I've been involved in Community Theater in my hometown for the last year or so. I've done two shows and find them all-consuming. When I'm involved in a show my life consists of getting up in the morning, working from 8-5, rehearsal from 6-9 four days a week, and then coming home and going to bed. The next day, well, you get it: Lather, rinse, repeat. By the time Friday rolls around I'm too tired to conceive of doing much of anything, let alone cooking or baking.
But yesterday and today I had some time to play around in the kitchen. I was getting ready for a cast party tonight and was preparing food to take along. I had forgotten how calming food can be for me. Sure, eating it calms me down (I'm an emotional eater). But preparing it and thinking about the people I'm going to share it with also has an effect on me.
After Ron died and I was back to cooking for one, food just didn't seem as exciting. I ate only as a way to keep my body moving. It had lost all enjoyment. But today, I really go to thinking about where my love of food comes from.
Growing up we had everything we needed. There wasn't a lot of extra money floating around our house, but I don't ever remember there ever being a time when we didn't have plenty. Sometime during the last year I got to talking with my Dad about what it was like when they were young and going through similar financial struggles. He told me that his thought had always been, if there wasn't going to be extra money, then he was going to make sure they ate well. And we did!
Mom is a great cook. She makes food that to this day I crave when I need comfort. So, of course I turn to food when I'm feeling low. And it's not just having or eating food that brings me comfort. I have this NEED to share what I make. I love to think about how others are going to react to what I've made. I love seeing people put a bite in their mouth and then close their eyes as they savor it.
Food makes me happy, but most of all when I can share it with people I care about.
1 year ago