I love to cook.
No, I do not aspire to being a chef. GOD NO! Who in their right mind would want to put up with the awful crap that people who work in restaurants put up with?
*Although, I have to admit…if I were independently wealthy I would indeed found a restaurant and not run it the way everyone else runs theirs. It would be in Charissa-space and time…and customers who didn’t like it would simply be sent on their merry way.*
No…I love to cook, because it is the tangible way that my love becomes incarnate and then consumed by my loved ones.
The greatest gift you can give me is to let me cook for you.
The deepest cut you can slash me with is to reject my food that I made for you.
And the strongest Othering you can extend to me is to deny me the opportunity to cook for you if I love or am in love with you.
This year, I am both happy that I get to cook for 2 of my loved ones, bereft that I cannot for the 4, and truly puzzled and drained that I have been denied the chance to prepare a feast for the angels in my life one and all.
My heart on a plate, carved up for you, and reborn in me as you partake and are renewed.
(No…I didn’t feel like making this into a poem. It’s right there, in plain sight. Have at her if you wish! 🙂 )