Food in Sad Times

My friend C lost her mother on Wednesday. There's no soft way to put that and it's not an easy thing to say, or to contemplate. I've grown up with C and her sisters and knew her parents well; I ate dinner there once or twice, and they were the first people to introduce me to fondue, that happy marriage of cheese and wine, one of the most perfect foods in the world. Her father passed away a few years ago, and her mother hung on until this year. They were both classically trained musicians, and their easy sophistication--and especially C's mother's tall, lanky grace--seemed like the last word in elegance.

I've been asked to play my flute for the service, as Petra was an excellent flautist, and I'm honored. I need to get out the flute TODAY to start practicing--it's been awhile and I'm scared I'll screw up, and I want it to be perfect for Petra.

In the meantime, there is food. I had the chance to see C last Thursday, and brought a few things--wine, chocolate gelato good enough to bathe in, fresh chevre from the local market. (I feel very posh being able to buy fresh-made chevre.) She cooked dinner, despite the fact that she had every excuse to subsist solely on cheese, chocolate, and wine for the next month, and we talked about old times. It seems as if those days are long gone, but I realized, driving home, having just had dinner with a girl I've known for fifteen years, that we are making our own good times, our own old times. History is happening now, even in the midst of sadness.