This morning as I was readying myself for my working Sunday – my company requires 4 hours in the office on the first Sunday of the month – I remembered that I wanted to roast a chicken for Sunday dinner. I ran down into our basement, still cool and dark at 9am, and grabbed the frozen chicken from the deep freezer. I had meant to pull it out the night before, but had forgotten. I then ran up the stairs, hands blazing with cold and gingerly tossed it into the sink, waiving my hands back and forth to unthaw them.
I worked my four hours, trying my best to put out the figurative fires that had blazed up in my one day of absence. Chase had gone with grandma to the fair and Matt was content at home with his video game, so I stopped to run some errands on my way home. The pharmacy to pick up Matt’s prescription, the post office to mail brothers bills, the gas station to fuel up Scarlett for the week, and the local fruit and veggie market – which also boasts a magnificent deli where I picked up salami for Matt’s lunches. They were just putting out fresh green beans and I snagged some as I walked by, thinking how wonderful a pot of beans would be with tonight’s dinner. In the back of my mind I wondered if we had any bacon back at the house. Seeing bacon on sale I knew the beans were meant to be, and content with my purchases I made my way home.
I rinsed the beans and began to snap them, as always thinking of my Mamaw. “Are you coming to dinner?” She would ask me. “I’m making green beans.” As if I only came around for her seemingly world famous recipe. I smiled at the memory as I snapped, the tip of my thumb already sore. I debated calling Matt down to share the duty but didn’t feel like dealing with the complaints that would undoubtedly ensue. The world has changed. I always looked forward to snapping beans with my family, with my aunts and cousins around the big kitchen table while the older women gossiped. Today I did it by myself, standing at my kitchen sink reminiscing. I was okay with this, too. Time to reflect is never a bad thing.
I opted to cook them in the crock pot as opposed to on the stove since it was a small batch. After having snapped the beans I sprayed the pot and threw them in, putting the bacon on top, and set the crockpot to high after putting the lid on. I looked at the clock on the stove and figured they’d be done just in time for dinner.
Except things didn’t go as planned and the chicken didn’t get made. It got stuck in the fridge for tomorrow’s dinner. But I couldn’t stop the cooking of the beans mid way through, so I turned the crockpot to low.
I spent the evening in a Nora Robert’s book I had finally decided to order on Amazon, polishing off 100 pages with ease. Grandma and Chase got home and then Grandma left again. The kids were playing quietly and I was content with my book, breaking to edit some photos I had forgotten to upload to Facebook, stirring the beans occasionally. Grandma got home around 1030pm, and stirring the beans again I realized they were done.
“Chase. Go get your brother.” He did as I asked and Matt came down.
“What?” He said, walking up as I dished out a bowl full.
“Want some beans?” I asked him.
“Ugh, yeah!” He said as if I’d asked him the stupidest question ever posed to man, snatching the bowl from me. He went and sat down as I dished out a portion for myself. I sat down beside him, and as we ate I smiled inside. 1030 at night and the two of us were just sitting there eating green beans and bacon like it was the most normal thing in the world. Matt was quiet, obviously enjoying his late night meal. I salted my own portion and offered the shaker to him and he looked at me funny and shook his head. They were almost right before the salt, and really damn close with it. I’ll probably never get my beans exactly like Mamaw’s. But I know how she felt watching those she loved eating them.