Jo-Ann Mapson

Comfort Soup

I had such trouble coming up with an essay topic this month-at first I'd intended to write about Earlene Fowler's visit up here, and the fun we had whale watching, power-shopping, and reading each other's manuscripts-in-progress. Then I considered writing about the 96 tulip, crocus and hyacinth bulbs I planted--hopeful me with the opposite-end-of-the-spectrum-from-green thumb. My mischievous dogs always make for some kind of topic, but no matter what I tried, I'd get a few paragraphs in and run out of gas.

Then Tuesday happened. September 11. My students refer to it as 911.

Has there ever been a longer or more dreadful week? I see the toll it's taken on the faces of the tired newscasters, the people wandering in New York looking for answers they already know are not what they want to hear. It's there in the firm jaws of otherwise macho men who are about to give in to tears. I see it my students, who are ready to enlist to fight in a war that will be nothing like a Tom Hanks movie, with a clear resolution between right and wrong. I see it in my colleagues, who stand there with chalk in hand at the blackboard, having forgotten what important point they were about to make. Even my doctor, who when she asked the usual, "How are you?" expecting my typical answer of "Fine," when we both were far from that, was at a loss to make sense of the madness we have witnessed in the World Trade Center and Pentagon bombings.

I'd spent the remainder of the week watching too many news shows and crying, thinking how utterly pointless it was for me to finish Along Came Mary. Then I received the most eloquent letter from Barbara Peters, owner of Poisoned Pen Books in Scottsdale. Please visit their website and read it. Barbara's letter struck home. So I trudged back to the computer and tried to re-enter the fictional world of the Bad Girls who will never stop terrorism, but at least have the potential to distract us from our troubles by revealing their own. Stories make us human, and unite us in those unique ways that only books can. Maybe soon we'll have a story that will teach us how to finally live in peace.

This weekend I held up boards for my husband to nail into the wall. He's ¾ of the way done remodeling my office so that it now looks like the interior of a log cabin. The warm glow of candlelight on the honey-colored logs is cozy. If I shut the door, I could be anywhere that's far from the world, which is a necessary tool to writing. But I'm not, I'm here in Alaska, and just outside the window the birch trees are turning gold, layering the palette of otherwise green spruce with their brief display. The days are clear and crisp, and at night the temperature drops. I am still looking forward to winter, but my focus has changed from a selfish mindset of what can I do for fun to a more serious, thoughtful and meditative frame of what I can do for others.

In our weekly phone call, my mom told me of her fears when her father went to war. Then, as she sent her husband off to another war, she tried to explain how that felt. It was a story I'd rolled my eyes at for years, being the callow child I was, but this time I listened. Her sons-my brothers--barely missed Vietnam, and now my mother worries for her grandson, who is my son. I felt chastened and lucky, letting her wisdom sink in. I didn't want to say good-bye.

My generation was the skeptical, cynical, know-it-all group. We were political when the urge struck us, railing against Vietnam, and gleefully apolitical when we felt like ignoring things that were too difficult or too messy to fix. Much easier to distract ourselves with toys and material comfort. All that's gone now. The playing field is level, and no one among us can afford to take freedom and safety for granted. The only consolation to be found in this devastation is the way people are coming together, linking arms to stand tall against what we all know is coming, which is war.

For no reason other than temporary comfort, here's my favorite recipe for soup.

Lentil Soup
8-10 cups water. You can use broth if you like. I like vegetable broth.
1 ½ -2 cups lentils. Rinse them first.
2-4 thickly sliced carrots (into coin shapes). Don't peel-vitamins lurk in the peel.
2-4 stalks sliced celery (into crescent shapes).
4 diced potatoes. I leave the skins on-again, vitamins. You can also use those tiny potatoes-up here we call them "peanut" potatoes.
1 medium chopped onion.
A bay leaf if you want.

Put everything in a large saucepan, or if you have one, a crockpot. Let the soup simmer anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours on low heat. Once in a while, stir it. If the water level gets too low, add more. If it's too watery, turn up the heat and watch it carefully until enough water's boiled down, then lower the heat again. Just before serving, add 2-4 tablespoons balsamic vinegar. Honest! This is the best part. Salt and pepper if you like. Serve with grated Swiss cheese sprinkled on top, and sliced French bread or rolls, or homemade bread if you can make that. You can also puree the soup in a blender if you don't like soup with recognizable parts, which is how my husband likes it. Me, I like seeing the vegetables. It's wonderful, it's good for you, freezes well, and I don't know, there's just something about soup that makes life feel manageable.

Take gentle care. Remember, if you have kids of any age, talk to them about what's happened, and let them know they're safe. They are so much more aware than we think they are and their little imaginations run wild. Blessings to you and your families, and prayers for our nation.

More later,
Jo-Ann

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