Eating the same damned thing every day isn't Chip's doing. He tries so very hard to keep the peanut butter and jelly thing fresh by switching out jelly for an array of different flavor jams. I like that. It shows creativity under intense pressure from me for sameness. The only good thing in Chip's favor is that now he can make a perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich in seconds flat. I only take a pinch of time out of his busy day, working his ass off to put peanut butter and jelly on the table. Now that, my friends, is love and devotion.
I suppose my insistence peanut butter and jelly or death, means that peanut butter and jelly must be a comfort food. There have been many times in my life when onlookers might have said, "My god! That girl is such a masochist!" Their observation skills are not in question. Yes, I've often appeared to be a masochist, but I'm really not. Not in the least. I can accept comfort. I like comfort. It is especially nice when it's associated with food. Good food is a very good thing. Great food is a whole other story. It is divine and precious. My peanut butter and jelly sandwiches need not be divine or precious. They just need to continue to be good. They all have been to date, and I have no doubt the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches of the future will be any different. And that, gives me comfort.
I've been sad since that stinking reunion weekend. I'm not sad that my body isn't strong enough for parties let alone partying. Regardless of anything my new FB friends say, they're not my droogs. I've glanced at FB every day or so. Just glanced mind you. I really don't need to hear the post mortems and see the zillion photos from the weekend. No matter how many times I play Uncle Bonsai's song "Johnny, it's downhill from here," I haven't been able to shake it. Because that wasn't my time. My time came right after and lasted until this illness stopped me in my tracks.
I'm also sad, because some folks close to me don't like the concept of Since When. (Shouldn't everyone, goddamnit?) And would prefer to turn it into something else. I'm not that good a writer to make the wonderful food we ate and desserts we devoured into a device to get into the book. Melancholy is the thread that holds it together. And love. And loss. I can't introduce my "characters" with a recipe.
I did learn something very important. That I think the target audience for Since When is boomer Jews. (I really do need to check this further before I accept this conclusion as fact.) And perhaps a few curious persons who madly love generational stories and genealogy in general. I know I can make Since When a better read, write a better synopsis, but I can't change its blood and guts. I often think that Since When birthed itself using my fingers and my keyboard as its tools. Because, lord knows, I don't know how it came from me.
I have to remember that losing so much of my physical self gave me my voice. I don't give a shit about embarrassing myself. I don't concern myself with whether I've said the right or wrong thing. I can accept criticism without feeling crushed and humiliated. Not even a bit. I wish I could've lost a little more ego in this process I've undergone, but I think that only happens when you're on the road to sainthood. If I only know one thing in this world, I am not, never in a million years, headed for sainthood. Well I could in Bizarro world, but I don't live there. Not yet, anyway. And I refuse to go if I can't get Chip's perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think that's reasonable, no?