Sunday, October 14, 2012

Bad Soup

No matter what time I go to bed these days, I wake up at seven and can't, for the life of me, stay in bed longer than 7:30. I hate it! At least at the beach I could wake up and watch the sun rising but here in Lloyd it's not that big of a deal. Oh sure, it's pretty but it's not nearly as dramatic as that big red eye coming up out of the water with the pelicans flying by and the waves sounding like the very breathing of the planet.

Well, I have laundry going and I'll hang it out on the line when it's done, let the sun kiss and give it sweetness.

I made a soup last night. I pretty much hated it. I need to quit making soup. I take one new thing (in this case, a bag of pink beans) and add a bunch of old stuff from the refrigerator and season and simmer and sometimes it's good and other times it's not great and yet, there's always too much, even if it's the best soup in the whole wide world, which it never is anyway.

I guess I got the Sunday blues. Mr. Moon will be home today, which is a real good thing. I want to have the garden planted by the time he gets here because he worked so hard to get it ready to plant and that's like a gift he toiled to give me, the fresh breast of the earth, tilled and laid bare, ready to receive green life. But I want beds. I want raised beds but that's a whole other project and not one I'm apt to take on today, by myself.
Ah well. I'll probably just plant my crooked rows and let it be. I feel like I never do anything as well as it could be done. "If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right." That's what my grandfather always said and dammit, he did everything right. His compost pile was black and teeming with worms and he pitch-forked it over every morning when he took out the coffee grounds and the grapefruit rinds. I don't actually remember any fresh vegetables that he grew except for one year, tomatoes, but I sure do remember him turning that compost.
He wore boots. And a safari helmet. I thought he was the greatest man who ever lived.
I'm pretty sure he wouldn't like me much if he met me now.
I don't do anything right.

I know that's not really true but some days, that's just how you feel.

Like today.

Well, the washing machine has come to the end of its cycle. Jessie is up and it's a nice cool morning here in Lloyd. I may not do anything right but I suppose it's best to do something, anything, rather than just sit here and talk about what a loser I am. Even planting crooked rows of lettuce is better than not getting the plants and seeds in the ground. And I'm a very good clothes-hanger. That I'll admit to. what? Not like on my death bed people are going to stand around and weep and say, "Oh my god! She was absolutely the best clothes-hanger! What will the planet do without her clothes-hanging ability?"

There will probably be soup in the freezer though, months and maybe eons after I am dead.
Not very good soup.

But it'll be there. A little frozen tribute to my inability to make small, delicious portions of soup and someone will go through the freezer and say, "What in god's name is this?"
And someone else will say, "I have no idea. Throw it out."




  1. Oh stop it! You have no idea - no frickin idea of how much you do that IS right. I literally have a basket of laundry that has needed folding for a month and a half. And trust me that's just the tip of the iceberg. You do soooo much for your family.

    Screw Sunday.

  2. Oh, please. Like you don't make the best soup ever.

  3. Sundays are to blame for a lot of blueness around the planet. I bet your soup is delicious and so long as stuff grows, does it matter how straight it was. If I was your Grandfather I would think you were really something (great).

  4. Jill- Well, maybe. But today it just feels so pathetic- everything I do. Pathetic.

    DTG- Why didn't I send soup in with Jessie for you? COME GET SOUP!

    Annicles- Yeah- what's UP with that? Sundays. My grandfather had some pretty strong opinions concerning wrong versus right. I doubt I would make the grade in his view. But thank-you.

  5. I've had soup like that, sometimes it's the best, other times something is just missing, but always, always I make too much and throw the last out.

    I do what you do sometimes too - judge myself through the eyes of those I admire, or worse make excuses in my head for why I'm not living up to my ideal expectations.

    I read today on a cooking blog that a full sink is a sign of a great day. By that measure, I've had one here myself. We do what we can, and wouldn't it be so lovely if that were enough?

  6. Sundays suck. But you do not. You rock, so go plant those crooked rows and watch them bloom perfect in every way.

    Then go gaze at your children.

  7. I've tried hard but just can't get anything to grow. I've tried celery, tomatoes, and carrots. They all just die. I'll blame the weather and climate here. Can't possibly be that I have a black thumb.

    Your garden rows will be divine.

  8. We make a similar soup only we call it 'leftover soup'. because it is made out of leftovers, any small portion of which goes in a container in the freezer. whenever two or three containers are full, then it's soup night. like yours, sometimes it's good and sometimes not so good but it is always edible except for once. anyway at least we aren't throwing out perfectly good food, being wasteful of the gifts of the earth. that's what I tell myself anyway.

  9. My son Oliver has just discovered the misery of Sundays. What is it about Sundays? Why?

  10. From this far remove, it doesn't seem like you do much wrong at all! I happen to love leftover soup.

    I'm sure my grandparents would be horrified by my life, but you know, the world changes. Humans aren't the same as they were two or three generations ago. We know more, we're better connected, I like to think we're more tolerant and just more open. Some of us, anyway.

  11. pshaw.

    this too, like the bad soup, shall pass.

    sundays are too work heavy for me right now. i dread sundays myself because it means i have to negate sleep and free time to get work done what i cant do at my actual job.


  12. You are a Wise Woman, Ms. Moon.

    You have no business meddling with trivialities like soup.

  13. Worrying, more appropriately. No business worrying about them.

    That's better.

  14. Yes it was kind of one of those days for me also. I attended a birthday at the house of some elderly Republicans. And I don't do well when the ignorant statements start to come up. I have a hard time keeping quiet and then later, berate myself for saying my truth.


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