Seasoned

Day, let’s see, day twelve with my grandparents on my stint here in Texas. Perhaps I inadvertently sensed my stay’s midpoint and chose to retrospect (and anticipate) on the visit.

Christmas came and went in literary buildup/climax/resolution fashion. Aided by music from Kenny Rogers, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and a gaggle of easy listening giants, we partook in the standard modern American traditions of food and festivities.

Two nights before Christmas, on the eve of Christmas Eve, I flexed my culinary muscles and gifted my grandparents with an eclectic home-cooked meal. Baked salmon- soy, honey, and fresh ginger marinade; roasted root vegetables- turnips, parsnips, carrots and baby red potatoes in rosemary and thyme olive oil; and rice- coconut curried Jasmine grains with raisins. Sounds fancy, but anyone that reads this whom I have cooked for knows these are tried-and-true classics in Calvin’s repertoire. I only wished for acceptance from my grandparents’ palates. Thankfully they enjoyed all three items. I could not have asked for more!

I spent Christmas Eve on the telephone with family and friends and trying my hand at Rummikub with grandma and grandpa. My grandparents are both ex-NASA employees and thus veritable machines at all math-based games. Rummy may not seem too challenging mathematically, but keen arithmetic combined with rapid logical skills makes my grandparents stone-faced assassins of the card table.

My grandmother Milly retaliated with her culinary expertise on Christmas day by baking foods that I, as a relatively inexperienced and unmarried college student, have never tackled. Turkey, cranberry sauce, corn-pudding, herbed stuffing, and sweet potatoes blanketed the table to create a traditional yet Southern feast. We all ate well and are still reaping the leftovers at least once a day.

Holding true to our habit of traveling into Crockett nearly every day, we’ve made the twelve-mile drive five times in the past week. From groceries, to movies, to more groceries and hair appointments there is always a reason to hop in the truck. I say hop, though of course I mean gimp up to the door, throw my crutches in the backseat, and hoist myself up into the cab.
The injury is going quite well. Actually, if not for the memory of the X-rayed fracture I would assume nothing is wrong. I began exercising in earnest five days ago with Pilates and stretching exercises, then via doctor/physical therapist recommendations began pedaling on the stationary recumbent bicycle in the living room. How sweet it was to crack a sweat again, even if it took wearing a beanie and Polartec top while sitting near the fire! Over the subsequent days I have upped the resistance and duration and now am nearly at full time and exertion. Riding places less load on my fracture than standing; I feel no pain.

Funny, though I know that I have progressed so much in regards to self-esteem and personal identity, I still place a lot of emotional health on exercising daily. Now, however, the zeal seems less aesthetic and more chemical, I simply feel better if I get in some aerobic activity. Is that healthy or not? I believe that it’s OK to need to feel driven, and if I’m unchallenged in other aspects I fall to exercising for relief. Heck, there are worse vices and coping mechanisms in the world, and I feel like my motivations are sound.

Tomorrow we head off to Houston for a slew of touristy events; I’ll be certain to write afterwards. Today I’m pre-cooking some homemade meatballs for a dinner with family on Thursday… feeding four children and five adults is something new to me so I need luck on my side.

Calvin

PS, In divine timing, I finished reading Anna Karenina on Christmas morning. The Tolstoy novel concludes on a rather spiritual note, in which Levin realizes that his own over analysis and scientism stood in the way of a relationship with God. He always had the answers but was mired in the wrong questions. It was a good way to start Christmas day.