For the last couple weeks I have been in some kind of depression. I guess everyone sometimes goes through it with or without reasons. I had enough of them to explain it to myself. But honestly it is a lie. I had only one reason which kicked the ground out from under my feet. For a weeks I was relaxing with a glass of wine before bed, just to make sure I would fall asleep quickly. I watched “Eat, Pray. Love.”, also got the book. I decided I want to become a vegetarian, but not sure I can. I meditated. Nothing helped. Last night before I fell asleep I thanked my husband for letting me find myself, but inside I was totally broken.
Today I got up and started making special breakfast for him, eggs “a la cocotte”. Suddenly I remembered how every morning in my childhood my grandma came to my bed, lightly touched my cheeks, told me “good morning our beautiful sun” and asked: “what would you like for breakfast?”. Oh yes, she cooked for me everything I wished.
Then another bright memory came to my mind. My fifth grade. An interesting girl from Moscow, Masha, joined our class for a couple years. After I saw her the first time, I realized we will be friends and I wasn’t wrong. One Friday after school we decided to meet up on Saturday to have a play-date. And guess where I took her? To my favorite cafe (which was on the other side of our small town) have some real espresso and eclairs. Yes, being 10 years old, we felt like the happiest people on Earth and it became to our small tradition till they moved back.
I felt like I need a little break from my sweet memories and focus on my desires. I started meditation, trying to relax and opened my mind to absolutely clear matter. But my thoughts stuck with food. It is not only about pleasure or wasting time cooking. It is a philosophy, a romantic process to find something bigger, one more way to explore yourself. It is another language, as pretty as Italian or French. It is the language of feelings and taste. Think about it!
Yummy mushroom cream soup represents safety. Fresh baked lasagna is a mother’s love. Aromatic crunchy bread symbolizes only home, sweet home. Mussels in white wine sauce with garlic toast is romance. Spicy gazpacho sounds like jealousy. And Italian pizza means friends.
I want to speak this language fluently, to learn every day the new words. I’m sure they will be never end.
I don’t know why I wrote this post, but I felt like I want to share something special and intimate. So I did.