Thinking of Flowers

Dear Tia Tay,

I have been shamelessly negligent in my letter writing lately! I don't have any excuses, either, so I won't bore you with made-up ones. I'm so glad that you and the little arroz have recovered from your bout with H1N1 - I got to experience being terrified and relieved all in one strange surge of emotion as I read your letter. It was a pretty confusing moment for me, and J couldn't understand why my face looked as though I had eaten something horribly disagreeable (like stewed carrots, for example, ugh) but seemed to enjoy it.

While you've been considering huge philosophical issues of mortality and responsibility, I've been doing a lot of staring out the window and thinking about the KKK. Random, right? But they've been supposedly handing out leaflets in the suburbs, reminding me that I live in a city that still bears the scars of being the former capital of the confederacy. This picture I came across in my googling about them haunts me, since it was taken here in Richmond. It sounds idealistic, I know, but I feel so helpless sometimes about how difficult it is be human, as you know from your recent experience with being physically ill while pregnant!

But how amazing to be human - and to know that inside you another human life is growing, and to know that you will literally bear it, and tend to it as you have the flowers filling their pots on your balcony. Speaking of flowers, I thought I'd share this poem with you so we can both fortify ourselves against the coming cold of winter, and against the forces in the world that might otherwise scare us so:

February: Thinking of Flowers
by Jane Kenyon (from Otherwise)

Now wind torments the field,
turning the white surface back
on itself, back and back on itself,
like an animal licking a wound.

Nothing but white - the air, the light;
only one brown milkweed pod
bobbing in the gully, smallest
brown boat on the immense tide.

A single green sprouting thing
would restore me . . .

Then think of the tall delphinium,
swaying, or the bee when it comes
to the tongue of the burgundy lily.

Speaking of green sprouting things, I made some lentil soup on Sunday and just heated up and topped a big bowl of it with a handful of arugula. . .

. . . since I probably need more than poetic fortification for an afternoon of errand running in the rainy cold.

Sausage, Lentil, and Red Onion Soup

1 cup or more of dried lentils
4 cups beef stock
1 lb. chicken sausage, cut into slices
1 large red onion, chopped
2-4 cloves of garlic, minced
a few handfuls or arugula, spinach, kale, or whatever other greens
1 tbsp. olive oil

In a dutch oven, bring lentils and stock to a boil, then turn the heat down to low. Simmer for about an hour.

Thirty minutes later, brown sausage in pan. Add onions and continue to cook, stirring occasionally for about 5 minutes, or until onions are softened. Add garlic and cook for a minute longer. Add greens, cooking until slightly wilted.

Pour sausage mixture into lentil mixture and stir until incorporated. Cook over low heat for another 20-25 minutes, or until lentils are soft.

Roll up the last (sob) of your secret stash of HEB tortillas that you bought on your last visit to Tejas, where tortillas is serious business . . .

. . . and dip into soup. Eat. Repeat.

Hope you, little arroz, and B are staying dry and warm -

Love you,

TF