Monday, March 09, 2009

Of sauce making and time flying

Today, I've a tale of sauce and socks.

So it's no secret that I've been a bit unsettled. A bit restless. A bit lost. The beginning of the year pretty much always does that to me. I always make big plans to start something new and shiny and fantastic...and my life always finds a way to shut it down. Or at least that's how it seems. Truth being that I have a way of convincing myself that if I can only get more organized, more regimented, more controlled I can somehow manage to be perfect. Lose the weight. Turn the house into Pottery Barn. Banish dust bunnies for all time. Perhaps master karate or re-master yoga. Pick up a PhD or 2. Be a Super Hero of a Mom and Rock Star volunteer, yet still have time for all of the yarn play, baking from scratch and obsessive reading I can handle.

Yeah right.

What life has a way of doing is bringing me back to reality. I have this regular, recurring date with facing my limitations in an often stark manner. And it always, always pisses me totally and completely off. Because somehow the propaganda gets me. I should be able to have it all. I should be able to do it all. And that's a lie. Life is compromise. Give and take. A series of trade-offs.

And for some reason I need an annual reminder. OK, perhaps bi-annual.

So that's where I've been.

Now, where do the sauce and socks come in?

The sauce is a sop. It's my grandmother's recipe. (or non-recipe really as the making of it was distilled into my synapses at a very early age) As is the lasagna. The Italian Wedding soup. Pasta i Fagioli. Garlic bread. Carbonara. Alfredo. The tiny fried dough balls drizzled in honey and topped with sprinkles. (they have a name I cannot recall...) The things I turn to when I'm down. Yes, for me self-love = serious cooking. (hence the need to lose the weight...) The results are spectacular and bring much praise. Making these dishes, I shine. And eventually that turns me around. The house may be a cluttered mish-mash, I may be well padded, things may fall through my mental cracks well more often that I am comfortable with...but I make some truly fine Italian nosh.

So, there's been a bit of cookery going down.

Now for the socks. The socks, they've been living in a quite dark corner for almost a year now, stuffed there to keep me from thinking of them...and the things bound to them. They were started for round 2 of Sock Madness last year. They're a quite ingenious and inventive pattern...fully reversable, exactly the same inside and out.

The pattern came out whilst we were in Florida on vacation last year, a fact I thought would most likely knock me out of play. Traveling with 3 kids under 7 generally does not translate to much free time. And I was right. I might have made it had not one of our dogs needed to be put down the day after we left. Talk about guilt. I was a wreck. My husband got deathly ill. We powered through the week, me pouring all of my stress into these socks so I could hold it together and take care of everyone when we were not in a place to fall apart. By the time we got home the kids were sick as well. Really, really, really sick. And I spent many late, sleepless nights surrounded by a huge void in my home and knocking off row after row of these socks. By the time they recovered, I of course got it and was sicker than I ever remember being. By the time it was all over, I couldn't even look at the socks without being overcome with yuck. So away they went. And I promptly forgot about them. Convienent, no?

Having decided to tackle Sock Madness again this year, a few weeks ago I started pulling things out - reclaiming needles, unearthing sock yarn. And I found the socks. And I cried. And cried. And totally freaked out the other dog by hugging her a bit too much and a bit too often. The grief I hadn't had time for last year had to play itself out, so I let it. And I started working on the socks again...and finished them. But I didn't want them. At all.

So, when my sister came to town last week I happily gifted them to her. They fit perfectly (as you can see above), better than they fit me actually. She loved them and claimed them as her own.

...and 4 hours later woke me with excrutiating abdominal pain. 7 hours in the ER on every narcotic known to mankind found her being admitted with a kidney stone and apparently intractible pain. 24 hours of that and she was home again. Fine.

Anyone know how to exorcise socks?


Stasia said...

Holy CRAP, honey! Burn them things!!!

I'm sorry you are having "the blahs" - you need to come visit the goaties when it warms up a bit. This weather is just too changeable and too nuts.


(Turn the house into Pottery Barn... LOVE it!)

3anklebiters said...

i think every women is sold a piece of the dream and she believes it, until it crumbles down around her. BTW, i'm not a typical fan of historical romance, but the outlander series you are reading is my ABSOLUTE fave. i fell in love with Jamie and lost myself in the story many times.