appetite for life

A number of people have asked me, "Why did you stop being so depressed?" This query somehow always catches me off-guard. I don't understand why someone would ask that: isn't there a danger that if I stopped to think seriously about the fact that nothing big changed in my life, I might get depressed again? And isn't that the natural progression of depression, it gets better at some unforeseen time if one sticks it out?

There are a couple of things I can think have helped. One is that with school out and the accursed softball season over, I have a relaxed schedule with the girls, with no more wretched scheduling conflicts. Next, I'm not bottlefeeding any kittens at the moment. The time and work needed to foster underaged, bottlefeeding kittens is considerable. Right now, we have five kittens, but they all eat independently, and the worst issue is that they aren't conscientious litter box users. (In fact, there's a sharp shock in store for them: I'm going to keep them in a small pen at night until they improve their habits).

But anyhow, once again I have an appetite for life. One symptom of this is that I'm cooking again, cooking passionately and experimenting with new things. Last night we had friends over, and I made tapas: banderillas; beets in romesco sauce; potatoes duquesa; oyster mushrooms and pine nuts in a balsamic reduction; caramelized grapes & goat cheese; eggs in a parsley garlic sauce and for dessert, a completely-not-Spanish maple pineapple upside down cake with whipped cream.

Here's the partially finished feast:
Iris Uber Alles asked me, "How can you make so many things in one day?" "Because I'm such a good cook," I bragged vaingloriously. Today I woke up with a headache, undoubtedly from drinking too much Spanish cava, but a zest for life and a craving for more caramelized grapes and goat cheese. It's good to be me right now.