"I am against religion because it teaches us to be satisfied with not understanding the world." -Richard Dawkins

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Nana's Healing Soup


There's no recipe. It wouldn't matter if there was, I wouldn't want to know what causes the magic, anyway. It's best kept a secret, best steeped in mysticism. Ever since I was little, Nana would fill our freezer with plastic containers full of soup. Any soup. All soup. She holds in her hands the ability turn common leftovers into a thing of deep seated beauty. These soups have the power to heal any ill. They are medicine. They are better than medicine.

Today my stomach has been bothering me, nausea reminiscent even of my pregnancy. Nana had just come to visit for Valentine's day, leaving behind three quarts of ...well. Soup. I warmed some up, started eating. My nausea pill hadn't worked in the hour and a half since taking it, and I was worried that if I ate, I'd just get worse. But something told me to eat anyway, so I did. Halfway into the first bowl, the nausea subsided into hunger. After my second bowl, I was healed.

A very tearful Ro, in a time out for yelling at me when I asked her to turn off the TV, was sitting in a patch of sunlight on the kitchen rug, like a cat. "Nana's soup is magic," I said. "It will make you feel better, no matter what's wrong. Are you sad?"
"Yes," she replied, "I'm sad because you told me to turn off the TV."
"You should have some soup." I informed her, scooping her up and sitting her on the counter. I fed her one spoonful of pasta. "Feel better yet?"
She shook her head.
"What about if you eat this carrot?" I offered her one on the end of my spoon. She regarded it, then nodded. I stuck it in her mouth, she chewed, she smiled.

Yes. It will heal anything.
Even a four year old's temper-
and that's no easy feat.

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