My latest culinary obsession is the beet. The beautiful, red, glorious beet. Deep roots, rich color, chameleon taste. Diced, sliced, chopped. Texture like a potato, calories like celery. I am in love with beets.
Anyway-I think yesterday's blogging sent my subconscious into overdrive. My dreams last night were absolutely insane! I visited Shepherdstown. I could smell it, feel it, sense it. I even tasted it--Shepherd Twist anyone? Coconut and apricot yumminess.
I told my mom a few years ago that I had a special disorder called Ginny Spacial Anxiety. I always want to be where I am not, and I can feel it in my body with tight anxiety nastiness. When I started college, I wanted to be home in Charleston. When I came home, I just wanted to be back in Shepherdstown. Now I am in Atlanta and I am TRYING to enjoy every moment, but I just want to be back in West Virginia. But my dreams last night gave me that small reality check that wherever you go, your problems follow you.
In my dream, I was moving back into the little cottage on Church Street. I wish I had a photo of this cottage to share with you. The door to my house was less than 4 feet tall. It was so small with little to no storage. It had tons of character, no heating or cooling, and no structural foundation. It was over 150 years old. It spoke to me with creaks and moans. During the one hurricane that made land, the tin roof acted like a percussive instrument----and I mean a little beyond the rainfall. There was a wind catch in the tin that made it pound above my head for hours.
It was my home. The location of one of my finer keg parties. The place where I learned to love flowers and candles. Location of my first spice collection. Haunted. Lovely. Dirty.
Back to the dream---I was moving back into the cottage and this time I had 5 roommates. The size of the cottage was smaller than real life. I was full of anxiety about my things, my privacy, and my sanity. Maybe this is anxiety I am feeling about my coming move, but I know I will be fine. Maybe this is an indication that I need to make room in my life for bigger decisions and brighter space. Maybe. maybe. maybe.
Maybe.
The door to my old cottage was the color of a beet. It was red. Inside of that space, I experienced a lot of deep moments, rich experiences, and growth. I was a red beet. I am a red beet, roasting. I will taste wonderful. Or perhaps I already do.
