On Pivoting

 So yesterday I hit a wall I wasn't expecting. 

Well, when does anyone ever expect to hit a wall? And maybe that's a little overly dramatic: hitting a wall. More accurately, I came up against a physical capacity limitation that I was unaware existed. 

My plan was simple enough. We had caught some of the Mega Winter Storm that rolled from Texas to New England this week, enough to shut our streets down, close the library (which almost never happens), close many county and city offices, and generally bring Delaware to a standstill both Thursday and Friday. So I thought as a snowy gesture of friendship, I would make fruit empanadas and share them with our neighbors Adam and Maura and girls next door, Kathy and Ryan across the street (Ryan brings his snowblower over and blows off our sidewalk when it snows), and my old law partner Scott two houses down (who recently gave my dad some legal advice). 

It had been a long time, years to be honest, since I had made fruit empanadas, but heck, piece of cake. I mean, I bake all the time, right? So I prepared an apple filling and a cherry filling. (With fruit empanadas, it's better to cook the filling before filling and baking the empanadas, as the baking time goes more smoothly.)

The fillings

The kitchen smelled great. I was ready to roll, literally and figuratively. 

I made the pie dough I've now made for some 40 years, rolled out a bit of it, cut out the first six dough circles, and moved them onto the parchment paper to fill and crimp shut. I had put filling on three of the six when it hit me. I didn't have the strength to do the rolling, the cutting, the filling, the crimping, the baking. Not now, not later that morning, not ever. 

I was at a complete halt. I wasn't having a bad day physically; my cancer was not acting out. 

I. Just. Couldn't. Do. It.

Long silence in my heart. Long silence in my brain. Long silence in the kitchen as I looked down at what I had begun and acknowledged I could not finish it.

Deep breath.

Okay, no more fruit empanadas. That was clear. But I had filling for pies: apple pies, cherry pies. Not the same and not as much, but pies all the same. Pies! Soon I had two small apple and two medium cherry pies in the oven.

While they baked and I cleaned up the kitchen, I thought about what had happened. In my baking world, this was a first. I don't see it changing and my miraculously regaining the strength and energy to make the empanadas. No more empanadas. 

All the same, I gave myself props for pivoting without too much angst. Because, really, what was the alternative? Collapse in a tearful heap? Swear vociferously, slam my apron against the table, and stalk away? I felt I did more than just salvage the situation: the pies were great. (I'm not just bragging: this was confirmed when wonderful texts came in from those on the receiving end. Plus we kept and cut into one of the small apple pies. Yum.)

But I'd be lying if I didn't say there was a pang. Not heartbreak, but a pang. 

In writing my first draft of this post last night, I looked back to find my empanada post, as I was sure I had done one. Indeed, there it was in June 2012. What caught my eye was not the post itself (although those empanadas look pretty darn tasty), but this quote from my son Sam: "I've also been cooking huge meals for my housemates which is incredibly enjoyable; preparing and cooking and sharing food with people is one of the finer points in life for me as of late."

Preparing and cooking and sharing food. It really is that simple and essential.

So no more empanadas. But there's still food to to prepare and cook and share. The baking goes on. The friendships go on.

Life, sweet life, goes on.