A friend is dying - not in the broad sense, but right now, in a hospital room. She is someone I'm both close to and not close, and my partner is very much part of her extended family. She's there with the person leaving right now, helping the family and waiting. I'm not. I don't belong there. So I'm just waiting, making soup, herding dogs, washing dishes. It's bitterly cold today, with snow coming. Our old, drafty house is both warm and not warm, depending on where you stand and whether you just came in from outside. Never again seems like a very long time right now, and I'm both sad and not sad. If I were still living in California, today is a day I would go walk on the beach. And I would be warmer than I am here.
The soup is mostly root veggies - sweet potatoes, parsnips, carrots, gold potatoes - with celery and garlic and mushrooms. The root veggies get chopped, tossed with oil and herbs and roasted before they go into the pot of broth. I love winter soups. I never made soup for the friend who is leaving, and now I never will. The shared soup and the conversation we would have had over our bowls is something that didn't become part of whatever consciousness she's taking away from this. Another never.
So go make soup. Share it with a friend. Put good things into your body and your consciousness and love this day, every day, whatever it brings. Stay warm. Go for a walk. Listen to music you love. But first, make the soup.
