Autumn

It is time to think. Cold winds chastise the landscape and plants store their juices deep down in their roots. I know the moment has come to reflect on my past days- explosive summer days and colourful autumn moments, where life seemed so much more extravert. So I drag my old sofa to the window and start feeling comfortable. My friends recognize the signals and seriously respect my wish to stay in. Chilliness outside asks for warmth in my body. Time to get my body tuned to the season. I know the pizza delivery service won’t do the trick, but I have a handful of guidelines to escape the cold toes and frosty fingers. First of all my stove is my friend and I try to leave the refrigerator closed until spring. I still like salads, but only to look at. I just use a few pickles on the side. I’ve learned that veggies like the cosiness too. They want each other’s company in heavy pots to gather warmth and sweetness in slowly simmering vegetable stews. Especially round vegetables such as onions, pumpkin and turnips are fervent candidates. To get your protein, add some cooked beans. Your body needs hearty seasoned dishes and slightly more oil than in summer.
Avoid cold drinks, but choose instead for warm teas or cereal coffee.

Winter wonder: heat some apple juice in a little pan and add some drops of fresh ginger, a pinch of salt and cinnamon. Gives you a kick and gets your energy moving!

Choices

'No', I screamed. 'Don't lift the cover.' Judging his look I had just said something incomprehensible. His sleepy eyes looked startled, his fingers were tapping on the pot.
'I'm a bit much curious what you are preparing honey'. His mouth showed a glamourous smile.
'You can't open the pot now, it'll destroy the dish'.
In two seconds I went from loveable to madwoman.
'Come on, only to see what's cooking.'
'I think you'll have to leave this kitchen now'. I noticed my voice getting slightly upset. Actually, my whole body was shaking.
He was stunned, didn't believe me saying these words.
I couldn't help it. These veggies had to be alone now. It was cosy in the pot, no doubt. I felt pieces of butternut squash melting, chunks of carrot sweetening, onions caramelizing and quarters of rutabaga communicating to the burdock on the side. Warm friendships started and life stories were told. No curious human being should interfere.
A door slammed. I was again alone in the kitchen.
Thirty minutes later I went to the library. He was waiting for me, but stubbornly kept staring at his page. Finally he took his plate and slowly started to chew. Only a few bites later he looked up at me with a happy face.

Language

There was a piece of chocolate missing. The golden box was full except for one coffee & cream. A delicious coffee & cream. Taste he surely had. I slowly looked across the room, vainfully hoping I could still unmask hidden offenders. The kitchen was shining. For hours I had been scrubbing, mopping, rinsing and washing. I had bumped my head, had sat on my knees. I had removed all the food from the refrigerator and wiped the inside with warm soapy water. Even read the vacuum cleaner manual. The high-gloss cupboards were glittering, the floor was like a clean plate. But there were no silent fingerprints, no forgotten crumbs. No fallen dust to write YES on the kitchen table. All traces had disappeared in a bucket full of water and a microfiber dust mob. So I knelt down and scanned the floor with the palm of my hand, drawing contours of a man's footprint, but nothing I found. Disciplined I had guarded this box from my own greedy taste buds, to discover that someone else had broken into my treasure. I heard my ears whistling and felt my eyes burn, my heart started pounding in my chest. In one swift swing my fists landed on the table, making a cracking sound that was not coming from the wood. Tiny drops of beetroot red coloured the immaculate room. How easy it is to hurt yourself. Finally the pain took over my raging anger and slowly the comfort of lost possibilities touched down on me. It was only me and the box now. No long expected passers-by at the kitchen table. So I gave in and took what I had kept away from myself: the second and last coffee & cream, which, in the end, I now had shared with some one else.

walls

'I'm gonna sleep in the kitchen', he said. 'From now on I'll lay myself on the black&white tiles'. I was not surprised, for months I had been expecting these words. I clearly remember when it all started. It was on a cold dark Tuesday night in late autumn. He was reading in the old armchair, I was peeling chestnuts in the Knowle sofa, there was a big fire between us. 'We have to break down that wall', he stated. 'It has disturbed me since we moved in, there are too many small rooms in this appartment'. I looked at him with surprise, I had always thought that escaping into narrow spaces was his second nature. He could sit at only one meter distance from me for a whole day, but there were always bricks between us. Next day he called his buddie, and for hours they put all their force into taking down that wall, I could only see their backs. He had confined me to the chestnuts and the sofa. Slowly every object got covered with fine dust, even I looked as if crusted with snow. I turned into a statue, present but superfluous. For weeks the knocking and hammering continued, until it pulsed simultaneously with my blood stream. One morning I woke up early, the house was silent and the bed next to me empty. In my nightie I softly tiptoed to the kitchen and there it was: a jewel in high gloss crema and American walnut, gracefully framed in the wall protrusion. Its mere beauty blinded me. At that moment I knew it was over. That same night he moved to the kitchen floor.

Alleen

Vanavond kruip ik in bed met een gloeiende mand gele sojabonen. Ik zal ze warm houden zodat er vannacht iets moois kan groeien. Ik zoek altijd oplossingen als er geen mannenlijven, of liever, als niet dat ene specifieke mannenlijf in de buurt is. De bonen zijn geweekt, gekookt en zorgvuldig in bakpapier gewikkeld. Ten slotte heb ik mijn oranje mohairen deken afgestaan- ik weet wanneer ik moet handelen.

Met zijn tweeën liggen we stille uren in een doorwaakte nacht, het pakket raakt mijn bovenarm. Af en toe strek ik mijn vingers uit en controleer of het nog genoeg lichaamswarmte heeft. Voorzichtig draai ik me dan om en rol ik me rond het deken. Zo slapen we afwisselend samen en apart.

In de vroege ochtend schuif ik mijn handen een voor een onder de bonen en draag ze plechtig naar de keuken. Daar mix ik ze door de misosoep.