I Love You, Let Me Feed You

Big Lou and Maxine are in town to do some file mixing or some such a thing that has to do with music recording. They got in last night long after we were asleep and Big Lou has already left for town, computer in hand. I heated up some muffins and scrambled him some eggs because I couldn't send him off without food in his belly although really, he was just being polite to take the time to eat.
Maxine is still abed and I can't wait to see her but I am far more interested in her getting a little more sleep than I am in visiting because I know that's what she needs.
I'm glad they're here, even if they have to go into town to work at a friend's studio during the daytime. I spent yesterday tidying up the house and giving it some much needed attention, washing rugs and hanging out clothes and just generally getting things ready.
I love having friends here. I love cooking for them and I love making my beloved house ready, washing sheets and making the bed up and putting flowers in the room. I picked some tiny roses and although they are small, they are fragrant and I hope Big Lou and Maxine could smell them when they walked into the guest room last night although they were probably so tired they didn't even register.
No matter.
As with anything else, we do what we do for ourselves, generally, even if we say it's for others. That's okay. It's human.
The other day Billy came out and I cooked up a huge pot of venison and vegetable soup so he could take some home to pregnant Shayla. She doesn't eat factory-farm raised meat but she does love her some venison which Mr. Moon has shot and cleaned. Billy doesn't really like vegetables and as I chopped carrots and onions and celery and green beans and collard and mustard greens and broccoli and added them to the soup I kept saying, "Oh boy. You're really going to hate this."
But he probably won't. He'll probably eat that soup and I know Shayla will and she's the one who is pregnant.
I picked a bunch of greens from the garden to send and I made them a loaf of bread and when I sent Billy off with all of this food I could not have been happier.
I love to feed the ones I love.
Mr. Moon has gotten the chicken coop started and it won't be long until we have a nice little flock of chickens, pecking away in the run he's going to build for them and honestly, the thing that gets me most excited about the chickens is the idea of going out to feed them every day. Not them feeding me with their eggs, but me feeding them. I hope they cluck around my feet and peck at my kitchen scraps, the sweet tender weeds I pull out of the garden to give them. That's what I'm really looking forward to.
Feeding the chickens.
You'd think after a lifetime of feeding folks and critters I'd be ready to take a break. I'd be ready to depend on frozen lasagna and canned whatevers to feed my man and me but I'm not. There is still so much pleasure I receive from putting really good food on the table for us, some of it from the garden, some of it what he's caught in the sea or shot in the early morning woods. It just feels right.
And he appreciates it so. My kids still appreciate my food. They're coming out on Easter to dye eggs and eat greens and my son has a friend who usually comes out for this ritual, too, and he loves those greens so much it's the highpoint of the day for me to watch him eat them. Greens I've grown and picked and chopped and simmered for hours.
I'f fifty-four years old. I'm never going to be a CEO of any company, I'm never going to be a doctor and go to Africa and save lives. I'm never going to be in the movies and the odds of me getting a book published are looking slimmer and slimmer. I'm never going to be famous. I'm never going to live in New York City. I'm never going to have lunch with Wanda Sykes and I'm never going to kiss Brad Pitt.
But that's okay. I know what I was put here on earth for. To grow and cook food and feed hungry folks and animals and to water thirsty plants and to talk about it all. To think and read and write. To get together with others and play.
To kiss my husband and my children and to hold my grandchildren in my arms and kiss them so much they cry and push me away and then beg for more.
And to feed them.
I can't wait to feed my grandbaby a sweet potato, mashed up with butter on it and see that sweet little face, still unknown to me as yet, covered with sweet potato, a smile on his or her face.
Yes. That will be a good day.
And until then- uh, are you hungry?
I've got muffins and eggs leftover from breakfast. And I'm about to put on a pot of greens for tonight's supper with Big Lou and Maxine and Mr. Moon. There's room at the table.
And it would be my pleasure to feed you.