No Wonder My Dreams Involve Cooking For The Masses

We now have two more Grandparents' Day decorations in our kitchen to go along with four others that Gibson and Owen made us. I think that Maggie really enjoyed having her two grandmothers and her grandfather come to eat lunch with her today. Jason's mom was there and we all ate together. Maggie loved her lunch, from the Pringles (my favorite!) to the watermelon and sandwiches and pickles and elegant cake slices with raspberry. I forgot to mention yesterday that when her mama asked her what she'd like for me to bring for this lunch, she said, "Fish." 
Magnolia June loves fish so much. That just made me laugh. What second-grader wants fish as a treat meal? She is obviously a fine Florida girl.

Lily pointed out that fish would get cold before we could eat it but Maggie countered by saying that there are microwave ovens in the cafeteria which we could heat the fish up in. We will definitely have fish the next time Maggie comes to spend the night. 

I have to tell you that these lunches are always a source of a lot of anxiety for me which I realize is completely ridiculous. I dreamed early this morning that I was making food for so many people and that I was cooking it in giant iron vats of pots on open fires and that portions of the food spilled out into the fire and I could not keep track of everything. I mean, I get that I was concerned that I would make a lunch that Maggie would like but must I take it to that level? 
It would seem that I do.
Also there was the issue of getting there on time, figuring out where to park, finding Maggie, etc. Mr. Moon had gone into town earlier to work out so he was meeting me there and that was another anxiety- would I find him? And yes, of course we both have cell phones and no, it was not a problem to park, and it was quite easy to find our girl and she did like the lunch but Christ Almighty! I had to worry about it all like I was preparing to climb the Himalayas and was responsible for all of the food and the navigation. 
It wore me out. I swear- I've been good for nothing the rest of the day. 

Of course I did laundry and I also replaced two buckles on a pair of overalls that I use for gardening. I'd been holding the straps on with ancient diaper pins. No kidding. Those things last forever. And that is about it. It's really not that difficult to replace the buckles. You have to rip out the stitching on the straps and unthread them through the whatever-those-things-are and put the buckle on and then rethread them and stitch them in place. However, as I have said before, you might as well ask me to put together an entire Ikea kitchen set-up when it comes to something as simple as that threading process with the straps. My brain just does not work that way. 

Oh well. I caught up on a few episodes of Call the Midwife which continues to be a sweet and even timely show as they explore issues which affect us very much to this day like homelessness and single motherhood, poverty, race, religion, family and death, as well as birth, of course, which is endlessly fascinating. At least to some of us. 

Me, for instance. 
Hank just sent us all a text with the Facebook memory he'd gotten today from fourteen years ago which said, "Baby Update, nothing yet."

Oh, how we were all breathlessly waiting for Lily to go into labor with Owen. He was taking his own sweet time, which is every baby's right if you ask me. Or almost every baby. There are always exceptions. 

But that's a whole other subject and no need to go there now. 

I don't have a whole lot to say today about the body issue. I think that I will try to mostly just relate my own personal issues with my body, with hunger, with shame, with... well, all the things I've dealt with, experienced. And try to make some stab at figuring out how these things may have arisen and developed. 
"Hunger" may sound odd, especially in the context that I never suffered from lack of food. We were certainly not rich and we ate a whole lot of bologna and white bread and canned soup but there was always enough. 
And yet, somehow, there was never quite enough for me. I look back and wonder if I was missing some biological trigger that people are supposed to be born with that tell them when to stop eating. I distinctly remember going to a restaurant after church in a place on the Indian River, a bit north of Roseland, called "Em's." Or at least that's what I think it was called. A large group of people from church, including the pastor and his wife and my grandparents and some of the lovely retired folks that were my grandparent's friends, all went there and ate at one huge table. The food was served family style and it may have been the best food I'd ever eaten up to that point. I absolutely recall Em's pot roast with vegetables and how delicious it was. My grandmother's cooking, and my mother's, was adequate but very plain. They did their culinary duties but there was no joy in the food they cooked. Em, however, obviously knew her way around both a kitchen and a cut of meat and fresh vegetables. I ate so much that Sunday that my stomach hurt. And I did not like that feeling at all. But I could not stop myself. 
This was probably my first experience with overeating and it was, at once, both orgasmic and very painful. 
I was probably about six years old. Maybe seven. 

So that's my memory for today and I do not have much of any sort of insight as to why I could not stop eating that good food. Was it because, like I said, I was just born with a grand appreciation for what tasted truly good? That may have been part of it. I've always had a palate which has served me well when it comes to being able to concoct dishes that will please others and, yes, myself. And knowing how much pleasure I receive from eating good food has informed my cooking in that I want to give pleasure to those I cook for. 

So. Blessing and curse? 

Who knows? Not me. 

Martini time. 

Happy Friday, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon