Sharing the kitchen

We made a chef salad tonight, standing side-by-side at the kitchen counter, chopping lettuce and carrots, tomatoes and celery and zucchini, slowing filling up my big Polish pottery salad bowl. "How much of this do you want?" he asked. And "should I include the celery leaves?" I added leftover chicken from last night's dinner, and a can of Albacore tuna, and set the bowl aside while his garlic bread heats in the oven.

He's doing more of the cooking now, fixing breakfast on the days we don't have cereal, and wandering out to the kitchen when it's time to think about dinner, interested in the process. We talk about menus and grocery lists, and he does some of the shopping. He loves Trader Joe's, and I can always count on a phone call (or two) when he's there. At first he just bought the list I sent with him. Now he browses the shelves on his own, reads the labels, finds yummy (and healthy) food to bring home.

I'm happy about his new-found interest in cooking and food, and I love that after nearly 39 years of marriage, we've managed to find something else to share.

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