That is, I can arouse myself from the torpor of daily living to chop things and make a meal.
It started with egg salad from our Easter Egg hunt finds. I chopped celery, onion, eggs, added mayo. Pretty simple. When I finished, there was a real, created product for Ken to eat.
I was astonished at how good that felt to do, and how long it seems to have been since I've done that. We've been eating frozen food, take out food.
This past week:
I made an apple dump cake in the crock pot. I bought and chopped toppings for tacos, and I remembered cilantro (which I never do). I made a pot of pinto beans. I have ingredients for soup and for quiche.
This is not cordon bleu stuff. But it is creative act. It is nourishment. It is nurturance.
Grief is not forever.
I arise a little more every day.