the man, the myth, the legendary pot pie

12 08 2004

part of my problem lately (yes, applause, it’s an important first step to admit you have a problem) has been this growing sense that i’m becoming less mythological, that the mythos certain star-struck nutters once tried so hard to make for me, or make me into, is wearing thin.  & of course i don’t want to fade into plain mortality*–who ever would?  i want to be a myth forever.  that’s what makes myths mythic, after all; they change shape, take on new names, grow and shift and slide into children’s rhymes to emerge much changed a hundred years down the road. 

“we can be hunted–we can even be killed if we stray too far from our forests–but we do not vanish!”

and one of the things that i worry about, when i worry about pdxstraycat, and sometimes i do, is that there’s not enough myth-making going on around here.  marrying someone, in some ways, makes you entirely too human to one another.  i’m not mythic to him, i’m just me.  and in return i rarely expect mythic characteristics to leap winglike from his cute-and-fuzzy form. 

tonight, he caught me off guard.  tonight, when he came in to interrupt my attempts to finish reading the da vinci code, & i glared over the book & said “go make me a pot-pie!” & he said “are you just calling me a bitch?” and i said “yes.  well.  and i’m hungry,” and he said “so am i,” and scampered off to the kitchen, i thought he’d gone to make toast.  or perhaps a bowl of cereal–some usual almost-bedtime-snack creation.  when i finished the book (“it was supposed to be about 15 pages longer,” he snarled, when i arrived too early on the scene), i found him up to his darling elbows in cream sauce and vegetables and left-over chicken, making a biscuit crust for the cobbler-dish.

my baby made me a pot-pie!

so, yeah, while maybe that’s not exactly the kind of mythos i thought i had in mind, it’s an almost-bedtime snack of decidedly legendary proportions.  and it was sooooooooooooooo yummy!  we ate it with forks, hot out of its dish, standing over the stove like starving, uncivilized, wild mammalian creatures.  red peppers, green peppers, zuchinni, yellow beans, carrots…m-m-M. 

::satisfied pot-belly piggies::

* & yes, i’m aware of the apparent discrepancy between claiming mythological status for myself on one hand & off-handedly (har har) always insisting i’m wormlike and unworthy on the other.  don’t ask.  the only other person than me who can possibly explain exactly how the hell that all came about should never have to.




4 responses

12 08 2004

you’ll always be mythic to me…and hooray for pot pies!

13 08 2004

All I can say is that my baby is so freakin’ cool that she rates potpies from scratch.
I was suffering from a touch of hubris last night, damn proud of myself for actually accomplishing the potpie making, but today, I’m more proud of myself for the beautiful smiles it generated and the reminder that even something as seemingly ordinary as chicken and vegetables in a crust can have mythic potential.
I love you, , with all my heart. *hug*

13 08 2004

Ty is just the preciousest đŸ™‚
And I’ve found in the last few years (I can’t quite remember when the transition happened) that I crave a mythicy life but I can’t stand melodramatic people, who seem to be the bulk of the people who would participate in a mythicy life with me. By melodramatic I mean that their thinking and writing seems to come from that same fountain of cheese that gives us those fantasy novels that read like bad romance novels. It seems to be nearly impossible to live in mythology without being constantly annoyed!
I miss living with you guys :/

14 08 2004

All I wanna know is, will this new officemate be bringing food in on a regular basis?
Also, pass the word that there’s a character in the movie The Trip who bears a striking resemblance to Ty, at least in the early section when he has long hair. Ya gotta check it out.

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