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 the moment when night becomes morning. 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 want to be there, we need to be there. We live 900 miles away and we love them like family. Their 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

weird barbie

There is a vintage juice glass next to me filled with a few hydrangea flowers that I picked from my yard. Back in the day it was used for jam or jelly. Now I use it for wine, flowers, water, whatever. I have a thing for vintage glasses. We have a fair amount of hydrangea bushes but there is one in particular that is small. Tiny even. Different from the rest. It's unique and stands tall, even though she is the opposite. The other day I picked two flowers but left a couple so that they could keep each other company. The petals are varying shades of greens and pinks and so dainty that I can see the veins. Hydrangea remind me of the north oddly, and definitely of Martha's Vineyard. Even though they grow everywhere. Normally we are on MV this time of year and I miss it dearly. The juice glass with the flowers is filled with water and surrounded by candles. A common setting for me. I get closer to the makeshift vase to see the details of the hydrangea better. I touch the petals expecting silky soft to find they are dry. The flowers are perfectly preserved and incredibly beautiful but no longer thriving, living. The water in the glass has stayed the same level days after it was poured. Preserved as is. Static. Still. 

Some days are gray. Grayer than others anyway. I have been in my head all day. Maybe it's been more than a day but I feel static, like something is preventing me from seeing the sun behind the clouds that are strewn across the sky. I read the toxicity online and I feel it deeply. I feel uncomfortable in my skin. Outside myself. Alone yet surrounded by people. Loved but not necessarily understood. Some days are just like that. You may wonder why I share this. Sometimes I wonder too, lol. But I have the beautiful cloud of anonymity and a tiny blog that not many read. It is vital for me to share though. It is okay not to be okay sometimes. I hopelessly keep my heart on my sleeve because being truly alive means feeling that you can be vulnerable and strong at the same time. Especially in the age of social media where things look like sunshine and butterflies all the time, I have moments where I just feel stupid. I am different. I am Weird Barbie. Most times I am okay with that but there are times it's hard. Some days you feel more mortal than others. Some days I feel more mortal than others. 

So what do I do? I change it up. I practice random acts of kindness to people I know and to people I don't know. As anonymously quiet as I can and even if I am misunderstood in my actions. I put on music. I wear an outfit that I feel good in, myself in. I breathe deeply. I go to the movies. I dance. I go to the farm and pick flowers. I read a book. I cook a colorful meal. I work it out. I realize that it is all part of the process and that is a beautiful thing. This too shall pass. I learn once again that it is all within me to find the good. And when the sun shines, I look up at it so that all the shadows fall behind me, as the quote goes.

Put on Sprinter by Dave & Central Cee and let's get cooking. 

Sprinter - Apple Music

Sprinter - Spotify

This week I got a recipe by email from one of my favorite sites - Smitten Kitchen. The recipe was for Buffalo Chicken Cobb Salad. Couldn't have been easier. I used purple and yellow carrots, brown tomatoes, roasted red pepper - anything I could think of to add color and depth. It was delicious. 

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

-Amy

scratch my last post

 

Well, don't scratch it, exactly. It has stayed with me, though, this thought. This thought that I didn't dig deep enough. That I was not able to grasp or put into words how I was really feeling when I wrote it. Sometimes I read my posts again after some time has passed and they resonate. Sometimes they don't and sometimes I can't believe I published it at all. I don't really spend a lot of time editing my writing. It is more stream of consciousness. The last one, though, damn. It's like I only scratched the surface of what was going on and didn't really get to the heart of it. I even changed the title of the post several times. Something was clearly missing. 

Realizing this made me think. When I feel something, really feel it, is when I am my most authentic self. My most genuine, most creative me. Those are the posts that are the most well received too. It's like anything. When you see a performance in a movie that really strikes you. For me it isn't the performances that are over-acted. It's the ones that make you feel something because it strikes a chord as the observer/audience member. Watching dancers, musicians, same thing. When I write poetry sometimes people ask me what a particular poem is about. I always ask what they think it is about. Interpretation is up to the person experiencing just as my interpretation is how I feel when I wrote it in the first place. 

A couple of weeks ago I wrote boneless. It was about letting go. For me, it was about not letting fear dictate actions because of how you (I) might be perceived. It was about finding my spontaneity, the inner parts that have crawled back into myself since my father passed away. Currently, I am home alone for a stretch of time. Finding myself with extra time has in equal parts made me cherish the time alone as well as made me want to be social and out of the house. Sometimes it is hard to sit with myself without getting too inside my head. The other night I went out with friends for drinks and a light dinner. It was a beautiful evening. As I drove home I decided I wanted to swim. I have been drawn to the water this summer more so than years prior. So, I got home, stripped my clothes off and went into the water. Skinny dipping. No one could see me. It was completely private. Just me. It felt amazing.

In the past I have written about how I feel like people often treat each other in such a surface or transactional manner. Social media platforms encourage this because people feel more entitled to be passive aggressive and even aggressive in how they share their opinions of others. I read comments people write and am blown away that someone feels okay writing what they are writing without concern for how someone might feel on the receiving end. My goal is to treat everyone like a friend. If we all did a bit more of this, maybe the world would be a little bit more kind. 

Put on It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) by Bob Dylan and let's get cooking. If you haven't read Chronicles by him, it's worth the read. It won the Nobel Prize for Literature. He is an artist in the truest sense of the word and it is amazing to get into his mind a bit. 

The recipe I am sharing with you today starts with a memory. The first time I tasted this sauce I was blown away. It had some of my favorite tastes but I also remember that dinner like it was yesterday. Sitting outside in the summer air with dear friends. Candles. A little vase of flowers. Wine. Simply perfect. They may not remember this particular evening but the honor of being invited followed by one of those evenings where we all lived in the present and enjoyed the moment, the food, the wine, the air. It has stayed and will stay with me for years and years to come. Love you, Frails. 

Chimichurri Sauce, Bon Appetit, July 2011

1/2 cup red wine vinegar

1 tsp kosher salt plus more

3-4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced or minced

1 shallot, finely chopped

1 Fresno chile or red jalapeno, finely chopped

1/2 cup minced fresh cilantro

1/4 cup minced fresh flat-leaf parsley

2T finely chopped fresh oregano

3/4 cup EVOO

 

Combine vinegar, 1 tsp salt, garlic, shallot, and chile in a medium bowl and let stand for 10 minutes. Stir in cilantro, parsley, and oregano. Using a fork, whisk in oil. Remove 1/2 cup chimichurri to a small bowl, season with salt to taste, and reserve as sauce. Put meat in a glass, stainless steel, or ceramic dish. Toss with remaining marinade. Cover and chill for at least 3 hours or overnight.

It is good on anything and everything! Vegetables, meat, fish. And in the summer when everything is fresh you can just pick any herbs from your garden. It is a go to when I am having people over and it always makes me smile and remember. 

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

-Amy

perspective

 

-photo by G. Oshrin

I like to look up at the sky. Day or night. It's mesmerizing to me. I think that way about the ocean too. Vast, mysterious, enticing, exciting, scary, undiscovered, complex. Worlds I can only imagine but that provide depth to viewpoints, life. It makes me feel. 

Perspective. It is like standing amongst a mountain range. I am but one. I am but me. There is so much more out there than me. I am a speck. The world continues long after I am gone and it was long before I was here. It makes me appreciative for my short conscious time on this earth and it gives me anxiety at how quickly it all can be taken away. Carpe diem. Seize the day. Be present. 

"All I can be is me - whoever that is." - Bob Dylan

The sky is limitless. It transcends time. Never ending; it affects everything. Our moods. Our energy. Limitless wonder. It is all interconnected, related, relatable even. It is something we all share on earth. It binds. Doesn't separate. It just is. 

"There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep rolling under the stars." Jack Kerouac

"Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free; Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands; With all the memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves; Let me forget about today until tomorrow." Bob Dylan

Sometimes, I like sitting and just staring at the sky or out at the ocean. It may look like I am not doing anything but it is where the mind roams free and the dreams are large. There is no limit. There is no reality but it is real. It is quiet and it is movement. 

Today, take time to go outside and look up. If you are at the ocean, sit on the sand. Feel the sand between your toes and fingers. Look out. Look up. Don't just daydream. Dare to dream. 

Now, put on I Come Apart by A$AP Rocky (featuring Florence Welch) and let's make some tacos. They are actually incredible. Truly. 

Pulled Chicken Tacos (yes, from Instagram!)

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

-Amy

nightswimming

 

picture this: 

me, seven years old
after dinner
hot summer night
no breeze 
a perfect night for one thing
nightswimming
only problem?
no pool

That's not a problem though. Uncle Will and Aunt Evie have one! We beg and plead. Can we please call? Can we go? Can we go? Like right now? 

My brother and I are changed into bathing suits and in the car before my parents have even relented. 

The ten minute drive feels like an hour. Windows are rolled down. I could drive there. I am a child of course but I know the way. Of course I know the way to one of my favorite places in the world. The familiar landmarks in my mind's eye. The drive-in theatre. The miniature golf course. The other mini-golf course. The sign for the school where my dad works. Then, finally the neighborhood. The divided road and finally we turn right at the corner by the tree. Anticipation at its height. We're almost there. We pull up to the curb and park. We are there. The dream. Realized. Towels swung over our shoulders. At the fence we wait for my dad to open the latch. The door creaks open. We are there. 

A clear night and in my memory it is perfect. Nothing is wrong. No bugs. No problems. Uncle Will, Aunt Evie and us. The water is warm because their pool heater is broken and it is simply perfect for the evening air. We are all in the pool. I am floating on my back. I am staring at the stars for what feels like hours, days. It is beautiful. Night noises and our laughter are the only sounds that matter.

I am obsessed with water. As a young child, I sit on my grandmother's lap in New Jersey and we look through her House Beautiful and Better Homes and Garden magazines searching for pools. For hours. They are oversized magazines so we can see the details. The flowers. The landscaping. The pools. The water. I imagine lying on my back in the pool, surrounded by beauty, staring at the sky. Then, my grandmother offers to make me french toast. Heaven. 

Fast forward. 

I am working this summer afternoon at home. June 29, 2023. After work I am debating a walk, gym or something else. It is hot. I am changed and am in the pool before I have fully decided to swim. My pool. Yes, the dream. My dream. Realized. I feel the water. Silky. Soft. It embraces me. Envelopes me. Comforts even. Allows me to spread my wings. I float on my back staring at the sky. I tread water. I am me. My dog is running around taking in the moment as only a pet can. Music plays. The past is the present. The present inspires me. 

I realize I need to write. Motivation is there to capture. My words won't do what I am feeling justice but it doesn't matter. I pour wine, I light the candle, I play songs that I feel deeply and I write. 

Immensely grateful. 

Now put on some songs that speak to you in ways that you feel in your soul. 

I am not cooking tonight and I am perfectly okay with that. 

The picture I place here is unedited. It is me. Just me. I am perfectly okay with that. 

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

-Amy

boneless

"Well she had no choice...Trixie bawled. She went boneless. She did everything she could to show how unhappy she was." from Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems. 

I remember reading that line for the first time. 

"She went boneless."

Boneless. That image is always able to make me smile. Children have the ability to just do that. I think about my own girls being so sound asleep in my arms, heavy. Or when they were hysterical and simply couldn't move.

Boneless.

I think about the lack of inhibition younger people have generally.  A song comes on and they just dance. They really feel the beat, the music. In fact it is a need to do so. There is a complete lack of fear. 

I think about when they play pretend. When they use their imagination freely, by coming up with simple or elaborate scenes and situations. 

It is the process, the journey. That is the adventure. It isn't the destination. They dance like nobody is watching. Truly living in the moment. Simple moments. One after another. 

Then, we grow up. 

Naturally, we become more guarded, more aware, more careful. Our bodies become more stiff. There is a lack of space. Our breathing can even become more shallow. Fear settles in. 

I have become acutely aware of this about myself. In the fall, I went to a family wedding and my sister in law and I danced our hearts out. We sang and we danced. We let it all out for the first time in years. And honestly? It felt freaking amazing. My dad passed away the following week. When he died, I feel like a part of the fun loving side of me went dormant. Part of me crawled back inside myself. To a place that is safer, away, more distant. 

Recently, I saw a picture on Instagram of someone's mother dancing professionally as a young person. It made me pause. The beauty and the freedom of expression. Movement. I know I feel differently when I listen to music. How can I capture the rest of it? I miss those feelings! To feel more easygoing. To feel more me. To feel space and loose. To capture those moments that came so easily when I was younger. 

I have made a decision. I am chasing it. I am manifesting it by challenging myself. Every day, every week, I am going outside my comfort zone, even briefly. I am fighting the fear. It is time for the parts of me that are named fear and self-conscious to stand side by side and hold hands with the parts that are their opposite. It is time for balance. To breathe a little deeper, to look up at the light and to laugh. A deep, belly laugh.

Time to put on Last Last by Burna Boy and let's get cooking. 

I am going back to the archives for this one!!!! 

Greek-Style Burgers with Feta Aioli - Cooking Light, a million years ago

Aioli (I sometimes double this recipe because it is really good)
1/2 cup (2 ounces) crumbled feta cheese
2 T light mayo
2 T plain fat free yogurt
1/4 ground pepper
1 garlic clove minced

Burgers
5 (1/2 inch thick) slices red onion
Cooking spray
1 pd lean ground sirloin
2/3 cup fresh breadcrumbs (I use fresher than canned but not homemade)
1/3 cup chopped bottled roasted red bell peppers
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp salt (I omit usually)
1/4 tsp ground pepper
1 10-ounce package frozen chopped spinach, thawed, drained and squeezed dry
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 garlic cloves, minced
rolls of your choice - they call for sourdough sandwich buns (I typically don't use a bun!)

For aioli: Combine first ingredients in a food processor, pulse one minute or until smooth. Cover and chill.

For onion: Place onion slices on a broiler pan or grill coated with cooking spray. Cook 2 minutes on each side, set aside.

For burgers: Combine beef and next 9 ingredients in a large bowl.  Divide beef mixture into 5 equal portions (I make more like 9 smaller burgers). Place patties on grill rack or broiler pan coated with cooking spray, and cook 6 minutes on each side or until burgers are done.

Spread 1 1/2 T aioli over top of the burger, along with the onions. Voila!  

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

-Amy

collapse

 

I am in Paris. I am standing across from Place des Vosges in the Marais around 5 p.m. We are running a little late and waiting for a taxi to pick us up. I am a bit tired from the day and lost in my mind. As I am zoned out, reflecting on the history of what is around me, out of the corner of my eye, I see a man stumble by me and cross the narrow street. He collapses outside the gate to the park. My attention refocuses when I see him on the ground. This isn't something I see every day. 

People go to him. I notice a woman from my left view actually run towards him as a group gathers to help. Some are on their phones calling the French version of 911. Others are attending directly to him, trying to rouse him. After a few minutes, he stands and seemingly shakes off what has just occurred. The group tentatively gives him space, very respectful of that space. He takes two more gingerly steps and collapses again. Once again, the group rushes to his side. Working together, they assist him without any hesitation. Off to the side I see a woman being comforted by her friends, clearly upset by what she has witnessed. I see others still on their phones trying to get through to emergency services. I see the woman who came running begin the process of CPR. He is then placed on his side and I see movement. I breathe a sigh of relief. 

The police, fire engine, ambulance arrive. Statements are made. He is taken away in the ambulance and the group disperses slowly. 

I am still standing across from Place des Vosges in the Marais around 5 p.m. 

My first thought was how struck I was, even moved, to see people go towards the man who collapsed. Why did that surprise me? If I am being completely honest, I was shocked that people went towards him instead of away from him. I am curious if that scene had unfolded in a city like New York or Los Angeles or Chicago, what would have happened? Am I so jaded to think that few would have rushed to him on impulse? The Bystander Effect. The case of Kitty Genovese coming to mind. The opposite happened here. There was no thinking. No wondering. No judgement. That afternoon in Paris, people saw someone in need and immediately ran to help. Literally. It truly restored a faith in humanity while at the same time, gave me pause to think that I was surprised by what I had witnessed.

The second thought I had was how quickly life can change for someone. My day. His day. Feet, even inches, apart. In a moment. In an instant. Things can change. This absolutely reset my perspective. We all experience different lives but we share the same pavement, the same air. Vital for me to remember that too. 

Time to put on Only a Hobo by Bob Dylan and let's get cooking. 

The other night I made Pesto Trapenese, This is a recipe from Smitten Kitchen. It is absolutely perfect in the summer with fresh pasta. It really hit the spot and I can't wait to make again. Find fresh, colorful ingredients and enjoy summer!

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

-Amy