I remember the pot roast. When my college roommate Firebird went home for the weekend, she often returned to Athens, GA, with a fully cooked roast to share. And the four of us,University of Georgia students who shared an apartment, would gather as a family and devour it. Then, we would clean the dishes and go our separate ways--satisfied and a bit more civil and connected with one another.
Saturday morning, as Big Guy and I traveled to Daisy's shared house near Mizzou to spend a football weekend with her, guilt nagged at me. I wanted to be as generous as Firebird's great mom with her pot roast. I intended to arrive at Daisy's house with a steaming hot casserole of macaroni and cheese. I wanted to give her the gift of a family meal to share with her roommates.
I planned for my mac 'n cheese. The previous Sunday, I bought the ingredients. I sat the box of elbow macaroni on the kitchen counter where I'd see it. Then Monday slid into Tuesday and Tuesday into Wednesday...and I didn't think again about my casserole intention until we pulled out of the driveway Mizzou bound.
We didn't arrive empty-handed. Big Guy brought a case of Bud Light, as Daisy requested. Beer makes a fine gift. But perhaps not as fine as my mac 'n cheese would be. In my mind, I envision offering up a gift of mac 'n cheese nearly as tasty as the pot roast that made roommates into family. I want Daisy to have a shared table to remember as roommates, even good ones, can be hard on each other. Now, I just need to make the casserole and plan myself another Daisy visit. Chances are, she'll want some beer to go with it.
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