Before I decided to quit my job, I had accepted a promotion that would have involved more hours. In order to make it all work out in my head, I had decided that we needed support. At the risk of sounding like I think pampering is just a way of life, I still feel like I need to outline the extent of what this change would have involved. We were going to have a full-time nanny. I was also thinking it would be awesome if the nanny would be willing to prepare dinner once in awhile, and clean up after Cora. Now, of course, the goal of having a nanny was not to have additional household help, it was that Cora would get undivided attention. That said, it started to sound pretty tempting to have someone organize our disastrous cupboards and vacuum once in awhile, even do dishes and laundry. So I realized that in order to save our relationship with said nanny, we would need to hire housecleaning help. And, because our yard is in total disarray--leaves everywhere, weeds overtaking all beds--I thought, well, we should hire someone to help with that, too. In my mind, it was the only way to keep sanity alive in a household of two working parents, both of whom would need to work late probably more often than we cared to admit. Suddenly, however, when I listed it out in my head, it started to feel like I was going to farm out all the everyday work tasks of life so that I could sit at a computer and make money. (I know there is a lot more virtue to working full-time than making money, such as building a career, keeping my resume alive, bringing in my own share of the income--but that is for another post on another day). It also began to feel like we should live in an estate, rather than our humble little house.
So, one of the new daily parts of our lives is for me to do all the things I was thinking I would pay someone to do.
I went grocery shopping a couple of days ago and started really trying to find ways to save money. Things are obviously a lot tighter without my income, and I've figured out exactly what we can afford each week. And I know perhaps this might sound odd to some people, but one of my favorite things to do is to go grocery shopping. I love filling my cart with a whole bunch of yumminess, picking out a new sauce or chocolate or wine or microbrew. We go to Trader Joe's at least once a week. When I was shopping at TJ's this last time, I realized that I often gravitate toward more prepared foods than I used to--like frozen cooked chicken and jars of simmer sauce, granola bars and hummus and roast turkey and ice cream. And the cart would literally be filled to the gills with goodness, but I wouldn't know quite what to fix when I got home and it was all unpacked and sitting untidily in our kitchen. Aside from the obvious health benefits of cooking more of our food from scratch, I have been feeling more and more aghast at the final bill and now, of course, is an important time to reign things in.
I grew up in a family that put a huge focus on whole foods, to a neurotic extent. At one point my family's diet/lifestyle was defined as organic, sugar-free, vegan macrobiotic, which, as you might imagine, narrowed things down considerably. I didn't eat meat until I was 22. When we used to go grocery shopping, the really expensive stuff we sprung for were things like imported seaweed, organic aduki beans, almond butter, yeast-free organic bread. And then when I was in college, I lived on a college budget and was literally able to leave the grocery store with enough food for a week for around $25. I actually loved to buy frozen veggies (boring ones, like cut carrots and peas and corn and lima beans) and heat them in the microwave and put salt and pepper on them. Then I started living with my now-husband and discovered how tasteless and limiting my grocery list was, so I started buying a lot more interesting foods and eating out more--and growing to love it. There were weeks when we lived in Pasadena when I'm not sure we cooked at all. Now, I'd like to go back to the source. I want to buy bulk foods and soak and cook beans from scratch, make whole meals out of dry ingredients and marinate poultry for a day before cooking it rather than defrosting it in the microwave before hurriedly serving it up. I want to bake bread and make cookies. Things that take time. This morning I baked a big kabocha squash, a ton of yams, and apples and pears. I made Cora a pot of creamy squash soup and I might try making her some yam and apple cookies.
I am just having layered realizations about how much I have missed out on because of habit or a lack of time or connection to my own life. I like working with food in its original form. I like cooking, I like the way food nourishes beyond nutrition. I like thinking about food in a different way, having the time to do it justice. I close my eyes and can imagine that organic garden behind my dream home on the island. I imagine finishing my work on a new chapter, walking downstairs and putting on my dirty gardening shoes, going outside and loosening the soil around carrots and green beans, trimming tomato plants and picking lettuce, filling a basket with food that I have helped grow and harvest. And I can picture my family eating soup and laughing while they tell silly stories and soak bread in their bowls.
Writing here is like opening a lid slowly on something that has been lying dormant, growing old and stale. Just typing makes me aware of the alchemy of the act, of charged elements mixing around me and starting to shift everything. Small changes feel so big right now.
Yesterday evening we went for a walk around Green Lake. It gets so dark, so early at this time of year--by 4:30 it felt like it was already 8 o'clock. I watched the sky darken and a true twilight set in, the kind I haven't witnessed in forever. Light streaked across the sky and turned violet. Ducks skimmed across the water. All the trees around the lake were ablaze with autumn, reflecting themselves on the shoreline. Cora was asleep on my chest. Her small snores would periodically interrupt the sound of people running by or chatting about their day. I walked past two high school kids singing something about marshmallow pie. Even though Cora was so heavy on my chest, a sleepy 24-pound weight, I felt layers of myself rising up and feeling so light and free. I felt grateful to my core.
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