Day 220 of 365

I'm not a big comfort food person. I didn't grow up on casseroles and I'm not into mac and cheese. I don't even remember too many of my meals growing up.

As I think back on my childhood, it had two parts. Pre-divorce and post-divorce. Up to 3rd grade and 4th grade and on.

My parents divorced when I was a kid. A few months before my eighth birthday, we packed up the house in San Jose and moved about 80 miles away to live with my grandparents. We left the old house behind and I left my old life behind. I have few memories of the pre-divorce years, and the memories I do have revolve around the pictures I have from back then. Mostly birthday parties. The only food memories are birthday cakes, grilled cheese sandwiches, and fried eggs. (I'm sure my mom cooked, I just don't remember it.)

I remember some foods from when we moved in with, then moved next door to, my grandparents. Those fried pies from earlier this week. Tacos. Okra. Homemade pizza with Little Smokies on them. Sourdough bread. And fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

I still use the same homemade pizza dough recipe and sometimes still use Little Smokies. Tacos occur frequently in our dinner menu. I still like good sourdough bread. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes? Probably the meal I remember that's the closest thing to comfort food. We make chicken here at home, but bake it instead of fry it. I still love mashed potatoes.

But I have another meal that feels like comfort food. I imagine it was in my childhood somewhere, yet I don't remember who made it (mom, grandma, or great-grandma?).

Chicken and dumplings. Nothing better on a cool fall day.

Day 219 of 365

My husband has his funeral all planned out. He knows who he wants officiating, where he wants it held. I would suspect it'll be a full place on that day.

He's a popular teacher, well known in the community, and is someone who never shies away from visiting with students who have long since graduated. He might not see someone for 20 years but still recognizes them right off the bat and is able to strike up a conversation. I made fun of him for years because no matter where we went - including out of state - he would see someone he knows. Now it's no longer funny. It's expected. And he never forgets a face.

Being I've never been a social person, that's a skill I don't possess. Even people I should recognize, I don't. I imagine it comes from being engrossed in work and not people. Getting good grades and being smart has been my claim to fame. But I always compare myself to other people. When I do that, someone is always smarter, nicer, friendlier, more patient, better dressed. The one that bugs me the most is when I say to myself, "She/he is a better person than I am."

I say it a lot. I look at the qualities in other people and I see so much that I lack. It's not so much about being a perfect person, but wanting to be a better version of myself.

Right now the one thing I can turn to as proof of becoming a better version of myself is my sewing for others. I'm not sure why, but kids and soldiers (and kids of soldiers) have been the focus of my sewing.

Today, Stockings for Soldiers. 30 more stockings done.