Someone has filled my freezers. That person is me. They are full enough for me to rearrange the contents to fit something new. Something is amiss. I am not shopping more, not hitting great sales, and have not changed my shopping habits. That can only mean one thing. I must not be cooking enough.
So what is going on? Winter depression is all around like an unwanted, persistent weather pattern. I remember a time like this a few years ago. I cannot recall how I broke free from its gravity well. My ambition requires a jumpstart, and my motivation has flown south for the bitter winter season. I feel I am left with nothing, like Henry Bemis in the Twilight Zone episode Time Enough at Last. Socially awkward, Henry could not deal with people in any way whatsoever. His only refuge was found between the pages of a book. It was his special place. A catastrophic event takes the lives of every other person on the planet, yet Henry is spared. As he wanders around a post-apocalyptic city, he comes across the largest library he has ever seen. There is time enough at last to escape to the only world where he can exist.
As Henry situates himself into the rest of his paradise life, his coke-bottle thick glasses fall to the floor and are broken. Henry could not read without them, and he could not see anything inches from his face. All of those printed words around him, his absolute paradise, become, in one moment, his torture.
Sometimes, winter does feel like a sentencing. I have bashed this worthy adversary for over 40 years relentlessly. Some things never change. 16-year-old me, sitting in my room, listening to John Lennon's Live Peace in Toronto 1969 over and over again, seeking new ways to smite this unsinkable taunter.
What gives, though? My food? Seriously? This is the one place where I can kick it out and feed myself and my household. The canvas is blank, and the food is there, just like the many books in the library poor Henry Bemis sat in. My glasses are my cooking knowledge, tools, and stove fire. Seemingly, nothing is missing.
I can only conclude that something is missing. I need motivation and that insatiable need to discover and master more in the art of many things culinary. The worst struggles ever are those that we have within ourselves.
I am old enough to know that randomly changing parts till you hit the target is not an option. Everything needs to count. That is why I am sitting at my kitchen table this morning, taking it apart, trying to see where the obstruction is. Just like my dishwasher, which is too new to experience an issue, despite that "is," which I will take apart later after work to see if I can fix that too.
That will displace the time that I would have been cooking once again. I see a connection between the broken stuff in my life and my frustration in not cooking. It is that proverbial sink full of dirty dishes, coupled with the dishwasher full of clean dishes, added to the 15 bags of groceries I just bought that are still sitting out 30 minutes after I got home and need to be put away. Yeah, and let me tell you, I was so confident at the store as I bought those groceries! Oh, the stuff I was going to make! You fool, I shout internally! What a joke!
It is the only way I know how to break free. To just get mad. So here I am, trying to shake this winter stalemate. It is a boring standoff in which everything stops. A terrible waste of days that needs to be smashed. I cannot do it. I cannot allow it. I need to mix everything up. Blend, shake, and throw it against the wall and see what happens. I know I can do it. I just need to push. Gravity feels heavier these days. I can do it, I know I can. Tall words to say when you are pinned down, but I got this.
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