Given the subject, it might be a counterintuitive choice of entree, but that meat’s not going to last forever, and sometimes a girl wants comfort. So she re-creates the taste of Saturday mornings when Mom slept in and Dad was in the kitchen and cartoons were on the TV and the back door was open, invitation of a whole day streaming in through the screen.
“Create” is the word over at Emily Weirenga’s place tonight, and “tesserae” was the word that caught me at someone else’s place this morning. Those broken bits of something, redeemed into a mosaic, a whole, a big picture you’d never imagine just from focusing on the shards.
It all reminded me of something I made a few years back.
Patient healed. Seems an eon ago. Whatever your hand finds to do … sometimes it’s washing dishes, or folding laundry, or taking the trash out, or passing the Kleenex, or holding another hand. Sometimes it’s trying to make something benign (and, one hopes, leaning ever so slightly toward beautiful) out of bits that are neither.
There are abiding, absolute truths, always, even if seeing them takes a shift in perspective.
Oh. Tonight’s menu? Peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwich on toast.