Flour is spilled, and the Moleskine’s pages become a bit more wrinkled and worn. Surely there are now as many ingredients on its pages as there are recipes. (Recipes written out onto blank pages back when the camper was temporary home, back when I realized too late that all the cookbooks had been packed away – really packed away, as in put in the far back, bottom corner of the storage unit, kind of packed away. So, the Moleskine became the cookbook. The one and only where I hand-copied some of my very favorites off my own blog (!), and found others that were soon to become top picks.)
This time, it was biscuit mix that was falling all over the counter and the pages as a boy and I put the ingredients together. I could have done it faster by myself, I could have kept the flour in the bowl, could have been neat, tidy, and lickety-split, but I couldn’t have done it better. Better is when together-messes fall across the counter. Better is when a boy gets to spread melty butter across hot biscuits that he’s made himself, better is when it takes more time to clean up because that mess of memories is even on the floor.
Remember this, I say to myself. As you navigate the largeness of life and the way that it can go crazy-full and cock-eyed in half a blink, remember this.
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