Mother's Day Inspiration

I cooked this weekend. For those of you who know me well, this should come as quite a shock. But, hey, it was Mother's Day, and it seemed like my mom shouldn't have to make dinner for everyone on this particular evening of the year. So, I cooked. My sister was supposed to help out, but she got caught up at school, and I was left alone. This obviously worried my dad as he kept checking on me to make sure neither I nor the kitchen was in flames. And, in all honesty, I was a bit worried about this myself. Now, I used to cook. When I first graduated college, I would read cookbooks, make grocery lists, prepare meals that required more than ripping the tab on the Lean Cuisine box and shoving a plastic tray in the microwave, etc. Not to brag, but I could even make a lasagna that held together and some rather popular/often-requested party dips. But, one day, I got tired of it (I can't remember the particular reason now), so I just stopped. That was sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2001. In fact, I was so used to not cooking and so dependant on the man who delivered our Chinese food, that when I decided to cook some spaghetti one day (for budgetary reasons), I became confused. My roommate actually came looking for me in the kitchen because I'd been gone for so long after declaring I was going to make myself dinner. "You've forgotten how to boil water, haven't you?" he said. "It really is that bad, isn't it?" I didn't answer for the sake of my dignity, but I wasn't sure about boiling water and testing noodles anymore. At that moment, it seemed far more complicated than I remembered it being. So, that's when I really gave up cooking. (And, now you can see why my family was as concerned as they were this past Sunday.) But, somehow it worked out. I came out with an artichoke dip as an appetizer and pan-seared asparugus, twice-baked potatoes, and pork tenderloin medalions wrapped in bacon for the entree. It was a success. And, I was inspired. I have decided to try cooking more often. So, today I called up the maintenance people for my apartment complex and requested that they come out to fix my oven. You see, when I moved into my apartment, I obviously had to have the gas man come out to turn on my gas in my name. When he got there, he informed me that my oven was broken and that only 2 of the eyes of my stove worked. I was supposed to call and have everything fixed then. That was January of 2005. I never got around to calling that week and haven't really missed my oven in the time since. And, I know what you're thinking: Yes, I am a marvel, and, yes, it's a wonder I manage to show up places dressed and clean every day. (Or, at least, almost every day...)