foraging on one's own

So, this week I have taught a class for eleven women at a night school, and then made a dinner at home for a friend.
The first, chicken stuffed with duxelles, and unctious mix of mushrooms and cream. Also, a gratin, with an ungodly amount of shredded gruyere with a custard base on potatoes with thyme, roasted asparagus and a variety of salts, and finally a lovely, rich and creamy buttermilk sorbet with strawberries, blackberries and melon on the side.
Last night I made one of my favorites, sauteed chicken with mangoes, green olives, onions and turmeric, cinnamon, biber, cumin and black pepper spice, steamed broccoli and brown rice. Lovely.
I was stressed cooking the class, quite a feat to turn out food for eleven in two hours plus one hour prep, teaching and talking at the same time.
Last night, anticipation of a great revisit with a good long-lost, now re-found friend, old lover, and ?, and great mind. I was content,even happy, cleaned up the house, spruced up, shaved my legs ( who knows), played Leonard Cohen very loud, and sang while cooking. I love cooking for friends and family. I love putting myself into food for that chance to gather at the table, light the candles and just be with someone. BE.
And later, in an exhausting pas de deux of repartee, riposte, innuendo, and overt comments, we discussed any and all things. As I wrote later, a Pandora's box; he reconnecting with the declining known world after a solitude a la John the Baptist spiritual quiet of the desert; Me, reconnecting with friendship after a day with kids whose minds are younger than most of my jewelry.
I had a good time, the night ended much too early, it would have been good to curl up and just BE, in a muddle huddle of warmth together. But we were both being smart, and I tucked into bed with a book and pjs.

note and sidebar, wearing flannel pjs on flannel sheets is becoming your own velcro, I was my own flannel board, trying to toss and turn in ennui dreams all night but remaining stuck.

tonight, I am home, and trying to remember that Friday is just a day, there is no constitution or rule that says I must be out. I leave tomorrow am for a night trip to Portland, my car is loaded with Japanese ingredients for a friend.

So, after the excesses and fun of the week what do I eat?
I forage.

Let's see, before the coat comes off, a large class of sparkling water tangerine flavored. One half of a melted chocolate bar which I chilled back in the fridge.
Then, a bowl of Japanese salted and vinegared cucumber pickles, picked up when shopping for my friend. Then, several stuff-them-in-your-mouthwhen no one is looking:six to eight small sheets of toasted, salty nori, seaweed wraps for snacking.
Here I am eating seaweed and cucumbers, then a little chicken from Sunday's carcass still in the fridge. Standing at the fridge nibbling on bones. No
candles, mostly standing up, and in between shifts to the laundry.

Why the difference? In part, this is all I want, too much last night,and two glasses of wine went to my head but I didn't know it until I woke. Salt and caffiene all day.
And second, because I can. I can sit here at the computer, flirting on
line and slowly not wear clothing, just my black bra and pants...with seaweed in a bowl. Who knows, who cares, and does it matter?

My last lover said to take care for one good meal a day. I get that. And I applaud that, just because I am sitting here basically nude with a seaweed wrap doesn't mean I don't matter. To myself.

But in a way I am lying. I put it on for friends and lovers, but to sit down alone at the table, light the candle, means I am alone. And, I don't like that. I don't like eating alone traveling, and I admire those who can.

So, I fill the space, eating what I want while multitasking with the tv in the background, laundry running, im and e mails going, and the generalized noise of electricity around me.

My late mother in law always sat down to dinner with candles and a little glass of wine. I can't seem to do a little glass of wine, so right now none is around. And, in my view of the future dimly, see myself aging here sitting down alone to food and wine. I really really don't think we should be alone. I can get into a commune, shared spaces and times, someone to cook for and cook with, and someone who points out to me the absurdity of foraging while wandering around in Victoria's secret.
Off to bed sans the velcro.