To my MSR,
you made me a cup of tea. you gave me nutritional couscous with vegetables in minutes and it gave me hours of energy. without you, my festival weekend would have had crashes from loss of carbs. I’d have lost energy. I’d have felt empty inside.
When someone spoke about their love for their grandfather’s letters at a workshop curated by the caretakers from the museum of love, I remembered that I had something from my Grandma Nancy with me. I was cooking with you when a text came through that she had died. We had camped at an inlet of the sea, beneath a town with a collective hangover that stank of urine. A day before I’d written a postcard to Nancy, sharing my delight in seeing red squirrels scampering overhead and wanting her to know that her birthday gift to me was being well used.
MSR, you make me proud of my competency in self-care. I can cook quick and I can cook tasty and I can cook to meet my body’s needs. I can avoid firey death through taking appropriate precautions. I can feed friends hot sugary tea when they need it most.
MSR, we’ve had good times over the last five- or is it six?- years together – I’m sorry that I’d let it be so long since our last outing. You’re gonna pass the Marie Kondo exodus of superfluous things for certain. MSR, I need to put on a laundry load now, so that’s it for now, but just so you know, I got some deep appreciation for you, and I’m feeling it strongly right now. Let’s make some plans, ok? I don’t want to let it be so long again!
– Eva Weinstein
PS: here’s a photo of you. brim-full of couscous and vegetable on a sunny evening in a French campsite. We’d just come over the Pyrenees, when we’d cooked on a rocky outcrop on the way up and a dewy meadow on the way down, remember?