Ava Truckey

Blog | Recipes | Life

11-15-2021

11-15-2021

If you put a fork on the stove top it will become fiercely hot. When you pick it up, your soft, tiny fingers will blister immediately. You remember fingering the filled orbs on your palm every time you set the fork down on the countertop for months after that. You...

10-12-2021

A year ago, I was standing in the kitchen of an acquaintance’s house that I agreed to house and pet-sit for. I swayed with Maddox on my chest, stirring the pot, while Scarlett carefully eye’d Martha The Chicken at the patio door. I made minestrone, and baked bread for...
6-24-2021

6-24-2021

When I am hungry for my mother, I find myself making a peanut butter and jelly. Not because I remember her making them on homemade bread (she didn’t) or because she made her jam (she didn’t), but because it was her signature love-move.  And to be fair, my mother was a...
3-29-2021

3-29-2021

The truth is, I’ve been wanting to write but I’ve struggled naming or placing my feelings aside from fragmented bits of information. The extent of my articulating feels like watching ink run down a page, so… There’s that. There’s a finality to writing things...
2-16-2021

2-16-2021

It’s 5:03 and I’m splashing water on my face, ritualistic, willing it to revive me. Is that… barf? In the toilet? Who barfed? I ask Scarlett if she was feeling okay and she responds, very casually, that she threw up last night but she’s fine. It’s fine. She...