comfort food

Earlier I wrote about the death of my neighbor D and the funeral and her surviving husband G and ... about my cooking and bringing over food.

Apparently, when I don't know what to do or say, I cook. Sometimes I bake. Sometimes I make casseroles.

Mostly I make soup.

Soup is super. It really, literally, does make you "feel better".

It even makes me feel better to make it.

Because of disease, disappointments and deaths, over the past several months I estimate that I have made hundreds of gallons of soup.

I have made old favorites like matzoh ball soup and chicken soup and potato leek soup.

I have made new discoveries like summer squash soup and sweet potato and chickpea soup.

Today, though, as I plan on making up some more summer squash soup and sweet potato chick pea soup, I am discouraged.

What has all this soup accomplished? Is the world a better place? Or is it just more dirty dishes and veggies spared from the compost pile?

I feel like soup is not enough. Not by a long shot.

Today, the sun is shining (at last) but my spirit is cloudy still -- even rainy..

Maybe I should *have* some soup.

REALizing love

What makes love real? I am one of those that believes that love should be an active verb.

Hugs and kisses and all that follows is making one kind of love-- but there is so much more beyond eros...

The love of family and friends-- this is made real but not with words but with a look, a touch, a smile, a hug.

Being there.

Listening.

Making soup.

I am making a lot of soup and pouring into it so much love.