There is nothing quite like
the steam above a saucepan. A reminder,
something is brewing.
Think: an appropriate response to the warmth, with nothing
expecting anything Other. (Occurring) naturally to things in a pot, heating.
[This is all you have to do.]
Vegetables in quarters and thirds, beneath sage leaves and sprigs of thyme. Rinds saved over time. Alcohol poofs into nothingness. Behind it, savory warmth. And then, pink. Oops.
I thought about calling this “I’m Going To Grad School” Tres Leches. It’s exciting, I guess.
I had reached a point where I would rather receive the rejection letter than wonder what else my life could look like. I applied to one place I knew I would get in. And then, I applied to the program I wanted to go to.
Shortly after that, I told my boss I would be stepping down. I realized, it didn’t really matter whether or not I got in, at that point.
[By applying to grad school, I had admitted to myself that I wanted to do something else.]
I clicked Submit, and I checked my e-mail to make sure my apps had been received.
I found, listed just after my confirmation, that I had received a letter. A job I would have been interested in months before was now available, and they had thought of me.
I e-mailed back, thanking them. And, I declined.
It turned out, I wanted to hear about school. Even if that meant missing out on a really cool opportunity, in the meantime.
Anyway, I got in. To both programs.
This means: A Big Life Change is weeks away, and I am simmering rhubarb on the stove and mixing rosewater into its syrup, pureeing the solids for their endpoint…whipped cream. Syrup goes in three milks, poured over yellowy sponge.
And, you know, I didn’t really know how it would turn out. Too sweet, maybe? Or, sour? Not pink enough? And, would the puree in the cream overdo it? But it turns out, it’s the best thing I could’ve done.
blessing the boats
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that
In loving memory of my grandmother, who loved butter tarts, and who physically moved on to the other side last month after a decade of dementia. I would give anything to be able to be with you while you order coffee with one cream and send it back for another. You were wonderful, and I have missed you, and I will miss you. Thank you for being you.
notes on nostalgia:
longing for the flavor of Past
(becoming that for a moment)
round table against a wooden wall + birds chirping at the feed across the way
-lively chatter before snack time-
and so, it exists [in the present] experience
frames set to the color:
w i s t f u l
pretzels crunch-ed and the oven poofs cocoa air
[vanilla, imitated + brownies as cookies]
because maybe you don’t need to go back because maybe all you need to see is that you know how to find it now when it arrives in its new form