Christmas Eve...woke early dressed in my finest and off to the shops...well that's what she used to do and her mother before her...jobs needed to be done, turkey to be collected,vegtables to be bought...mince pies to be made, house to be given another cleaning.
Humping shoppping,laden like pack horses, big ladies, strong arms,chattering,aches,pains,woes and what the next meal would be.
Kettle on...tea brewed...cold meat sandwich, pasty, peas pudding, stottie cake...then on to the next meal...food is love or so it seemed.
Went to Patisserie Valerie Kensington Church Street ..the best one....drunk coffee, ate cake,read,listened to chatter, flirted with the well dressed and heeled....talk of almond paste and how it was made before “The War”...row upon row of the patissier’s craft..sugar,flour,butter,eggs...magically transformed into edible dreams, pleasure.....or maybe food is sex?
I like the order she brings, I’m comforted by her presence..her authority. soothed by the giving of orders,advice,directions and reprimands. I’m in her parlour..but once again transported into Her presence.
Do I hate him?....I feared him...he never belonged in the house.
Dragged by the hair, punched kicked and beaten...drunken rage.
She endured that why?...always picking up the broken pieces...starting again...order out of chaos.
He would never understand why. could never understand why I choose the kitchen instead of his world. The kitchen to him is a place for woman and children.
I’m cooking for one...were did I go wrong?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment