I am cooking chicken piccata or some bastardized version of it with mushrooms and baby vidallia onions (vidallia onions make big babies) and some broccoli with pine nuts and brown rice and wild rice and a salad and my famous (haha!) pineapple angel food cake with mixed berries.
I am trying to cook myself into a state of contentment. I am trying to soothe myself with chopping and sauteing and toasting and so forth.
It's funny. I just told Mr. Moon that I am sad, not depressed.
There is a difference.
And I'll tell you the truth- I would rather be sad for forty days and forty nights than depressed for five days. I ain't kiddin' you.
Costco was not bad today. A merry-looking man tried hummus for the first time while I was watching. He was round and smiling and he tried the hummus on a pita chip and he said, "I'd have to drink a bottle of wine with this to enjoy it."
The server-person said, "Well, there you go. Two rows over." And she pointed at the vast acre of wine waiting to be bought.
I doubt he bought hummus. I bet he bought wine.
I am thinking of that now. And that man's fabulous smile, his complete openness to the universe at that moment and it makes me a little bit less sad.