Saturday, January 28, 2012

Domestic Items

Item # 1- Homemade pizza- at least mostly homemade, I quail at the idea of fresh-formed pizza crust; "you're okay with store-bought crust, right?" shy inquiry of the Pilot as he trolls the Commissary lanes with me, "of course!" is the reply, and last night out comes the pizza, high and molten with slightly browning cheese. Secret: bathe the mushrooms in boiling butter (and the peppers and the onions, but mushrooms are the most important) before adding them to the pizza, so they stay soft and moist and don't dry out.

Item # 2- The shelf that the Pilot built. A children's picture book in the making, with that title: a fortnight of care and a cartload of patience, to teach children that its always best to do your best. It took both of us to mount it, all afternoon, allowing for the drill battery to charge after singing its song of protest as it wound the screws into the wall. I am impatient; sometimes all the measuring and leveling seems silly and why can't we just eyeball it? But his meticulousness pays off, his determination to "do it right" stretches from flying a jet to mounting a shelf, and the result is something I am proud of him for, not just a place to put our stereo, but an emblem of  work and careful thinking and good craftsmanship.

Item # 3- Our budget. Money can make me nervous. I feel its frantic power, the enormous promises of security it offers coupled with the panic of wondering "will there be enough" and it is physical effort for me to drag my mind the opposite direction and trust that God will provide. All morning the Pilot and I organize bills and expenses, set up spreadsheets, try to be wise, try to remember that the love of money manifests itself in anxiety or worry over money. "Do not worry about tomorrow," Jesus said, and that's a command, and it has just as much to do with our budget as with anything else. 

Item # 4- Soup and Salad Sunday. Our solution to the problem of how to feed ourselves after church on Sundays. The Pilot's suggestion: we tried it last week and declared it a resounding success. That time it was his dad's chili; this week, Cheeseburger soup. We the soup together, on Saturday so it will be ready for lunch on Sunday. Today he talked in an exaggerated drawl, narrating his adventures with chopping the vegetables, and the smiles darted across my face as I darted about our small kitchen, not too small for the two of us, in fact just right. 

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