Salmon Cakes.

When I was home last week my sweet Mama made some good old fashioned salmon cakes. Her mom made them for her as a kid and so she has made them for us. All you need is a can of salmon, an egg or 2, and a bowl of bread crumbs. For less than 50 cents per person, everyone is fed.

Now that I am an adult of sorts, I am noticing more about the world around me. So, when I bit into my crispy salmon cake I took notice (for the first time) of the tiny little bones underneath the flaky crust. I announced my discovery to the rest of my family. “Oh yeah, they’re edible,” my mom said offhandedly, and went back to her conversation with my sister.

They didn’t taste like bones, they didn’t even really crunch like bones, but I knew that they were bones. I’ve always had a weird thing with food consistency, especially in any kind of meat, and thus I was extremely perturbed by my discovery. Thankfully those little cakes are so good that the idea not to eat them at all barely crossed my mind. But it could of. I could’ve chosen not to eat that scrumptious salmon cake because of the no big deal, easily digestible bones inside.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder If I am living to avoid the little bones in my salmon cake? Am I freaking out about the small things; picking them out of my life although they are barely visible? Am I more worried about the bones than I am about enjoying the meat around them?

I have found that sometimes those “meaty” moments are the most painful.  I have learned more when I feel as if my entire soul is about to break than I do when I feel whole.

There are so many little bones in our lives. So many moments that we let define us that have no business doing so. Are we living out of those moments? Or are we living out of the ones with substance, the ones that will fill our bellies and not just our mouths. The ones that will carry us forward, not stop us in our tracks.