I miss D. Much has cleared in my mind, but what remains is deep love for him. I can’t help it. The heart wants what it wants. It won’t go away. My mind flashes through moments with him both lovely and meaningful.

When I think of our relationship, the wonderful thing about it was that it was founded on a respectful friendship. When you strip off the layers of romantic love and desire, what lies beneath is solid friendship and mutual respect. With everyone I dated before him, I put the cart before the horse, wishing and hoping. With this man, the cart was there first. Then the horse came galloping in at the right moment and hitched itself to the weight of the cart. As much as the horse gallops, the cart anchors it…the cart of friendship and respect. And love.

This is a man I am comfortably content to spend every day with. A man I enjoy being around, a man I can be myself with. A best friend I am in love with.

There was a period when he was concentrating on assembling djembes. D has taken it upon himself to not only be a musician, but also know how the drum is put together. Through a drumming friend, the internet, and trial & error, he figured out the process of attaching a goat skin to the drum body, then tying it down and refining it. It’s long and laborious. Many Saturdays he did it all day. Once he was in the zone, nothing broke his focus.

He’d already be up doing this when I’d wake up Saturday morning. He always got up earlier than I did. These mornings were mostly wordless, with latin rhythms or Bach on in the background. I usually made pumpkin pancakes. He paused only to eat these or drink water I brought to him. I used maple syrup Mom brought down, made by a neighbor.

This is a moment I think about a lot, how symbiotic and in tune we were with each other. The pancakes were part of a solidity that didn’t require any explanation.

I associate pancakes with weekends, with lazy mornings and being with people I love. I can’t cook for just myself, I must cook for those I love. I dream about that day when I can make pancakes for my own family, teaching my children to mix the batter and ladle it on the skillet.

Last Thursday, my parents took me to a place out in the country called The Maple Tree Inn. I’ve been there before. It’s basically a rural family-owned IHOP. They specialize exclusively in buckwheat pancakes. I usually can’t eat a lot of pancakes because they are so thick and cakey, but these are wonderfully light. I could’ve probably packed in five if I was really ravenous. I ate two, but I also shoveled in ham, sausage, toast, an egg, and a maple milkshake. It was so good. I left very sated and calm. It was a day of spring poking its head up, the sun shining across the clear blue sky and snow melting away.

I stumbled across buckwheat pancake mix from this restaurant in our pantry a month or so ago. I’ve written about a glorious butterscotch sauce in prior blog entries, so why not make a maple sauce from the same recipe? I switched in maple sugar for brown sugar and neglected the vanilla. But the BEST thing was adding one mashed banana cooked in the remaining saucy bits. It coalesced beautifully. The taste is heavenly and addictive, balancing the strong buckwheat.

I made it again yesterday. I had the day off, and stayed in my pink pajamas all day. Sassy came by, and stared up longingly at me. Did she want some? Nah. I probably didn’t give her enough cat food.

An aside: This dish reminds me of another maple love, my bird’s-eye piano.

After serving my parents, a neighbor, and eating a few myself, I settled down and tucked in to the last one. My favorite cat, pancakes, and pajamas. My present poignant moment.