I was feeling tetchy today. Maybe it was something to do with the full moon. A friend of mine told me I should lay low. That this full moon was more challenging. Full of cosmic movement. Something to be avoided.
I went to town in the morning. I struggled. I felt out of place. I tried to fill the chores I had planned out but they only seemed half done and only with a lot of effort. The city choked me.
I met another friend in a store. We got to talking about Michelin star restaurants and foraging and I said, I thought foraging was a cop out. I mean who wants to pay big bucks for mushrooms and nettles gathered for free when you can do it yourself? I said, foraging was a new word. It meant something special to those who don't know what it means. It sounded good. I said, screw foraging. It is free food. She laughed and hugged me. She was leaving for London.
Seagulls at four thirty in the afternoon give me respite. I watch them. Count them. Seven grey seagulls. The colour I want to paint my living room but when I go to the paint store can never find the shade. Seven seagulls battling against the storm brewing in from the sea. Yet, dancing seagulls cause me to stop my chopping of mint from the garden. Inhale the dance. Breathe the freedom.
The dogs love me. They love me because the kitchen is full of smells and food. My mother showed me how to make mint sauce from nothing but mint. I remember going to dinner and somebody produced mint sauce from a jar that looked like mush. I picked from the abundant growth of mint today. I rinsed it under the tap. I chopped it up. I put brown sugar in a bowl and added boiling water and white wine vinegar and tons of mint from the garden. The mint marinates. It is delicious. My mother used to say to me; can you taste it, tell me what's missing. I used to say, maybe a little more vinegar, a little more sugar, a little more mint. Now I know she knew the recipe all that time. It was her ploy.
And the dogs rest this full moon night. They settle down as I rinse the baby gem lettuce leaves. Sauté mushrooms and tomatoes. Quickly toss the lamb chops from Connemara in the pan. Pink is good. Rosemary comes in a discreet manner. My garden is a bounty.
Food is a great binding knot and the table speaks of many stories. We share them this night. Regrets abound and resolutions too. Food gifts us with insights. Seven seagulls in the breeze, chopped mint and a thousand words that will never be written until the time comes. I wish I knew when that time will come.