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.
