Back when the pandemic was new. After we realized it would last longer than a few weeks, but well before the vaccine, I fell into a few routines. Over time my routines started to take on the feeling of a ritual.
On Fridays, I made guacamole.
I spent the morning creating a meal plan for the week and making a list. I cleaned out the refrigerator and pantry and I got all the dishes done so when I got home the counters would be free. Then the babysitter came to watch the kids while I braved the grocery store to stock up for the week.
My first stop was always a smoothie bowl at Backyard Bowls. I ate it slowly in my car while I listened to a podcast or audiobook and avoided but also obsessed over the news.
It was summer and beautiful. A stark contrast to how dangerous it felt leaving the house.
I went to Costco, Trader Joe’s, and Ralph’s and stocked up on everything I needed and some things I didn’t. I bought huge bags of Dorritos and three different kinds of ice cream. I overbought cleaning supplies and toilet paper, not because I am a hoarder, but because other people are hoarders, which I guess is the reason why we had such a problem.
I waited for 45 minutes just to get inside Trader Joes. I listened to the Costo manager read a list of items they were out of on a loudspeaker, toilet paper was always on the list.
I went in and out of stores applying hand sanitizer and trying not to think about the little red covid balls jumping into my lungs.
I saw no children. I saw no pregnant women, I saw no old people. We were all a bunch of scared, angry, tired, numb, masked faces afraid of people and at the same time grateful to know real people still exist outside of the internet.
Sometimes, I saw a familiar face and we cried and gave eachother air hugs and talked about what school might look like in the fall.
When I got home the kids were more relaxed. I guess they were tired of me too.
I chatted with the babysitter and she helped me unpack the car.
Once everything was put away I made guacamole.
I dice tomatoes (red, orange, and yellow) from our garden. I dice red onion and chop cilantro and add it all to a bowl.
Holding an avocado in my left hand and a large chef’s knife in my right, I bring the blade down through the thick black skin and then the smooth flesh. I rotate the knife around the pit until I have two halves. I twist the top half separating it from the bottom half anticipating, like opening a present, to see if the avocado will be a perfect bright green or if it will have already started to oxidize and turn grey/brown.
There is nothing more satisfying than opening up a perfectly ripe avocado.
I scoop out the avocados into the bowl putting the pits aside for later.
Ralph’s has the best guacamole seasoning. It’s the store brand and mild because spicy food gives me nightmares. I’m sure there are better brands, I’m sure I could make it myself, but I never do.
I add the seasoning to the bowl. I juice a lime from our tree.
I use a fork to incorporate all of the ingredients, careful not to make it too smooth. I love perfectly imperfect chunky guacamole.
I take a taste and decide its’ perfect. I add the pits back into the guacamole to help keep it fresh. Then put the bowl in the refrigerator for later.
The ritual of making guacamole on Fridays became a symbol of the end of the week. Soon my husband Nick would be home and we would all four be in the house together, safe and sound.
I sit on the couch and watch Tiger King until the kids tell me they’re hungry.
For dinner, I order pizza.
