It's happening!

on dreams, quests, and tempering expectations

One year ago, I was on the brink of finishing three months of chemotherapy and gearing up for the unknowns of radiation and nine months of targeted infusion therapy.

Today, I am on the brink of finishing a three-month home renovation. In less than one week, J and I, our two cats and elderly dog, cookbooks, and wing foiling gear will make our long-awaited move, beginning the next chapter of our lives in Portugal.

I don’t mean to be flippant, but the past three months have been challenging and have tested us in unexpected ways. During chemo and the subsequent months of treatment, the equation was simple. I was the sick one and J’s role was to support me, which he did magnificently. Now, we are equals, both grappling with the emotions and logistics of dismantling our lives and preparing to build something new.

One of the biggest sources of tension between J and me has been when we would make this move. I had my final infusion on December 10 and my port removed early in the morning on December 11. I would have been happy to get on a plane to Portugal on December 12.

After all, I’d been planning the Portugal move since the first unfathomable Trump presidency. We were all set to go when I received the cancer diagnosis and was told I would need a year of treatment. In my head and heart, there had been enough delays.

But I’ve come to appreciate the anchor/sail dynamic in a relationship, as long as the partners get to take turns playing these roles.

J looked at the mountain of work required to ready our house for rental and us for departure, and he suggested I rethink my expectations. Not gonna lie, he had to “suggest” this more than once.

Even as the chemo fog was lifting from my brain, and my hair and energy were coming back, during the months of purging, dump runs, painting, refurbishment, construction, assembling and disassembling furniture, changing outlets, living in chaos with contractors and other helpers sharing our space, and eating way too much take-out food, life was far from returning to “normal.”

One of the biggest voids has been cooking.

So one day last month, I took a break from the renovation chaos and endless to-do lists and went on an unexpected flight of fancy.

On the rare opportunities I have had to cook, I’ve drawn inspiration from the food I was trying to use up in my pantry. British cookbook author Sophie Grigson moved to a village in Puglia a few years ago. In her book, Exploding Tomatoes and Other Stories: The Food and Flavours of Southern Italy, I found a recipe for Borlotti, Swiss Chard, Potato and Nduja soup, which would enable me use up the Borlotti beans and potatoes in my pantry. I remembered that our neighborhood butcher shop sells nduja, the deliciously spicy Calabrian salami spread, so while on an errand to buy light bulbs and other things for our contractor, I went to procure some.

Turns out, the shop was still curing its nduja and it wouldn’t be ready for a month or so. But another patron told me about a dedicated nduja shop in Seattle’s Pioneer Square. I thanked him for the tip, lamenting that I didn't have the time to drive across the city for one ingredient.

After weeks of torrential rain, Seattle was glisteningly beautiful, as I raced across town to get to the nduja store before it closed. A new waterfront elevated highway had finally been unveiled and I told myself this wasn’t folly, it was a chance to appreciate the city I’ve called home for 30 years.

The truth is I can't resist a good quest

That tube of partially used almond paste? How convenient that Heidi Swanson posted this almond cake recipe just when I needed a boost.

But now we’re coming to the end of the road. I’ve donated all my unopened food to our neighborhood food bank and have been gifting the rest of it. We’ve got farewell dinners and the final packing push to keep us busy this week and tacos and Cuban sandwiches and congee to eat.

So last night, I broke out my big blue Le Creuset Dutch oven for perhaps the last time and cooked what is likely to be the final dinner I will make in this kitchen.

Song lyrics about dreams have been running through my head, especially in the wee hours when my dreams are interrupted by logistics-stress insomnia.

In The River, Bruce Springsteen asks whether a dream is a lie if it don’t come true.

If I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that life will surprise you and dreams, even deferred ones, can save you.

I feel so utterly blessed, grateful, exhausted, and excited for what comes next.

The Last Thing I Cooked in My Seattle Kitchen

One Pot Pozole Verde de Pollo from Serious Eats