I just called a client to remind him of his appointment tomorrow. I was about to hang up with the usual, "Have a great day!" when he asked, "So, what did He make for you this week?"
Well, he made cassoulet last night.
A good portion of the Hoffmann family was there so the boy got to feed quite a few people which is always nice. On Friday he made braised white beans as part of a request from a friend of mine who is obsessed with Zoe's Kitchen's white beans (nevermind that he has never even been to Zoe's.) Finely chopped celery and carrot along with fresh thyme, parsley, s/p and some other seasonings went into the beans that eventually made their way into the cassoulet with tender chunks of chicken. The dish was served in individual iron skillets with crumbled croutons baked on top. Lots of praise was muttered between mouthfuls.
Homemade biscuits as the base for strawberry shortcake were a special surprise from who other than the boy's brother in law. His wife said it was the first thing he ever cooked for her... maybe he was making a throwback to those days? Very sweet... another wonderful thing about food - the memories it preserves and the love that is wrapped up in all of it.
The meal was welcomed after a fun little run with friends at McAlpine Creek Park. The park has quite literally been a staple of my life. In middle and high school my sister and I referred to it as our "summer home." Cross Country practice started at 6:30 pm M-F over the summer. I was always anxious. We would meet up at our coach's truck in the parking lot... leaning on the back of the truckbed and wiping away premature perspiration. We hadn't yet begun the warmup and the muggy heat of a southern summer already had our t-shirts drenched at the nape of our necks. The gathering of sorts was always an opportunity to size up the new freshmen and wonder who was going to be the surprise. Who might just be the one to test your dominance? Shake up the top seven lineup?
Like I said... I was always anxious.
Whenever I go back to the park... especially in the hot heat of summer, I can feel it all come back to me. Ingrained in my head or forever in my veins - I get a little anxious. It brings me back to a time when I lived and died by the success or failure of the day's workout. I would get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the schoolday drew to a close and I knew we had mile repeats. Or 800s. Or a ladder. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to hurt and I feared it. Bumping along beside my coach on the bus I would pepper him with questions. I always stood on the stairs next to him as he drove to meets... we evaluated the competition together as he talked me through the negativity that was blocking the receptors in my brain. We would get there and I would really begin to fight my demons. Wet tears still stuck in my lashes, I would join the circle with my teammates for the Lord's Prayer. My coach would tie my shoelaces for luck and it was go time. A calm before the storm always settled over me at the starting line before the gun went off. My coach always said he could see it in my eyes - cool - collected - ready. My lungs would burst and scream for air for the entire first mile before the oxygen could catch back up with me... and I never settled into a pace until the back loop or the third mile of the course.
It took time for me to learn that love - not fear - of running would best carry me where I wanted to go as fast as I wanted to get there. I needed both confidence and patience - two things often wanting in teenage girls. Some days were (and are) still harder than others... but eventually I was able to get ahold of myself.
To get it together.
To accept what I could and could not change.
To love my body and all its limitations.
It is an on-going process... one in which I learn when to challenge myself and when to settle down.
When to get ahold of myself.
I told our client that I had already been informed that I would like dinner tonight. He said, "Take Notes."
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