On Memorial Day, I made pesto.
I've probably made it before. I really can't remember. On Monday, it felt momentous.
I went out to my overgrown basil plant and relieved some of its burden. We have intentions for a garden next summer. For now, there is basil in a pot. Rosemary is in another pot, and tomatoes are in the ground nearby. It is enough for now.
I came back inside and looked up the pesto recipe . . . pine nuts. I definitely don't keep those on hand. I considered bailing, then remembered my husband's long-standing offer to help me, if only I will ask.
Easy enough. (I'm going to do that more often.)
I searched high and low for the parmesan. Finally found it in the way-back of the fridge. I used the nice olive oil that my friend brought back from Italy, because I'm out of everything else. I made do with McCormick's minced garlic instead of fresh. (Then found fresh garlic, later. Of course.)
I switched over the laundry and told the boys to turn up How It's Made because the food processor was about to get loud.
And while I was processing, the deafening whir allowed me to hear the thoughts in my head. It is what I have heard many times in the noise of the last few weeks, "I am out of ideas."
I feel spent over blogging. I am craving privacy, perhaps in an effort to adjust to the way my life is now. My kids are older. I'm not as lonely as I once was. Our days are full in ways that they just weren't before. Things have changed since I started this blog four years ago. I have changed.
So. I made pesto. And I've probably done it before - but never in such an impulsive, improvised way. In the past, this would have been thought-through. The ingredients would have been part of my detailed, coupon-clipped grocery list. No help required. In the past, I might have planned on blogging about it and taken pictures throughout the process.
Now, the photo was an afterthought. I liked the green color. Now, the joy was simply finding the time to make it. There was satisfaction in cobbling the ingredients together with help from my husband, especially when he "oohed" and "aahed" over the end product. It felt worth it just to have done it, because it's no longer something I can hypothetically do on any given Monday anymore. Now, on most Mondays, I'm at the office in the morning, and parenting big, talking, non-napping, homework-doing, sports-playing boys in the afternoon. Things have changed. My time in the kitchen, my time at home, is shifting. Now, more than ever, I appreciate the chance to impulsively cook from scratch . . . but I'm glad that such times and opportunities are becoming unusually precious. I'm okay with the evolution. And that's a revelation.
The good news is this: A Work in Progress has delivered me to the place where I need to be. It was part of a raft that I made when I found myself on the banks of young motherhood. It was scary. I didn't know who I was or what I was supposed to be doing. Writing, connecting with you in big and small ways, helped so much. SO much. Now, I've arrived at a place with a slightly different looking life. It feels right to step off the raft. I might push it back out at some point. But for now, I'm walking away.
Thank you for riding with me. Thank you for traveling the "who am I now?" road all the way to here. I pray that, along the way, you too have found God at work in your life, leading the way. This verse is what started A Work in Progress, and this is what it's always been about:
"For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life." Ephesians 2:10 NRSV
share this on »