Pear Lime Gelatin

Father's Day. Ryan was on duty. We FaceTimed at lunch. The kids waved cards at the phone. I called Dad. The garden update was extensive.

The kids' soccer game was Saturday morning. The other parents brought oranges and Capri Suns. I brought a thermos of coffee for myself and a folding chair I bought at Target three years ago that has been to four duty stations now. The chair is a more loyal companion than some of my friends.

I read the blog comments at the kitchen table with my coffee. A young spouse in Lejeune emailed me about deployment cooking. I wrote her back at length. I told her about the freezer. I told her about Donna. I told her she would survive. I sent her three of Donna's recipes.

Donna sent a recipe card in the mail this week. She has been doing this for years. The recipes go in the binder. The binder is full. The newest one is for a green bean casserole that uses fresh green beans and fried shallots and which I will absolutely make for the next holiday.

My therapy session was Tuesday. We talked about the deployment cycle and the way the body holds dread and the ways the body holds it. The hour passed. The work continues. I have been doing this work for years. The work pays.

I went for a walk Sunday morning before the kids got up. Half an hour. The fog was burning off. I needed it. Some weeks I get the walk in. Some weeks I don't. The week tells me which.

I made a casserole for a neighbor whose husband is deployed. I dropped it off. She cried. I told her, eat the casserole, baby. The food is the saying. The casserole was a mostly-frozen tater-tot situation that took fifteen minutes of effort and six months of practice to perfect.

Hazel and I had a hard moment Tuesday at homework time. She is in a season of testing limits. We worked through it. We always do. She is mine.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night writing in the journal. Volume 10 now. The handwriting has not gotten neater. The journals are a record of the life I am living, in the moment, in tiny script that I will look back on someday and not be able to read. That is okay. The writing was the thing.

Ryan came home tired Wednesday. He showered, ate, sat on the couch, was asleep by eight. Standard for a Marine who has been up since four-thirty for PT and stayed late for a brief. The schedule is the schedule. The body adapts because it has to.

Caleb's school had a fundraiser this week. I baked cookies because I always bake cookies. The cookies were the standard chocolate chip. They sold out in twenty minutes. I am the cookie mom of this PTO and I have stopped fighting it.

I unpacked another box from storage Tuesday afternoon. Three years on this base and I am still finding things I packed in Twentynine Palms. Military-wife archeology — every box is a layer of geological history. I found a ceramic dish from Lejeune still wrapped in newspaper from 2020.

The kitchen counter has a chip in it from someone before us. Some military housing thing. I have stopped asking what. The chip is fine. The whole kitchen is provisional. We are renting from Uncle Sam.

The PCS rumors are starting again. The official orders will come in a few months. We could move. We could stay. The waiting is the worst part. Three years here and I have learned to not put down deep roots in any military town. Nineteen-year-old me would not have believed how good I have gotten at packing.

It’s June, it’s hot, and the other parents on the soccer sideline are handing out Capri Suns like it’s a ritual I missed the memo on — and all of that is exactly why I reach for something cool and a little bit bright when the week finally ends. This pear lime gelatin has been in the binder for years, one of those recipes that looks more deliberate than it is, which is the only kind I have time for right now. It takes almost nothing from me and delivers something that feels like summer on purpose, and that’s the whole point.

Prep Time: 10 min | Chill Time: 4 hours | Total Time: 4 hours 10 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 package (3 oz) lime-flavored gelatin
1 cup boiling water
3/4 cup cold water
1 can (15 oz) pear halves in juice, drained (reserve 1/4 cup juice)
1/4 cup reserved pear juice
Whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Dissolve. Pour boiling water into a large bowl and whisk in lime gelatin until fully dissolved, about 2 minutes.
Add liquid. Stir in cold water and the reserved 1/4 cup pear juice until combined.
Partial chill. Refrigerate the gelatin mixture for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until it thickens to the consistency of unbeaten egg whites but is not yet set.
Chop pears. While the gelatin chills, dice the drained pear halves into 1/2-inch pieces and pat dry with a paper towel.
Fold in fruit. Gently stir the chopped pears into the thickened gelatin until evenly distributed.
Set. Pour into a lightly greased 8x8-inch baking dish or individual serving cups. Refrigerate at least 3 hours, or until completely firm.
Serve. Cut into squares or scoop into bowls. Top with whipped cream if desired and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pear Lime Gelatin — Something Cool for the Sidelines