Grapefruit curd has been gloriously haunting my thoughts for weeks. Something about the grapefruit seems native to my family. My mom (i.e., Suz) loves it, from childhood days spent at her grandma’s Florida house. And somehow the grapefruit was always mysteriously in our house… Whether in juice or raw form. My mom eats it like candy. And she’s a purist. Back in the days when I thought it was too tart, I’d add some sugar and show it to my mom as if I was the front runner of the Enlightenment, insisting that it was way more delicious and how could she not want it that way. “Nope,” she’d shake her head. And then walk away, leaving me in a state of pure shock.
Now I understand.
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Yay for life! Today is blue-skyed and breezy, quite warm for an October day but beautiful nonetheless.
Yesterday I bought big-girl perfume (this, if you care to know). Last night my mom slept over; we had Scottish gin with tonic and cucumber wedges and chicken soup with buttercup squash and kale while we watched one of our favorite movies. I was off work today so this morning we drank coffee on the porch and ate peppery fried eggs and talked about cake combinations and how to skin a lizard. Just kidding, we didn't talk about that last part; more like where to plug in the new string lights I bought for my porch. And then I put on lipstick and perfume and went to the local restaurant supply store to buy a candy thermometer, where the middle-aged Italian woman who works there called me sweetie. And when I got home I listened to this and made homemade mayonnaise and black pepper garlic aioli, just like the one at my sister's restaurant.
Tonight we will go to a pub and eat fish & chips, in honor of my darling Gran's birthday. I will wear her old wind-up watch and pretend like I'm back in Scotland, and we will probably cry and tell some stories. She would have been 69 today, and she was one of the most treasured and joyful people I've ever known.
As I said in my last post, I think I need to write more. When I studied abroad in Italy, I was an intern for an online Italian newspaper. Every week I would write a short article on my time abroad- the latest element of culture shock, the beautiful moments I was experiencing, a noteworthy comparison between the States and Italy, etc. Some days I truly didn't feel like writing, but I had to make the deadline. So I'd camp at the table in my apartment for an hour or two, drink my coffee, eat some fruit, and write until my thoughts were complete and the page was filled up.
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My goodness. I can't believe it's been almost a month since I was last here. I'm telling you people, this past month has, once again, been chaotic. How can so much change be happening in such a concentrated amount of time.
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