I tried to make a mark over the letter a, like such: Ā. In the process I accidentally deleted my entire farmers market post; my post about the local artisanal butcher Dai Due and how to pronounce their name properly, the post about leaf lard and chicken liver mousse with strawberries, and dogs; my post about baking the picture perfect coconut cream pie, an architectural wonder, it's white dome reaching for the refigerator light but instead, confessing to you the most epic of pie-making failures.
"It's Monday again," says my refrigerator, "take that," a pie dish full of coconut cream mush sits flat on the bottom shelf staring up at me blankly. I gasp. It's like a horror movie or drama in which the main character is too brash, dreams too big and has to start again from the beginning. Sisyphus.
My blog failure chased the pie making failure into the woods. It's raining and thundering and cold. Soon enough it will be a distant memory, I'll glean what I can and move on. In the meantime, I send a small dog out into the storm to relieve herself. She comes in and waits patiently while I undo her rain jacket so she can return to bed. This is what I wish for myself, that I could unpeel the layers and get back under the covers. I'd like to listen to the rain on the roof, feel the warmth of the dogs on my legs and drift off.
There is no sense in that. Instead I spread liver mousse over warm maple oatmeal bread. It's earthy and satisfying. I think about what I'll do differently next time. I'll hit "Save", I'll chill the pie crust before baking it. Sometimes I just want it all, I want everything all at once. I want dinner and pie and a happy husband and a clear spring day and a dog dancing at my feet instead of hiding away.
For now I have this post but no pie. In a few days I'll have pie and no post. Lesson of the day: it all works out in the end.