3 A.M. Risotto

This never happens, but it happened last night. I couldn’t get to sleep, because I was too happy! It wasn’t a matter of sorrow or anxiety, my usual nighttime visitors, but a sense of excitement and gratitude. For starters, Monte and I had both scored the first dose of our vaccine, a victory that just days earlier had seemed beyond our reach. It gives us a whisper of security, brings us a step closer to resuming some interactions we have been uneasy about, maybe gets us over one hurdle along the way to meeting our grandson. Thank you science.

Speaking of science, a robotic spacecraft, aptly named Perseverance, had landed flawlessly on Mars after a journey of more than 292 million miles. Mars! We’ll soon be seeing images of Mars. I imagine they’ll come through as clear as some of our primitive zoom connections. And how can anyone sleep while a robotic explorer is poking around on the surface of the red planet, and through an open window, the stars are beaming into my bedroom?

What was also coming through that open window were the sounds of a veritable circus: a vociferous bull expressing constant indignation to a backup chorus of noisy cows; coyotes yapping; frogs performing frog songs. It was like a party going on out there. I was tempted to go outside.

But that would have required too much effort. And anyway, maybe I was hungry. I thought about chanterelle risotto. I knew there was a small portion in our fridge, left over from dinner. We had picked it up from Industrial Eats on our way back from getting Monte’s shot, and it was ridiculously delicious. I thought about it some more: the creaminess of it, but also the texture of the mushrooms and peas, the heavenly garlic of it. I wanted some. It was 3 a.m. but I wanted it now.

And you know what? I have lived seventy years to get to this grown-up point, and I don’t need permission anymore. I emerged from the bed, lit a path with my cell phone, and managed to heat up the risotto, grab my favorite fork (yes, I have a favorite fork) and return to bed with my portable feast. Monte just rolled over. He didn’t judge me. Maybe he even respected me more.

I am a woman who eats risotto in bed at 3 a.m. while a robotic space rover roams on Mars. I am a woman who is halfway vaccinated. I hear animal sounds at night, and imagine starlight tingling on my skin. I hug grandfather trees, and marvel at their long shadows. I have seen the fossilized spine of a whale that lived here millennia ago, exposed by low tides and eroded sand. Friends send me poems. I don’t want to miss any of it.

I am learning to curate my history. The love I remember, the sudden understandings that are granted, and the beauty I perceive are as real to me as the painful parts. I am allowed to feel joy. And I do.

I’ll take a nap later.