Snow flakes started pouring down on my earth as I watch in awe how from green to yellow to brown, the ground is now turning to immaculate white. From the inside, I watched the once gray pavement being covered with ice pouring from the sky; my husband’s red sports car getting bathe in bits of crushed coolness; and my warm heart feeling like sadness has creeped in and I’m enveloped in a feeling of hopelessness and despair.
They say it’s still the fall season. I believe otherwise. This isn’t autumn anymore, if you ask me. Me: the island princess. Me: the tropical lass. Me: who come from a place of eternal summer.
This.
Is.
Winter.
When the cold creeps in, I turn to food. Nice, warm, delicious food that make me warm, fuzzy, and happy.
We start with a warm cup of hot chocolate; the kind that makes a froth even when you don’t intend to. Its creamy goodness brought about by hot water and my religious stirring. The spoon agrees. It doesn’t leave a trail of lump at the bottom of the cup. It reminded me to continue stirring, slowly but with precision.
Then there’s the pie. Warm pineapple pie made from scratch. I began with peeling the medium-sized, ripe pineapple my husband bought for me a week ago. It was intense: peeling a pineapple. Unlike peeling a mango or an apple, peeling a pineapple requires a whole set of skill; one that can only be mastered with constant practice. I did a decent job in peeling the fruit. After slicing it, I dunked them yellow pieces in a pan where I mixed them with whipping cream, some cornstarch, brown sugar, and vanilla. The filling was done. The dough is another story but I’ll save you from the horrific narration of how the impatient creature that is yours truly was able to knead flour, water, baking soda, and butter together. The result of this elaborate production was a one-crust, nine-inch pie best paired with vanilla ice cream. I had it for breakfast for four straight days.
Tonight, I’m roasting pork tenderloin. Jeff got a manager’s special which cut the price of a three-pound, premium cut meat to eight dollars. I’ve never roasted anything in an oven before. Not even garlic. It’ll be great to have a glass of wine or two as I carry out this mission tonight. But I’m too dedicated in keeping my milk supply flowing and even though doctors and lactation consultants told me it’s alright to have a glass or two and just pump and dump the milk from my breasts, my mammary glands tell me it’s not right to do so.
So let me just raise my glass of non-alcoholic fruit punch for this icy season. It’s going to be a long one. I’m not especially thrilled about it. But… there will be more cooking and baking in this home. And that, my friend, is where the warmth of summer will emerge.
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T30WC or The 30-minute Writing Challenge is a writing exercise born out of this blogger’s need to maintain a habit of writing. Subjects of each writing challenge is just about anything but should ONLY be written within 30 minutes.
