There is an episode of Sex and the City in which Miranda overfeeds her cat out of a fear that she’ll die alone in her apartment, won’t be found for a week, and her cat will get hungry and eat off half her face. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a similar train of thought.
I am a single woman living alone, with cats. I have the occasional vision of slipping in the shower and wondering how long until someone finds me. Who would have to find and retrieve my naked body? Would they notice the yoda-shaped mole on my upper back? What if it happened while I was taking a bath and watching one of the bad television shows I enjoy? I would be known forever as the woman who indulged in Disney Princess bubble baths and reruns of Coupling simultaneously. What if I cut off my finger while cooking? I’d have to drive myself to the hospital with blood squirting all over. Maybe I’ll finally slip off my poorly constructed ladder-chair while shooting food photos. I’d be found nose down in a big bowl of mashed potatoes wearing only my caped Superman socks and my oversized, bright pink Mayberry tshirt. I am the only person with keys to my apartment. I don’t talk to my family or friends every day. It’s not likely that someone would just happen to walk into my home at any given time. People! These are the real life fears of an almost-thirty-year-old crazy cat lady!
Thankfully, one of my closest friends moved into my apartment complex. When he doesn’t have his daughters with him he is a lonely single person, too, and he makes me spend time with him. I also sometimes walk his dog in the morning, so hopefully he’d notice that his dog hadn’t been exercised and would come knock down my door to check on me. Or maybe he’s creeper enough (as I am) to notice that my apartment light has not been on for a while, or notice the absence of delicious smells in the hallways, and come to my rescue. This one time, my across-the-way neighbors had notices piling up on their doorstep and I started worrying that they were dead in their apartment and nobody knew because all their family lives in a different state. Their cars were even still in their spots. I went as far as taking a photo of their college parking stickers on their cars so that I could call their school to make sure they weren’t missing. I was talked down from the ledge of total creeper status and they returned a day or two later. If something had happened, it’s a good thing for them that they had me as a neighbor! They have since moved out, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with my conduct.
So, David, in an attempt to keep you on my side and making sure I haven’t been eaten by cats, this one’s for you. I saw your excitement when that chain coffee place came back with their seasonal Pumpkin Spice Latte, and the sadness when you heard they only had a limited supply this year. I got to working and I made my own “pumpkin spice” blend and figured out how to turn that into your beloved pumpkin spice latte. And of course, for the chocolate lovers like me, I’ve added some to hot cocoa. Sorry, friend neighbor dude, it isn’t all about you. I’ll bring you some samples soon!
I wasn’t sure about posting this story, and I also didn’t have a different story I liked well enough to post with this pumpkin spice cocoa. Because of my internal debate I felt I need to add a disclaimer:
I realize this is a strange story to write on a food blog. Especially on the heels of a great tragedy. One that affected me enough to stop this Twelve Days of Cocoa series for two days. For me, and for many, getting back to a sense of normalcy is necessary. I have been changed by death. I’ve suffered a great loss and I am well versed in the affects of death and grief. I know the cycles. I know the pain. I can’t even begin to imagine the horrors of losing a child, and losing a child in such a terrible way. What I do know, and share, with those families in Connecticut, is pain. Anger. Confusion. Guilt. Soon, they will have to face the grim reality of their new normal. It will feel impossible for a time. Please, if you know anybody connected to this tragedy, or wrecked by a tragedy of their own, reach out to them. Let them know you love them and are available to them. For those like me who feel emotionally wrought, we need to pick ourselves up, adjust back to normal, or our new normal, and become a pillar of strength for those in need. Here at Daisy At Home I’ll be getting back to normal. Back to my Twelve Days of Cocoa, and back to my quirky writing style.