How to roast an onion and other ways to love this world
1. Wake up and discern via weak light spotlighting through windows that it’s appropriate waking time, rather than dark, lonely cursed hours of the sometimes-insomniac.
2. Reach for
3. Hear rat sounds outside the bedroom: chewing, scratching, scuttling. Wonder if Martha needs a friend. Wonder if Martha would eat her friend.
4. Pledge to meditate this morning. Just, later. Offer rewards: meditate for ten minutes, then check e-mail with…coffee!
5. Light full strength. Kids arrive, soft parts having shrunk in the night in relation to elbows and knees.
6. Rose demands, “Tell me the WHOLE day from the beginning. Are we doing anything fun?” Col rolls around, issuing strange noises approximating…bombs dropping?…intestines fermenting? Try to love every minute, remembering that soon kids will be device-coveting, parental bed-phobic teenagers.
7. Coffee. (cue triumphant music)
8. Hear Dan ask kids: “You want to clean up or live in squalor?” Radio silence. Next he wonders, “What is the life span of a fruit fly?”
9. Start chopping golden luminous planet of an onion* Scatter C-shaped slices on cookie sheet. Drip coconut oil over shiny white puzzle pieces. Shove in oven. Turn to 350F for 20 minutes. Broil for 10 minutes or until brownly crisped, stirring once. Pledge to meditate tomorrow.
Onion from Food For All Farms in Mancos. I’m up to 7/week. Attachment level = HIGH.
This is the start or end of any number of meals, so sweet and deeply delicious you may find yourself eating the caramelized squiggles by the handful, placing the empty cookie sheet in oven, uncleaned, for tomorrow’s onion.
Are you getting the notion that I snack all day long? Confirmed.
Roasted onions masquerading as bacon.
I had a meeting this morning with someone from the Small Business Administration. She was so knowledgable and helpful, except I couldn’t understand half of what she was talking about. Videos of me teaching fermentation classes? Pinterest and Instagram are the new Facebook? (I’m sticking with Facebook until it’s so retro it’s cool again). Google analytics to help me discern which posts get the most traffic? An e-mail program to track how many people actually open my e-mails about upcoming classes? I didn’t have the heart to tell her I write about fertilizing my garden with urine and serving roadkill deer to the family, and roasting onions as a morning practice. Plus, as Anne Lamott says, I’m not really well enough to track my popularity.
Which is to say, I am excited about dreaming up new classes for the community (fermentation class is FULL; Creative writing for middle schoolers in November has several spots still open. Talk to me soon). And I’m equally excited about, well, roasted onions, even if it’s not trending right now, nor capturing the zeitgeist of September 2014. I’m not sure where my career is going, but I’m trusting that the practice of falling in love with this world will lead to all the writing, classes, and fill-in-the-blank I could ever hope to initiate.
(And just maybe I’ll see if Mia can take a short video of me teaching fermentation next Tuesday…if she has one of those iphone-thingys).
With love and endless gratitude,
* thank you yoga/writing retreat students for onion descriptors!