La Abuela's Beans
I find myself in the kitchen, giving in to my continuous urge to cook something. What I really want to do is get ahead on my rotation for family lunch. But the meat won’t be dethawed before I lose this excess energy. I look one more time at the beans that are sitting beside the sink, waiting to be fried. “I’m going to do it.” I tell myself. “It will be a happy surprise for Tesla when she sees what I’m up to.”
Tesla is at the dining room table, where I have just put away my guitar at the end of a short practice. She is sewing, one of her most common activities these past months. She has been full of spunk and energy, sewing baby items for my growing (in the tummy) girl - her first granddaughter.
I prep the cutting board, dig two teeth of garlic out of the strong bulb, and peel a golden onion. My hands go to work and, unlike my prep for those first beans, my fingers know what to do. The year and a half has changed me. Thin slices of onion, chopped in pieces, cross chopped. Peeling the garlic, slicing it small.
Tesla comes in and asks me what I am doing. I can’t decide if she’s bluffing or not because I thought the noises of the knife and the smell of onion would give me away from the start. Either way, she is pleased to see me preparing the beans and she makes sure to correct some part of my plan for preparing the dish. This is a sign of love and care. This is a sign of belonging. “They’re going to turn out good.” I kindly tell her. “I’ve got all of your instructions written down.” “Try not to read this time” she replies. “This time it’s to learn the process.”
I take her advice about how to blend the beans, and I am quite pleased with how they turn out. Everything follows the will of my hands. Everything responds to what I have learned. I pour the blended beans into the flavorful mix of onion, garlic, and a small amount of cooking oil. I turn down the heat. And after a bit of stirring, I go to find my wife.
She is taking a small Sunday nap as her body perfectly crafts the details of our six month old (in the tummy) baby’s body. Mondays through Fridays she is teaching middle school math and science, Sundays she’s at church. The sleepiness is one of the few side effects she’s felt as she forms this life. I wake her up, feed her a grape I brought from the kitchen, and head back to keep vigil on the beans as they finish heating.
When Jeni walks into the common area, I feel proud like a 6 year old with a drawing on the fridge. Her beauty is glowing in the apartment entrance. “I made the beans!” I exclaim and I gently touch her tight tummy. This love we share has brought me happiness I did not think existed. And the baby God has given us has changed how I fit into this family. I finish the beans with a sense of peace and contentment. La abuela’s beans. The beans of my baby’s grandma.
