Mac and Cheese

Not a whole lot to say today, except I had mac and cheese for dinner, which came in a care package. Mac and cheese is important to me, even more so than a home style meal. Here's why.

Mac and cheese reminds me of my mother. We loved mac and cheese as kids, still do, but I have certain memories of my mom and mac and cheese. My parents are a pretty strong team, and they work together on many different levels. One such level was comforting Mark and myself. We both played sports all through high school and most competitions wound up the same way. The game would end, we would head to the locker room, get changed, and Dad would be there to pick us up, having driven from Augusta or Portland depending on the year from work to see his sons play. Now, I was never very good at sports, and so these rides from school to home, which took 15-25 minutes would turn into counseling sessions, where we would rant about the coaches, our teammates, the referees, or our own performance. By the time we got home, Dad would have dragged out every mental anguish we would have had, so that we had ranted as much as we could, had cooled off, and were left exhausted. We would come into the kitchen, dump our stuff, and Mom (who had left the game as soon as it was finished to come home) would be standing there, hands on her hips, apron over her neck, with three pots on the stove steaming and a timer set on the microwave. "Do we have time to shower?" was the usual question, to which the reply was always "If you make it quick." We would both shower, change into our PJs, and come for dinner. Dad would crack open a beer or pour a glass of sherry depending on the season, and Mom would dish up mac and cheese with hot dogs, or chicken nuggets as our meat. Then we would sit around the wood dining room table that had been in Mom's family for two generations, and catch up on the news of the day. Game days were long, so we would probably finish eating around 10, and then all go to bed or curl up and read.

You see, mac and cheese was our favorite dish, and Mom always knew how to take care of her boys. The dish signifies a lot, be it the constant care shown for us by always having a box or three in storage for when days went bad, or the sacrifice in dietary health for when we would have mac and cheese twice in a week (three times for me, when I would hunt down any leftovers in the fridge and bring them to work), and after I made mac and cheese and sat in my Roman apartment with the view of the Vatican, I felt like I was home, in the embrace of my family, in the safety and guarantee of my mother's cooking and love. If I was to be asked my favorite food, I would say mac and cheese and seafood, but seafood only because I like the taste.  Mom has a sign above the fridge (one of my favorite places in the house) that says "Mom is a friend you never outgrow." God bless moms everywhere, but most especially my mom.

In other news, I in fact stayed up after the chocolate experiment yesterday, but more because I was up reading instead of sleeping, regardless of sugar intake. More tests are necessary. I've got big plans for this weekend, and tomorrow if you behave I might clue you in on some of them. Till then, keep it real.