First, my grandmother Ruthie passed away – and while not unexpected it was hard to swallow as she was a true gem and taught me much of what I know about being a take-no-bullshit Lady, and her sense of style and design forever altered the course of my life and I will miss her forever. Work was tumultuous, my husband was in a motorcycle accident and badly injured his shoulder which will require surgery next week, I got other news that I'll keep to myself (no I'm not pregnant nor do I want to be, I hate that I have to say that so often). My head has been spinning, and while cooking usually calms me, recently it's felt like a burden. I just want to burrito myself into my fuzziest blanket and sleep all the time. I've been having migraines and just really feeling like shit.
This weekend was looking up – I finally had some vegetables to harvest from my garden!! Rejoice after months of coddling seedlings and threatening murder upon my cats who love to take dirt baths in my plots. Of course because I'm always striving for homeostasis, this exciting news necessarily required something shitty to counteract it.
First, I cut my finger badly while walking back from my garden after grabbing some mature cucumbers and zucchinis. I don't know what it is about fingers but they bleed like faucets which I know because my fancy German knives are trying to win me a Darwin Award. This is my third bad cut this year.
Second, and this one hurts more than my finger, Hornswaggle disappeared. We had built her an outdoor enclosure and drilled on a lip around the perimeter to ensure she couldn't climb out. One of our cats had taken a liking to sitting on that lip, and wore it down to the point it was basically an escape ramp for my tortoise. I spent hours, literally, combing our enormous yard and walking the neighborhood. Under the deck, under every bush, in every corner, I searched obsessively. After spending the last 8 years trying to escape to Mars, she was gone. She is gone. My heart is broken.
Pets give us affection and love and make us feel useful when we feed them, but they also provide continuity to our lives. Hornswaggle was the single thread that has followed me through every bump and turn and change over almost the last decade. Her sole mission in life was to not be contained – no matter how vast and luxurious her enclosure was. I have to respect her for that, but I will miss her forever. My little homie, the only source of consistency through almost my entire adulthood. You might laugh because she's “just a turtle”, but she was MY turtle. I miss her.
So after a tumultuous few weeks, I really wanted to cook something to distract myself. I wanted comfort food. I wanted the one thing I crave when I'm sick, mad, happy, hungover, injured, mourning, or having a religious experience.
I wanted a goddamn Egg McMuffin.
I toasted the English muffins in a cast iron pan with butter, then crisped the Canadian bacon in the same butter. I cooked the egg in a perfect little egg pan that I impulsively bought during an Amazon spree which I still do not regret. After adding a slice of Kraft American cheese, it all came together..
I could have gone to a fine French cafe and ordered a croissant, or Eggs Benedict, or a beautifully constructed omelet. That trashy, cheap Tinkerbell of my soul however, insisted on an Egg McMuffin. And I needed to make it myself.a
Loss is a difficult thing. Something that was always there all of a sudden, just... isn't. I think during those times we turn to the things that ARE still there. Our creature comforts. They provide the continuity that we lose when we lose those we love.
So tonight, I went through an obscene amount of effort to make something I could have bought for a dollar. It was not the time to take the easy route. I made myself an Egg McMuffin, and I cried. Just got really ugly with it and mowed through that McMuffin like it was my last meal. And it felt really good. I felt better.
Sometimes life sucks. Seek out those things that make you wiggle in your seat, even if they're sinful or high-calorie or verboten. Sometimes you just need to cry over an Egg McMuffin. And that's okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment