There’s the part of me that’s good. I’m kind to strangers, offer assistance without hesitation or expectation and do what I believe is right in almost all circumstances. I’m honest, loyal, hardworking and driven toward the “larger good”.
I’m the good girl. The kind that takes care of friends and family when they are sick, the kind that does good even when no one’s looking. I like being what most people consider good. It makes me feel worthy of respect, admiration and love.
But why do I do it? Am I good because I believe that’s what other people want? Is it about being noticed or simply wanting to avoid untoward attention. Or am I even good at all?
There’s also a part of me that’s bad. The one who wants to eat the last cookie, the one who wants to be really selfish, the one that likes dark twisty content in books and movies, the one who wants to flirt shamelessly with charming people, the list goes on…
It’s like the good part represents for societal expectation sake (the good shoulder angel) and the bad part is who I try really hard to ignore (the bad shoulder angel).
So then who am I besides the rift between the good and the bad? I wonder everyday.
It’s kind of like the fable about wolves… the one you feed is the one that survives. My problem is that both of my wolves are hungry.
When I think of being kissed. I get butterflies in my stomach and a tingle that dances just beneath the surface of my skin… as if all of my senses are subtly awakened.
It’s a moment of utter awareness. Being so close to him that I can feel the heat and scent of his body… a perfect combination of crisp clean laundry and freshly showered skin. To close my eyes and breathe him in is almost enough.
He leans closer still and I feel the sensation of his scruffy cheek and softness of his shirt. The touch of his hands trailing up to my face while he pulls me into him makes me breathless and gently feeds my increasing hunger.
But the moment his lips touch mine, his mouth, soft, searching and meeting mine with equal, if not, more powerful need… I realize how long and how deeply I’ve needed to be kissed.
Of all life’s gifts that the human experience makes possible, being kissed, truly kissed, with love, with passion and in complete surrender is my most heartfelt desire.
Sometimes I wonder, at what point did I develop a passion for food? And how? And why does it make me happy?
If I really think about it, it’s been a procession of events that all started when I was young (and perhaps a little foolish). I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. When I was in high school, most of my classes were art classes… probably because that’s where I felt the most relevant. Academics and I were not great bedfellows, at least, until I reached college years. *that’s another story*
But as a young woman, I found it difficult to express myself creatively if presented with any other challenges, say like needing to support yourself or having a relationship of any kind. Being a young wife and mother changes your priorities… or at least it should. For me this is especially true. My focus on my family was the death of my art – at least for a while.
In the beginning, it started with pencils and evolved to paint. Later, it was yarn and eventually fabric. And much later, it was cooking. The common thread was the possibility of creating color and texture in my life, and the critical thread was the expression of creativity that unburdened me of my troubles. If I was having an especially bad day, I would hide somewhere in the house with my favorite vices… sometimes it was my crocheting bag, other times it was my sewing machine and a pile of fabric – but mostly, a bag of groceries and my favorite cookware were the keys to my soul.
My conclusion is, that my creativity is a work in progress and I think it makes me happy because it’s the only place where I don’t rely on others to make me feel relevant. The experience of creation, in and of, itself is enough to make me realize that I can find happiness anywhere my effort lies.
From top to bottom, Limoncello, Lemonbar Sundae, French Toast with fresh peach preserves & my notorious dirty eggs, Loaded Potato Chowder 🙂