My friend Ellen and I have a routine WhatsApp videocall to sing together. Singing soothes us both, and I get a bonus: hearing her beautiful, pure tones. Before we sing, we usually take the opportunity to chat about every subject in the world: politics, children, family life, work – and in the era of COVID, illnesses. Last day, when we connected, she took the phone to the kitchen and showed me something in the pot that I couldn’t distinguish: something brown with orange pieces. She saw my puzzled expression and said, “I copied you! It’s lentil soup. It was so good, I’ve been practicing until I get it right.”
Before the injury, when Ellen used to get sick, I would always make lentil soup for her and her family and send it with Eric in a big jar. I’ve always loved lentil soup.I think of it as my vegetarian chicken soup – healthy and comforting.
Then she added, “It was yummy. It had such a sweet flavor,” and asked, “What herbs did you put?” I said I’d forgotten the seasoning. “Didn’t you write down the recipe?” she wondered. I answered I didn’t; it had been a long time since I’d made it, so I’d forgotten. “No matter,” she reassured me. “When COVID’s gone, we’ll make lentil soup in the kitchen. You’ll teach me how.” I protested I’d forgotten the seasoning (too long without making it, and I don’t write down the herbs I add), and besides, I couldn’t cook. But she said, “When COVID’s gone, you’ll be able to cook. And you’ll teach me. We’ll cook together. And it will be lots of fun!” And I pictured Ellen and me in the kitchen, the bright sunshine pouring through the window, and both standing up on two legs, stirring the soup in the pots, our left hands holding the wooden spoons.
Before the injury, when Ellen used to get sick, I would always make lentil soup for her and her family and send it with Eric in a big jar. I’ve always loved lentil soup.I think of it as my vegetarian chicken soup – healthy and comforting.
Then she added, “It was yummy. It had such a sweet flavor,” and asked, “What herbs did you put?” I said I’d forgotten the seasoning. “Didn’t you write down the recipe?” she wondered. I answered I didn’t; it had been a long time since I’d made it, so I’d forgotten. “No matter,” she reassured me. “When COVID’s gone, we’ll make lentil soup in the kitchen. You’ll teach me how.” I protested I’d forgotten the seasoning (too long without making it, and I don’t write down the herbs I add), and besides, I couldn’t cook. But she said, “When COVID’s gone, you’ll be able to cook. And you’ll teach me. We’ll cook together. And it will be lots of fun!” And I pictured Ellen and me in the kitchen, the bright sunshine pouring through the window, and both standing up on two legs, stirring the soup in the pots, our left hands holding the wooden spoons.
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