The good old days
Annie & Alison Newsletter #20
These are the good old days. Laughing together with Tom, Jordan, and Michelle at Cafe Vin. Bike rides through forests and circling lakes, always watching for eagles or herons to make an appearance. Grill nights on the porch, staying long after the meal has ended to simply enjoy the daylight and being together. Sipping tea with Michelle on those cold February mornings as the light poured in from the kitchen window.
These are the good old days. Dinners with Jordan, Madeline, and Sam, all cramped around our tiny dining table that’s most definitely falling apart. We eat Alison’s recipes and Madeline makes delicious cocktails and we discuss every topic under the sun. Sometimes we eat at their house on the porch and I spend the night trying to gain their dog Piper’s affection. Knowing and being known as a couple.
These are the good old days. The thrill of rekindled friendship. Eating pickle plates with Kailey at Wise Acre. Marveling at how similar our childhood selves were to one another, and honoring their youthful creativity and gusto. Chatting for hours, yet feeling no time has past. Celebrating the highs and mourning the lows, together, simultaneously, leaving plenty of space for whatever life threw at us that week.
These are the good old days. Golden hour sun streaming through our windows; I watch in silence as it fades. Early morning sourdough bread preparations. Driving myself to the gym. Greeting Gina, our apartment receptionist, as I barely manage the grocery bags in my arms. Watching season after season of Survivor, debating whether we too could survive. Hours and hours and hours of cooking, for the pure delight of it. Learning to rest, really stop and do nothing.
These are the good old days. I’m writing this on my balcony, 29 stories above the ground in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. It’s hard to remember a clearer day, where the sun was more bright and the wind more sweet. I watch the cars waiting at stoplights, the people walking who knows where. Our neighbors decorated their balcony with hundreds of real and fake flowers. The fake ones even light up at night.
These are the good old days. The time I’ll always cherish. These are the repetitions, the rhythms that made up our year in Minnesota. The place I always swore I’d never go and now don’t want to leave.
A wise man once said, “The future belongs to the good old days.” That man is the late Dr. Brett Foster, and that’s the title of his final poetry collection. (I’ll probably mention him and his work many more times during the rest of this project.) His poems serve as a missive for living an examined life from a man whose future, he knew, would end soon due to cancer. Without fear of sounding trite, he knew that life, in all of its good days and bad, is a gift. Every moment and rhythm. Because of him, I pay extra attention to naming the good old days. Our year had plenty of bad old days too. Really bad days. But the future doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to the goodness.
Some hits and some misses this week in terms of recipes. Here’s this week’s reviewed recipe round-up:
123 recipes cooked, 102 to go.
During this week of cooking…
I learned… that I’m not a huge fan of grilled eggplant. I prefer it oven-roasted with lots of olive oil so that the skin doesn’t get tough. Also, it’s better to build trust, not arguments.
I watched… what felt like countless webinars with higher education professionals discussing how to engage students in career readiness programs. I’m diving right into my new role, and so far, am loving it.
I listened to… the sounds of the city.
I read… a fun NYT article by Yewende Komolafe titled, “The Gloriously Versatile Plantain.” I had no idea there were so many ways to cook plantains. Yewende’s writing and recipes on NYT Cooking make me want to learn more about different African cuisines. Who knows… that might be my next project? If anyone knows of a good plantain vendor in the Chicagoland area, HMU.
Notice your good old days.
xo,
Annie
P.S. I’m going on vacation (hallelujah!) this coming week, so there won’t be a newsletter next Saturday. Just imagine me waving to you from the wilderness of northern Minnesota, wearing my first ever pair of Chaco’s (I finally caved to being a Midwesterner).
