FEED My MIND: Adventure. Learn. Live. Write.
There’s the box and there’s the way mom makes them. It’s not complicated.
There’s pour into a bowl and carry over to the faucet for some water and there’s measure, and add, and whip and fold. Okay, there’s a way to do things; it’s a little complicated.
There’s the add egg, add oil choice and there’s farm fresh, pulled- with a nervous giggle and the smell of muddy straw and musty and crusted roosts- from under the laying hens at Collette and Andy’s. The warmth and kindness of neighbors is not complicated.
There’s a bowl and a spoon and then there’s three bowls, the beaters and the coconut oil. Yes there’s some mess in the making, but it’s the care-taking, solid, simple, never wavering constant of tackling the complicated. It’s the request from the little boy who misses his mom after a week in the Northwoods with his Grandparents,”I just want your waffles, Mom.”
There’s living in the box. And there’s the stepping out of it. It’s crazy complicated. But. It’s delicious.