Wanting to...

I read a blog called Orangette, written by the lovely Molly (last name here) who has a book published now called A Homemade Life. You should go read them both. I just discovered her, or rather my mother discovered her and then passed her knowledge to me, this past summer. Now, I am catching up by reading her entries from 2004. They are so lovely, I can't figure out which thing she makes me want to do--cook like she does, or live in Seattle, or write like her, or have her friends and family.

But then I realize, oh so happily, that I have all those same happinesses. I don't even have to worry about it, because I too have wonderful memories of friends and food, and all have been just as wonderous as hers even though most have taken place in Kansas.

Lately I have been remembering my endlessly amazing friends from high school, whom I miss with the same ferocity as I did when we first left Topeka for schools spread out across half the country. It is overwhelming--the mixture of gratefulness and happiness I feel when I remember the times we've had, and sadness I feel because they've already happened. It always make me think of that Joni Mitchell song--"don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"--which is so true and seemingly inescapable. But it is also these friends who defeat all the scariness of life by proving they will not disappear, that this is not yet over. Ah, the joy of knowing there are good things to come!!

Unrelated-ly...

Last week, I was having a very bad day, and I just wanted to come home and cook something. I have been wanting to make banana bread ever since the week before I moved out of my house in Lawrence and tried to make time to use the 38 or so frozen bananas we had for bread but failed. Luckily, my parents and current roommates also have frozen bananas. Much to my dismay, however, I remembered upon sifting my mother's banana bread recipe out of my file that it calls for BUTTERMILK. BUTTERMILK. Let me tell you, one of my least favorite things is wanting to make something fairly ordinary like banana bread and not being able to because you lack something like BUTTERMILK. Which is so close to being regular milk. Which no one ever has in their refrigerator. Which you can buy, but rarely do you need all of it for the recipe you are making.

But, this banana bread is special. To me, it is special simply because it's the banana bread my mother has always made and I will never think any other banana bread is as good. To her, it is special because the late great Emily Carmona, a feisty friend of hers who died suddenly a few years ago, gave it to her. Isn't it funny how significant a recipe can become under these circumstances? I have thought of making other banana breads, just for the sake of trying them, but I never feel like it would be right to do at my parents' house. Here, Emily lives on in small things like banana bread and found pennies. They become instilled with this higher function of reminding us to appreciate and remember. Is this a rare way of thinking? Ideas like this one are what make it hard for me to be vegetarian or vegan or any kind of restricted eater.

Anyway, apparently BUTTERMILK IS used in other things, because there is now a half-used bottle in my fridge. And tonight, it will be taken out, mixed with other things, and after they all cook together, I'm going to cut them up and dunk them in coffee and be grateful.