I don't get out much

My neighbors, knowing that I've been alone all week, invited me to dinner tonight with the provision that I bring along some of the Stilton and celery soup. So last night I chopped a small woodlot of celery (some for Aunt Grace, some for Jill, some for the MacMillans, and some for us) to start the soup, which I finished this afternoon. While I was in the kitchen I decided to whip up some of those walnut crisps. You know, kind of like a hostess gift. And the maple oatmeal bread was finished for this morning's breakfast, so it was time to bake another loaf or two of something... like Roquefort bread! But of course I didn't have Roquefort, not that anybody needed to know that. Heck, I didn't have Stilton for the soup! Just a whole bunch of gorgonzola and some domestic blue. About three pounds of it. It was a bit excessive, I know. Sometimes I just can't help myself.

So I ended up spending the whole day in the kitchen. When I'm honest with myself, I acknowledge that it's where I always feel centered, creative, calm and a lot of other C words, like content. And comfortable and charmed. I can't, won't cook when I'm upset or angry. Working in the kitchen, which is to say cooking, is therapy for me.

For her part, my neighbor cooked her family's usual Friday night meal - salmon croquettes, pierogies and cabbage. I brought the soup, the bread fresh out of the oven, and the cookies. I brought so much stuff I had to drive across the street. Well, it was pouring down rain. And it was night. You just never know when one of those killer white tails might beat you to death with her hooves for a piece of Roquefort bread. Hey, it could happen! And I doubt she'd even realize it was gorgonzola.

Excellent meal, nice company. Too bad they're moving to North Carolina next summer, where they're building a home. They showed me the floor plans and photos of the community. We talked about the first house on our street, which is for sale. We talked about education, property taxes, their son who is in Iraq right now but is due for separation in July; we talked about baking, what I want to be when I grow up, the strange local water table, the proper way to calculate gains and losses on reinvested dividends, felonious ex in-laws, life in Turkey, winters in the Maritimes, and a Chevy Chase movie whose name they could not remember and I did not know. (Funny Farm.) My mouth was running like a sick chicken's ass, as my father would say. I don't think I've said so many words in the past two weeks, but I've certainly said very little since Saturday, because the dog isn't so good at conversation.

I guess I was a little overdue for adult human company.