Elder Daughter, Morris William, and the Mistress of Sarcasm.
The rest of the clan - Morris William, Rebecca, and little Nephew William - headed out Saturday afternoon, so we had a Gradual Familial Houseguest Decompression. [When everybody leaves at once, the Sudden Decompression can cause the Emotional Bends.]
It’s hell, it is, having our daughters go back to their respective homes after over a week in their company here. We’ve always been close with them, and it’s easy to forget that they don’t still live here with us. It is the natural order of things to have one’s offspring move out and move on, but that knowledge is but cold intellectual comfort. Saying goodbye is tough, even if you know it’s only for a while.
The good thing - if a Silver Lining must be found - is that the Excessive Holiday Face-Stuffing Season is now officially over. Because it’s so much fun to Consume Mass Quantities when family is around.
What makes it worse is, both the Missus and I like to cook. And since we play well together, we take turns.
Just to illustrate, Monday evening, She Who Must Be Obeyed put together a little Mexican-style dinner. Tortilla chips and her made-from-scratch Best Frickin’ Guacamole On The Planet. Chicken enchilada casserole. Pinto beans. Frijoles negros refritos. Spanish rice. And, for dessert, her Infamous Cherry Cake, the recipe for which is a closely-guarded family secret.
And last night - exactly a year since I posted about cooking up a big ol’ pot of gumbo - we all were attacked by that selfsame Early January Gumbo Jones. And thus it was that I found myself stirring up a cauldron of that most excellent brew.
Tonight?
Tonight it will be just the two of us. Leftovers will be on the menu, with that gumbo topping the bill.
And, alas, it will be quiet at Chez Elisson.
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