Letter 3 {Fried Fish Hair}

Dear Candace,

It’s quite late and the people in my house should be asleep but they are not. There is shifting and resettling and creaking. The whole house seems to sigh when our nighttime rituals are underway. I can hear Tom upstairs praying over the boys tucked in their bunk-bed.

I settled here on my bed to finish this letter to you and realized… I never started it! Between Tom being ill for a few days, extra office work demanding my attention, and all the Usual Things, I’ve been caught up in a small but consuming whirlwind. From Friday to Friday, it has been rather constant. I’m looking forward to a slower weekend, puttering around the house, enjoying family time. Tom is much better, too.

A friend from Indy is staying with us for a couple nights, and when I checked to make sure our guest bed was satisfactory (Hosanna’s bed; she usually sleeps in the basement when we have company) I noticed something odd. I had forgotten that, needing to store a box spring, we’d temporarily stacked it on a platform bed under a tall mattress directly beneath the slanted 1930’s attic ceiling. It gives the effect of “The Princess and the Pea.” Edward, our guest, is over 6 feet tall and sleeping atop that monstrosity. I hope he doesn’t hit his head on the ceiling when he turns over at night.

The whole house smells like fried food right now. I pan-fried tilapia in butter in my cast-iron skillet, which is my favorite way to cook fish. A liberal coating of salt, pepper, and garlic is best. Caleb fixed Tom’s garden potatoes for frying.* Fried potatoes and fish were one of mom’s famous meals she prepared from fresh rainbow trout a generous fisherman regularly supplied our family. Naomi joined us for dinner, too, and we reminisced about our well-loved fish meals growing up. It also made me think of London, with fish n’ chips served hot and salty sizzling in a paper cone. Happiness.

In the craziness of last week, I did manage to get rid of piles of kids’ clothes we no longer needed. Some I was able to sell, some I gave away. My house feels lighter, though my heart feels a bit misty. I can hardly keep up with the changing sizes of my children; it’s ridiculous. Caleb is almost taller than me!  This growing up needs to stop a moment. Time for them all to jump in bed and snuggle while I read a book, and they aren’t allowed to grow while I read. I’m too young for my kids to be getting this old. I’ll pick a really long book.**

Goodness, I’m tired. I’ll wash my fried fish hair in the morning and open the windows a bit.

Happy Friday,

Rachel

* I served vegetables to my family as well, so I get points for that, right?

**Are they too young for War and Peace? I’ve been meaning to get around to it eventually…

Letter 2

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