My fam came to visit me Saturday, which put a serious kink in my plans, but when real life comes knocking, it's okay to defer. After getting about 20% of my day done, my mother called from downstairs with my sisters to finally go to that restaurant we've been anxious to visit for months. We get there and it's packed. By an act of God on this Easter weekend, there were four seats at the bar. People were in a good mood and scooted down and over so we could sit together. Later, I figured it was the fantastic food that had the patrons in such great spirits. Immediately after sitting, Greg, our server, handed us simply chic menus and some of their house made bread, butter, chips and smoked onion dip. Something about learning the food was made that morning less than ten yards from where you are currently sitting makes things taste thatmuch more delicious. Seriously though... that good. Similarity, my glass of Virginian Pinot Gris, my mothers kettle of peach blossom tea, and my sisters' special strawberry basil sodas awakened our palettes and had us ready for our entrees.

I thought my sisters were playing it safe by getting burgers, but they smelled outrageously good! Premium local beef makes a world of difference. My mother ordered fried local oysters and fries and I broke a covenant a day early by testing one. Worth it. My spelt noodles were a symphony of flavors, with a pork belly ragout and a beautiful yolk perched atop like a cherry on a savory sundae. Mixing in the yolk allowed the flavors in the ragout to linger longer on my taste buds end even though the pasta itself was a little clunky, I appreciated the fact they were freshly made. My sister and I capped off the meal with a cookie, even though it was unlike any cookie I had ever had. It was more cakey and light with small morsels of dark chocolate melting throughout. Yum.

My family also told me about myself. I could see the concern for my weight, well being, and work in my mother's face constantly. She wanted to know if I'm clothing and feeding myself well. She misses the old me, a me that was more effortless and carefree. I miss that me too. I don't like to see that worry. My mother, who turns 50 in two months but doesn't look a day over 35, has never had to worry about me and I find it unsettling. She dropped me back home with promises to visit more and take me shoe shopping, with advising to get back to church and yoga, with hugs and kisses.

Back in my apartment, with 80% of my to-do list left unchecked, a DVR that's 60% full, and live jazz wafting into my bedroom from the park below, I felt so satisfied with my day. I wonder... how can I make this feeling last? And why does any other day where I do less than half of what I intended not feel as good?!
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