There is half of a decadently-loaded baked potato in the fridge at work, waiting for my lunch. Yesterday I took my attorney out for his belated birthday lunch. It was a little too nippy to walk down to our favorite restaurant, so we walked to The Tunnels, a series of underground restaurants and shops that begin more or less underneath the Bank of America building and continue eastward for a few blocks. We had lunch at Colter’s BBQ. He had one of the combo plates and said it was delicious. I had a good-sized tater with butter, chopped brisket, sour cream, green onions, cheese [and quite possibly a MiniCooper] on top.
I looked at it and knew that I would be having dinner at a friend’s. I also knew that if I ate the whole thing, I would face-plant into my keyboard before quitting time. So I ate half and saved the rest for later.
One of the legacies from my twenty-year marriage is that I sometimes have trouble knowing when enough is enough. In subsequent dating relationships, I have frequently held onto hope longer than was wise or prudent. In my food storage, I have pasta that I put up in 2002, back when there were two of us at home. I may have achieved the pasta equivalent of what we yarnies call SABLE: Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy. I went on an orgy of book-buying after my divorce. I am winnowing through that collection. I have more kitchen tools and toys than I have counter space for, or cupboard space for. [I did find a new home for the food processor I haven’t used in five years. Now to find time to dust it off, make sure it works, and adopt it out.]
But I am pleased to report that there is still some ice cream in the freezer from two and a half weeks ago. I have had a bowl here, a bowl there, without the feeling that if I don’t eat it up right now, I may never get to eat ice cream again.
Starvation causes deep hungers that are slow to go away. Perhaps it rewires the brain. When there has been a dearth of food, or beauty, or love, the healing process and the finding of a new normal will take however long they take. I rarely resort to retail therapy anymore. (I just cast on a new project, preferably from stash yarn.) Only occasionally do I eat my feelings. And, thankfully, I have friends and family to love and to hug, so the need to touch and be touched is at least intermittently satisfied.
I strive to be grateful for what I do have, and not to pine for what I might lack. Today, it is enough.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!