Lunch Box Chronicles: Day One Hundred Sixty Three (On Ushering in A New Season and Flavors)

I missed the entire month of June! My intentions were there, but I simply did not have a speck of time to express myself in this semi-public forum. And, then, there are the emotions. The ones that made it too painful to write. The ones that force me to face the realities of love, life, and loss. The lingering void of knowing my beautiful niece no longer graces this earth; the non-linear episodes of time experienced by my 86 year old mom; the constant pull between self and non-self. The impenetrable feeling that there is so much more to do, but never never enough time or resources.

And, then I am thankful, just for the times when I can cook, create memorable flavors, and feed my family. And, the tastes bring life into the present. And, everyone who takes a bite experiences it - the love, life, and satisfaction - even if only for a moment.

Here is pizza that welcomes in summer - It's made with my awesome Spelt Right Pizza Dough, extra virgin olive oil, onions, sauteed summer squash, sauteed mushrooms, crushed garlic, and fresh mozzarella from Little Italy - Arthur Avenue in the Bronx.

Make sure the dough is fully risen (in bag) before use. Gently work to a pizza shape on a well oiled stainless steel baking pan. Bake for 10 minutes on 450, then top with all the toppings, and put back in the oven for another 10-20 minutes.

Enjoy, reflect, savor the memories of those gone by, and enjoy the moments with those here and now.

Lunch Box Chronicles Day One Hundred Thirty-Seven (On The Need To Metamorphose)

Metamorphose (v. to change the form or nature of; transform)

That’s want I want to do. Metamorphose.  Not like the salesman in Kafka’s Metamorphosis that turned into a cockroach. But rather, sometimes, I wish I could just turn into my cat.  I get so grumble-y at this fur-ball.  No worries, no cares.  He comfortably nests into the clean basket of laundry without a modicum of consciousness that he just created another 2 hours of laundry.  No sense of parenting, work, cleaning, business development, dinner making, nothing, nothing. He just exists for the sake of existing.  Day, night?  Nothing matters.  Three a.m., saunter in through the bedroom porch slider, meow for the sake of meowing, scratch at the bedroom door to get out, scratch and cry again to get in.  Eat, sip on water, play with a mouse or two. Not a care. Not a worry. 

I am through!  I said to my husband tonight, I want the cats out.  His response?  “You want to get rid of this?”

Uggh, ok, I'm not that heartless, but I am tired.  Instead of doing away with the fur ball, perhaps I can just metamorphose.