So I'm wondering if we can just kind of take it as read that there's a fair amount of misery going around the Kidde Woodward family these days: sorrow and guilt... anger and confusion... fear and exhaustion... all wrapped up in a raw and painful awkwardness that isolates us from a lot of people who could probably comfort us (or at least cheer us up) if we could only let them. Some of that stuff I am writing about privately. Some of it I am talking about in my therapist's office, or over coffee with friends. Mostly I am just trying to live through it all as deeply and honestly as I can, while still moving through the world in the guise of a moderately functional human being.
That whole morass, you can pretty much assume, is going on all the time.
If we can all agree to that assumption, I would like to relate occasional news items (like the boy buying honey) that are entirely unconnected to the state of my psyche -- except that I have this habit of posting them here, which I find grounding, somehow. It's possible I'll even manage to share a few moments of hope and strength. They do happen, once in a while.
For instance, there was this one Monday evening a couple weeks ago when I decided it was time to make a pie in my tiny new kitchen. I didn't have the kids that night (which is always weird, but especially so where food is involved) so I texted a handful* of people I thought might be available to help eat the pie when it was done. Then I dashed out and got the ingredients, came home a little later than I'd meant to, and dove directly into making the crust before I realized -- dang, I left all my recipes at the other house.
I've made my mom's sour cream apple pie a million times, of course, but I've never had to remember if the filling calls for half a cup of sugar or a third, or exactly how many tablespoons of flour go into the topping. I didn't want any guesswork involved in my first pie in the new house -- I'm sure you can imagine that I needed to be absolutely confident about this particular dessert. I stood for a minute up to my elbows in flour, wondering if it would be too weird to go back to Mead Street and grab my mom's cookbook -- the one she put together when Andrew and I got married, and distributed to all her daughters so we wouldn't have to bug her all the time for culinary advice.
(Of course moms secretly love these inquiries -- like the other day when Simon called me up to ask if you put the pasta in the water before you boil it or after. I said, "After," and he said, "Damnit!" I know there will come a day when I no longer get pulled out of meetings to discuss the care and handling of cold, wet noodles -- and it will be a sad day, I am sure.)
Anyway, there I was, up to my elbows in flour, concluding that I didn't have time to go get the cookbook even if I felt up to all the emotions surrounding such an undertaking -- and it suddenly occurred to me: There are exactly two other copies of that book on the planet, and one of them is right next door. A quick knock on Jenny and Lexi's door, and I was all set.
GRANNY SHAN'S SOUR CREAM APPLE PIE
1 9-inch pastry shell, unbaked
Filling:
5-7 Granny Smith apples, sliced thin (peeling optional)
2/3 cup sour cream
1/3 cup sugar
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp nutmeg (my addition)
1 tsp vanilla
3 Tbsp flour
Topping:
6 Tbsp brown sugar
3 Tbsp white sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup flour
6 Tbsp butter
Whisk together sour cream, sugar, egg, salt, nutmeg, vanilla and flour. Toss apples in mixture until well coated. Spoon into pie shell.
Bake at 400˚F for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare topping: mix sugars, cinnamon and flour together in a small bowl. Cut in the butter until the mixture is chopped fine.
Remove pie from oven. Sprinkle topping evenly over apple filling. Reduce oven temperature to 325˚F, and bake pie for an additional 35-40 minutes, until juices are bubbling and apples are tender. Let stand 10 minutes before serving -- if you can!
The pie turned out great, but I wasn't really worried about that. I was a little worried that nobody would show up -- that I'd be slumped at my dining room table facing down the First Pie in the New Place all by myself. Fortunately, two of the people I texted said yes, they'd be happy to help me make it past this bittersweet milestone. And the two people who said no, they couldn't make it? Well, they showed up too.
*I should point out that the list of invitees was extremely short, mostly because very few people knew I had moved at that point, and I just couldn't bring myself to explain the whole situation to someone new -- and then have to say, incongruously, "So anyway... Er... Do you want some pie?" Apologies to those of you who missed out on the First Pie -- there will be others, I am sure.
5 comments:
Lovely writing. A little window into your heart...I guess you're in the Paul Simon "everybody hears the wind blow" place right now. Here's sending you peace and clarity. Erich Fromm says "Love is not a feeling, it's a place to stand." Stand tall, for all of you: may you find the Light during this transition.
Much love in these days. It all settles out, most of the connections find new shapes, but the strings of spaghetti and the circles and triangles of pie carry across time and space.
I liked this piece enormously--it hit that right note to express the wideness of life. When my brother died, I remember the little things like making coffee for mourners as one of those things that got me through the days. The mundane is there to push us as well as cushion us. I'm glad the recipe was so near when you felt it so far, that the friends came and ate pie (because you do regret eating the whole thing with a spoon in the end). Take care; I think of you often since I admire so much of what I've read of your life since I knew you at Swat. I like to read your life.
glad you are writing and cooking Mikayla
One of the fascinating capacities of Human beings is that we are able to have multiple experiences concurrently.
It is possible for us to have deep grief, and honestly laugh at the ridiculous, and be awed by the sublime, all at the same time.
It may also be human to try to reject those other experiences, as they seem to belittle or diminish what ought to be more important...nah, grief, frustration, anger, shame, whatever, they will be around to experience, for as long as you need to. Awe and absurdity are usually more transient. I look forward to having you write about what wants you to write about it.
We know you have pain.
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