“Mama, you are a way better cook than the lunch ladies.”
Score: 1 for the mama.
Except Ferdinand doesn’t eat the school lunch, so I don’t know if the point counts, but I’m taking it anyway. Mama is in need of the emotional satisfaction of points on the scoreboard. The world can break my heart sometimes at every corner. The front page of the paper, the snow falling (and I love snow), the homeless man at the end of my block who lost his boxes last night. I feel like pulled sugar.
Here is what I do:
I make a massive pot of ginger tea with fresh, unpeeled ginger and copious amounts of simmering water, and just leave the honey pot and lemons on the counter for easy access.
I make snickerdoodles.
I eat dark chocolate with slivers of almond and bits of candied orange.
I listen to Brazilian music under the covers.
I think of my friend Caroline’s wood burning stove.
I make pasta with toasted breadcrumbs, garlic, fried parsley and lemon zest.
I think of how gentle the sea can be as the sun sets and the waves soak into the shore and how good it is to eat a fresh lobster roll.