Talent
I am not a cook. Yes, I did just spend almost two hours in the kitchen making Dilly Beans, Grandma Martin’s recipe; and I’ve never tasted a better guacamole than mine. Early in our marriage, I shared more of the cooking duties. With two young children to feed and not a lot of money, simple foods are not really that difficult. I excelled at opening a jar of spaghetti sauce, for example. And salads. Cutting vegetables into bite sizes, though a challenge, never exceeded my skill level.
Oh, there were the occasional anomalies. Homemade chicken noodle soup, including homemade noodles is one I’m most proud of, and calzones, made using real yeast. Once we sold our business husband Keith had a little more time on his hands and his taste buds became more discerning, he took over complete control of the cooking. He is a genius at spices and sauces. Even the finest restaurants have not come close to comparing with his grilled steaks.
My father has admonished me in the past for not cooking for my family. Not so much out of some antifeminist belief, but more from his profound appreciation for the art of food preparation.
As time goes by, the little cooking knowledge I gained in junior high home economics class slips further from my reach. A couple of years ago, inspired by the newsletters that accompanied a box of CSA vegetables, I tried the recipe for ginger carrot soup. Now I’m a busy girl and that is usually a part of the problem, but I just couldn’t see the need for letting the soup cool down before putting it in the food processor. Keith’s sixth sense kicked in from somewhere in the basement and he came running upstairs just in time to see me blow the lid off the processor and cover myself in steamy soup. “I’m so sorry I left you alone in the kitchen,” he said handing me a towel.
I’ve always claimed that if I were given the opportunity to have household staff, but had to choose between a housekeeper, chef, or gardener, I’d take the chef. When I realized that Keith did all of the cooking, including lunch when we are both at home, I celebrated my good luck in getting such a fabulous cook.
When I was regressed to a past life as a housewife, my aversion to culinary tasks became understandable. I was being regressed by a classmate in my first training session for Integrated Imagery Therapy, and my guide was eager to see that I had something exciting to talk about. He kept asking me to move ahead five years to something important and I would see myself sitting in the kitchen. Ten years, still in the kitchen. The end of my life, still sitting in the kitchen.
In the Between Time, I was shown that the purpose of this memory came not in what I had done, but in what I had not done. I had lived my entire life as I had been expected and let many opportunities pass me by. My spirit guide said to me, “It is okay to begin something new by doing what is expected, but one should not live their whole life that way.” A whole lifetime to learn that lesson, but thankfully, I did learn it. I am certainly not doing what has been expected of me now. And though I’m sure I was a fabulous cook in that life, it was not a talent I needed to bring with me into this life.
