Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

maybe I'm a maize

This work week draws to an end in quite good time, just as I'm hovering in that place in which mild deflation might turn into mild depression. I sometimes wonder if one can trust feelings at all, because they depend so much on externals like (lack of) sleep and diet. Adrenaline proves its worth repeatedly, but when it ebbs, so does my mood.

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.

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