In the Autumn, LiveJournal seemed awash in posts about corn mazes. I have never visited a corn maze. I saw a sign for one on Interstate 30, but I did not stop. I never so far have stopped for a corn maze.
Today I ate puerco guiso, red spicy/hot, at the Tortilleria Ranchero. When they asked me if I wanted flour or corn tortillas, I answered flour. Then I paused in my choice, because the maize tortillas at this cafe taste so good.
I am no cook, but I love to brown meat, wrap it in a "real" corn tortilla,
cover the result in aluminum foil, and place it for 12 hours in a slow cooking crock pot. When the foil is opened at the conclusion, it has "puffed up" into a soft, thick meal. I also love the taste of cornbread with stone-ground cornmeal.
As the pieces in the jigsaws seem to fit together to make a picture of my particularly puzzling life, what is the picture being shown? I'd like to imagine it's something green and luxuriant, like a cornfield.
I loved, when I was a child, that fresh-grown ears of corn hot out of the pan required corn-shaped plastic devices so that they could be held without discomfort.
I also think fondly of dried Indian corn in elementary classroom after elementary classroom.
I'd like to live life to create the kind of world with multi-colored kernels of Indian corn, graciously puffed slow-cooked burritos, and the sense that while the maze is not solvable, the breeze blowing through is just lovely.