Every Sunday afternoon for the past almost ten months, I have cooked dinner in our tiny kitchen with my cell phone propped up on an open shelf so I can Facetime with my youngest child Bronson while he is cooking breakfast. In the Philippines. The first several weeks he was gone, I'd sit on the couch and stare at my phone screen at the beauty that is my son; hanging on every word he said, intently listening for any hint of homesickness or the slightest sadness or unease. Like I said, he's my youngest. The empty nest life might be the bees knees for some, but for me it's been a massive life transition I felt blind-sided by. My first infant daughter slept in her own bedroom, with the door shut by the time she was four months old. By the time the seventh baby arrived, I figured my good fortune of newborns breathing on their own without me watching the rise and fall of the tiny rib cages had run out. Bronson slept on my chest most every night; not because he needed to, but because I needed him to. "Mama you spoil him!" Occasionally one of the other kids would complain. Maybe I did. Who knows. Who cares? He's turned out to be a great young man and learning to live without me hovering over his every move.
I tilt the phone up and away from the cheese I'm grating for a sourdough pizza I'm making. He hasn't had any form of dairy since he stepped foot on Filipino land. He misses milk in all it's forms. But especially cheese and ice-cream. He cracks an egg into a pan that is near the burner holding a pot of rice. Rice and eggs. He eats this daily. "Oh man....this egg doesn't look quite right....the yolk is super runny." I ask him to show me. He turns the phone to the pan, and I agree. It looks odd. "Well son, why don't you just go buy some more eggs! I'll put some more money in your account and you can go buy some extra things too!" He turns the camera back on to himself and grins at me. "Mama....stop....you're such a Leo!" "What does that mean?" I ask him. He tells tme it's obvious in how I react to such things and my personality in general that it all makes sense that that is my zodiak sign. He assures me he's just fine and that if this doesn't taste right he'll just have a hot dog with his rice. I give him that look. Part pity, part pride. He knows how I feel about hot dogs. He know how I feel about a lot of "foods". That they really aren't food at all. But instead of be-moaning his meal, I ask him what people serve him when they give him and his companion a dinner invitation. "You know something Mama? It isn't really about what they're eating, it's more about the spirit and attitude they have about the food.
"What is your secret to life?" Bronson tells me he asks this to older people he comes in contact with. "Mama, it's so cool, they almost always say "Just be happy and don't worry about things." We both agreed that that probably counts for much more than the ingredients in a hot dog and that to eat a hot dog while you're relaxed and happy and with a spirit of gratitude is far better than eating something organic and sustainably resourced but having negative emotions while doing so.
I watch some foodie videos from the Philippines. Until the day I can take a trip over there for some of their delicacies, I'll have to be content with some local fare. Over in nearby Kamas, UT "Lush's BB-Q" is a food truck that open only seasonally. We only have to drive about twenty minutes to get there, and I bet I'd be willing to drive twenty hours. Eyes rolling into the back of my head delicious. I know Bronson eats quite a bit of goat meat these days, and I'm sure if someone told me this meat was goat and not beef brisket, I say "awesome" while licking off the tips of every finger-tip before diving in for more. The cole-slaw is mustardy with the occasional pop of a mustard seed which is fun and tasty; and the beans are smoky, tender; I could make a meal of just those.
I made my first batch of sourdough English muffins over the week-end as well. I had left-over Canadian bacon from our pizza (and yes pineapple most certainly does belong on a pizza IMO). These were screaming for eggs benedict and of course you can never go wrong with a plate of those with slices of fresh tomatoe, avocado and some home fries.
My new favorite "hot cocoa mix". Sweetened with only monk fruit, I love this stuff; a squirt of whipped cream on top and a toasted English muffin, it's so delicious I can almost forget about that mounting piles of storage bins in the living room. With the lean-to completely cut off the back of the cabin, everything from that little room is now in this little room. Little. Little. Little. And the gears of building an addition turn oh....so....slowly.
I haven't been able to figure out if Lola thinks Freya is her mother/alpha cat/person or if Lola thinks she herself is the mother/alpha cat person for Freya. Either which way, she is all up in Freya's business. Freya looks at me now and then as if to say, "You do realize I was completely content without this baby in the house." I tell her it's good for her to make sacrifices and learn that the world doesn't revolve around her but that it actually revolves around this tiny creature that tortures me in the wee hours of the morning with her incessant purring and burrowing herself under the covers. Good thing she's adorable.
I spy a pair of kitten ears.
It took me about a year of living here to get my courage up to attend a fitness class at our little gym. Why am I such a baby about these things? My inner self-conscious teen-ager rears it's head and apparently I forget I'm a Leo. I'm sure Bronson wouldn't believe me if I told him how scared I get of new situations and environments and people. My class this evening was taught by a woman who has recently been fighting cancer. She's so strong, I get distracted just watching her muscles. If she can teach, I can attend. It gives me all the feel-good endorphins to raise my heart-rate for an hour and to remind my muscles they were made to move and not just chill out all day.
One of the best parts of summer is sweet cherries. I've decided that store-bought ice-cream is just not really worth the calories. Homemade is so much tastier and better for you. If I could ship some to Bronson I would. I did send a rather large package of chocolate bars to him a couple of months ago. The package tracking shows that it made it's way all the way to Manilla, but the tracking stops there. Nothing. In my dreams it's sitting in a climate controlled mail room just waiting to be sorted and delivered to my son that has a massive chocolate tooth and no chocolate in sight. Dave tells Bronson to watch for a mail delivery guy with a serious case of acne. Bronson tells me he has faith that he'll get the package at some point. I have faith in his faith.
Tomorrow I'm going to make homemade cherry ice-cream. After I let it freeze and harden over-night (because soft-serve is not real ice-cream; just sayin') I'm going to scoop some into pretty little bowls for Dave and me and go sit outside and watch the sunset. After we spray some mosquito-spray on ourselves of course. And we'll eat it with happiness and gratitude; and try not to think about the missing package of chocolate that my son is waiting patiently for, or the stacks of bins that are slowly encroaching in from the tiny walls of this cabin.
I'm a Leo. And according to my google search I am a "Fearless optimists who refuse to accept failure, Leos will find their deep wells of courage grow as they mature."
I'm feeling more mature already.
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