Photo: Saturday’s first batch of kinklings.
I made eight batches on kinklings over the weekend. A new record for me. Turns out, it wasn’t enough, actually. I almost ran out at one point on Saturday (that’s never happened before) and today I had to be very careful about how many kinklings went out the door to work and school. “There aren’t going to be enough for us,” Minor whined.
“You had at least ten this weekend! You really don’t need anymore!”
Both boys begged to differ.
I am very surprised to see that we have so few left. It’s the mark of a very successful weekend. I don’t know how many people piled into this house, but they did, and it was awesome. Friends from my past life, my teaching life, came out from the city. They brought their precious babies and their brilliant husbands and their fun stories from days gone by. Friends of this current life came in, too, some with their kiddos, some without. The Husband invited workmates and Boy Scouts families. Classmates from school and even two teachers popped by. And precious church folk who I love dearly came and pulled up a stool. It was the best. It’s a fantastic way to end Epiphany and start the season of Lent, for sure–with the unmistakable reminder of loving community.
Hilariously, kinkling weekend came with gifts this year. Flowers, a gorgeous potted plant, wine, homebrew, pork belly and ramen noodles came into the house. I’m sitting here spoiled, too excited about cooking up that pork belly tonight for dinner, staring at a gorgeous vase of daffodils while I type. I accepted each gift with a laugh and a smile, not knowing what to say. Kinkings are my gift to my favorite people. No thanks required! I wonder if anyone brought Grandy gifts during her many years of frying these things, or if there were favors done in the hopes of getting a few extra in the delivery bag. I wish I could ask her. I wonder if she would tell me.
Grandy was certainly with me all weekend. Keeping me patient with my kneading. Reminding me to measure or not to forget the eggs (I always forget the eggs). I almost let the milk get too hot while I was conversing and she drew my attention to stove. In the wee hours of Saturday morning while I was reading over the recipe and getting my bearings, she kept me company. I’m very proud of myself for not crying this weekend. I talked about her a lot, and remembered her, but I didn’t cry. Grief, as I’ve written before, is a very strange thing. I’m sure tears will come again at some totally random, utterly unexpected time.
Now, I’m in full recovery mode. I took the morning off. I got the boys on the bus, put a load of laundry in the washer (the basket was overflowing. Shameful.) and promptly went back to bed for another 2 hours. I then read my Taproot Magazine from cover to cover and treated myself to some guac and carne asada from my favorite local Mexican restaurant for lunch. It’s good to give, but then you’ve gotta restore.
It was good to set aside this weekend, but there is so much now to do. The school committee I’m on meets one last time tonight, there are freelance deadlines to hit mid-week, and I’ve got to get back to fiction. My in-laws are also on their way into town, which means I have a house to put back together. It’s not all going to get done, but I’ve gotta try.
What does your week look like, Dear Reader? I hope you’ve got attainable goals and tasks that can be accomplished. Stay focused and diligent. Mondays are tough, but they represent so much opportunity to get things done. I’m here with you this week, Dear Reader. Let’s get to Friday feeling accomplished.
Until Wednesday, take care.