Even though sadness still seeps from within, I’m going to set that aside. A moment, a few hours yesterday, where life was beautiful, everything was right, and I felt alive.
The sun was shining. I’m sure that helped. The neighbor kid came over to play and I could hear giggles, shrieks and little feet circle the house. As I caught a glimpse of them, wind – still chilly – blowing their hair wild, bare skin determined to soak up the sun, with the green grass and blue sky surrounding them, something woke up in me. The sun was shining inside me.
I decided to do what any sane person would do when they had a million things to do and finally some energy to do it. I baked a pie. two pies actually.
This was a risky endeavor for me. The crust is my grandmother’s recipe, it isn’t written down anywhere, doesn’t use exact measurements and has a secret ingredient. Many times, even when I’m in a great mood, the failed crust had left me in a defeated heap.
And today I was missing the secret ingredient.
Whether the stars aligned, my grandmother was secretly adding more of this or that, or the sun substituted the missing secret ingredient I don’t know. But I was successful.
Apples that had been neglected in the fridge received star treatment as they were spiced and sweetened, the smell bringing memories of happy times. Even the long strands of peels on the counter brought joy.
My pies turned out lovely. The children were windblown, rosey cheeked, dirty and hungry. My owl apron was smudged with cinnamon and dough. This is the life I want. It can exist. Even if only until my husband comes home.