I’ve been stumbling through the last few days in a fog of sorts, and I realize that the experience is most likely the manifestation of depression. Real, hardcore depression. Or maybe a form of postpartum depression The awareness leaves me a bit concerned, but I’m confident I’ll come through it without medication and therapy. I know it’s there and I know I need to work through it. Then I’ll be back to my normal ups and downs. There is deep exhaustion, first thing in the morning after a full night’s sleep, continuing on through the day. There is the weight of the facial muscles pulling my expression into a grim frown, where conscious effort is necessary to compose any other expression. There is a sort of dizziness or vertigo — a general feeling of imbalance. There is a void in my mind, where thoughts might normally be. Only quiet and darkness. And there is sorrow, welling from deep within, that washes over me every now and then, that brings forth the sobbing tears. Tears and sobs are good, because they bring release. I can feel myself getting better –a little more so with each passing day.
Two more aprons have joined my collection (one, an artist’s smock style, which I think I like best so far, is in the wash, so no picture; the other is sort of a basic style with a huge pocket and a slightly scalloped hem), and an arsenal of pumpkin pies have made their way from my kitchen to the MIL’s for Christmas Eve dessert. I spent an entire day on those pies, cooking the pumpkin (formerly Halloween decorations, and already cooked once, then frozen for future use). I followed the America’s Test Kitchen recipe to the letter, froze then shredded the butter and cut in the flour, kneaded the dough, chilled it again, rolled it out, formed various and sundry pastry and pie shells, chilled them again, pre-baked them, cooked the spices into the filling on the stovetop, and finally loaded the warmed pie shells with the hot filling for the final bake. ATK didn’t disappoint. The resulting pies had a rich, smooth and creamy filling in a nice flaky crust. Of course, MIL, fully aware that I was bringing and preparing all the food for the family get-together, made 5 pies of her own. All told, there were nine pies at the Christmas Eve meal. Couple that with the no-shows, and there was approximately one full pie per person. At least she didn’t have a meal prepared when we got there. It’s just the kind of thing she would do. She wasn’t happy with the spiral cut ham, because the slices were too thin. She wasn’t happy with the cauliflower, because it didn’t have the family fake Hollandaise sauce that she expected. They mix mayonnaise with mustard and call it Hollandaise. I can’t bear it! At the last gathering, the green beans were criticized, so I prepared them differently this time. Some of the family members are lactose intolerant, so I used milk substitute in the mashed potatoes, and the resulting texture was far from fluffy and altogether disappointing. I made two kinds of gravy, in case people preferred one over another, and I made a special apple cider shallot sauce for the ham, which nobody tried but me (and it was delicious, I might add). I made it clear that we were NOT taking any pumpkin pies back home with us, so everybody had to take a heaping plate of leftover pie home with them. I’m developing a thick skin for dealing with the MIL. She can be abrasive and generally unkind. At least all the cooking, chaos, and general discontent kept my mind off of my broken heart, and helped me get a few steps further from my sorrow.
