I thought Adam and Eve, as well. I'm still thinking that one through, a little.

I was thinking along those lines, Liese, but yours more sharp and vivid than anything I was coming up with.

Because deb's reminded me of a fairy tale:

The daughters who said they loved him more than gold and jewels had cast him out and kept the treasure. The daughter he had cast out for not loving him enough had taken him in. She had won her kingdom without his help or blessing, yet she opened it to him.

It took a banquet of his favorite dishes turned bland and tasteless to convince him. She loved him more than salt. At last he understood.

Did he weep for the wasted years and wrong choices, his tears flavoring the food? Or did each flavorless bite fill him with joy?

Oh, lovely, _t!

OMG, you guys rock! I can't single anyone out because you were all so very excellent. I'm thinking on mine, now and, hopefully, will actually have time later to write it down. Too. damn. busy. Keep on writing, please! Everyone has taken a topic I honestly thought didn't have that much to say and have said so much. Made of awesome, you are.

Life By The Drop

His comfort food used to come from the grill – veggie skewers, T-bone steak, pineapple with teriyaki sauce brushed on. He made it all himself – he was a fantastic and dedicated cook, grilling at all times, even in winter.

Gradually, the grill fell into disuse, the comfort food replaced by another kind. Corn mash, filtered through maple charcoal and aged in oak for two years, drunk with water and ice. Hey, at least he was still getting his vegetables, right? That’s what he told himself, that’s what we told each other as we watched him waste away. That's how it happens, sometimes.

Thanks, deb. I wasn't sure if that one was working.

Ouch, Juliana. The, I don't know, atmosphere of that one just hurts.

That's how it happens, sometimes.

God. Yes. And sometimes we don't notice and can't do a damned thing to make it stop.

This was supposed to be about macaroni & cheese, damn it. But it wanted to be this, instead:

* * * * * *

Comfort. Food.

The phrase, of course, is a lie. Food offers me no comfort; it never really has. Nothing human hands can cook has the capacity to comfort me when my heart is bruised or my mind refuses to be still. What I need instead are those hands themselves, those arms holding me close.

Failing that, I turn yet again to the pantry. It's always there. But that's all that food can offer me – its presence. It's there, it's constant, mine for the asking. If it were a person, that truly would be comfort. Instead, it's just a poor substitute that ultimately leaves me empty.

Finally got it down on "paper."

Comfort Food

She looked at the grocery bags, her nerves calm. Inside one bag could be found sirloin tips to braise with onions and peppers, noodles to be coated with butter and chives, chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. She stared at the seven bags; they had cost her four hundred dollars. It was worth it for the comfort she could find in them.

Later that night, feeling nervous, she stood over the toilet bowl for the fourth time. All the groceries were gone, nothing left in which to take comfort--only an empty soul and an empty wallet.

It's interesting, isn't it, how we can get down to the blood and darkness in anything? There's always something deeper to be explored. These last two were both really strong, Steph & Sail. And I can definitely relate to yours, Steph. It is about that availability, and control, and constancy.

Mine ended up sharper than I intended. I can never tell. Sometimes I really bleed over them and I temper it somehow, and sometimes I just don't. But I never know what it's going to be until it's out. Anyway, now that I got the bile out, I have a sweet one brewing, too. But I'll sleep on it. Try for it this weekend.