I'm feeling quite proud of myself. It's pretty silly actually, but I booked a weekend trip for me and Julia. All by myself. Mike was the more experienced traveler of the two of us. It was his passion. He knew how to get the best airfares and where to stay, no matter where we went. He used to be so proud of his frequent flyer miles and hotel points. We flew first class to our honeymoon in St. Thomas for free. So whenever we needed to go somewhere, he made all the arrangements.
But I wanted to go to West Virginia this weekend. I have some things to take care of and wanted to see some friends. I booked two plane tickets, rented a car AND reserved a hotel room for one night. We're getting out of town! (And I'm going to fly alone with a small person....)
And the other night, I made dinner... I know. These are things normal people do on a regular basis but I've been in such a funk and feeling so paralyzed lately. I love to cook. I used to make family dinners at least three times a week. Julia would stand on a chair in the kitchen and keep me company. But since Mike died, I just haven't cared much about making meals. I don't think about food until I'm starving. Then I eat whatever is easy. The effort required to make a grocery list has been too much for me. And whenever I do summon up the energy, I end up throwing the ingredients away because they've gone bad. I can't tell you how many packages of chicken breasts I've had to toss. I just never get around to it.
This summer, I had this grand plan that I would make dinner for some friends each week, to get me back to cooking, to give me something to do. It lasted two weeks. I've made a few things here and there, but nothing major. I live on sandwiches, soup from a can, frozen meals and take out.
But last night I had my mom over for rosemary pork tenderloin, sauteed green beans with blue cheese and bacon and red-skinned mashed potatoes. Yum-O.