It is raining and you are on your way home from a) school, b) work, c) shopping or d) other stuff. Getting home was like a kind of torture, the bus was cold and smelt of wet dog , your feet are wet, the legs of your jeans are soaked and the chill seems so intense that nothing will ever make you warm again.  Finally the front door to your shelter is within sight, but you imagine the greyness within, no heating, no lights in the gloaming, no welcome just the dirty dishes stacked or the remnants of a hurried breakfast scattered across the kitchen table.  Sigh.

But wait, as you open the door to your sheltering cave a faint warming breeze brushes past you, it is filled with a million memories of comfort, safety, light and warmth.  A cascade of images flicker through your mind’s eye, the pot on the table (your first independent home and you and your lover have made your first meal together), the ladle flashing in the light, expectation in front of slowly filling bowls, giving and receiving (one moment you are the ladle bearer the next you are bowl holder), spoons poised (you are 4 and the spoon is an upside down mirror) impatiently waiting for the the transition from scalding point (your are 10 and reached so fast to dip into the bowl the burning brought tears to your eyes and you could taste nothing for 2 days after) to warm enough to course through your body and drive the winter away. Then a blast of rainy, snowy, wind and you are back on your own doorstep and it is almost dark.  Sigh. You open the door and again there is a scent, and your chilled belly rumbles.  A steam wafting towards you, drawing you towards the kitchen, drawing you towards the light. You dump your bags and move into your home-coming routine. Lights on (was that the sound of a table being set?), heat on (did you hear laughter?). You enter the kitchen, and there it all is, a wish come true. The steaming pot of soup , the basket of bread, the ladle, the table set and the faces of those most important to you sitting, beaming, waiting as you take your place at table. The ladle pours and there is the floating coloured kaliedescope of vegetables in your bowl, a smile all round as everyone blesses this moment of comfort, safety, light and warmth. You reach to take your spoon for the first dip, and bring the tasty brew to your lips and the alarm begins to ring…. (Why is my alarm clock going in the evening?) you turn to see if your loved ones have heard it also, but no, they are passing bread and making jokes and slurping soup.  Again the alarm sounds and you sense that there is something wrong here… i’m sitting at the table and the alarm is ringing to to wake me… The alarm is ringing to wake me …. Nooooooooo.

You lie in bed wrestling with the truth. Switch off the alarm and resign yourself to reality.  Sigh.   At least the horrible parts of the day have not happened either, and now you know what to make for dinner.

Defining Minestrone Soup

Minestrone Soup Recipe