hiatus - post 155/155

 

It is time for a break. A hiatus. Maybe it is the end of this chapter. Maybe it is just an intermission. All I know is that it is time. An ending is also a beginning. 

Many times a week I listen to an album front to back. The Submarine by Whitley. For me it started with finding a song. One song. When I realized how this one tune fit into the greater album it hit me hard. The sound. The vibe. The voices. Acoustic. The lyrics. The flow of one song into another. Something about it speaks to me on a level that I am not sure I can even fully comprehend. I just know I need to listen to it. On repeat. Complete as a whole. Better as an album instead of one song. 

I remember when and why I ended my blog the last time. September. Fall. Here I am again. I am using a lot of what I wrote then but with a newer perspective, a year older. Still though, fall. 

Autumn transitions. Darkness covers me like a blanket. Leaves fall onto the ground. I crawl back into myself. 

Transition. Shift. Change.  

Writing in this way has been meaningful in ways that I don't think I will ever be able to fully put into words. Writing helps me process. It allows me the freedom to feel as I do, not as I should. It is an outlet for the energy that feels trapped and unexpressed. It provides a creative escape for a piece of myself that does not feel comfortable in my space, my skin. It has allowed me to dream a bit and expand what may be and what is, instead of being constrained. 

Many people have wondered why I put myself out there, why I allow my vulnerability to be on display. Many have questioned why I write things that I am unable to say out loud. Some people have felt it is too self-focused while others call it helpful and are grateful to know they are not alone. I have heard both positive and negative reactions to this blog from many people. I have always appreciated and welcomed the discourse. 

My posts are but a moment in time and written to show another, maybe a more honest side to what is constantly on display on social media. I write to show that it is okay not to be happy all the time. To show that life is hard. And in life's struggles there is beauty. Wearing my heart on my sleeve shows that thinking about hard things is a sign of strength, not weakness. I share the lonely parts to let people know that it is okay to feel. To let myself know that it is okay. To remind myself that I am okay. 

Cory Muscara says, "If you stay present, and continue to listen for, and surrender to, the deepest knowing you can access, there's no way you can do this life wrong".

Man, I find it so difficult to be present sometimes. To find, experience, appreciate the simple moments. That is part of my never-ending journey. 

Appreciate. Learn. Love. Apply. 

We adapt. We grow with change and transition. Experiences build upon each other and provide us with strength. They fill us up. They inspire and they provide hope. They help us learn about ourselves. They help us grow.

We all struggle with self-love and self-acceptance at some point and for some of us at different times of our lives. I am incredibly hard on myself. I don't appreciate my greatness as I should at times but I also think I am a pretty cool person. I am who I am because of all of my experiences. Life is bumpy but that makes the adventure all the more worth living. I truly feel this.

Appreciate. Love. Learn. Apply

So, go out there and feel today. Feel it all. The highs and the lows. Allow the tears but don't forget to laugh along the way, and laugh hard. A real belly laugh. Hold onto something hard when you need to feel grounded and take a minute to look at our beautiful sky. Dance alone. Dance with other people. Really feel the music. Find art in the every day. Make a beautiful and colorful meal  Be spontaneous. Figure out something you can do to make the world better, brighter, kinder and realize that we all play a part. Find compassion for yourself and others. Find empathy for yourself and others. Create a safe space for someone to be themselves while creating a safe space for you to be yourself. Be inclusive and collaborative. Celebrate differences and seek similarities. We are here together as ourselves once and we need to make it count. Connect to yourself so that you can connect more deeply with others. Just be. 

Listen to music. Music saves me in a similar way that film does. I feel its absence when I don't listen and it adds to my world. Every. Single. Day. 

The Submarine by Whitley (Apple Music)

The Submarine by Whitley (Spotify)

Let's get cooking!

Thai Beef with Chiles over Coconut Rice  - Everyday Food (a million years ago)
1 1/4 cups jasmine rice (I use brown jasmine rice if I can find it)
1 can coconut milk (I use light)
coarse salt
2 TBSP plus 1 tsp fish sauce (I tend to use 3 TBSP)
2 TBSP plus 1 tsp soy sauce (I tend to use 3 TBSP)
1 tsp sugar
1 TBSP vegetable oil (or canola)
3 garlic cloves, chopped (I mince)
3 long hot peppers, seeded and sliced into 2-inch matchsticks (I tend to use mini sweet peppers and then you can use a little poblano or another kind with many seeds taken out)
1 1/4 pounds ground beef sirloin
1 cup loosely packed torn basil leaves
lime wedges, for serving (I tend to just squeeze juice of a lime into the pan before serving)

In a medium saucepan, combine rice, coconut milk, 3/4 cup water, and 1/2 tsp salt (I omit). Cover and bring to a boil; reduce to a simmer, cover and cook until rice is tender and liquid has been absorbed, about 25 minutes.

When rice is almost done, combine fish sauce, soy sauce and sugar in a small bowl; set aside.  Heat a cast-iron skillet or wok over high (I just use my all purpose pan). Add oil and heat; add garlic and half the peppers. Cook, stirring constantly, 15 seconds (I do more). Add beef and cook, breaking up meat with a wooden spoon, until completely browned, about 4 minutes.  Add soy mixture and cook 30 seconds. Add basil and remaining peppers, and stir to combine.  Serve beef over coconut rice with lime wedges.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

-Amy

a simple moment

 

Thank you as always, Gayle Oshrin, for the beautiful photograph. 

I have always been affected by light. Shadows, brightness, depth, angles, how it hits a face or the clouds. I can be genuinely moved by it. It has been awhile since I have experienced a simple moment. 

This morning I did. 

What is a simple moment, you ask?  

A simple moment is a brief moment in time where you are completely present. Your mind isn't focused on anything but what is happening around you. You are not the past. You are not the future. You are not in your head and you aren't in your heart either. You are just present. You are centered at your spine and are able to breathe in clarity. This moment can last 5 seconds or 5 minutes. Honestly I think it also includes gratitude. I haven't thought about that until now but in all of the simple moments I can recall, there is a feeling of gratitude. An awareness and appreciation of what I am experiencing. 

I am driving to work. 

I can see almost the entire horizon and there are puffs of clouds above me. Little cotton balls all over the sky, layered. The bottom layer has streaks of gold. I don't even know if I am able to fully describe the texture of what I saw. Its beauty. The streaks are above me but in front of me is the lightest shade of blue, the day starting. In the distance I see varying shades of pink and orange. The sun is not visible to me but of course is visible to others somewhere other than this place I am. Behind me the sky is still darker, the audience of the show in the sky, quietly waiting its turn to go on stage. The whole sky is textured, complex, varying shades of color, light, shadows, depth. It provides perspective. The music I am listening to just adds background to the moment. Harmony to the sky's melody. Sounds cheesy but true nonetheless. 

I am still marveling at my experience when I enter the elevator. I am almost floating into work. I look at the person next to me and I say, "did you happen to see the sky today??" He looked at me, a little confused. Then he said no. No. "I guess I didn't look up this morning." 

No? I silently screamed. Internally. But it was right there! It was so beautiful. The whole sky! 

Needless to say, I was a little deflated but then, then I smiled inside my belly. It didn't matter if anyone witnessed it because I did. It was my moment. My simple moment. 

Put on You're the One I Want by Chris and Thomas and let's get cooking. 

Click here for Apple Music

Click here for Spotify

This was a staple in our house for years. Easy, yummy, perfect for fall and it's dinner tonight. Enjoy!

Weeknight Bolognese - Barefoot Contessa, How Easy Is That
2T good olive oil, plus extra to cook the pasta
1 lb lean ground sirloin
4 tsp minced garlic (4 cloves)
1T dried oregano
1/4 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
1 1/4 dry red wine, divided
1 28-oz can crushed tomatoes, preferably San Marzano
2T tomato paste
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
3/4 lb dried pasta, such as orecchiette or small shells
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, lightly packed
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/2 freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large (12-inch) skillet over medium-high heat. Add the ground sirloin and cook, crumbling the meat with a wooden spoon, for 5-7 minutes, until the meat has lost its pink color and has started to brown.  Stir in the garlic, oregano, and red pepper flakes and cook for 1 more minute.  Pour 1 cup of the wine into the skillet and stir to scrape up any browned bits.  Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, 1 tablespoon salt (I omit), and 1 1/2 teaspoons pepper, stirring until combined. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil, add a tablespoon of salt, a splash of oil, and the pasta, and cook according to the direction on the box. While the pasta cooks, finish the sauce.  Add the nutmeg, basil, cream, and the remaining 1/4 cup wine to the sauce and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally until thickened. When the pasta is cooked, drain and pour into a large serving bowl. Add the sauce and 1/2 cup Parmesan and toss well.  Serve hot with Parmesan on the side.

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

-Amy

existentialism at its best

 

There are days when I wake up and feel things a bit more. I am more aware. I am carrying a bit extra on my shoulders. I can almost hear the quickened beats of my heart as many competing thoughts swirl around in my head. Emotions run a little closer to the surface. I feel tears at the ready, fighting to break through to the surface. Tears waiting to fall and be free, held back in a tug of war. 

I feel my mortality more on these days. I am more sensitive. Vulnerable. Harder on myself. Torn. Angst ridden. It isn't weakness I feel. Sometimes I almost feel stronger. It is hard to really put into words everything that is going during these complicated thought webs.  

Does this happen to you too?

I stare at the picture above. I have shared her before.  She is me. I am her. I met her and experienced a visceral reaction. I tried to hide it as best as I could but I was so moved. I couldn't stop looking at her because I see a version of myself in her. Is she falling into something? Is she falling away from something? Is she flying? Is she transforming? Is she becoming free? With all art, perception is in the eyes of the beholder, the observer. To me, she is strong and giving into the present, intentionally so.  Almost dancing. I feel particularly like her today. I am within. 

I take a step back and realize that my dad would have been 84 on October 13th and the first anniversary of his death is October 19th, the same day my beautiful youngest daughter leaves her teens behind and turns 20. As I type, my heart beats faster. Of course this plays a role in how I face the day. There is a lot that I am carrying with me this week. How fast time goes by. It has been a year without my dad. I no longer have a teenager in the house. The world. It just keeps beating. 

I go back to her. Sometimes I feel like time is passing by so quickly and I am not able to stop, take stock in the moment and appreciate it. It isn't that I don't see the beauty of the passage of time but I do wish we could pause it at times. I feel like it all goes by so quickly and I still feel like I am 30. There is so much left to do, see, experience, be. Dreams that I haven't chased. I don't even have a bucket list. Sometimes I watch a movie by myself and rewind parts to watch them again and again, to make sure I see every nuance, facial expression, hear every word of the dialogue, see the setting, experience the action or the stillness of the moment. Sometimes I wish I could still myself enough to do this in my every day. Take each beautiful moment as its own scene in a movie. 

Then I watched an amazing interview (really it was a conversation) and it took me out of my skin, out of my head. I became the observer. The learner. It provided the space I needed. I was so inspired by Martin Scorsese's words and his observations on life and art. I learned so much in 30 minutes.  Sometimes art and the entertainment business can feel so curated, planned and planted. Timed too perfectly. Watching something refreshing like that was truly what I needed in the moment. Truly authentic. Real. Learning about someone else's experiences. I took a deep breath and soaked it all in. 

In the accompanying magazine interview as well as in this conversation a Bob Dylan quote was mentioned. It affected me so deeply that I have been reading it over and over all day long. 

"You need your ability to imagine, your ability to observe and your ability to experience, and if any of those is compromised, your ability to create is compromised in some way". 

This. I feel this about everyday life and how important it is to be. Just be. 

Put on Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls and take a deep breath. Breathe in space to all the nooks and crannies that tighten, constrict and compromise your ability to just be.

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

a walk to remember

 

I haven't felt interested in writing lately and honestly that has scared me out of my mind. The feeling I get when I am inspired almost feels like a high. When I don't have that, I feel empty. When I do feel it, I get filled up to a point that if I don't express what is inside, I might burst. It is truly an amazing feeling and one I feel on my own. It is independent even if I am surrounded by others. The fact that this awareness hasn't hit me for awhile affects me. What does it mean? 

This week was my birthday and hearing/being with people I love near and far, whether I speak to them once in never or every day, it is always meaningful. I used to love my birthday. Scream it to every person that passed me by. Days in advance even. In the last several years, that has changed. Now, I am more about crawling back inside a bit. Introspective. I get really close to the ground like I am a caterpillar walking as close to the earth as possible, seeing only the specks of dirt ahead of me. I don't look up. 

I look in. 

Today, I decided to walk in a place that I truly love. It is one of my favorites. It is a swamp. It brings me to the present. It is not the ocean. It is not the city. It reminds me of where I have been, where I am and where I am going. Trust me. The idea of sitting at home on the couch or outside is honestly where I am in terms of comfort zone. Today I decide to fight that safe place. 

I have written about this place before.  Today though, it hits different. I feel different. I start my walk. It is a beautiful fall morning. The air. The light. The season. The moon. In times past a Sunday morning meant a family walk. A time to be in nature together as a family. Our time. Forced family time maybe to them but the world to me. My church.

Today though it is just me, and my partner in crime. My pup. Chappy. 

It is a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky even though clouds provide depth and shadows. Things I search for in my life. I am comfortable in the familiarity of the morning and the location but recognize the growth around me. It only stimulates growth within. Seeing change instills change.

Today is my friend, Doris', birthday. October 1, 2023. She is my mentor and a soul I cherish deeply. We were meant to meet well over a decade ago. Doris said today that she hasn't come across people like me often and that when that happens it stays with you. I feel ridiculous writing what she said because I am not sure it is deserved but also because when I hear something like that about me it makes me look down, not up. Also because I feel the same way about her but 100% more fold. She is older and could be my mom but genuinely she is not a mother figure. She is someone who has impacted my life in ways I can't fully put into words. I remember my first conversation with her. I am standing outside my friend's house in Menlo Park and it is a screening phone interview. There is a spark there. She and I hit it off. It is a moment I remember, years later. We speak about it often. 

Doris has had some serious health issues of late. Today is her 78th birthday (??). I am on this walk and I feel the urge to call her. I am not sure she will answer but I feel the urge nonetheless. She gets on the phone after her husband answers. We speak. Her voice is like a beacon. I am walking through the woods. Through the clearing. On the bridge. 

I see an alligator two feet away. I see a snake up close but I believe it is safe so I take a step closer. I have never seen an alligator this close. I have not seen a snake this close in a long time. It is as if I am purposely being distracted. Something is throwing fears onto my path to distract me. Making me stop. Making me run. No. I won't do that. 

It is perspective. Instant clarity. This time I have the strength and courage to walk by these scary things. They aren't so scary in the end because the focus is on love. On connection. I have the ability to look beyond because the focus is on my friend. We are talking about life, how there are no pockets in a shroud, how every day above ground is a good day, about what to do when bad things happen to good people and about how to reconcile that. About taking life day by day, bird by bird. Nothing is guaranteed in life. Who knows if we will be here tomorrow so it is important to be grateful for what we have today. I am moved by this conversation. Moved to tears, in fact. 

I share with Doris the impact she has had on my life. On the lessons I have learned. How important she is to me and how grateful I am to know her. I think about the impact she has had on this earth too. Maybe I think about my own mortality and the impact that I have or maybe more likely haven't had.  

We hang up and I look down. I see a heart rock. It is a sign. I fully believe this. I pick it up and I hold it tight. I need it near me at all times. 

I go to Bodega. My rock in my pocket. I see my friends and sit with them for a time. I witness the love they have for each other as family. I am grateful to know them. 

Then I am on my own. 

I sit amongst many parties of people with my Chappy on one of those days in the fall where the light hits perfectly. I am keenly aware of my surroundings but able to vibe to the music in my ears. I write with the heart on my book. Someone next to me asks what I am writing as I get up to leave. I explain and we share a breath about living in the present amongst us. 

I go home. I pour myself a tequila in a glass I stole from the Eurostar train when we traveled from London to Paris. I put on music and I write some more. The heart rock still next to me. I am tearful but I am not sad. I am feeling. There is a difference. It isn't what I am feeling. It is the moment. It is everything and I feel it all. The happiness. The gratefulness. The sadness. The loneliness. The full heart and the part of the heart that lays more alone than anyone can see. The part we all have but pretend not to. The part that is hidden by happy social media posts and curated lives. That part though. It fuels us. It makes us human. It makes us alive. It is the part that connects and binds us all. It is what draws us to others and it is what inspires. 

It is. 

It is the flower in the grass. It shines towards the light and it may seem like it is alone but when you look closer you see it isn't alone. Far from it. There are other objects just as beautiful surrounding it, overshadowing if you look even more closely. There are pieces of grass and stones and dirt and insects. There is an entire ecosystem that relies on the one flower that blooms towards the sun. And that one flower relies on itself and everything around it to shine. 

So here I am back in my spot. Writing. Taking it in. Listening. Sensing around me. Knowing that people may not get why I write. Why I put myself out there. Why I am different. I stop. I am different. We all are different. That should be celebrated. We are also alike. All of us. Under the same sun. Under the same moon. Under the same stars. Time. It marches on. Love.

Put on a song. Any song that moves you. And just be. Just be.

-Amy 

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

9/11: a distant memory?

-photo by Gayle Oshrin

I was listening to NPR this morning and they were talking about 9/11. The reporters were describing it as a distant memory. Something people read about in books and online. A period of time in history. A provocation of war similar to Pearl Harbor. 

I mean, I get it. 22 years is a long time ago. A generation. But yet, I remember almost every moment of that day. Vividly. I remember the days, weeks, months afterwards. I remember my life at that time as if it was yesterday. I remember the impact on all of our lives. How then? How can it be a distant memory? And what does that mean about my life now that I can look back 22 years and feel like I am simply blinking my eyes? 

In 2020, I wrote an account of that day. I had written about 9/11 before but not in that type of way. I think about it now and realize I wrote that piece three years ago. I feel like I JUST wrote about it. I attribute some of this to the covid zone when two years of our collective lives meshed into one. Somehow we lost a year or two. A shift in the passage or marking of time somehow. That said, it was therapeutic to write some of it down. There's more. Of course there is more. There always is. But it is a story, one of many, and I am glad it is down on paper. Virtual paper, that is. 

22 years later. How different we are as a country, as a planet, as communities of the world. I am not sure there is an area of life and this earth that hasn't been touched in some way, shape or form. When I sit back and think about that, I feel the passage of time more slowly. 

Where are we now? That is a big question with many answers, all of them correct because it is not only based on data and analysis but also based on perception and our own experiences.

Some time ago, I was explaining something that had happened to a therapist. I was truly upset with how I had handled a situation. This wasn't a trivial mistake. It was complex and I had handled it incorrectly. All wrong. I was feeling badly about myself. The therapist said something that has stuck with me, many years later. He said you know did the best you could at the time. You didn't set out to handle something badly or to do "the wrong thing". You were handling something new and you did what you thought was the best thing at the time. I do believe that to be true and that makes me feel better sometimes. 

So we are in the year 2023. We have collectively never shared this earth, in this form before. We are all experiencing 2023 together for the first time. We are all doing the best we can. And I do think that may be true in how we handle our individual lives but I do question if that is true as a community, a world and as citizens of the earth. 

Are we doing the best we can? Can we do better? I don't want 9/11 to be a distant memory. I don't want Roe v. Wade to be a distant memory. I don't want Columbine to be a distant memory. I don't want the Civil Rights movement to be a distant memory. I don't want the Holocaust or the Armenian Genocide to be a distant memory. I don't want January 6, 2021 to be a distant memory. I don't want polar bears to become a distant memory. Can we do better? I believe we can. Can I do better? Yes, I absolutely can. 

Put on Sedona by Houndmouth and let's get cooking. 

Sedona - Apple Music

Sedona - Spotify

Nancy's Chopped Salad  - Smitten Kitchen

Oregano Dressing
4 cloves garlic
1-2T dried oregano
2 tsp kosher salt
freshly ground pepper
2T lemon juice or juice of 1 lemon
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil, ideally EVOO

Salad and Assembly
1 (15-oz) can chickpeas or 1 3/4 cups cooked chickpeas, drained
1 small red onion, peeled and sliced into paper-thin rings
1/2 lb. provolone, sliced 1/8 inch thick then cut into 1/4 inch ribbons (they prefer an aged, hard provolone but I couldn't find at my store. I used regular and cut into 1/2 inch slices)
4 medium or 8 small pickled pepperoncini, sliced into rings
3/4 lb. cherry tomatoes
Sea salt
1 head iceburg lettuce, halved, cored, and cut into 1/2 inch ribbons
1 head radicchio, halved, cored, and cut into 1/4 inch ribbons (I used one bag of lettuce including radicchio and a head of romaine lettuce)
2 tsp dried oregano for garnish.

Make dressing: Roughly chop garlic (I minced) and then add oregano, salt, and up to 1/2 tsp ground pepper.  Chop the mixture together and use the side of a knife or a mortar and pestle to make a grainy herb paste. Transfer to a bowl and add lemon juice and vinegar. Mix with a fork to allow the salt to dissolve and whisk with a fork until well combined. The dressing should be thick with garlic and oregano. If you are using a small head of iceberg, transfer 1/3 of the dressing into a small bowl to be used if needed.  For more lettuce, use all. (I simply made the dressing by mixing all the ingredients together. It was very tasty but like the idea of making a paste)

Assemble salad: Gently fold the chickpeas, red onion, provolone, salami, pepperoncini (including seeds and juice) into the dressing, one at a time. Halve the tomatoes lengthwise and season with 1 1/2 tsp sea salt. Set aside until ready to serve.

To serve: When ready to serve, gently add the tomatoes, lettuce and radicchio to the salad bowl, along with a couple of generous pinches of oregano and toss to combine with dressing.  Adjust seasonings to taste, adding any reserved dressing, if needed. Serve immediately. (I assembled mine differently but it still looked pretty and tasted yumilicious!)

Enjoy!

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

-Amy

to blog or not to blog, that is the question

 

A year ago yesterday, I wrote my final blog post. Well, what I thought was going to be my final blog post, lol. It was the 135th post of Simple Moments Each Day. I thought at the time that I should give this type of writing a break. My hiatus didn't last very long. I did embark on a new writing challenge during that time though called The Marrow. I dipped my toes into poetry and even a short story called, the club, that is near and dear to my heart. I still will post onto The Marrow from time to time. 

I missed writing when I stopped. It felt like a part of me went dormant. I find that in life I need an outlet. We all do, I think. I need a way to let out the feelings that are running around, wreaking havoc inside of me, so that they can sort themselves out. I started writing my blog again when I felt like I had something I was processing. Thank you for continuing to read my words as it means more than you will ever know. You have allowed me to have my voice. So, I continue to write.

At times I feel the need to break free. Do something spontaneous. Get out of my comfort zone. Shake things up. Something that makes me feel. As I reflect, sometimes this occurs when I experience loss or transition of some kind. At the moment, I can check both of those boxes. Additionally, the fall has always been a transition for me. End of summer. The light changes. The smell in the air even. 

Transition. Shift. Change.  

On Friday, I opened a snapchat from my beautiful friend who moved not so recently, to Roanoke, Virginia. It was 12:30 p.m. She asked when I would be able to come visit her. Honestly, I didn't even think. I just wrote the words, how about tomorrow even though in my head I knew it was going to be that day. By 2:30 p.m. we were in the car. By 9 p.m. I was drinking a margarita in Roanoke. What a weekend it was - it hit the spot in every possible way. 

Movement. Exploring. Seeing people I love. Awakens the soul. 

And Saturday night, I met her. 

I stared at this mural and I felt like I was staring at myself. I still feel that way. There are times when you see something and it just hits you. I could sit and stare at this with music in my ears for hours. There is so much for me to see and digest here. Every person views art differently, based on their own experiences, background, culture, life. That's what makes art so important. So it's your turn - what do you see when you look at her? 

Monday. I am back at home sitting in my yard. It is a beautiful day. A simple moment. I see hummingbirds on flowers - a mom and babies. I also see butterflies flitting about. Movement. Nature. Perspective. I am but one person in this vast world. Life happens around me. Life comes from me, too. 

This morning I am driving. The sky is complex. The clouds and the light provide mesmerizing texture to the day. I am inspired because as I drive the sky keeps changing. I take it in as much as I can. Music playing. 

I knew it would look different even within the 15 minutes it took for me to get from home to the office.  I took a picture once I got there. Of course this photograph doesn't do what I experienced any justice but you get the idea, I hope. 

Transition. Shift. Change.  

As I wrote a year ago, we adapt. We grow with change and transition. Experiences build upon each other and provide us with strength. They fill us up. They inspire and they provide hope. Even our most difficult moments are beautiful in their own right. They help us feel alive. Simple moments building upon each other so that we can be present, if only for a minute. 

Appreciate. Love. Learn. Apply.

Time to put on Mr. Brightside by The Killers and let's get cooking!

Mr. Brightside - Apple Music

Mr. Brightside - Spotify

I make this dish every summer. It is a favorite of mine. Sometimes with a corn, feta, tomato, basil salad. Sometimes with a potato salad or corn bread. It is summer on a plate and it is perfection. 

Foolproof Ribs with Barbecue Sauce  - Barefoot Contessa

5 lbs Danish baby back robs (4 racks) or St. Louis ribs (2 racks)
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 recipe BC Barbecue Sauce

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line a sheet pan with aluminum foil.

Place the ribs on the sheet pan meat side up and sprinkle them with 2 tsp salt and 1 tsp pepper.  Pour the BBQ sauce generously on each rack and cover the ribs loosely with aluminum foil.  Back for 1 1/2 hours for baby backs and 1 3/4 hours for St. Louis ribs, until the meat is very tender when tested with a fork.  As soon as ribs are out of the oven, spread them generously with additional barbecue sauce.  Grill right away or refrigerate to grill later.

About 40 minutes before you want to serve, heat a charcoal grill with a layer of hot coals or heat a gas grill to medium-high heat.  After the charcoal turns gray, brush the cooking grate with oil to keep the ribs from sticking.  Place the ribs on the grill ribs-side down, put the lid on top (with both vents open) and grill for 5 minutes. Turn the ribs meat-side down and grill for another 4-5 minutes, until nicely browned.  Place on a cutting board, cover tightly with aluminum foil and allow the ribs to rest for 10 minutes.  Cut into the ribs and serve hot with extra barbecue sauce on the side.

BC Barbecue Sauce
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 cup chopped yellow onion (1 large onion)
1T minced garlic (3 cloves)
1 cup (10 oz) tomato paste
1 cup cider vinegar
1 cup honey
1/2 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 cup Dijon mustard
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 cup hoisin sauce
2T chili powder
1T ground cumin
1 1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes (I omitted)

Heat the oil in a large saucepan over low heat, add the onions, and cook for 10-15 minutes, until onions are translucent but not browned.  Add the garlic and cook for 1 more minute.  Add the tomato paste, vinegar, honey, Worcestershire sauce, mustard, soy sauce, hoisin sauce, chili powder, cumin and red pepper flakes.  Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes.  Use the sauce immediately or pour into a container and refrigerate. 

Enjoy!

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always. 

-Amy

moments that stay with us

This is my favorite spot in my house. I sit here often, Chappy by my side. It is where I work when I am remote without distraction, even if people come and go. It is where I sit with a glass of wine and write. It is where I balance my checkbook or sort bills. When we have people over, it is where we congregate with cocktails and appetizers. Many people strive to have a room to call their own. A place where they can just be. For me, it's this spot. My spot. A spot that is shared but is also secretly mine. It is a kitchen island. It's not big but it doesn't have to be. I sit and I look to my left. I see some of my favorite items, ones that have meaning even though people who may see them don't know their personal value.

When I cook I stand on the other side of where I am sitting and I am still able to zone into the present and create. I may change my vantage point but it is still the same space. 

At the moment I am focusing on the new plum candle that is next to me alongside a vase containing a plant I am trying to root, actually two. They are pictured above. One is a geranium I affectionately call Momoo. I call her that because my grandmother, Momoo, gave her to me over 28 years ago. Yes, I still have her. She has traveled many miles, has lived in many homes and has been through many challenges. There have been more times than I can count that I thought I was going to lose her, yet, she still hangs on. She's still with me, even though I know that she will still be with me even after she's gone. We are going through one of those moments of uncertainty right now which is why I am trying to root some cuttings. This is one of the very few times she hasn't been flowering. When she does, it is a bright Barbie pink color. 

I remember the day Momoo gave me her plant. Vividly. I was driving back to Washington, D.C. and it was hanging on her front porch. We were saying goodbye. She explained that she wanted to give me the pink geranium for my apartment as a housewarming gift. She had gotten it ready and it was there waiting for me when I left. She hoped I liked it. It was so casually yet generously gifted as was always the case with her. 

For some reason, I am able to stand back in that exact spot in my mind. I revisit that memory often actually. I stand there and I look lovingly at her. I observe the beautiful perennial garden she planted and nurtured in the distance, the modest but meaningful home that held more love than is even possible between walls. I look at the surrounding neighborhood and the childhood that accompanied it. The persona history that allowed my spine to stand straight into the person I am today, each vertebrae a different root that grounds me yet allows for continual growth and renewal. Just like the plant next to me. It's a process, this beautiful life. A process, indeed. 

Put on Wildflowers by Tom Petty and let's get cooking. 

Wildflowers - Apple Music

Wildflowers - Spotify

Today, go into the Meal Index and find a new recipe! One you haven't tried before! One that will awaken the senses and enjoy the process of creating a meal. 

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always.

-Amy

Morning Still Breaks (part 2) - Maximus Vaccarino

I haven't been able to write down many thoughts over the past couple of weeks. Max's passing occurred and it shook me. To my core. It gave me pause. It gives me pause still. That coupled with my beautiful daughters going back to college and I have crawled back inside myself for a bit. Sometimes that happens. I don't view it as a negative thing actually. It's not worrisome. I view it as my way of relying on myself to figure out my feelings. I think it actually is a sign of strength. I need to allow myself to feel the feelings. Like, that's okay. It doesn't mean I am miserable and depressed. It means I am working through some things and that is actually good. Better than the opposite.

I often don't sleep that well but I do dream. Vivid dreams. Last night's dream has stayed with me even if I only remember bits and pieces. Snapshots. I am outside. It is a beautiful setting. Warm, not just because of the season but also because I am surrounded by love. I look in different directions and I see people nearby and at a close distance enjoying themselves. Mostly I see family and a few friends. I turn around and my dad is standing there. Smiling. My dad. We talk. We laugh. It feels so good. I look to my other side and my grandmother is sitting on a black metal bench. At one point my dad, my Momoo and my daughter are sitting on a bench chatting. I take some pictures. We are all smiling, taking in this beautiful simple moment. Snapshot.  I don't know how to explain the setting except to say that it just feels right. Comfortable. 

Then...

I realize, finally, this can't be right. This scene isn't possible. I mean, it is happening of course, but my version isn't possible. I stop and look around. Snapshot. I am still at this event. Outdoors. In this beautiful setting. I go to my uncle. He has been a second father, and I whisper, "This is going to sound really odd but dad passed away right? Like, he's no longer here."  He looks at me with gentle eyes and says yes, he did. He died in October." I look at him, I nod knowingly and laugh it off. "I know, I know. I just had a bizarre moment. I'm good." 

I walk away from him feeling incredibly filled with emotion. Snapshot. I find someone. I don't remember who it was in my dream but when they say, "What's good?", I confide about what I have just experienced. I know it seems impossible but I feel validated because “I have proof. I have photographs." I scramble to pull up the photos on my phone. "Look. Here." Except, the bench with its seats filled earlier, are empty. I slide to the next picture and it's the same thing. Empty. They are gone. Just the photograph, no people in it. And then I wake up.  

Crazy dream, right? When I briefly woke up in the middle of the night I remember saying to myself - don't forget this dream. I scrambled to remember each detail before I felt my mind drift off. I knew it was important. Maybe it was because it felt so amazing to see my father smiling a genuine, present smile. Maybe I loved linking arms with my Momoo who has had such an incredible impact on my life to this day. Maybe I loved feeling the sense of community in a garden filled with light, trees and flowers. I’d like to think Max was there too smiling Max’s beautiful smile.

And. And. And.  

Maybe I needed to realize that even though there is loss, deep loss, and life continues, it doesn't mean we lose them. The loved ones that have left our world are still nearby, along with our current lives. They are inside and alongside us. They are inside and alongside me. They live with me, in my heart, in my memory and are a part of me. No matter what happens next in my life, they remain present and affect me, us. They have to. There is purpose in their being here and there has to be purpose after they have left. They are present and that is comforting. 

Understanding this makes the loss feel a little less sharp, cutting. Understanding this provides a bit of perspective and it gives life a little more meaning. Maybe I needed this to test the air again. Crawl back outside for a minute. Feel the sun on my face, even briefly. Loss is hard. So fucking hard. It comes in many forms and everyone feels it differently. But like all of life's moments, we need to live them to their fullest. We need to feel them, find strength and beauty in them and take the next step, bird by bird.

Time to put on Lay My Love by Brian Eno and John Cale on repeat and let's get cooking. 

Lay My Love - Spotify

Lay My Love - Apple Music

Martha's Vineyard is my special place. It is one of the places in the world where I am able to experience a bliss I haven't found in many other places though I have come close a couple of times in Europe. My sister in law and I often share recipes (though her talent runs circles around me). We have very similar taste (literally) and will often order the same dishes at restaurants. So this meal - summer in a bowl - came from a hidden gem of a website. I substituted the steak for shrimp but shit, I really loved this. 

Sirloin Tip Steak with Summer Tomato-Fresh Corn Dressing, Feta, and Arugula

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always.

-Amy

Morning Has Broken - Maximus Vaccarino

 

There is a point in the deepest part of night when all the nocturnal animals and insects that have been active all evening begin to quiet. What sounds like a very loud conversation, among many, slowly becomes one voice. The night owl has to finally finish what he has to say and then it is quiet. Still. Silent. The moment is brief but poignant. Beautiful even. It is the moment before morning breaks and the birds begin their songs of the day. It is that singular moment when night becomes morning, when a new dawn is about to break. It is one moment. Then. Morning has broken. 

Sleeping with the windows open feels like a dream of late and yet it was one I lived this week. Experiencing how the night moves through a different lens was unexpected but provided a perspective difficult to reach lately. 

A week ago Sunday, time stopped and I have had a difficult time moving past that singular moment. The phone rang. Shock. Desperation. Disbelief. Desolation. A beautiful child. 

Maximus James Vaccarino. Max. A rock star before his time. A term I have given only one other soul who left this world too soon. He held more emotion and love than fit in his beautifully growing body and mind. Gone. Peacefully in his sleep. 12 years old. 

Realizing through the time it takes to blink an eye that he is gone. A long second. That moment between knowing and not knowing. I am stuck here. I can't go back to not knowing but am not really able to move forward to fully accepting it either. Stuck. 

Max was Kelley's godson. An honor that meant more to him than he can or will ever really express in words. We don't have the honor of being a part of their everyday and there is always the feeling that we wish we could do or be more but the love is there. Always. We pick up as if we just saw each other yesterday.

The feeling we have on that Sunday night is to just get up to Massachusetts. In a fight or flee world, I flee every single time. But this time - I am fleeing to be there. Just to be able to share the same air, let the Vacs know we are there. Just there. Even if we don't even see them. We don't just just want to be there, we need to be there. We live 900 miles away and we love them like family. The whole family is our family.

The week following Sunday is a blur. We go through the motions of life - work, cook etc. We do life but there is something very heavy that weighs our shoulders and hearts down. Kelley and I frequently just sit in a room throughout the week and we don't speak. Speechless. Quiet. It takes a lot for me to be speechless but I really don't know what to say. Again, I am stuck. 

I book airline tickets. Kelley rents a car. Saturday, August 5. It can't come fast enough. That morning, we pack and prepare ourselves for what's to come. Thirty minutes before we are due to leave for the airport we realize I booked our tickets for 2 weeks from the departure date, August 19. The fact that I didn't even realize that until that day speaks volumes. I am a detail person and that's a pretty big detail to miss. Fuck. After 2 hours and lots of time on screens, our problems have been resolved. We book a 6:30 p.m. flight but that quickly becomes 8:40 p.m. due to a delay. After a very long evening, we are in bed in Medfield, Massachusetts with the windows open, the breeze blowing, the night noises discussing our presence late in the evening at 2:30 a.m. I didn’t sleep much that night, though that’s not unusual. I witnessed that moment I described above. 

We have one goal for the following day. Be there. Be present. If and when we are needed. We drive to Scituate. A town that already feels like a true community is amplified by the Heritage Days that are occurring in town. They have held a candlelight vigil in honor of Max at the high school that Thursday. We hear stories of the first responders and how they reacted on Sunday. We go to a local nursery and they have heard about the boy that has passed away on Northey Farm Road. A beautiful and amazing family, the owner says. Truer words never spoken, I think.

We feel slightly better being there. In their town. Kelley and Timmy connect and we are gifted with some time alone with him. Moments that I will be forever grateful to have shared. Max is ever present and it feels comforting to feel him in his absence. It hardly feels real that he is gone. Monday's visitation is overwhelmingly beautiful. To see the love, support, community and outpouring of emotion speaks volumes of the impact that not only Max, but the entire family has had on so many. Hundreds of people see the artwork, the beautiful photographs, the tik toks while paying respect to a family that is going through its worst nightmare. The Vacs handling this impossibility in the most graceful and human way. 

After the wake on Monday, they arrive home to personalized notes through lanterns lining their streets. Moving, to say the very least. It brings tears to my eyes as I type even now. The strength of community. The love. The support. I have never witnessed anything close to it and it was more moving than I will ever express in words. 

The Vaccarinos are an incredibly special family. They draw people in. They connect and they build community. They are magnetic, incredibly grounded and the world is simply better with them in it. I think that is what I struggle with the most. We will not be the same world without Max. We all would have been better because of him. He provided joy and he challenged us at the same time. The world is less kind without him. Why did it have to be this way? I am not sure there will ever be an acceptable answer to that question. 

Max was original. He was unapologetically himself.  He had an old soul, and yet he was finding himself too. He was beyond his years and his level of creativity and depth far surpassed his young age. He was adventurous and he loved hard. Like his father, he was always creating. He lived in a home where he was able to be himself and that is a testament to his loving family. He had a family that was filled with love, adventure, laughter, tears and humanity. His parents loved him and will continue to love and honor him every damn day. 

The service and funeral held many moments that will live with me forever. The constant change of weather from rain to sunny skies as if Max is trying to keep everyone on their toes. The image of the Timmy, Stephanie, Kelsey and Riley walking down the aisle behind Max's coffin. Heartbreaking. Close. Together as a family. Seeing Riley holding Stephanie's hand. The strength Tim showed standing beside Steph sharing the most emotional eulogy I have ever heard, honoring his son. As Kelley said later, we heard Tim's love, understanding, wisdom and grief in the most personal way. He comforted us when all we wish we could do is comfort them. The strength, the resiliency, the love, the connection filled every corner of that cherished room.  

So I go back to that moment. The moment of silence before dawn. There is so much beauty there. I am reminded by Timmy that even in our darkest moments there is beauty. While I am stuck in the moment of disbelief, I know that life will continue. It has to continue. The sun will come up. Every single day. I owe it to Max, to Tim, to Steph, to Riley and to Kelsey to move forward. We all do. One foot in front of the other. Bird by bird. To realize that kindness conquers everything and that love is what is important. Love each other. Be there for each other. Treat everyone in the world as a friend. And live in the moment. Live in that moment. It is everything. 

Rest in art. Rest in passion. Rest in laughter. Rest in argyle. Rest in adventure. Rest in theatre. Rest in power. Rest in everything that is good. Rest in peace, beautiful Max. We love you.

Play Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens and pay it forward in kindness today. 

Apple Music - Morning Has Broken

Spotify - Morning Has Broken