For the last two months I’ve been writing (and rewriting) my memoir. I’ve been going into work early. Resuming work after Ava’s bedtime. And I loved it. I especilly loved the letters L,M, and N. I loved the solitude of deep thought that comes with getting so buried in how to describe something that I cannot hear anything around me. I loved going through the manuscript and marking things “BORING,” and then coming back to those passages and trying to think of better commentary, fresher description, or new perspective. I loved crying through the tough bits, and laughing through the happy bits. Because that is human nature. That is my story. It felt good to embrace it – recognize it. Finally. I loved drinking too many “1 shot, decaf lattes,” right up until bedtime – and I loved that the bartenders at The Pheonix not only knew my order, they’ve dubbed their coffee shop/bar/restaurant/library my “second and third place” (according the Cheers, everyone needs a home, a place to work, and a third place). I also loved recipe testing. …
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In celebration of “Tell the Truth Day”, I want to tell you about something that happened to me a few minutes ago. I was looking at a photo of a little girl sleeping in the outline she drew of her “mother,” tears streaming down my cheeks. Maybe you saw it, maybe you didn’t. For those whose hearts were also broken today by the photo, thinking this small child was an orphan, please read this statement by the photographer Bahareh Bisheh : “This little girl is my cousin and she actually fell asleep on the asphalt just outside my house. She must have played for some time and just lied to rest and fell asleep. im used a chair to stand on in order to take this shot. There is no orphanage involved and no tragic story behind this. i took this opportunity to be creative. It is a style of photography.” Now, Tell the Truth Day is not until July 4, but when I read this reveal, I thought there’s no reason to wait for a holiday. …
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Thanks to this blog many well-meaning, genuinely curious people ask me: “Do you really think peace is possible?” They say “really” with those drawn out vowels that mean they think I’m either a) ignorant or b) naive. When I sit and think about it, I realize they’re right, on both counts. I am ignorant. When I was in eighth grade, my class went on a trip to Greece. One night while we were there, an explosion shook the very foundation of our hotel. In the midst of the chaos, the rumor-mill started. Someone decided we were at war with a nearby country. The truth was far more innocuous: a gas station had a minor explosion a few miles away. But it taught me one simple lesson: ignorance starts wars. Sometimes I try to imagine what it would be like to work as a big shot in international affairs – knowing about the threats, the danger, the seething anger that threatens to boil over at any given moment. It is the job of those big shots to not be …
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You know that old saying, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere”? Well the same can be said of springtime. Even while ice and and snow pummel the northern hemisphere and hot days sizzle in the southern, there are plenty of people celebrating springtime in India and other South Asian countries… Yes, in January. After the wild hair seventy degree day we had a couple of days ago, Ava and I were ready to say goodbye to winter, too. So how do we get there? This January 14 marks Makar Sankranti, the Hindu Harvest Festival. While Makar Sankranti is intended to celebrate the winter solstice and last year’s good harvest, it also celebrates the arrival of spring. This is one of those “looking forward” to warmth, while looking back with appreciation. To Hindus, the Sun stands for knowledge, spiritual light and wisdom. Makara Sankranti signifies that we should turn away from the darkness of delusion in which we live, and begin to enjoy a new life with bright light within us to shine brighter and brighter. We should gradually begin to …
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The question is not whether I’d sing to an apple tree, but rather where I can find an apple tree to sing to. My Oklahoman neighborhood just doesn’t deliver the crimson fruit. Regardless, I will tipple this wassail with a cheer (wassail literally means “wes hail”, or good cheer)- after all in 2014 I’m learning about celebrations around the world, a suitable follow-up to completing our first adventure: eating one meal for every country in the world. January is all about wassailing. What is wassailing? Wassailing is the Southern English art – yes, art – of cooking up some of last year’s apple crop with cider – sometimes with a flush of orange peel, warm cinnamon stick, flecks of nutmeg, or maybe allspice. To make it… just… Roast some apples. Click on the burner and clank on a pot of cider and spice. In a moment, heat shimmers through the pot and those first bubbles pop the surface. Seconds later, sweet apple and spice billows through the house. The roasted apples are whipped into a froth, then stirred to …
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