Oh, I really wanted to write about an incredible quiche that I created, rich with the ingredients of the beginning of fall: roasted Pasilla peppers, sage, fresh corn, mushrooms.
It wasn't great. It wasn't horrible, but it just wasn't great. I didn't get the proportion of custard to goodies right, so I've got to tweak and rework the recipe until it sings the way it has potential to sing. Definitely more eggs and cream and cheese, or maybe a different cheese will appear in the reworking.
When I imagined posting this quiche that I set out to create, I wanted to crown the beginning of this school year with jewels of capability. I wanted to say, "Hey, look at me! I can start the school year, keep up with the ever-growing-garden, invent delicious dishes, and actually semi-regularly post on this site!" Clearly, I'm not as amazing as I hoped I would be. Nope, in fact, I'm downright unamazing. Just like the quiche, more often than not, I'm meh, as the kids would say.
This sounds a bit whiny as I reread it; while on the surface it may seem that way, truthfully, I'm not complaining for I have more to rejoice in daily than I ever expected. And all of that seems more evident than ever after getting through this summer.
Tonight, it is cool. As I write this at the desk in front of my living room window, a man is walking by my house wearing a sweatshirt—a sweatshirt!—and though an occasional water-bearing helicopter still flies over, for the most part, I can watch the sun set without a stain of smoke or the fluorescent scar of fire retardant. I have a job, a good one I love, one that even keeps me entertained. Today, in the classroom, while I gave a little mini lesson on rhetorical terms, the students exemplified the word anecdote by telling a few. We laughed and laughed at the ridiculous little tales we've lived through, and I thought to myself, these kids make me so lucky. Tonight, my husband, a man who loves me thoughtfully and generously, is working late at his job, one that while difficult and sometimes frustrating, allows him real work using all parts of his brain. We have a house full of music and books and computers and art and affectionate animals, and frequently, full of kind, fascinating friends and family.
So I am meh, my kitchen-brainstorming ineffective, and my quiche mediocre, and . . . so what. I'm going to go eat quiche leftovers joyfully.
Holy crap. I sound like a Hallmark card. Whatever, I've got a dinner to go eat.