Moving Forward with Food

                                                         Moving Forward with Food

This past Sunday was the first anniversary of my husband Steve's passing.  It was also my parent's 65th wedding anniversary, which they had to celebrate in a small way because of COVID-19. (God I hate this pandemic)  And it was also a big milestone week for me as far as personal growth.

I've been dreading the one year mark for awhile.  Literally dreading it.  In fact my anxiety and depression had ramped up to the point where I was almost unable to function.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  For about three weeks in a row I wake up early, get out of bed, drink a pot of black coffee, eat a bowl of pasta, and go back to sleep for three hours.  Every single damn day.  And I would wake up full of self-loathing for being lazy, and for having wasted yet another precious day.  So I would cook and bake , sometimes late into the night.  Sometimes Steve's favorite recipes, that I would now introduce to my new husband Terry, (what a godsend, he literally saved my life!) 

The act of cooking and creating recipes saves me.  It comforts me.  No one notices if your food is a little extra salty with tears. Producing great food anchors me.  It calms me.  And it moves me forward.  You have to stay in the present if you're whipping buttercream frosting.  You have to pay attention while making a roué.  So it takes you out of the grief, and gives you hope, and nourishes your body and soul.

A long time ago in Vermont my late husband had encouraged me to start a food blog. I also wrote a recipe column in a local paper. (Great feedback from people, telling me they cut out my recipes and hung them on their fridge!)

All of that stopped with the death of my husband.  I moved to Cottonwood, Arizona and into a fifth wheel.  With hardly any space to cook.  And no one but myself to cook for; well my family is around so I cooked for them, but only on occasion and I had to use someone else's kitchen. That was fine for awhile, but I didn't get the same satisfaction as I did from feeding my late husband.

And during the pandemic, I found I was ready, really ready, to move forward. I went on  some disastrous dates, almost lost hope, and then I joined eHarmony.  yup.

My first day on there I met someone.  I met the love of my life.  The second love of my life.  And this time, at nearly fifty, I knew what I wanted and what I didn't want.  We married a month after our first date, and we're wonderful together.

We moved to the White Mountains of Arizona.  Bought a house.  And I cooked.  And cooked and cooked. And I started to come alive again.  I got a recipe column in the local paper by emailing the editor with an introduction and some samples of my work.  That was the first step. 

Then the anniversary came.  Guess what?  I was fine.  I woke that day not in deep despair, but instead filled with purpose and energy.  I started this blog. I got back to work on the children's novel I had started years ago, and made a lot of progress when I had been stunted and blocked for years.  I figured out that I had passed a personal milestone in my journey.  I no longer felt guilty for being happy.  I learned that I am in charge of my happiness, and I deserve every moment of love and light and laughter I can find! 

So I continue to cook.  I cook with memories of my late husband and some of his favorite dishes (he used to like to describe my food as "warms up the room" a DIY home show term) and  I cook for my new love, who takes time to identify each spice and flavor and texture and comment on it in a sincere way.  And most of all, I cook for myself.  So I can share it with you.