While the chosen ones strut about in their body objectifying gowns claiming poverty and injustice, I’m keeping it real at home with feeding my prospective threesome, the hope for the future, with nourishment enriched with mama’s love. I’ve got one divisive, one instigator and one highly spirited child, but gathered around the table I dismiss all delineations and fill the void with a bowlful of warmth and love. It cuts through the pettiness the gratitude, that is. I thank them for their stillness which consumes and transmutes the demarcations that we project onto ourselves and others, preventing our growth. It’s not a walk in the park, a accumulation of toxicity to get a hold of and then attempt to let go but bit by bit we’ll get there. Today’s refection was a creamy sweet combo of zesty and piquant sharpness on their all-time favorite bucatini, it takes well to almost all kinds of sauces as the more prominent center pilfers a coating of the sauce inside as well as the outside of the tubular pasta. More informal but still as zingy as any gown, these bowls of entangled messy yumminess were more than welcomed even without utensils. In fact, slurping them grew quite audible as everything eventually turns into a contest around here.