My favorite pair of pants ripped yesterday. It was fairly tragic. No, it was not like the time that my brand new J.Crew herringbone trousers fell victim to the terrible pavement in Belmont Commons and I cried.
This was worse. I have worn these pants literally almost every day for the last 3.5 years. EVERY DAY. They went to camp with me, to Chile, to my grandmother's funeral and on my honeymoon.
These pajama pants came into my life not long after Price did. We started dating in November, he got these for Christmas, and they were mine by the end of January. They are without a doubt the most comfortable piece of clothing I could imagine.
And so, when I went to put them on last night and I felt the hole, I wanted to cry.
My comfortable pants are no more.
I'm a creature of comfort, for sure, and I find comfort in routine. But we are not always called to a comfortable life, and I know that there will seasons of comfort and stability alongside seasons of change in my life. I've been in this stage for a while now and I'm starting to feel the tug toward something new. But at the same time I am clinging desperately to what I know because it's easy and I really, really like it.
It's the same in the kitchen, of course. There are nights for comfort and ease, and nights for something new and exciting and complicated. Tonight was particularly comfortable (minus the pajama pants that I normally wear while cooking), and I felt like I was channeling the long lost Italian grandmother I never had. I made this overwhelming pot of minestrone that started with a recipe and ended up as a bubbling concoction featuring almost everything in my kitchen. Delicata squash, red and yellow potatoes, carrots, chicken stock, onions, garlic, sausage, fire roasted tomatoes, orzo, kale. I just kept adding and adding and adding until it looked (and smelled!) fantastic.
Warm. Spicy. Comfortable.
I love comfort food. This generally means that I love carbs, which is ok by me. (Note the two kinds of potatoes and pasta in the above ...) Tonight, comfort food also included banana bread. I make banana bread like I brush my teeth. It's easy. I've had the recipe memorized for years. Best of all, it's delicious and comfortable. I make banana bread when I'm bored. I make banana bread when I'm happy, sad, tired, grumpy, excited. It's like a good pair of pajama pants ... though not as hole-y right now.
And so now I get to go to bed, wearing something other than the blue plaid pajamas that have carried me through the last (roughly) 1300 nights of my life. I will curl up next to my husband who somehow manages to be both comfortable and challenging to me every single day. And we will pray for the future, which promises to be not-nearly-as-comfortable as the present. We don't know where we are going, but we have faith that it will not be comfortable (at least at first).
But for tonight, we will be comfortable and we will praise the Lord for the sweetness of these days.
2 sticks unsalted butter
2 cups sugar (1 cup brown, 1 cup white)
2 ripe bananas
several splashes of vanilla
2 cups white whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oats
2 tsp (ish) baking powder
lots of cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom
pinch of salt
- Cream the butter and sugar; add the eggs
- Add bananas, vanilla and mix until bananas are fully incorporated
- Add dry ingredients and mix
- Bake at 350 for 30 minutes (muffins); 60 minutes (loaves)