I broke last night. I cooked a pretty nice dinner, something I don’t normally do. (My husband loves to cook.) I had the artichoke hearts in one pan, the mushrooms (really good ones, too) frying in the pan, and was working on getting the ground beef ready for this Spanish main course. My daughter is “helping” and I’m doing fine, more than that, doing well. Then the smoke alarm goes off. This happens. I fan it until it goes off. It goes off again. The vent is turned on high, the food on low and the fire alarm went off, again.
My husband asks, “What are you doing differently so that the alarm doesn’t go off again?” (And why wasn’t he helping me out? Still don’t understand that one.) At that point, I started to break. You know what it’s like or you wouldn’t be here. I had been at the top of my game for a few weeks. Slightly hypomanic, not one of the nasty mixed states I used to be prone to. I was writing, thinking, paper crafting, having a lovely time in my marriage. Spending a tad too much money, but not that unreasonably. (Well, maybe, you see: Paper is five for a dollar at Joann’s this week.) Organizing a little bit excessively, but not too bad. I felt good. Just good. Not fabulous, just good.
But all that stuff going on in the kitchen was just too darn much. Noise bothers me a whole lot and what with the timer and the alarm, and the t.v., I could hardly handle it. I feel like I need time. Not necessarily alone, but without any noise other than my daughter’s singing. I have Bible study to do, and that lifts me up, too. When I can concentrate. I am glad I have knowledge of the Bible, otherwise at times like this I would be completely lost.
Blessed the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and [that] spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit.
I know the Lord is my strength and I have nothing to fear. Oh yeah, except going back in to the hospital. I actually gather real strength from knowing it does come from Him, and it might be sick to say this, but I actually have enjoyed my times in the hospital. I don’t cook, fight with anyone, or basically not do things I don’t like to do. It’s nice, and a healing place a lot of the time. But it’s not where I’m headed. Right now I am remembering what He spoke to us:
“He hath torn, and he will heal us; he hath smitten, and he will bind us up.”
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My mom asked me to preserve her mother’s recipes. I have an even better idea. My grandma loved food, was an excellent cook and love poetry. She had a book I gave her years and years ago that, when she died, was returned to me. I didn’t think too much about it, but looked for it yesterday. I found she had written notes and filled it with bookmarks. What a treasure! I decided to put the two together. She always had the Bible verse, “Eat what is good and delight yourself with fatness” on her refrigerator. I am going to title the book “Delight Yourself”. I will take the poem she has marked, such as the verse she wrote “Grand kids” under, and then write out some of the famous recipes we remember. I will do the same with anyone who remembers her and her exceptional cooking. My mom is making 20 copies to give to her children, her grand children, her only true love-my grandfather, and to the ones she truly loved. I hope my mom likes what I am going to do. I’m not sure why she wouldn’t other than that it’s more than she asked for (or wanted.)