This evening I experienced a moment of domestic bliss, triggered by a combination of rum, Coke, Mad Men, and my Roommate cooking up a storm in the kitchen. I know this *might* sound misogynistic, but really it's not (I'll explain). Besides, she's not cooking for me, she's making dinner for her friends (plus I already ate tacos).
Referring back to Mad Men, there is this particular scene that brought back to huge flood of memories, specifically about how a form of media can act not as "a space shuttle, it's a time machine". In this case the show acted in this manner (which it is very effective at) and the sound of my Roomie cooking the kitchen, just that sound of dishes clanking and spoons stirring...and the smell of freshly made food...brought me back to age 13 or so.
I remember coming from school/friend's house/basketball practice and walking through the door. The first thing I remember about those times was the sound of ABC 7 News (John Drury anyone?) blaring through the door; also the faint smell of chicken cooking. I'd open the door and my Mom would be standing next to the kitchen counter, chatting on the phone, smoking a Marlboro Light and sipping chardonnay.
After I went up to my bedroom and put down my backpack and changed clothes and rocked the fuck out to Pearl Jam or something, she would call up the stairs, telling me that dinner was ready. I recall the particular tone of voice that meant dinner was ready, although she would say do, simply "JUSTIN!".
Even if it was just the 2 of us, she would make the table all nice, candles even and we would discuss our days with the TV still on in the background. This was specifically around the time right after my parents split and my brother went off to college. Somehow 4 became 2 in a short period of time, and I like to think that although it wasn't what I wanted to have happened, it made our relationship more strong.
And although that was actually, somehow a highlight on my timeline, I don't want to go back to how things were. I like being an adult (plus, really, who the fuck wants to live in Buffalo Grove, IL?). Naw, that isn't the point, what my recollection made me realize how those little, seemingly common scenes I now appreciate.
Jesus, I have GOT to lay off the pot.