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"As ye sow, so shall ye reap." Boy, were truer words ever said? Live long enough and you'll realize that of all the words of wisdom ever said or written, these are probably the top of the truisms list.
Lately, I made a list of my sowings and reapings. A harsh moment of self searching. Moment? More like hours, the list was so long. It's a good thing I'm basically a shoulder shrugger. If I were a chest beating mea culpa sort I'd have pounded myself into the ground.
We could start with the insane amount of body breaking ballet training I endured for too long. Anyone with half a brain would have stopped when waiting for a bus after class was so painful I would be blubbering on the street corner. Years later I would periodically return to dance school, awakening my old injuries. Teaching aerobic dancing way down the line didn't help much. That resulted in the two fake hips now slowing me to a painful crawl. Nowhere down the line did I ever stop to think about the inevitability of harvest time.
Roving and rambling was none too clever either. Recently, I've been asked on several occasions for the name of the city and state where I was born. So help me, while I knew the state, I did not know the name of the town. I could find the county on the birth certificate if I could find that. Does it really matter? Having my mother's maiden name should be enough for an ID. I'm sure there aren't very many Tackaberrys in the country.
I have a list of street addresses and towns where I've lived since the age of ten. Granted, that's a goodly number of years, but, even so, eighteen places is a lot for a non-gypsy. I really liked moving. If I couldn't move, I'd change furniture frequently. I'm no longer a super woman. My chairs and such have never been in the same place for so long.
The end result of wanderlust is rootlessness. There's no such word as hometown in my lexicon. Isn't that the place where you were born, raised, lived, married, or at least still have a few relatives?
All this interspection started when I decided to browse through my collection of cookbooks. This includes books by cookbook authors and my own tablets, binders, and odds and ends collections of recipes, either clipped from newspapers and magazines or recorded on index cards. It would be awesome to count the numbers of recipes and much less awesome to count the number I actually used.
There's a huge volume called Larousse Gastronomique, the cooking volume from the French encyclopedia. This is almost two heavy to lift. It's written in both English and French and has word definitions and histories of just about every fruit, grain, and vegetable on earth, plus histories of dishes containing them. Great reading and, believe it or not, great cooking, since, contrary to popular thinking, most
spectacular cooking is fairly simple. While cooking the dish was not difficult for me, arranging the food was always hard. My old failure of spatial concepts is to blame. Fortunately, my husband and daughter were both mathematicians, so food didn't look like a total car wreck on the platter.
My absolute favorite cookbook, however, is still one written by James Beard, a big bear of a bearded fellow who loved eating and cooking. He favored simple recipes, done without a lot of Good Housekeeping fusses.
Baking, except for bread, was never my thing. Too involved, too messy, and, in the case of pie crusts, too impossible for me to make. I loved making soups, chowder, casseroles, etc. As time passed, I became a whiz at simplifying cooking and, sometimes embellishing, particularly with wine. I used the microwave at every opportunity and figured out ways to use it with foods not even recommended for nuking. Just buy a large cover with vents and turkey and pot roast are never better. Not to mention squash, which was always hard to handle.
Well, to return to reaping one's sowing, eating, even healthily, can bring trouble if you don't watch how much of it you eat. I'm now on the spot, having to limit foods to a few, both in content and quantity. The sowing was relatively easy and fun, the reaping can be grim, if you don't watch out!
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