I’m not giving this writing the time I wanted, or even my full attention, despite what I said about focus last week. I’m a work in progress, I think that’s ok. Instead I’m scribbling on a notepad, standing in my kitchen on a Wednesday morning. There’s a pie crust blind-baking in the oven, I’m about to begin on the pumpkin pie filling and then later cranberry sauce. Both are to take with us to Thanksgiving Dinner tomorrow out in the South Chicago countryside.
I’ve been cooking non-stop since last week. Last Sunday afternoon I was a sight to behold: My hair up in curlers, wrapped with a scarf, while I pottered around the kitchen preparing a chicken for roasting.
In the couple of hours that it took for the chicken in the oven, the light outside had started fading. Leaning with my back against the counter and listening to Mikey & his daddy playing together in the next room over, I sipped on a glass of wine. Heat from the stove caused condensation to form on the kitchen window, the cold outside air began to freeze the ground for the morning.
The day prior had been brighter, it began with black coffee and cinnamon rolls, sun shining through the kitchen window warming the tired linoleum beneath my feet.
It didn’t matter so much that the cinnamon rolls were from a can, I’m no baker, but we three ate them together.
I cook for my family most evenings, I wait to start until everyone is home from work or school. I enjoy cooking most on weekends and holidays because I have more time; Spending an entire day in the kitchen with people wandering in and out or, if I’m in my own apartment, just leaning through the kitchen archway to chat with my husband. Family members stealing tastes of whatever is cooking, the warmth of the stove and the delicious smells permeating the entire house.
Inspired by the November Prompt-a-Day. November 27th – Family Matters.