I've continued watching psychiatrists' youtube videos about mental disorders and one of them called tv cooking shows "Food Porn". What?!! I looove cooking shows! Friendly people chop, mix, sizzle, and chat, and I like to play this in the background when I'm trying to relax. It's not like I'm going to actually follow any of their recipes. I just prefer cooking shows to seeing a video of who's gotten blown up in the streets last.
Nice people cooking is a normal, pleasant world, and I want life to be pleasant and normal. They remind me of the safety and love in Grandma's kitchen. A full stomach means there's enough to go around and share.
The perky youtube therapist said my Food Porn is an unhealthy preoccupation with food. Grrr. I suspect she's probably right, but that doesn't make me want to give it up either. Well, I'm very willing to give up vegetarian cooking shows, but I don't want to give up the fat old ladies making cookies. I'm not eating them, so it's a non-caloric food obsession.
The strawberries and yogurt is a memory of a shared breakfast. If you've followed my blog a while, you may have noticed I've painted other shared meals. Food and love go together no matter what Dr. Phil says. I had dinner last night with a couple of friends. Lunch was with more friends. Friends --> food. Okay, maybe my friends and I should spend more time in the park walking it off too?
Big meals at Grandma's house were always followed by a walk in the park with the men while the women cleaned the kitchen. I held Grandpa's hand and we journeyed across the street to Goodyear Park to poke around at the pond and hike through the woods in the summer, sled and warm up by the burn barrel in the winter.
I recently visited my friend's new condo in Akron, Ohio, not far from where my grandparents lived. I decided to go past their house. It's been years and years since I've been there, and I was happy to see that so much of the neighborhood looked the same as when I was a child -- until I got to Grandma and Grandpa's house. It looked horrible. The pretty porch windows with a fan design at the top were falling apart and paint was slopped on the glass. A sign hung on the door that said the police were watching the property, so I suppose it's been used as a drug house. The garage looks like it's going to fall down. Grandpa must be having a fit in the afterlife.
A young couple with a baby watched me from the steps of Mrs. Edward's house. A picnic was going on behind Aunt Sally's. The park looked green and inviting. Everything looked happy and wonderful for a new generation except our house.
I went home and thought about all the warm memories and cookies in the bright, turquoise kitchen and decided that the current state of things doesn't change anything. The house and my grandparents live within me. They're like rereading a beloved book, something I can pull off the bookshelf anytime and feel the warmth again with thanks.