I randomly had spaghetti squash for dinner with pesto on it on Sunday night (because my plans changed for the weekend and I was being a hermit, so I didn’t want to leave and go to the grocery store to find something to eat). This dish was really funky looking, but quite delicious. Unfortunately, I had no one to share it with since Joe was out of town for work, and my mom turned 60 on Saturday and was celebrating at Kripalu with lots of massages. No one else I know would either (a) not have plans for dinner on a Sunday or (b) want spaghetti squash.
At one point I thought I should have called my grandparents (but then I would have had to leave the apartment and drive to Penn Yan). And I also figured they wouldn’t like it just based on how it looked. They’re 87, and they don’t like weird food. One time my mom made them spinach lentil soup when they were forced to stay with us during a power outage at their house. She then overheard them talking.
Gma: What did you think about that soup?
Gpa: It was weird.
Gma: Yeah. I didn’t like it.
Their loss. My mom’s spinach lentil soup is awesome. I had it last Tuesday night. We rode to Penn Yan together to go to calling hours for an old friend who died of brain cancer, and on the way back I stayed for a while at her house. We keep making this pact to spend more time together, and then usually we don’t, but it’s not because we don’t want to.
Related: I am feeling pretty lucky right now—I just got an offer to teach Nutrition classes at FLCC in the spring without applying for it. So it’s setting me up perfectly to move to Canandaigua in the summer like I was planning to do anyway (and by default I should see my mom more—she lives there and she works at FLCC). Is that coincidence? Serendipity? Synchronicity? Whatever it is, I like it!