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Recipes for an Unexpected Afterlife

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Deston J. Munden

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“Staring out from a movie poster on the wall of the dinky town cinema were her sister's two bright blue eyes. Brigid was the star of the summer's blockbuster movie. "That fucking bitch!" Phoebe swore a little too loudly. An old lady gasped and two teenage girls froze in their tracks. "It's my sister!" Phoebe tried to explain. The two teenage girls tittered and hurried away. Nobody in Nowheresville, Georgia, was going to believe that the unkempt daughter of a swamp-living, Haitian-born artist was related to a lily-white movie star. Phoebe bought a ticket to the matinee. There, in the dark, empty theater, she watched her sister lop off zombie heads with a samurai sword and sobbed for ninety-four minutes straight.”

RegretMovie StarSisterSkin Color
Book:The Women of Wild Hill
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“I had thought fermentation was controlled death. Left alone, a head of cabbage molds and decomposes. It becomes rotten, inedible. But when brined and stored, the course of its decay is altered. Sugars are broken down to produce lactic acid, which protects it from spoiling. Carbon dioxide is released and the brine acidifies. It ages. Its color and texture transmute. Its flavor becomes tarter, more pungent. It exists in time and transforms. So it is not quite controlled death, because it enjoys a new life altogether. The memories I had stored, I could not let fester. Could not let trauma infiltrate and spread, to spoil and render them useless. They were moments to be tended. The culture we shared was active, effervescent in my gut and in my genes, and I had to seize it, foster it so it did not die in me. So that I could pass it on someday. The lessons she imparted, the proof of her life lived on in me, in my every move and deed. I was what she left behind. If I could not be with my mother, I would be her.”

DeathControlledEmbodimentFermentationFood ScienceKimchiPreservedRemembrance Of Mother
Book:Crying in H Mart
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“It was only much later that I understood what had happened to them more thoroughly; and how the demoralising complications and compromises in their young lives ravaged their relationship. When they first left home, they do so together; they must have taken care of each other. Maybe they had an idea, halfway formed, that was going to make everything okay again; but it died, and now they had to carry it around and maybe it would be that way forever.”

RegretTraumaBroken DreamsLoss Of InnocenceEmotional Scars
Book:The Rider on the Bridge
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“Suddenly, to my great dismay I realized I had fallen short, while time had likewise drawn short. Opportunities missed because I let fear captain the ship to lesser seas. Relationships that evaporated because I chose other places to be and other pursuits to pursue. Doors that closed because the hallway was all too familiar. Moments missed because my mind became too easily mesmerized by the pablum of lesser things. Time gone and the repercussions of those choices swept away to a place from which they will never be retrieved nor altered in the retrieving. Indeed, I have fallen short. But then I caught the thief of negativity as he snuck stealthy around the periphery of my soul. Catching a fleeting glimpse of him, I grabbed him as never before and said, “You will not have your way with me. I must somehow rebel with enough force to set history back on its feet, position the present to run forward, and send the thief into exile.” And so, I asked myself, “What have I done despite what the thief would attempt to convince me of?” Opportunities that were seized. Relationships that held tight and thrived in the holding. Hallways that were left and doors that were walked through. Moments that were captured and lovingly held once they had fulfilled their duty and bid me farewell. Time spent, but not entirely wasted in the spending. And then, what about the time that’s left? History is gone, but the present is history in the making…and therefore I will make it great. And so, I may have fallen short but my stride remains long, time is yet with me, and the future is a blank page for which I have a fresh pen. Yes, I have fallen short at times. But now I will leap long.”

PastRegretFutureWasteDecisionsFoolishnessConsequences
Author:Craig D. Lounsbrough
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