filling the empty nest with food
Last weekend my third and last son left home for college. I won’t get all sappy here about how much I’ll miss him, but I will, just like I miss his two older brothers. I will especially miss his appetite. I’ve spent the last 25 years happily cooking (well, to be honest, sometimes crabbily cooking) for four perpetually hungry males, and have not fully appreciated their presence at the table. Now, what? What is a middle-aged woman who thinks about food all the time and loves to cook and eat–supposed to do? I have my own appetite, of course, but as we middle-aged women know, my metabolism hardly moves fast enough to digest two average meals per day. Damn. So, I’m going to experiment with what Freud calls sublimation. Which, in layperson’s terms is when you really, really, really want to do something but you know it would be a really, really, really bad idea to actually do the thing, or would get you in major trouble, so you do a presto-change-o and transform it into some more socially acceptable act. You know, like when you’re pissed off at your spouse, you go into the kitchen and start banging pots and pans around, instead of whopping him over the head with said pots and pans. You know the feeling, right? So, instead of whining about my waistline and lack of sons at home to cook for, I’m going to write about food. Freud believed that sublimation was a sign of maturity. Ha! We’ll see about that.