Beltane Sumi-e Moon
This little person with the staticky blond hair made supper yesterday, a complicated one. Lamb shawarma, black tie challah and toffee. Kate added a wonderful salad in the Middle Eastern style. Gabe and Jon drove up from Denver, in horrendous rush hour traffic (redundant adjective, I know) for the meal. “Gabe had better like this since we spent all day making it,” she said. He did.
Monday and Tuesday were Ruth’s first two days out of school and we were lucky to have her spend them with us. She cooked, fed the dogs, came up to the loft, “Hi. How ya’ doin’?” I served as her sous chef on the shawarma and Kate did likewise on the challah, but she picked the recipes and guided the action. And the shawarma was good. The challah, too. This is called Black Tie Challah.
She is, though, twelve, still learning to process her emotions. Hard.
This morning she’s off to the YMCA camp in Estes Park, the town closest to Rocky Mountain National Park. She told me she’s switched her preferred college now from M.I.T. to the Rhode Island School of Art and Design. Only the preeminent art school in the U.S. She aims high.
As we were cooking together yesterday, she said, “I’m an artist. That sort of means I’m a perfectionist.”
