Slow Speed Soup

Time to Nest

I love this time of year, when nights are longer, and days are shorter. Today is a gray day…all the better. I return home early yesterday morning, 12:58 AM if you are counting, after nearly two and one half weeks on the road. Week One is in New York City for the second week-long photo shoot for book three. Week Two is in Austin, Texas to speak at Hospice Austin’s major fundraiser for the year. In between, I am home for two days, just enough to spend a little bit of time with Duncan, Greta, and Mr Fez, do my laundry, repack, and head back out. Now, I’m home. I’m making Slow Speed Soup. I couldn’t be happier.

Set the Fire

On my last day in Austin, I can’t wait to get home. I know exactly what the shape of my first day will be. After waking up, I feed Mr Fez, dress, and head over to Cindy’s to fetch Greta. Once home, she trots back and forth while I bring in armloads of wood and set them beside the woodstove. I crumple up a few sheets of paper, lay dry kindling and a few smaller pieces of cord word on top, and before I strike the match, I make sure that the flue is open at the back of the stove. By experience I have had a few times when I missed that later step only to have my house start to fill up with smoke. All good. I strike the match…it’s the last one I have, too. Matches start a list of things I need to pick up at the store. I’m pretty good a holding a fire overnight, so heading to the store can wait, plus I can always go over to one of my neighbors to borrow a few and catch up on the neighborhood news. The paper catches and I see a cheerful flame lick the dry tinder. 

Soup

On the kitchen counter I see gifts of potatoes, carrots, and winter squash from Duncan and Olivia, who have just left on their own three-week journey to South America. I bring out my big blue enameled Dutch oven and place on top of the stove, a cutting board and knife to the counter, and begin to chop.There are a few stalks of celery in the fridge to add, and a handful of herbs, too. I pour some homemade vegetable stock over it all. While it comes to a boil, I put on the kettle for tea, and then turn the pot to simmer for an hour. Later I add a can of tomato sauce, and one of black beans, cook up some pieces of bacon, chop them up and add them, too.

Reading and Relaxing

I look around and see that there are piles of mail, recycling, laundry, dust bunnies and crumbs on the floor. I briefly ponder–shall I go straight to chores or take a break and spend the day on the couch with a good book. Greta is already there. Mr Fez is on the chair. It’s as if they are showing me that my next step is relaxing. Ok. I get the picture and set myself down next to Greta. She adjusts a bit, turns her head to give my hand a lick, and lets out a sigh. I pick up the copy of A Gentleman in Moscow that my host in Austen passes on to me and open to page one hundred-fifty–that’s where I got to on the plane. (I was so engrossed in it, I missed nearly all the cues from the flight attendants for beverages and snacks.) Every hour, I take a break to stir the pot, stoke the woodstove, make another cup of tea, and let Gretapie out for a break, too. Even with two naps, I finish the entire book. It’s one of the best reads I’ve enjoyed in a long time. Have you read it, too? It’s only 9 PM, but I head off to bed and sleep until the clock says 6 AM west coast time but who’s counting?

Life at the Speed of Slow

It’s dark when I come out to the kitchen. I feed and water my four-legged family and go outside with them. We all breathe in the cool wet Washington air. I start the kettle and they pad back inside to take their places on the couch and chair. I wrap up in a blanket. Those matches are on my list. When the rain lets up, we’ll head out for a walk. The dust bunnies and edits for book three? Tomorrow. Today, I’ll have one more day of life at the speed of slow.

Here’s the recipe for Slow Speed Soup.