im0ftheuniverse's Journal

I wrote this as a response in this discussion of one of the member groups, empathy's Positively Affirming!! group: http://dailystrength.org/groups/positively-affirming/discussions/messages/6487849 for the full post with other member replies. They definitely make me feel good.

I wanted to include it here because it felt SO good to write it, I was back in that place and felt so wonderful. It made me feel, too, that I had accomplished something really great today by writing it. I included a lot of detail. I showed it to my fiance (ProFiction) to ask his reactions too. He said he can imagine that he's there. That's exactly what I wanted to do with that discussion. Please read it and feel the warmth!

I have a wonderful place in my mind made up of memories. It is one of the most warm, love-filled, ritual- and memory-based images. It can take away my anxiety, help me control my breathing, and put a nice gentle smile on my face.

My grandma is one of the first generations BORN in the US after her parents immigrated before the turn of the 20th century. She has carried down a lot of our ethnic traditions and I love when she passes them on to me and my brother, too. Our favorite thing that she makes is pierogies...... THEY ARE SO GOOD... and in my happy place, we are in her kitchen with her, learning how to make pierogies.

We knock on the front window, our little secret tradition, instead of on the door. She greets us with hugs and kisses. A strong scent of onion soaked in melted butter almost knocks us onto the couch. Does she need anything from the store before we get started? No, she says, she bought the onions yesterday.

The kitchen is so warm with the oven and the stove top on. The old wallpaper has some daisies and there are a few happy-looking ducks. The kitchen window shows the road above the hill, not very many cars come by on the street. There's a stop sign, adding a nice lull, almost like ocean waves, for the ones that try to swing past us.

The room is very well lit. Her small table with folding eaves is up against the radiator. Above the napkin holder and the salt-and-pepper shakers, there's a miniature lamp coming right out of the wall. This lamp used to be on the wall in our great-grandmother's house, but now it's in this very kitchen. The table has a few very large wooden cutting boards, the kind that are above a drawer that you simply pull all the way out. This one is covered in flour. There's an empty drinking glass in a pile of the fluffy white powder. We use it to cut the dough into small circles.

My grandma puts a pan on a potholder. It is warm and smells of cheese and potatoes, some ultimate comfort food, starchy and pasty and thick. There are a couple of spoons in the pan. Next to it is a small, shallow bowl with water. We use it to spread on the edges of the dough to make the glue. My fingers get little crumbles of flour and dough-bits stuck all over them.

We line up our finished dough pouches on some towels on the counter top. Grandma makes sure the lines are very straight and even, so we can count them up at the end of the day. They are so orderly and clean. There is still a softness in their rounded bellies, plump with potato. They too are sprinkled with the little delicate flecks of white flour.

In my mind, I think I taste the finish product, but my happy place isn't of eating. I love that we have learned this great tradition and it helps to replay it in my mind so I can hang onto it forever.