Earlier this week preparing dinner for my family to eat
without me because I would be going to book club at one of our local libraries
led by my very good friend. I both
welcome and loath, in equal parts, having a kitchen kingdom to myself. I love playing
the part of celebrity chef with aromatic delights and a pantry of international
mustards, but it is much harder to relish in the role of cleanup crew.
I was snipping the first asparagus spears of
spring, pulled out of their Mason jar bouquet in my fridge. And like I do over
the first fresh asparagus every year, I marveled at them. Really, I revered
them. So verdant. So upright. So persistent. So intentional. They were every
bit as beautiful as the roses my mom sent. How is it that just the tiniest bit
of balsamic vinegar brings out such delicious flavors in a few short minutes
while grilling? It is a triumph worth repeating. And I will take all the
credit. Meanwhile I can smell the brown rice bubbling over and the browned
butter chipotle roast with honey is sending juices down my throat. The kind of
welcoming smell that I dreamily imagine neighbors will drive by tasting and
wishing they were stopping here. I am grateful for this place and my place in it. For this season that brings so much beauty, but also so much chaos. Like the storm clouds that swayed like soiled laundry hanging on the line, smothering the sky, the air vicious, yet enticingly voluptuous. The same storm that two weeks ago tried to swallow my husband but after swallowing our back windshield spit him out. This chaos makes the beauty more sweet. More focused.More poignant. More pleasing. More present. Like the tulips my children planted bursting out magnificently, just in time for Easter.
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