Every evening with Laura

Last night, Laura and I made savoury tarts – a heavenly melee of aubergine, tomatoes, peppers and onion on flaky pastry, topped with delicious mascarpone. For accompaniment, we prepared creamy coleslaw and potato salad in vinaigrette. A salad of baby leaves, rocket, sundried tomatoes and olives finished off the meal.

It was quick, easy and delicious. We followed it up with a high quality shop-bought Cicilian lemon cheesecake which left our mouths feeling as if they had been spring-cleaned, then brewed coffee and settled down to watch a movie while the milk for this week’s yogurt slowly heated to 200 degrees in the slow cooker.

This may all sound like pretty routine stuff, but in the company of Laura it becomes supreme fun. Every evening spent with Laura is a treat.

©Jane Paterson Basil


15 thoughts on “Every evening with Laura

        1. Thank you RL, I’ve read your blog, and I know that love forms a large part of your creed. I dream of the day when blogging may bring us together to build an impenetrable force for peace.
          I don’t know when the blog will be up and running…


  1. Dear friends…they really sweeten life, don’t they? I recently reconnected with an old friend. She’s been coming over some, and it’s really nice. She walks up to the door and walks in, her 14-year-old blind, cute, bossy, and somewhat cranky little 6 pound (at least a couple of those pounds in hair alone) Pomeranian in her arms with his little dog bed. She gets herself a glass and helps herself to whatever’s in the fridge. I love that!! There is no feeling that I have to exert myself to entertain her. I don’t even have to interrupt what I had planned for the day. I go on with my business, and she talks and visits while I pull weeds, or what-have-you. Recently, I told her that I love having her visit and I love that it works that way.

    I hope it’s okay to change the subject. I actually came on to WordPress tonight to reply to your comment on my last post. I wanted to reply and kept wanting to reply…but this part of my life and the emotional challenges it presents is something I have to take on in bite-sized pieces, and take on those bites only when I’m strong enough. I suppose that’s not unusual.

    I quit drinking once I made the decision to carry the pregnancy to term – and thought I would be able to continue that way after the baby was born. Soon after he went to live with his new family I had a pretty terrifying and severe breakdown. I looked forward to coming out of it, but it didn’t really happen the way I had hoped it would. Instead, I went from that experience straight into an unrelenting numbness. After a few months of walking through life that way I asked myself, ‘If this is the way life is going to be, why the hell am I bothering to not drink?’

    I started the journey of sobriety just before my son’s 2nd birthday. A couple of years after that, it dawned on me that I’d done this; I’d sobered up. I’d really done it! The very next instant I was horrified that I’d given my child up. It was like, ‘…it would have been okay…’ For years I lived in anguish over that – but would it have really? There’s no way of ever knowing for sure. That was one of the fears in the back of my mind when I was pregnant. My life at that point was not a very good place to bring a child into, and I did fear that the entities that had the power to do so would come and take my child away … so I suppose giving him up of my own volition was my way of having some control over the process of inevitably losing him, a sort of beating them to the punch if you will. Later down the road of processing the painful crushing blow of the reality of losing my child catching up with me, as you’d said in your comment, there’s no way of knowing what my son’s young eyes would have seen and what he would have had to endure growing up with me.

    Please don’t ever feel like you have to retract anything you’ve said in response to the things I write about if you have something you wish to express. If I don’t respond right away, please know that it’s not because I’ve taken something in a negative light. It’s not an easy subject and the fact that you reached out to be part of the conversation meant a lot to me…I just couldn’t do much of anything about it at the time. I’d done as much as I could do just writing the post. Thank you for caring enough to respond. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I understand you taking a while to respond, and I’m fine with it.
      All the drug and alcohol workers I’ve spoken to have agreed that they’d rather work with drug addicts than alcoholics. Alcoholism is tough to kick forever. You knew that and I think you made a brave decision based on that knowledge. The fact that you got, and stayed, sober is to your credit. I admire recovered addicts, whether the addition is to sex, drugs, or whatever, but especially alcohol and food.
      I hope that writing the post was cathartic for you. A lot of people say that writing about painful experiences helps. Personally, I’ve found that it brings out the pain and the gunk like a burst boil; better out than in, but for a while it feels even worse, until eventually it settles down, leaving a scar that never disappears.
      I’m addicted to similes and metaphors…
      Take care of you… xx

      Liked by 1 person

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