View of Casa Amara at sundown
The author’s table
I told my husband the dogs have his number. They know exactly what to do to get their way with him, but I could do the same thing, keep perfectly still and show my cutest face, and still not get what I want. He replied and said it’s because he does not really know what I want and proceeded to ask me, “What do you really want in all the world?”
I was stumped and speechless for a long time, and was surprised not to have an easy answer. It’s either I have everything I want, which is impossible, or I don’t know what I want. So I groped around for an answer, sensing an opportunity not to be missed, and said the first thing that came to mind, half-heartedly: “Maybe a big, industrial kitchen with all the gadgets and bells and whistles.”
“Why do you want that?” he asked.
The answer was more sincere and honest. “Because I can control what happens there. The outcome depends on my efforts and if I made a mistake, it’s not the end of the world, I can correct it next time.”
In contrast, life outside my kitchen is a lot less predictable. I can do my best, work my best, love my best, but still manage to screw things up beyond repair.
I can control whether or not my soufflé rises or falls, but I cannot control people, not even the people I love or who are closest to me.
I can make a magnificent dinner, yes, but I cannot control who stays around to eat it
Yesterday I slaved over a stove and made a big production of dinner, but by the time I was finished, all my guests had left, and there were only three of us to eat such a wonderful display of my culinary skill. And my love. MY LOVE. I can make a magnificent dinner, yes, but I cannot control who stays around to eat it.
Late at night, my eldest arrived from work and proceeded to demolish everything. I did not expect him for dinner anymore, counted him out, but he came through for me. He finished everything with much love and much appreciation. Isn’t life funny that way? You seldom get what you expect. You seldom see love enter through the front door, where you expect it to come from. It comes through the backdoor, waiting in ambush.
The author with her family
So what do I really want in all the world? Every day I wake up hoping for a sign, any sign that there is still hope for humanity, that there is still hope for us as a people because our goodness and kindness will prevail.
As I write this, my husband is canvasing on the internet to try to make this dream kitchen happen so he can give me what he thinks I want. My husband and I are not always allies. We have fought tooth and nail over many issues, but I see a sign that for all the times we have wounded each other, there is still hope for us.
The author and husband on the beach
What else do I want? I want to feel safe again. I want to be reassured that my kids will go home to me at the end of the day and not be waylaid mistakenly in this senseless war the state is waging against its own people, or kidnapped to have their organs harvested, or killed like a dog for no other reason but that they believed in something.
I want to see my grandchildren, because I often feel that every day is a day I have to fight for.
I want to sleep at night knowing all is right with the world.
In the meantime, my safe place is my kitchen.
