Yes, it's a thing, a way to encourage, to practice creativity in one's life
I approach the meal with a vague plan to cook the family recipe for beans and rice. But an image of elbow macaroni in a pot of chili appears in my mind.
Close enough. Good bye, rice.
Now supper's centerpiece is a can of chili. But first we need the fresh. I sauté chopped yellow pepper and chopped yellow onion. Add black beans and extra water to the pot to use to cook the elbows.
But after a good ten minutes, the pot appears to be a tub of hot liquid that has too many bits of onion floating.
I need a thickener, add a can of refried beans and stir. By now the elbows are soft but not plump.
Right when everything should be ready, I envision corn chips, which we do not have in the pantry. We have frozen corn, though, and I add a scant cup of it, and wait another six minutes as the pot simmers.
This is how it happens. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, being receptive, letting the images arrive, following their trails.
Now, ingredients cohere. Now it's a dish, not an attempt. Now I prepare our sides: a plate of grated cheddar, a jar of hot jalapeños.
We sit on the porch to eat and I daydream about a few happy hours spent at Scholtz's Beer Garden in Austin in the late 1970s. Dozens of sturdy tables, each set on a massive lawn, each bearing witness to the proprieter's faith that his customers will spend a pleasant evening out-of-doors, a faith I never learned in wet Wisconsin, but at least I knew this part of it: splitting a pitcher of beer with a group. The beer bringing smiles, conversation, appreciation for the setting, the food, the drink, each other.
Back in Wisconsin, I no longer drink. I have to keep my brain with me. I know too much now to let the thinking part get lost in blurry edges. No more of that relaxation, the softening of lines and responsibilities, the falling away of anxiety, and if portions are too large, the sliding away of values held dear. No more losing the self into a puddle of instinct. No more mistakes.
No. But once I had it--laughter while in the midst of peers. A warm night on a green, grassy lawn while clouds traveled high above and the sky gradually darkened. It was a moment of unexpected happiness just to be there. Young. Alive. Belonging.
My Tiny Career
