Monday, August 30, 2010
I wake up to the sound of rain on the tin roof this morning. I knew it had rained, I slept terrible last night for whatever reason, my dreams haunting me with feelings of rejection and anger from the past. I slowly get out of bed to start the morning ritual of coffee and computer time.
My husband is at his desk collecting his necessary paperwork for the day so I go down to make his lunch and a small breakfast for him. Roast beef on an onion roll, my hubby is lucky in the fact he can eat anything and still be trim. Muscles and long limbs. Anyways, I make him a couple mini bagels with peanut butter and get to thinking as the PB scent drifts up into my nose about how my dad ate PB with almost every breakfast food. So a memory pops up of him mixing his pb with syrup on the side when he eats his pancakes on a saturday morning on the ranch. What I should tell you right now is that my dad is about 400# and only 5'7 or so. He is a Correctional officer and has a free gym membership. No matter how much I try to get him to lose a bit of weight he refuses. He wasn't always like that. I remember him strong and fit, always a bit of a belly but never ever flabby. As he has gotten older and we no longer have the ranch he has just gained and isn't active. I worry constantly since I am a 12hr drive away from him.
Peanut Butter isn't the only food that triggers memories for me. Bacon is another. Bacon means gravy in my mind. I don't want the bacon itself but the wonderful grease that comes from it to create a liquid heaven that I could sit and eat with a spoon all day. If I learned anything as a kid on the ranch from my grandma its how to fry up a T-bone and make some good ass country gravy...out of anything on hand. I don't even need meat and you would die for a taste. Needless to say, G-ma cooked only fried foods and was severely obese.
On a healthier note bananas make me think of my Great g-pa. He always bought them when us kids were coming over and put them under the sink for whatever reason. My Portuguese grandpa who I loved dearly and lost in 94'. He was an amazing man who ruled our little Portuguese family with an iron hand.
Its funny how food triggers so many memories for me. I was not a heavy child, I was tall and all arms and legs till my 20s. Food wasn't important to me, I ate to survive. I wonder why my mind focuses on the food that triggers the memory and not just the memory itself?? Who knows...my minds a bit twisted anyways.