My Love Affair with Bacon

It's starting to get embarrassing, this love affair I have with bacon.  And it's not actually like I eat bacon all the time.  In fact, I think I love bacon so much because I don't eat it much at all.

Over the last few months I've chosen to pursue more healthy eating habits -- moderate portions, fresh foods, less processed food, very little sugar.  I thought it would suck, but far from it.  I have had more energy and have noticed quite a few other health benefits that would be of interest to no one but me.  The great bonus is I'm 25 pounds lighter and my husband is about 40 pounds lighter.

But back to this bacon thing...

The other night I had the most amazing dream in which bacon had a starring role.  I was in a tight little galley kitchen that was mostly stainless steel counters and industrial looking kitchen doo-dads all around. My niece was there.  I think she was cooking.  I might have been cooking, too, or rather "over cooking" as I frequently do.

But what was special about this dream was not what was happening as much as the level of sensory detail that was occurring. It was if it were really happening.  The details were rich.  I could smell bacon cooking, hear and feel the popping of hot grease, feel the cold stainless steel on my hands, feel the awkward moment when you must squeeze past someone in a tight space as you try to slip by, your body rubbing against theirs. I could hear the clink of the spatula, the pan rubbing across the cooking grate. Ambient noises.

In the dream, I slipped past row after row of extensive "bacon production" and as I went past I snatched up a cooked piece that I thought would go unnoticed and bit into it heartily, hungrily. And just as I was about to experience the wondrous burst of flavor would send me into artery-clogging nirvana, I woke up.

Why? Because I had just bit into the fingers of my right hand.  In real life.  In my sleep.  I'd say that's a dream gone too far.

Honestly, if I'm gonna have a dream like that I'm disappointed I wasted it on bacon.

What I've Been Doing

For two months I've been silent -- not writing, not reading, not doing anything that I always do.  I have, in fact, been doing a lot of things that I've never done.  I'm not sure if it's an effort to ignore the parade of dead people that stand in a circle around me as if waiting for me to do something.

Five people in three years, five family members gone forever. For two months I've felt like they were waiting for me to say something about them, but I couldn't. And it seemed rude to write about anything else without acknowledging their importance in this world or their importance to me.

And so it was easier to write about nothing.

Instead I bought a spinning wheel and started making yarn.  I sit for hours and watch the fibers pull themselves into the wheel and twist themselves into something beautiful. It's a soothing addiction, mindless, peaceful and it seems somehow productive and important.

The dead sit patiently by while I spin as if they understand that I'm about to wake up -- in just a while it seems like I will be back to my old self. We are getting used to each other, I guess, and I can think of them without feeling sad and paralyzed.

I guess that is "healing".

Mmm, Bacon

I have always said that most things in life are better with bacon.  It's a topic that the family and I discussed tonight while I was cooking some bacon.  It was one of those nights where nobody could agree on what dinner should be and the Beef Stroganoff that was planned didn't seem to be exciting to anyone in the family, so it became an impromptu free-for-all planned by the 7-year-old in the family. This explains why the menu tonight consisted of BLT(una)s, BLs, a plate of tamales and a big plate of something Rob ate that I didn't look at because half of it was covered in celery which makes me vomit.

As I was working on the bacon the following conversation ensued:

Me (to Rob): You want some bacon?


Rob: I'm not having tuna. Or bacon. That's just not... I don't know. That's not good.


Me: Of course it's good. Bacon is great. Bacon goes with everything. Like... even orange and bacon sorbet or bacon and raspberry lemonade. I thought guys love bacon.  You know, like that commercial...



Me: In fact, I should make homemade soap out of this bacon grease. I mean, why not? It will drive men wild.

Rob: Right

Julius: Can I have some bacon? It smells so good.

Me: See?

Later I was lying in bed cuddling Julius for a few minutes before he was to drift off to slip. He snuggled against me, his head on my chest and breathed a big, cozy, happy sigh.

A few seconds later he says, "Mom, are you wearing PERFUME???" (I never wear perfume.)

"No."

He breathes in deep again and says, "Mmm, it smells like you have on perfume."

I pulled the neckline of my shirt up to my nose and took a big whiff. "It smells like fabric softener to me. And maybe bacon. Fabric softener and bacon."

He leaned in tentatively and sniffed. "OH MY GOSH MOM, IT'S BACON!" He scooted over to the middle of the bed and had a horrified look on his face that he'd been busted snuggling his bacon-scented mother and liked it. (You can bet I'm saving this story for future girlfriends.) "DAD! DAD! Come smell mom, she smells like bacon!"

And from then on the snuggling was over and I had to hear a lecture from the 2nd-grader now lying far across the bed giving me a lecture on how I should only cook bacon in old house-shirts.

"Admit it," I demanded. "You love the bacon!"

"Mom, you're so weird."

"I know it. Totally." Then I kissed him on the forehead, tucked him in, and turned out the lights. Good night!