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Tuesday, January 25, 2011

This, too shall pass. Autobiographical drama.

Today started out unusual. I have been nursing a very sore shoulder, and woke up in pain. It was 4:30 AM. I had to take some Aleve . It seems to help, but sleeping was out of the question. I decided to make soup.

Sometimes the act of peeling, slicing, chopping, and inventing, transports me. Cheesy Potato sounded good, and I had all of the ingredients on hand. I hefted out the gigantic Crockpot that we were given, years ago. It is for family cooking, and now there are just the two of us, but cooking in bulk becomes habit. I set out all the vegetables on the counter, and took out the large cutting board. The house was silent, but the tears streamed down my cheeks as I peeled and chopped a large onion. Next came the celery, then the carrots. Carrots rolled under everything, and I am sure I will be finding them for the next few days. I peeled the potatoes and diced them. I had ham in the freezer, so that was included, too. I added the spices, and set it to cook. I covered the pot, and noticed that my shoulder was a bit less painful. I went back to bed.

When I awoke, a few hours later, the house smelled divine. I stirred the soup, and let it cook for a few more hours. I went about my morning routine. I drank coffee, ate some breakfast, returned some phone calls. All appeared to be in order.

After I got ready for work, I added the cream, the cheese, and some sea salt. It melted and turned a creamy consistency. I made a rue to thicken the soup, using some butter, and flour. I stirred it into the pot, and waited. It looked just as I hoped it would. I put a spoon in it, tasted it, and smiled. I then asked my husband to transfer it to a container after it cooled, so we could have it for dinner.

I worked, and got home around 11pm, this evening. Soup did not sound good to me, so I had enchiladas, which were left over from Sunday's feast. I am waiting for the pain to pass, so I can once again attempt to sleep.

This is not the actual drama I intended to write about. That is still too fresh, and stings my soul. Like the soup, it will have to come together with time. My son, Nate, is doing poorly. All I was told was that he is "safe". Being an adult, the privacy laws restrict people from disclosing information. I will have to put it out of my mind, and into God's hands, for now. Nate is severely mentally ill. No medications seem to right him. He is a talented, gentle soul. He is safe, they said he was safe........