell me what was going on in her ward in Rigby, what service project she was working on, who needed help that week, etc. She'd remind me about Dan's birthday and tell me what funny things the Idaho grandkids had done that week. And she'd ask me how I'm doing, how school is, how my PhD is coming.
I'd tell her about how verbal Parker is right now, how she's repeating everything she hears (for better or worse) and how she can count to thirteen all on her own. I'd tell her that school is rolling along as ever, that I have really good creative writing students this semester. I'd mention that I feel absolutely paralyzed with my PhD, that even when I have time to work on it, I don't and that I feel like a bug pinned to a board where that's concerned. She would tell me to not look at the whole overwhelming thing but, rather, to just figure out the one small thing I need to do next and then do that thing. Just do what you can do today and don't worry about tomorrow until tomorrow, she would say. She'd tell me Dad was out inspecting a farm or visiting pawn shops or in Idaho Falls looking at a new _____ because the old _____ gave out and he found a newer, cheaper one on Craigslist.
So I'd call Dad and we'd talk while he drove around doing whatever it was he was doing. He'd ask about Parker, about Maryn and Avery. I'd tell him Maryn has to miss "Friday Fun Hour" tomorrow because she has too many marks for talking during class. I'd tell him we're really struggling with Avery right now because she's having a tough time telling the truth about things. He'd feel bad for them and tell me to go easy on them. He'd wonder if Maryn's teacher is being too hard on her. He'd tell me Avery is a good, sweet kid and that things will work out. He'd ask what funny thing Parker has done lately and I'd tell him how the other day she carried around a toy knife from her cooking set and kept calling it a fork in a really loud voice but that when a two year old yells the word "fork," it sounds like something else entirely. He'd laugh at that, I know. After a while, he'd say, "Well, I don't have anything else. Anything else you wanna talk about?" and then we'd get off the phone.
Obviously, there was a comforting sort of predictability in talking to my parents. It's something my brothers and I still joke about - Dad's abrupt sign-offs, Mom's advice to take things one small task at a time. But just having them there was such a blessing. Being able to talk with them grounded me and made me feel as though everything was eventually going to be alright.
I miss them. I miss having them in my life. I'm glad neither of them are suffering or uncomfortable any more and that they're together. But not having them here sucks for the rest of us.
Hmm. That was a sad sort of detour from what began as a nice discussion about soup. Let's think about happy things, shall we?
This Friday is the beginning of a three-day weekend for Veteran's Day. Yay.
My plans for the cover of the new issue of River Currents, IVCC's literary journal, are coming together nicely. Should be something different.
Our fireplace is poised and ready to flame-on at the first sign of snow.
Thanksgiving approacheth. Say hello to the Thanksgiving sandwich - turkey, dressing, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy all on a roll. Heaven.
I've discovered The Goon, a crazy mashup of EC horror comics, film noir, and Abbott and Costello routines. Not for the faint of heart but really funny and the first thing in comics to make me really happy in a long time.
The McRib is back! (Just kidding. Don't eat it. It will turn you into a zombie. I'm pretty sure they're made of pressed brains.)
By the way, I generally consider it bad luck to make blog promises but I really would like to post here more often. Three times a month is pretty lame and lackluster. I will try to do a better job of making this blog worth checking in on every once in a while.
