Spaghetti on Sunday
By ice rivers
I am of Irish and German heritage.
Calling Dr. Freud as they say.
My concept of a seven course meal is 6 Stouts and a potato.
My unrefined palate is a stalled combination of heritage, childhood obstinancy and gag reflex.
My tastebuds have severely constipated the culinary artistry of my wife but she has adjusted working within the framework of idiosyncracy. She loves to cook and from the onset has used her creativity to meet my plebian needs. Whenever she cooks, which is often, she knows the path to my heart through my stomach and walks that path in velvet slippers.
Especially on Sunday.
We watch the political shows in the morning and switch over to football in the afternoon...all of it religiously.
Around four o'clock, she leaves me absorbed in the second floor cave; as I gamble on the games.
About an hour later, she calls me down and there it is......another fantasy banquet.
Sunday spaghetti with meatballs and sausage.
As I come down the stairs, the aroma remains as tantalizing as the first time...always the same but always different.
I am humbled by her productivity. Due to my own lack of skills in anyhing other than my obsessions, the resourcefulness of others always strikes me as a combination of miracle and magic. For those folks who are looking/hoping for a miracle, I suggest a good look around and try to find something that isn't a miracle.
The presentation of this simple meal has become so routine to Lynn that I have to remind her of her artistry although she can barely understand why I take so many picures of her work. The images are beautiful but don't approach the sensory appeal and magnetism of the meal itself.
I take my spot at our table.
Anticipation becomes appreciation.
Heaven on earth manifests as I wonder what I have done to deserve such a fate.
Her sense of serving size has mercifully refined. She knows that I will eat everything until it's gone and still want more. In the past this has resulted in exercises of gluttony that have immbobilized me for the rest of the evening. Currently, she makes enough so even though I could eat more...I have eaten enough and we can take our post meal walk around our vermillion neighborhood in comfort and style.
Tonight's dinner is perfect.
I am a grateful husband and a fortunate soul.
Spaghetti on Sunday.
No other place on earth I'd rather be.