Sou(l)p

This week was, in a psychic sense, a long one.  How the same amount of hours could last longer than the equivalent hours of last week, I'll never know.  Frankly, I am too tired to care.

The physical demands of my daily bread-winning activities are not great.  The mental demands are somewhat more strenuous, and maybe that is why I have been so sluggish this past week.  I left work this Friday at quittin' time, dithering over dinner, and watching the sun go down in a spray of white gold.  Hunger, physical hunger, was not an attention getter.  In an odd turn for me, I didn't feel like eating.

Yeah, I know.  Shocking, yes?

Truth is I was exhausted, facing an empty fridge and having no energy and patience to get to the grocery store.  I toyed with the idea of stopping at a favorite Italian eatery, but even the prospect of some tasty leftovers for the next days' lunch couldn't budge me from the trenches of my ennui.  Since I couldn't decide to decide, I pointed my car in the direction of home and switched on the autopilot.

Arriving at the Crib de la Gumbo, I still had little interest in eating.  To assuage the mental programming that says "Eat because it is dinnertime, and we always eat at dinnertime, appetite or no", I undertook a quick scan of the pantry.  There I discovered a can of tomato soup wearing a crown in the form of a smaller can of green chiles.  As I contemplated this turn of events, I recalled that I had a pepper grinder newly filled with fresh black peppercorns, and a small chunk of feta cheese in the refrigerator.  It dawned on me that with the addition of a small amount of the herb mix I keep in the spice cabinet, these humble ingredients could very well be the solution to my Weary Belly Blues.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting at the dining table, luxuriating in the humble contentedness of hot tomato-chile soup with herbs, black pepper and cheese.  I was tired and still not terribly hungry...but I was eating.  Simply eating.  All I needed to do was lift the spoon and put it into my mouth.

Sometimes hunger begets appetite, and sometimes it works in reverse.  The bite of the tomato and chile, the salty creaminess of the feta, and the mild heat of the pepper set all right with the world.  For that precious interval, all I was, all I needed to be, all that I am:  everything was on center, and it was good.