watermelon

The first thing the child says is watermelon. I want watermelon. He does and he’s been holding on since I ‘forgot’ desert last night with the wet pink flesh. Everyday I am thinking about meals and my mind always starts like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard - bare and lifeless. It’s only once I move into action that anything eventuates - or begins to appear like magic from something or nothing. Food is glorious. Food is our life that we take from others - from the sun. And long before I had to provide for others there was a love for the stuff that my soul came here with - provider. The greek word economy means the management of the household. That puts all our money wranging in perspective. How shall I manage our household well? What meals should be tea and toast, which eggs and bacon? Or the more substantial and always celebratory roast chicken? I am writing at the longest table - one able to be set for fifteen or twenty and my children will love such an event. I wonder if I would now that my provision of food on a thrice daily, nay almost hourly rate is pulling the hairs out of my threadbare food imagination. But you are here. And the more I let go and lean on your sensibility, the more I am saved from my own food hubris. Like the pentagon thinking they can mastermind control of the whole world - I am a poor representation of the absolute diversity and possibility - of a world that shares itself and offers itself with such freedom and generosity.