Every year, around this time, I get itchy for more routine, in the life of our family. My kids joke that around three weeks before every summer ends, I ask, out loud, in an irritated tone, and to no one in particular, at least a few times a day, “When does school start back up again?! When?! WHEN?!” I get tired and bored of the lazy, hot summer days. But then and reliably so, also every single year, when the kids actually do head back to school, and everyone in my family does get back to their individual “busy-ness”, I feel sad. I grieve the summer and having everyone buzzing around the house more, despite also having a growing yearning for summer to end. People who are never satisfied, drive me crazy. The fact that I am sometimes one of these fickle people, drives me even crazier.
My eldest son went back home to New Jersey, yesterday. My middle son heads to his university today, for his senior year in college. Within two weeks or so, my youngest two children will be back to their busy school routines, as well. And I am sitting here, feeling empty, staring at a “fall-time-of-year-To-Do-list” that is three miles long and yet I feel absolutely no motivation nor energy to get to it. The transition stage from summer to fall languishes in heat and grief and reflection and longing, for a few weeks every year, before the crispness and aliveness of autumn really, truly begins, to spark me into some action.
In other ramblings, did I mention the Muffuletta sandwiches? A few days ago, we decided to get take-out from one of our all-time favorite Italian markets. I have blogged about this market before. It’s a standout, but for people who don’t appreciate its special qualities, I have heard this market described as “a cluster.” This wonderful Italian market is typically teeming with excited, hungry people and it is filled to the brim with delicacies, piled high, in every corner and nook and cranny of the store. In short, despite their best efforts, this awesome little culinary gem in our town, is not very conducive to social distancing. At all. We haven’t been to this market since this whole coronavirus crisis began. Still, as a special treat, celebrating my eldest son being with us, we decided to get take-out sandwiches from the market. All of the sandwiches sold at this market are fabulous, and unbelievably priced for what you get, but the stand-out sandwich – the one sandwich that stands out, head and shoulders above the rest, is their Italian sub. So, with mouths watering and dreams of ecstasy, out of the six members of our family, five of us ordered an Italian sub, and our daughter ordered her second-favorite sandwich, being the shrimp po-boy.
Donning my thickest mask, I braved the still bustling market, to pick up our take-out order, and then while holding my breath as much as I could, I quickly paid for our order, and ran out of the store to meet my family at outside picnic tables, in a nearby park. As we all quickly, and full of ravenous hunger and anticipation, unwrapped the thick brown paper, holding the divine combination of delicious ingredients awaiting us, my son asked why the sticker holding the brown paper shut, said “Muffuletta”? Now, Muffuletta is not a big part of my vocabulary. I have looked up the word’s meaning, probably a dozen times in my life and then I have quickly forgotten the meaning, because frankly I am not a fan of olives. The thing that sets a Muffuletta apart from other meat and cheese sub sandwiches, is the tangy olive salad slathered all over it. But when my son first asked what “Muffuletta” was, I was still hazy about the word’s meeting and I was hoping that it was just the Italian word for Italian sub.
“Ugh! They’ve changed this sandwich!”, my middle son exclaimed, with disgust in his voice. “Why would they change it?! Where are the banana peppers?!?” he wailed. My son was expressing everything that the rest of us were feeling, except for my daughter who was delighting in her po-boy sandwich, overstuffed with toppling over fresh shrimp and yummy spicy vegetables. She was distracted, and focused on devouring her fulfilling and savory concoction.
My husband is actually the only one of us, who really loves olives, so he was pleasantly surprised with trying a new sandwich. My eldest and youngest sons, were just plain starved, so they decided to forgo taste, for satiation of hunger and they cleaned their “plates” in seconds flat. I’ve been wanting to lose a few pounds, so I immediately thought, “Well, this is better. I’ll only eat a few bites for energy, instead of scarfing down a calorie laden pile of pure deliciousness.” And my daughter, as I mentioned, was extremely pleased with her choice. My middle son, contemplated for a couple of minutes and then stood up, wrapped up what was left of his barely touched Muffuletta, (and despite being a reserved guy, who embarrasses easily and doesn’t like scenes) walked back into the store and got them to exchange his sandwich for what he was really dreaming about, a classic Italian sub. And he was happy. And he was satiated.
Now, as you probably have figured out by now, I overthink everything. I’m always looking for the “meaning” in any happening in my life. So, in the course of observing how each of my family members handled this Muffuletta sandwich experience, I noticed a microcosm of how any of us choose to handle any problem or crisis, in our lives, no matter how big or how small the conundrum may be. Even in this horrible year of the coronavirus pandemic, we all have handled it in different ways, at different times. Sometimes, we just roll with it. We go about our business, accepting that for now, “it is what is”, like my two sons did, as they gobbled down their sandwiches. Sometimes, we are pleasantly surprised that out of so much negativity, good things have come out of this otherwise, very tough situation. My husband has found that he likes working from home more than he ever thought he would, much like he realized that the Muffuletta sandwich was a delicious alternative choice for him, for now on, at the market. I usually tend to look for the silver linings, so when I get too dark in my thoughts and my emotions about this difficult year, (much like relishing in the idea that by ending up with a sandwich I didn’t really like, I wouldn’t wouldn’t end up eating too many calories), I look for all of the good that this crazy virus has brought to us, like more family time and a slowed down appreciation for things like nature and our home. And when I looked at my daughter, with her sheepish little grin, licking her chops after devouring her delicious sandwich, I was reminded that some people are actually having really positive experiences stemming for the virus situation, like manufacturers of vaccines and medical gear and grocery stores, and that’s okay. There shouldn’t be “survivors’ guilt”. We all have our times to shine. Finally, though, it’s also okay to admit that you are fed up and totally disgruntled with the situation. It’s okay to set out to change the situation and go after what you really want, much like my middle son did by marching into the store and getting a new sandwich. And we are all doing a combination of all of this right now, aren’t we? We are feverishly working on vaccines and keeping businesses afloat and on social change where it is needed. We are working on the problems day in and day out, but at the same time, we are still keeping the faith to hang on, we are making the best of the situation, and we are looking for the little hidden blessings and silver linings that this year has brought us. We also rejoice for the people who are doing well and prospering, because they give us all hope for the light at the end of the tunnel and the reminder that all is not lost.
In the end, when I go back to this market, I will be sure to order the Italian sub because that is really what I like the best. But this one little blip of getting the wrong sandwich, doesn’t take away how much I love the market, how much I love the experience of the market, nor make me lose hope that I will never get to eat one of their Italian subs again. The year 2020 is a blip for most of us. It’s a muffuletta year, in decades of Italian subs. The year 2020 will pass and we never, ever forget the lessons it taught us. Nourishment comes in many forms.
