I wake up at first light. I stand in the tiny kitchen in front of the window with the morning sun. I peel potatoes, they had eyes and were sprouting, but if I do this now I can save them. I am not sure what I am making. The sun continues to shine and the cool breeze enters the window. I feel fortunate to know that I can save these potatoes and that I can avoid waste. I assemble ingredients I have on hand and look up a recipe to confirm my instincts. I am making funerary potatoes for a nation. I didn't mean to but here we are, my eyes fill with tears when I realise. Hell, I might be making funerary potatoes for the world. I would share them with you and your family, you and your community, you in your time of loss, and you in your need for comfort. You with your rage, I would share with you too.
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