Mud Pies for Supper

I lie in bed in the dark morning thinking, “I’ve got chicken breasts to cook for tonight, how on earth am I going to cook them…?”

I’ve come to worry about what I’m going to cook for supper, as I want to please young Cameron, who is a foodie. Bill will enjoy most anything I make… But a new habit is to wake in the morning worrying about what I’m going to make for supper.

Meanwhile I have an earbud in one ear–my way of dealing with non-sleep–listening to NPR. The broadcast is with “Morning Edition” co-host Leila Fadel. Ms. Fadel is talking to a young woman student in Gaza who is painfully describing her conditions: no water, no food, sounds of bombs exploding all around, the young woman is at her wit’s end, desperate, frightened…

Then Ms. Fadel said, “And now I’ve lost touch with her…”

And I’m worried about how to cook chicken breasts for supper? I am covered with embarrassment. Shame. Despair.

Speaking of despair, I have a son who recently joined his Israel-born wife of many years in becoming a citizen of Israel. He now belongs to three countries: born in England…lived his life in the good old USofA…and now is Israeli. Citizen of the world.

Sunday the two were in Boston celebrating the wedding of their eldest daughter. Yesterday, they flew back to Israel. Their house is not far from rocket-target Tel Aviv… Bill spoke to him while they were at the airport waiting for their plane. Bill told my son he would pray for them.

And I’m worried about how to cook chicken breasts for supper?

I feel like making mud pies and eating them on my knees.

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