Cookin'

There are some really good cooks in our neighborhood. Last chemo, I "couldn't" eat. Everything tasted like I'd burned my tongue then sucked on the leg of the swing set. I'm sure I was weaker for having not eaten. This time I've been determined to give effort to putting food into my face, tasty or not, to encourage positive mental health and strength. The smells of dinner encourage me each night, since our kitchen wafts with deliciousness, hinting that maybe my mom is out there doing her thing from my childhood. I load fork, lift, shovel, load, lift, shovel, like the sensible girl that I am. Stuff looks great. My family is in heaven, since I probably haven't cooked a real meal in all of 2007 OR 8. But when the yummy chicken, crisp beans, buttery potatoes and gravy, meatloaf, crunchy corn still on the cob, cakes, icecream, cool chocolately whipped things have disappeared into the eager tummies around our table, I drag back to my bed, thinking of Geneva Steel and wait for evening cramps to decide whether it will be constipation or diarreah keeping me company tonight. Even so, thanks everyone, for taking such good care of my family!