erin

he lived on the edges.

in summer he turned up on benches – mornings, i would often see him sitting at a picnic table, with a used coffee cup full of fresh coffee and a muffin at the grocery store nearby. the store gave free refills if their logoed cup was used so the cups got reused whether they were first bought by our unhoused or found, discarded by a customer.

with the evening sun, he’d sit in the triangle park at the end of my block, boots neatly tucked at his side their tongues pulled forward to air out the day’s sweat. he wiggled his toes to a song of his memory or just as a welcome to the open air. i often stopped to say hello – sometimes i’d give him a popsicle and other times he shared what he was eating with my dog. his speech was always clear and deep, kind and cheerfully cadenced- bright blue eyes shone and you could see him thinking. he excitedly shared the plots of books he was reading or told me about a new plant he’d discovered. after some time, he found a guitar, two strings missing, and began teaching himself to carry broken melodies.

i asked him once how long he’d been living outside and if he’d like to be in a home again. he told me he doesn’t belong inside, that it makes him feel anxious. he said he gets enough to get by and quickly changed the subject to tell me he found out how to get free kolaches from a bakery nearby.

on this day we sat and watched the sky, “where are you from,” i asked. “illinois, near chicago.”

“i have friends in naiperville, they lived in joliet before that.”

“i’m just a few towns up … weaton,” he says with a brightness. we sit in silence for a bit then he tells me he was a wrestler there in high school … his beard shuffles as a smile surfaces, “funny thing happened the other day… This gang type guy came up to me, I don’t know why but he says “you wanna mess with me you mess with the cartel” and I was thinking like ‘this guy is crazy.’ He doesn’t know who I am – so I say, “you wanna mess with me you mess with a wrestler from weston.” that guy backed down.”

he pet my dog, a gentle pyrenees retriever mix with silky long fur. they stared at each other, “You are the dog with eyes as wise as the forest.”

from orig v 3-22-2022

potatoes

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s about eating and intentionally being thankful, not in that order, but this demonstrates my values. In past years, I have cooked for upwards of 25 people with very little assistance. It’s not that I didn’t want the help, but that I adore the frenetic dance of juggling multiple timelines and dishes and those points of separating food so that part of the batch remains veggie or vegan, while the other part of the batch becomes meat or dairy enhanced. Then, it all comes together with chosen and friendly family as I beam at all the love I am surrounded by in that day. Thanksgiving is the best.

This year we will be traveling and the actual meal will be at a restaurant, as we will be celebrating an aunt’s 75th birthday and she has chosen to keep things easy. It’s all the best parts of my family who will gather so the drama level should be close to non-existent. I’m excited to see everyone, but I know I’ll be missing my gift of cooking.

However, never fear, my kiddo has been looking out for me. She’s had two Thanksgiving events this week: one for school and one her own Friendsgiving. Mind you she’s also been working extra hours and has afterschool activities so she asked me if I would please make something for each of these meals. And I did, gladly. Both groups got potatoes. Side note, potatoes should be their own food group. That is an undeniably fact that my Irish, German, Czech heritage will always support. But I digress. Back to the potatoes.

One group got garlic smashed potatoes in which I boiled small potatoes smashed them by hand and then fried them in a seasoned butter mixture. Those were delivered to her school; hot, fresh & crispy, for her athletic training class holiday lunch. Next, I made Vermont mashed potatoes. They are Vermont only in that you’re supposed to use Vermont sharp cheddar cheese, but always the rebel, I used New York sharp cheddar cheese. These mashed potatoes have the requisite amount of cheese, heavy cream, butter, and even eggs such that as a weekly staple you would live happy, but not for very long. However, these are going to be shared by a group of Arwen’s friends for a Friendsgiving so their youth and moderation of serving should keep them alive. I will not be there, but I know there will be laughter and joy, and most importantly, I will have delivered love.