Cooking

Yesterday, for the first time in over a year, I cooked a full meal. (The reason I didn't cook is because I didn't have a stove to do said cooking with.) As I prepared the tilapia I was going to bake, and the green-beans and potato dish I was also going to bake, a sense of quiet contentment came over me. It felt good to move about the stove and prepare the food. I discovered I had actually missed it.

When I was growing up it was wonderful to get to cook. As all of the sadness began to creep in slowly the love of cooking, which is really making a home, slowly left me. It was replaced with sadness, sorrow and dread in waiting for what eventually came. As I folded the aluminum foil over the fish I felt as if I had actually stepped over some type of threshold and some extra baggage slipped from my shoulders so that preparing the rest of the meal was an absolute joy, even though it made me extremely tired (messing around a stove with crutches is always difficult, especially when you're trying not to spill anything or burn yourself).

I have meals planned for the rest of the week and Hubby said he would cook one or two so I won't wear myself out.

It feels good to be back in the kitchen again. It makes me feel good and I love creating beautiful dishes.

Good golly! I sound like a housewife again!