It’s probably not a plausible expectation, especially if headstone engraving is charged by the letter, but I like to imagine that my epitaph will at least acknowledge my fierce something-out-of-nothing skills. You give me some random ingredients, and I’ll make you dinner.
Sometimes an old yogurt tub of cooked quinoa gets turned into cookies or re-warmed for my boy (quinoa is his fave side), or just before green fuzz forms, fed to the chickens.
But the other night, I didn’t even have to do the scratch and sniff test first. (you know, Scratch your head and wonder When Did I Cook This? and then Sniff for anything offensive.) I whisked up a few eggs. Chopped up some beet greens. Stirred in the 2 day old quinoa. Crumbled in some feta. Pan fried little scoops of that mush and called them “croquettes”.
What this means is that I get more mileage out of the same easy peasy pot of quinoa. Or whatever lurking leftover we’ve got in the back of the fridge.
And it’s quick. And obvious. And as I write this dumb dumb thing right now about a curly-tailed grain, of all things, my baby girl is watching the first episode of Alias, with her dad, just around the corner from me.
It was my idea. She has developed a spunky spy character, hours of careful drawing, whole evenings spent in character development discussions, who resembled, uncannily, good old Sydney Bristow. And once upon a tv time, the mister and I liked nothing better than a sleeping kid and a new Alias to watch. I couldn’t help but to make the comparison. I couldn’t help but tell my still-eleven daughter.
I am all about refrigerator magic. I make it every dang day.
But whose wand up and transformed my girl from a light sleeping toddler down the hall (I remember watching Alias as it aired, before we even had a dvd player, and certainly before streaming online technology! a waking child could really set me back!) into a savvy kid who is old enough to watch such quick paced drama herself? (“old enough” is relative to parental squeamishness and remote control related acuity)
And that, folks, is what you call tying two unrelated items together with weak strings. But they were both on my mind at the same time. Leftovers. Kids growing up in a flash. Life is weird.