The day revolves around eating. I wake up and haven’t eaten for twelve hours. This matters to a hypoglycemic. Begin with an apple – simple sugars to get my brain going. Then protein: a handmade turkey breakfast sausage, which I flavor with a seasoning mix and a touch of tamari. When I’m done eating, I have the pleasure of doing dishes immediately and without struggle: Celeste has running hot water in her house, of course. My cabin does not.
I read four essays by Janet Burroway from her collection, Embalming Mom, and see that a new email has popped up from Jenn and, Would you like to go to lunch? In the world of wi-fi, my computer seems like another person sitting patiently and quietly in the corner of the room; a person who can access the answer to any question, find anyone, and connect me with them at the right time and place.
Lunch it is. We’re at the Cup & Saucer around 26th and Killingsworth in NE and I order Robin’s specialty chipotle mango salad with brown rice. Spelt bread with vegan spread on the side? Yes please. God I love Portland. Beverage? Can’t you tell by looking at me: Double short soy latte extra hot, please. Side order? Oh, alright, you convinced me, House Fries.
Of course, there are leftovers because I’m loaded with latte and still digesting turkey sausage by the time the chipotle salad arrives. But by afternoon I’m back at home base (Celeste’s house) and back at it with Burroway, now 2/3 of the way through the essays. Relative hunger strikes not long after and I must eat a vegan chocolate truffle – and do. Two more essays into the book and it’s time for some drunken goat cheese, at which point an email from the Gardiner’s pops up on the face of my patient, quiet, all-knowing wi-fi Macintosh and we’re both wondering, Will dinner tonight work?
I place a cell phone call (which I am getting better at – I now know how to dial, hang up, and accept calls) and we’re in operation, waiting to hear from daughter Megan if tonight will be the night or not. We’re thinking Mexican at Acapolco’s, or maybe Thai over in SE, and oh, the possibilities.
The Burroway book is finished by late evening. I have eaten words, eaten food. Now what’s cooking in me? Yesterday I tried to dig up my own voice but it tasted bland. I tried to call it forth from all the spectacular literary pastries of perfection I spent those 11 intense days with. Now I digest another’s art and use it to nourish my own. What will tomorrow bring?