Mistake Making, a word picture
It was our second trip to Costco in as many weeks because we were picking up a contacts order. We didn't get a cart. Last week the refrigerated cases for fish were empty, but today I found Wild Alaskan salmon for less than €20. Not farm-raised from Norway, not Atlantic, but the sweet manna from the warm Pacific waters of my home. We grabbed a few other essentials, a light sweater with elbow patches for my husband and the tiny box of contacts. I had visions of the quintessential Pacific Northwest dinner that I enjoyed weekly growing up with my grandparents near Seattle. I prayed that my picky son would enjoy the healthy treat and hear my grandpa's accented English saying "sal-mon is brain food!" in my head.
I try to think of the simplest, tastiest way to enjoy salmon (besides on the grill, which we can't do in our flat with no outdoor space), and I remember a recipe from the Pioneer Woman: put the salmon in a cold oven, turn to 350F (180C)Â bake for 15 minutes, voila!
It's been two and a half years that we've lived in this tiny European apartment and I've made so many adjustments. I can measure weight in grams and liquid in milliliters. I have the Fahrenheit temperatures I use the most memorized in Celsius.
But today, and not for the first time, I forgot how much smaller my oven is than the ones I used in the States, and I set the timer for 15 interminable (for a salmon) minutes.
It should have been maybe nine minutes.Â
I'm so tired of making these 6 minute mistakes, but it doesn't seem to be improving in 2020. It feels like I make one error after another. I have to work hard to not let dry salmon (a symbol for mistake-making) become part of my identity as an expat, as a missionary, as a mother trying to feed her family good food, as a child of God.
I'm participating in the Grateful Writing Challenge with some other members of the Exhale Community and this is inspired by the prompt for November 2.