When I write about myself, it's usually about my relationship with textiles. But today I'm going to share what I think is one of the loveliest and luckiest things about my life, and it's got to do with soup.
I consider myself a pretty healthy person—I try to eat thoughtfully and moderately. I walk 3-4 miles several times a week, I do pilates twice a week, all last winter I swam between a half-mile and a mile twice a week, etc. etc. Nevertheless, I've wound up needing significant medical interventions in four of the last five years. It's challenging on a number of fronts, not the least of which is because it doesn't fit with my self-image. But what's made it all bearable is the passing of the soup.
This past Monday, the day before I was scheduled to have significant surgery on my nose for skin cancer, my friend Emily called and said she wanted to stop by with some soup for me. She did and we chatted and she left a wonderful container of carrot-potato soup and some sweet potato pie. I had to cut our visit short because I was taking soup to my friend Greta, who had just had a baby. It made me realize how lucky I am to live where my community of friends looks out for one another in good times and bad.
This past year I've shared wonderful joy and deep sorrow with friends, and as much as possible I've tried to "pass the soup." Often I feel guilty that for one reason or another I'm not able to make someone an entire meal and feel that the little I do is inadequate. But when it's me on the other side, I'm reminded how there are many ways the "soup" gets passed, and how each one of those acts is meaningful and helpful.
Since my surgery, I've had a cadre of volunteers who arrive twice daily to walk Pearl, and who've brought dinner and breakfast. I've received flowers, take-out Thai food, cards, and phone calls. Greta's texted me photos of her dear, sweet new baby. Everyone has their own skill set and an amount of time they're able to give at that moment and each act of kindness adds up to an amazing whole. I've felt so loved and cared for during this medical incident (and the others). I hope I remember in a few weeks, when my face isn't swathed in bandages, that no matter what I do for someone, even if it seems small, it matters. It's worth doing.
Pass the soup.
I consider myself a pretty healthy person—I try to eat thoughtfully and moderately. I walk 3-4 miles several times a week, I do pilates twice a week, all last winter I swam between a half-mile and a mile twice a week, etc. etc. Nevertheless, I've wound up needing significant medical interventions in four of the last five years. It's challenging on a number of fronts, not the least of which is because it doesn't fit with my self-image. But what's made it all bearable is the passing of the soup.
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| Pre-Soup Veggies |
This past year I've shared wonderful joy and deep sorrow with friends, and as much as possible I've tried to "pass the soup." Often I feel guilty that for one reason or another I'm not able to make someone an entire meal and feel that the little I do is inadequate. But when it's me on the other side, I'm reminded how there are many ways the "soup" gets passed, and how each one of those acts is meaningful and helpful.
Since my surgery, I've had a cadre of volunteers who arrive twice daily to walk Pearl, and who've brought dinner and breakfast. I've received flowers, take-out Thai food, cards, and phone calls. Greta's texted me photos of her dear, sweet new baby. Everyone has their own skill set and an amount of time they're able to give at that moment and each act of kindness adds up to an amazing whole. I've felt so loved and cared for during this medical incident (and the others). I hope I remember in a few weeks, when my face isn't swathed in bandages, that no matter what I do for someone, even if it seems small, it matters. It's worth doing.
Pass the soup.
