... Because everything I learned about living a good life, I learned in my kitchen.

I won't always show you recipes, because I don't measure. You can't really measure life, so how can I teach you that?

On our journey I will share stories of self-reflection as we cook and reminisce. The kitchen remains to be my "hall of epiphanies" . Stay with me as we explore the depths of our cooking pots, and of our soul...



Monday, July 1, 2013

The Day Love Found Me on the NYC Subway...


My heart was wide open that Saturday morning...  

That alone is uncommon for me.  If you know me, you know that my heart lives in a nearly impenetrable fortress.  
Notice that I said nearly?  
...A child's smile, the way my daughter's hair smells, a dog's loyal, loving gaze.. those things can melt my heart.  Most other things I keep far, far away.  

Why?  I concede, that to some degree it has to do with fear.  Fear, of getting hurt maybe?  
... But if you know me that may not make sense to you.  For the most part, I'm pretty bold and fearless at what life has thrown at me.  

Or, perhaps I'm guarded because God has put in my heart what I truly want.  And I am willing to wait for it.  
Now, I'm not just talking about romance here.  I'm referring to everything that is important to me in my life;  love, family, friends, career and my goals. 
 At 38, I realized that I don't know how much time I have left on this planet.  Knowing that is enough to make me never want to settle for something that my heart & mind are not truly committed to.

Since I woke up that morning, I couldn't contain my smile. June 8th, 2013.  This was the day of my 20 year High School Reunion!  I meditated and reflected on my life in a very profound way.  My heart swelled with gratitude at all of the blessings what were bestowed on us.  I felt privileged and humbled all at once.  Even taking into account the most difficult moments, I realized what a beautiful life I have been blessed with.  The people in my life have been a gift to me.   I woke my daughter up after our bags were all packed and got her and our dog ready for our fun drive to New York City.  First stop was the Bronx where my parents live.  There, we caught up for a bit, and then it was time to get ready for my big reunion.  I had decided on a black pant suit, gold sparkly heels and a matching purse.  I thought it was a sleek and elegant look to go with, without having to wear a cocktail dress.  

Why not a dress?  I love dresses.  I have tons of them.  I think I could run a boutique out of my walk-in closet.  ...That point will become relevant soon.

I chose the pant suit because I wanted to take the subway into the City.  I didn't want to be too dressed up on the train.  I contemplated driving, but besides the issue of finding parking, I really felt like I wanted to be  surrounded by the comfort of my hometown, my people, where I feel at home.

I felt excited. I admit it took me a good 5 minutes to figure out how to purchase a Metro Card from the blasted machine.  There was a transit cop standing right by me who I caught chuckling at my dilemma, without offering to help.  As handsome as he was, I toyed with the idea of kicking him in the shins with my 6 inch heels.  I decided against it seeing how (1) it would have been unladylike, and (2) he could probably have me arrested, and that would have been the end of my High School reunion.  Karma caught up with my devious plot because I once again got stuck.  This time trying to slide the card and pass through the turnstile.  I looked back, indignant.  Already knowing what I would see.  He tried to break eye contact when I looked at him, but I caught the miserable SOB chuckling again.

I furiously clicked my heels all the way up to the platform of the El-Train.  My beloved #4 train.  Famous to many for being on the NY Yankees Stadium line.  Sentimental for me because that train holds so many familiar memories for me and my friends who I grew up with.  Where I grew up, there was no school bus.  We had to take the subway or the bus in to school.  As a kid, you learn a lot about life by keeping your eyes and ears open on the subway.

Once I got up the platform I stood gazing out at my neighborhood with nostalgic longing.  A warm breeze covered me from head to toe, blowing my hair into my face on both sides.  6pm and the sun was shining strong and bright. 


Despite my stoic stance, I was taking in all of my surroundings.  Sights, sounds and people.  The train made it's fiery, thundering entrance into the platform.  We boarded and took our places randomly dispersed throughout the subway car.  We all pretended not to notice each other, for the most part- but we did.  Many of us were very well-dressed, adorned with fancy shoes and handbags. 

In a space with about 40 human beings, the only connections that were being made were with the electronic devices that we were all armored with.  No eye contact. No smiles.  No talking.  And, that suited me just fine.

I got off that train and walked over to connect to the 2nd train that I needed to take.  That platform was underground, with a type of suffocating humid heat.  There I waited longer than I'd hoped for.  Heat and impatience breed all types of negative tempers.  You could cut the tension on that platform with a knife.  

Suddenly the sound of Scottish Bagpipes filled the air.  It didn't matter if you wanted to hear it or not, it was there, and it was loud.  Thankfully, the performer chose to play a sort of rhythmic lament and that somehow made me think that is what empathy would sound like, if it had a sound.  It would sound like this street performer's melodic song...  

At that moment, I felt compelled to show him my gratitude and put money in his can to thank him for his soothing melody.  I know that it isn't smart to take out your wallet and mess with cash in the subway but this man reminded me of the musicians that kept playing while the Titanic was sinking.  That platform felt like the Titanic and that humid heat was sinking us all into misery.

That was precisely the moment where I met him.  That's when so many things came full circle for me. 

A homeless man was approaching slowly, limping.  His clothes were very dirty.  He looked weathered and tired.  In my heart, I wish that I could help all of them.  My heart hurts to see people suffering.

Ironically, he approached me with caution.  I assure you that if you see me, I don't look dangerous at all.  Serious, maybe.  Yes.  But dangerous, no.  Yet, he approached me with what felt like a lot more caution than he had approached others on that platform.  When he reached me I looked at him. Although my heart was breaking, I tried not to show it out of respect for him.  Homeless or not, he was still a man.  And even a man in his circumstances has pride.  In that moment, I didn't want him to see my heart hurt because I wanted to give him the respect that he deserved as a man.

He was an older gentleman.  The skin around his eyes were especially wrinkled, like someone who had spent a life laughing and loving a lot.  In contrast, his eyes seemed glazed over, like the eyes of someone who had cried so much that there were no longer any tears left to cry.  In his face, I could imagine a life that had come full circle.  Joy and pain.

He pointed to his cardboard sign around his neck written with a black sharpie.  It said how he was mute and deaf, was looking for work and needed help.
Now, I realize that some people use gimmicks for this.  I realize that you can't help everyone.  More than anything, I follow my heart first, and caution second.

I took out my purse and handed him some money.  In some way, he seemed surprised, as if he didn't expect this.  He pointed to the sign where it said,  "God Bless you and Thank you", and made the Namaste sign with his hands as he walked away.  I nodded and then did something that caught me even by surprise.  I smiled.  Not any smile, it was a huge heart-felt smile and I returned the Namaste gesture to him as well.
At this, he stopped and looked at me, really looked at me.  
He looked into me. 
I felt it.

He signed with his hands, and tried to mouth with his lips, "You are beautiful."  Without pause, I signed and said, "And so are you.  You are beautiful too."  At this,  he covered his mouth with one hand, and put his other hand over his heart.  For a few moments we just looked at each other.  Then he signed, thank you.  I nodded.  What followed this, was pretty amazing to me.

He asked me for a hug.  And, I did. 
I hugged him, sincerely.  
When we broke the embrace, his eyes were visibly glazed with tears.  And he thanked me.  I said, "No, thank you for that hug."  He stood there as if trying to reconcile the moment.  

You wouldn't believe that precisely then, the train pulled in.  I said goodbye and entered the train taking a seat where I was facing him standing outside.  His hand still remained over his heart, and his eyes still glazed with tears, except now there was an incredible smile on his face too.

It was only then that I realized that the people on the train were watching us.  Some in what seemed like disbelief or disapproval.  The terrible smell of his clothing, lingered on my jacket.  Strangely, I appreciated the reminder of what had just taken place.   As the train was about to pull out, he waved and signed "I love you".  I smiled and waved, mouthing, "I love you too" through the glass window.

Only when the train pulled away, and he could no longer see me, did the tears start to roll down my face.  They wouldn't stop.   They fell onto my shimmery gold purse, making my tears sparkle in the light. I wiped my face and thanked God.   I prayed with so much gratitude.  One may think that perhaps I was attempting to help him when I gave him money.  No. 
It was him who helped me

In a world that has felt so cold, and so electronic for so long, this man's smile, embrace and humanity breathed life into me.  That vulnerable soul penetrated the walls that keep my heart distant.  In that moment, I allowed myself to get close to someone in a way that I hadn't in so long.  That moment was a gift, and in his own way he taught me so much.

When I got off the train, I walked a few blocks to the locale for the reunion, where I'm sure many of us were focused on where life brought us, what we do, kids, home, timeshares... and I looked down at my sparkly gold shoes as I walked.  It hit me hard.  None of it matters, if we are not connecting with each other as human beings.  None of it matters if we are not focused on the things that make a difference.  In the end, the only thing we get to take and keep is how we made each other feel.

June 8, 2013.  It was the day of my High School reunion, but it was also the day I felt reunited with me.  

... And with you.

The Gold Purse making it's appearance at my 20th High School Reunion..  One of those sparkles holds the remnants of a tear, from just 2 hours before...