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