Ambrosia Waldorf Salad

March. The azaleas are starting. I can see them through the kitchen window — that first blush of pink, the scouts before the army. Last year, I wrote about the azaleas in my first blog post of the season. Last year, Earl was in his recliner and the garden was growing and the world made sense. A year ago. A lifetime ago. A different woman ago.

I went to church on Sunday. First time since the funeral. I put on my good dress — the navy one, because black is for funerals and navy is for surviving — and I drove to First African and I sat in the third pew, left side. The space beside me where Earl sat for forty years was empty. Nobody sat in it. The congregation knows. They left it empty without being asked, the way a body leaves a scar without being told — some absences are permanent and everyone can see them.

Pastor Williams preached about resurrection, because it's March and Easter is coming and that's what you preach about. I listened. I tried to believe. I want to believe that Earl is somewhere whole, somewhere his heart doesn't struggle and his hands don't shake and he can mow the lawn and carry me over the threshold. I want to believe he's with Michael, and Michael is introducing him to the view from wherever they are. I want to believe. But right now, belief is a muscle I can't flex. Right now, I just sit in the pew and I let the hymns wash over me and I hope that's enough.

I am still not cooking. Three weeks now. The longest I have gone without cooking since I was ten years old. The skillet is on the stove. The apron is on the hook. The recipe box is on the counter. Everything is where it was. Everything is waiting for me to come back. I'm not ready. I don't know when I'll be ready. I don't know if ready is something you decide or something that happens to you, like grief — something that arrives without permission and stays until it doesn't.

Denise planted the early tomatoes this week. She didn't tell me she was going to do it. She just showed up Saturday morning with seedlings and a trowel and went into Earl's garden and put them in the ground. Cherokee Purples. Same as always. I watched from the kitchen window and I cried because someone is tending the garden and it's not Earl and it's not me. It's Denise. The baby. Doing what her mama can't.

Crackers for dinner. Again.

I found this recipe on a card tucked into the back of the recipe box — not one of mine, one of Earl’s mother’s, written in her handwriting, which looks nothing like anyone else’s. No stove. No skillet. Nothing to burn down. You just open things and stir them together and let the sweetness do what it wants. On a week of crackers, that felt like as close to cooking as I could get — and maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe that counts.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups diced unpeeled red apples (about 2 medium)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 can (20 oz) pineapple tidbits, drained
1 can (11 oz) mandarin oranges, drained
1 cup seedless red grapes, halved
1 cup miniature marshmallows
1/2 cup sweetened shredded coconut
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
1 cup frozen whipped topping, thawed
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons honey

Instructions

Toss the apples. Place diced apples in a large bowl and toss with lemon juice to prevent browning.
Combine the fruit. Add the drained pineapple tidbits, drained mandarin oranges, and halved grapes to the bowl with the apples. Stir gently to combine.
Add the mix-ins. Fold in the miniature marshmallows, shredded coconut, and chopped walnuts or pecans.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, stir together the thawed whipped topping, sour cream, and honey until smooth and well blended.
Fold and coat. Pour the dressing over the fruit mixture and fold gently until everything is evenly coated.
Chill and serve. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving to let the flavors come together. Serve cold, straight from the bowl.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ambrosia Waldorf Salad — Something Sweet for the Days the Stove Stays Cold