Working on my bolognese

We were making a lot of bolognese for our twins since they started eating solids – east to make, has some veg in (and we lace it with courgettes and spinach so they get an extra dose of greens), and can be eaten with and without pasta. Before them it had been a long old time since I’d made a bolognese for myself. Even then, effort was minimal. Onions, beef, tomato – of course. A bit of garlic, herbs, tomato paste – naturally. That’s pretty much where it stopped though. I cooked it quick and was happy with whatever the result was, but I guess I stopped eating it as it wasn’t knock out flavour.

Now that’s all changed. I’m using nice plum tomato passata (or blitzing San Marzanos myself), freshly ground beef, adding bay leafs, Parmesan rind, balsamic, red wine, actually using a real soffrito combo. Not to mention cooking the thing on the lowest possible heat for hours. You get the picture – my finally taking my bolognese seriously.

I do a lot of variations, but here is the most recent I did.

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Weaving elements of life

I hate to think of time as limited and something that needs to be divided up. Endless prioritisation exercises are needed to try and all of a life into those divisions. Of course I do prioritise it, but I really hate to. Things tend to go in the immediate “I have to” or “I want to” files. The former is typically the daily grind at work plus to real have tos – eating, drinking sleeping. Though these also fit firmly in the latter camp. I can’t bring myself to call a nap a waste of time. It may take up a division or two and mean I don’t complete a piece of work on a particular day, but I love to do it and it feels good.

These divisions don’t haunt may as they may some. I don’t clock in and clock out. They cast a shadow though on my desire to write. I only want to write when I want to, when I enjoy it. As a hobby that’s right. Still, I wish I could ease up on twine of the “have to dos” which may make me more likely to get that time back to write more than I have for the last several months.

I’m sure I could just be more disciplined. Where’s the fun in discipline though?

Parents

Part of the ‘Cazique of Poyais’ story – read more here

The Mercorda twins wandered a path they had taken many times before which lead by the church and then swung up towards their house. It wasn’t a direct route. This was the route of contemplation, of debate, of procrastination. Now it was all three, so it was that there were fits of debate that made them stop in their tracks followed by slow contemplative steps shared in silence. Uncle Tito was expecting them home at some point so they must get there eventually, but there was no expectation of when. They took their time.

Coming upon St. John’s Church, Jose stopped his sister and contemplated the building. He didn’t want to relay to his sister the full meaning of his contemplation, but decided it was worth saying, “I come and stare at this church now and again. It wasn’t here when we were born and now it is. Some places of worship in Europe have been built for hundreds of years and still aren’t finished. I wonder about these things and if they mean anything for me, for us. It spurs me to wonder what else there is beyond this town we call home. I just thought you should know.”

Noemi gave a short nod and smile of understanding. She felt it was probably more that he wondered what he was doing in a place where a building of such meaning to some is built so quickly and in Europe, where those who have time, money and resources, can follow their dreams. It was t a distinction she felt was appropriate to raise, as true as it was, so she stayed silent on the matter as they continued their leisurely walk home to find out if all there discussions and contemplation were a dream whose bubble had been burst or not.

While they walked, they didn’t know whether or not Uncle Tito had agreed with Daniel Perez or how they would manage to get Uncle Tito to London. As such, everything was still theoretically possible, just as it was not. Eventually they would cross the threshold and reality would snap into focus. While they could, they strung out the walk and some semblance of a balanced outcome.

As they came up a small incline that started the path towards their home, Noemi decided to broach a subject that was never spoken of between them. In part it was the act of opening up an old wound that had mostly healed and also that they had both preferred to take their own counsel on this one point. This was the right time for the topic though, and so, Noemi asked, “What of our parents?”

Jose stopped in the path and stared partially at Noemi and partially off in the distance. It was a subject he had mostly put out of his mind. Not the idea of parents or even the people they were, but rather the fact that they were buried in the ground somewhere unknown and that they were gone. What Noemi meant was that leaving Belize Town meant shelving another long held dream of both of theirs. Understanding their parents death and maybe even finding out where they were buried.

It wasn’t a topic they really actively pursued anymore, finding their parents’ burial spot. There was so little hope of actually finding it after all these years, but the passage to London would close that pursuit forever. It was the invisible sacrifice that had to be made and acknowledged as such between the two of them.

“Are you searching for a way out of this Sister?” Jose said with caring and concern for her mental state rather than the brutal accusation it could have sounded like had he spoken it the day before.

“No, I just thought it was worth noting. We say goodbye to Belize Town and we never solve the mystery of our parents.”

“Its an odd thought. Have you ever given up on the hope we would find out? It has been so long since we discussed it.”

Noemi pondered the question and responded, “I gave up hope long ago. There is no normal avenue that we didn’t explore. There was still a thought, a wish, that we would find out despite all of that.”

“I reached a similar thought, but only recently. Hope is something I cling to dearly and I would lie if there wasn’t still a small part of me that still had hope we would find an answer. That is such a small and frail thing now though. My hope is propped up by a wish. With our new adventure, I’m content to let that hope slip away and for my wish to remain dangling. One day, some serendipitous event may see us find out, but we can’t let our desire for this answer stop us from living.”

It was true and they were happy it was the choice that had to be made.

“Ok,” said Noemi, “let’s go and talk to uncle Tito and see if we can indeed take this adventure and leave our parents to rest.”

They continued walking up the long path to there house, contemplating the finality of the conversation. They both thought that even if they never made it on a ship for London, they would never again speak of their parents resting place.