Monday, October 28, 2013

Sunday Mornings

As a kid, weekends were golden. No school, no rushing around and I could do what I want (for the most part).  Saturdays, my Mom deemed cleaning days. We turned up the stereo and everyone worked on a room. After that we were free to ourselves. I'd spent the afternoon and evening reading, watching TV or out with friends.

Sundays mornings were spent eating some form of brunch.  Pancakes, waffles, eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, cinnamon rolls, orange juice, coffee. I've memories of my Mom making perfect omelets even though she doesn't eat eggs.  She'd get out the shiny silver waffle maker and boil down water and maple flavoring for syrup. 

My Dad was less conventional about cooking. He grew up the son of a farmer who never had to think about cooking, because my Grandma did it all. He'd make freshly grated hash brown potatoes with large pieces of onion, scrambled eggs and diced hot dogs. Then we'd squirt copious amounts of ketchup all over it before eating. 

Food is connected to my childhood memories, whether I like it or not. And while my relationship with food is a bit broken, I still treasure those memories. They speak to a childlike innocence, lazy and relaxing days.  They are emotionally comforting in a time where I'm not quite sure where I fit in right now.

Yesterday was a Sunday golden day. A day I made sure to live presently in, all day. I feel as though the dog tried sleeping on my face all night, but let me sleep until 8 am. I woke up to pumpkin coffee with a dab of cream. I concocted a breakfast of potato hash with bacon, onion, jalapenos, cooking on the stove. Finished, I topped it with runny eggs and sharp salty cheddar for me, instant grits and runny eggs for Pete. We are in front of the TV, talking about the weekend. I am relaxed and present.

I read my new cookbook and crocheted a bit after breakfast. Relaxing with a warm sleepy puppy and a blanket my Grandma crocheted for my high school graduation. All the while watching reruns of Law and Order. The sun glowed through the blinds in the living room and made the cold outside seem much warmer. Golden. 

It's Sunday nights where I feel most like an adult. Sundays are when I bake bread and cakes. I roast whole chickens with root veggies. I slow cook turkey sausage chili with cornbread. The making of large meals again reminds me of my childhood. Of sitting round a table in the dark evening with tender roast, buttered carrots and soft potatoes. Of pieces of white bread with butter and the TV running the evening news or a football game.

This Sunday I made Turkey Wild Rice Hotdish with a crusty whole grain honey bread. Between dinner and breakfast, I made some new golden food memories. 

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