She stands in her kitchen, cooking only for herself.

No hungry eyes pleading with her, “When will dinner be ready?” No pressure to have everyone plated at a certain time.

She cooks exactly how she likes it, using a hodgepodge of seasonings, taking her time and either speeding it up or slowing it down depending upon her mood and her own hunger.

It’s slightly hollow and somewhat comforting at the same time. There are no loved ones to receive it, offering either compliments or grumblings depending upon how right she was able to serve things according to each one’s preferences.

There is relief in not being observed, and a faint emptiness in pulling down only one plate.

Fewer dishes to clean at the end means less work, but also less satisfaction. To be sure, she may feel tired, but she enjoys providing real nourishment for her loved ones and is grateful to be able to do so. Yet, after long holiday stretches of cooking for them, solitary cooking is not a lonely activity but a restorative one.

Cooking for herself changes with the seasons of her life, offering small freedoms that exist only when she’s cooking for herself.