A good friend of mine, the Goddess, a Divine Diva of many things (let’s just call her “Kathleen*”), who I don’t contact nearly often enough, said the loveliest things in an email the other day. So I’m going to quote a portion, completely without her permission (forgiveness is easier than permission when you don’t want someone to say no – right?), this very moment. It’s just good and should be shared:
Was thinking the other day that only you would appreciate my search for the cheese of my youth. When I was a little girl I would visit my grandfather, Daddy Odye, in El Paso. We would go over the border to Juarez, Mexico and he would buy small wheels of mild, white cheese that was made there. It would peel off in thin sheets and it tasted so good. I loved it. I loved him. He’s been gone for so long.
About six months ago something shifted inside me. I’m still not sure what or why. I just decided to try to find a few things that would make me feel good. Nothing big or expensive, just comfort stuff. I started looking for my own cheese. Something other than Kraft American Singles or string cheese. It wasn’t even a conscious search at first. I wanted something to go on my wheat bread but I was never quite satisfied with the different cheeses. Then I realized. I was looking for that one cheese. My grandfather’s cheese. Don’t know what it will do for me if I ever find it. Don’t know if I ever will find it up here. Just know that I’ll keep looking for that special cheese.
It does bring to mind that hackneyed old aphorism, “It’s the journey, not the destination,” but I do hope you find that special cheese. It just couldn’t hurt.
*Wait – are you supposed to use a pseudonym in cases like this? Whoops…