I swear this is not about food

How come you never hear of a dessert made with pasta? We make baked puddings with rice and bread. Why not pasta? I could see it in a baked custard with nutmeg or maybe a pasta salad with yogurt and fruit. Have I gone linguine and lost my manicotti? It’s not like we’re scared of carb overload in this country. We eat chicken n dressing at every holiday.

This is what I was thinking about on my way home from work. When I first became the current reigning Mrs. Fisk I was confused by Mr. Fisk who would often ask me what I was thinking about. He doesn’t do that anymore. When I am thinking it is usually of something absurd like pasta custard. Much of the time though there is absolutely nothing going on in there. I may be staring out the window at the trees as we drive down the road. Mr. Fisk has learned that this does not mean that I am contemplating world peace. I very well may have completely emptied my brain and am just looking at trees. There are no wheels turning in there. I got nothin’.

I actually come by this naturally. My Father could go days without saying a word to you. He was not mad. He simply did not see a need to speak unless he had something important to say. Often times he would whistle to convey a need. He had a whistle that translated into “Bring me a glass of tea.” He was a very good whistler and trained me at a young age to interpret his needs. After he passed away I was home one day and thought I heard that whistle. I made a glass of sweet tea and headed out the back door with it before I realized what I was doing.

Over the last fifteen years I have gotten much better at talking. My poor husband has worked hard to teach me to talk. For me feelings were something you feel and not something you talk about. My Father never once told me he loved me but I have no doubt that he did. I still can’t deliver sonnets about my love for my husband but there is a little less cricket chirping when he asks me how much I love him. I have yet to figure out what the correct answer to that question is. The best answer I have so far is “More than bacon”. Nope, I am not a poet laureate.

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