Health knowledge made personal
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Was doing some market research for my book (draft two is now complete, and the book will be released the middle of August, come hell or high water, both of which seem to be coming more frequently around our FoodShed Planet), and working my way rapidly down the section of "food memoirs." Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant? Loved that. Wrote about that . All of Ruth Reichls? Gosh, I miss Gourmet--don't you? Here's one of my many mentions of it. Kim Severson's Spoon Fed? Just finished that one, and wrote very briefly about it here . But the storyline, right in my sweet spot of food as metaphor for life, is not what I love most about this book. What I love most is Michelle. She is a writer's writer, more like Michael Perry (about whom I somehow managed to write in this post about my lawn--go figure) than any other writer I've read recently. The kind of writer where I'll read anything and everything she writes from this day on because her words take me to a place of calm and insight and provocation all at once. My fave line in the entire book, the one about which I've been thinking all week, the one that made me stand outside in my garden the other day and stick my wet-from-rain hand in the air, was this one: These days I find I've become our relationship's barometer, its dedicated lighthouse keeper, my finger licked and lifted to every shift of mood, change of tone. I called Michelle and we talked. This is one of the things I like the most about blogging, by the way, the ability to "scratch that itch" and add dimension to flat words on paper and feel the essence of the whole being behind a book. Michelle's voice is complex, layered, risotta-like. And I sensed an immediate calm about her. She and her husband have a baby now, who is just starting solid foods and Michelle is mashing and blending and freezing little portions in ice cube trays. She's questioning everything anew--organic, GMOs, the works. Just as I did, all those years ago. In fact, so much of Michelle's journey reminds me of mine, although the circumstances are different. But my husband and I moved in together in New York City as well. I shopped at the Union Square Green Market as well. I questioned. I wrestled. I wrote. Michelle is coming at it years later, and the marketplace for real food has changed. Some things are worse (wider industrialization of our national food supply). Some things are better (wider availability of healthy local choices). Some things are universal and timeless (a woman nurturing family, friends, home, jobs, dreams, now a baby, and, always, her inner voice). I asked Michelle why she hadn't updated her blog (which is about shopping at farmers markets all over New York City) lately, and I didn't mean that as a nag (um, did you miss the part about the six-month-old baby?). I meant it as a true curiosity. You see, Michelle is a writer's writer. She writes the way most people breathe. And for her not to write seems incomplete somehow, like a meal without bread or salad or perhaps a nice glass of wine. Missing something essential. I thought feeding the baby would provide so much endless new material for Michelle, but I got the sense that she didn't want to become just another "baby blogger." Michelle, don't you get it? You could write about thimble collections or the location of cracks in the sidewalks in your neighborhood and it would transcend cliche. I received an email from Michelle written at 11:30 last night. She has written her first blog post since August. It is about the baby. And food. Welcome back, Michelle. |
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