I got the strangest Mother’s Day card in the mail the other day from my oldest brother. I haven’t seen or heard from him in nearly thirteen years. It’s the strangest thing…
Over the years I’ve often felt guilty about not keeping in touch – wondering if I played a part in the hurt and isolation that has led to his continued drug use.
I really have no strong memories of him from my childhood, and as adults our lives have taken such different paths. Perhaps I should have tried harder to stay connected with him in spite of his problems. Maybe even more so because of them…
I wonder why he’s suddenly reaching out now, after all these years.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
As I lay in bed trying to fall asleep last night, I found myself thinking about what my answer would have been had the tables been reversed and someone had asked me my memorable food moment.
While there are many, some probably better forgotten, one of the strongest is from my trip to Newport. That trip holds a special place in my heart for a lot of reasons – it’s one of the few trips I’ve taken in my life by myself, existing solely on my own agenda. I woke up when I wanted to wake up, ate what I wanted to eat when I wanted to eat it, and went wherever I wanted, all without having to consult somebody else or alter my desires to accommodate someone or something.
The night I arrived, I found a spot near the harbor to park and just wandered the streets with a cup of coffee, stopping to marvel at the old buildings and the view of the harbor. The weather was sublime, and the smell of the salt air reminded me so much of home. And while I wanted to linger, I was also eager to see it all.
After walking around town for a few hours, I found a little bakery/deli where I grabbed a loaf of baguette and a small wedge of Comté. From a wine shop, I grabbed a bottle of Newport Vineyards’ Table White, and headed back to my hotel which was located on the beach.
I took my little ‘picnic,” my camera, a journal and a pencil out to the beach with me to enjoy the view looking up at all the mansions on the hill. The beach has always been a place of utter calm for me, and this night was no exception. I sat there till long after the sun went down, totally at peace.
While the food was nothing particularly all that extravagant or special, that moment was. It had been SO long since I’d been alone with my thoughts. I had arrived in Newport tired and stressed, with so much weighing on my mind and in my heart. In that few hours, over a glass of wine and a sunset, I was a calm I hadn’t been in a very long time.
I haven’t tried that wine since – it’s almost like I’m afraid that if I tasted it again, it wouldn’t live up to my memory of it, and the disappointment I would then feel would somehow taint my memory of that experience. Maybe it’s better this way…
It amazes me that so many years later, the thought of that night can still evoke so much joy for me.
While there are many, some probably better forgotten, one of the strongest is from my trip to Newport. That trip holds a special place in my heart for a lot of reasons – it’s one of the few trips I’ve taken in my life by myself, existing solely on my own agenda. I woke up when I wanted to wake up, ate what I wanted to eat when I wanted to eat it, and went wherever I wanted, all without having to consult somebody else or alter my desires to accommodate someone or something.
The night I arrived, I found a spot near the harbor to park and just wandered the streets with a cup of coffee, stopping to marvel at the old buildings and the view of the harbor. The weather was sublime, and the smell of the salt air reminded me so much of home. And while I wanted to linger, I was also eager to see it all.
After walking around town for a few hours, I found a little bakery/deli where I grabbed a loaf of baguette and a small wedge of Comté. From a wine shop, I grabbed a bottle of Newport Vineyards’ Table White, and headed back to my hotel which was located on the beach.
I took my little ‘picnic,” my camera, a journal and a pencil out to the beach with me to enjoy the view looking up at all the mansions on the hill. The beach has always been a place of utter calm for me, and this night was no exception. I sat there till long after the sun went down, totally at peace.
While the food was nothing particularly all that extravagant or special, that moment was. It had been SO long since I’d been alone with my thoughts. I had arrived in Newport tired and stressed, with so much weighing on my mind and in my heart. In that few hours, over a glass of wine and a sunset, I was a calm I hadn’t been in a very long time.
I haven’t tried that wine since – it’s almost like I’m afraid that if I tasted it again, it wouldn’t live up to my memory of it, and the disappointment I would then feel would somehow taint my memory of that experience. Maybe it’s better this way…
It amazes me that so many years later, the thought of that night can still evoke so much joy for me.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The other day, during my first Baking class, the Chef let us each ask him one “semi-intelligent” question as part of his Q & A session.
My question for him was: What’s your most memorable food moment?”
I asked this for two reasons. One just because I was curious. He grew up with a totally different culture and food experience than I did. He’s also worked in many different places and been exposed to so many more foods than I have. I was curious to know which of these foods really stuck in his memory.
Second, because I think the answer tells a lot about a person. Somebody who really loves foods usually has to think about it. Their lips purse, their eyes look up as if they’re trying to visualize it, and the moment that they think of it, you can almost see the joy and contentment the memory brings in their physical features. They smile, and their shoulders relax, almost as if their whole body just sighed. And when they finally answer, it totally reveals their sense of food, food style, and their passion. You can tell more about a person by asking this one question than by asking a hundred others.
His answer didn’t disappoint, and now I understand him more than I ever could before.
The other question that popped into my head was: what do you do in the kitchen when nobody is looking? Do you drink milk out of the container? Double dip? I somehow didn’t think that fell into the “semi-intelligent” category (or the remotely intelligent category either for that matter), merely the nosey one!
My question for him was: What’s your most memorable food moment?”
I asked this for two reasons. One just because I was curious. He grew up with a totally different culture and food experience than I did. He’s also worked in many different places and been exposed to so many more foods than I have. I was curious to know which of these foods really stuck in his memory.
Second, because I think the answer tells a lot about a person. Somebody who really loves foods usually has to think about it. Their lips purse, their eyes look up as if they’re trying to visualize it, and the moment that they think of it, you can almost see the joy and contentment the memory brings in their physical features. They smile, and their shoulders relax, almost as if their whole body just sighed. And when they finally answer, it totally reveals their sense of food, food style, and their passion. You can tell more about a person by asking this one question than by asking a hundred others.
His answer didn’t disappoint, and now I understand him more than I ever could before.
The other question that popped into my head was: what do you do in the kitchen when nobody is looking? Do you drink milk out of the container? Double dip? I somehow didn’t think that fell into the “semi-intelligent” category (or the remotely intelligent category either for that matter), merely the nosey one!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)