Wednesday, December 19, 2012

"I Know When You're Cooking, You're Feeling OK!"

It has come to my attention that I have not blogged in a very long time. Too much has happened this year, far more than any other year combined, with too many life changes to even count. I neglected the food blog because I didn't honestly think I'd LIVE long enough to cook and blog about it. Not being dramatic. This year was intense. A diagnosis, a move home, a marriage proposal (!!!), a tree collapsing my family's house, dividing it in two, moving my entire family and myself into my fiancé's family's spare apartment (divine intervention and human generosity of its utmost nature), a vacation of solace in Maine, turning the last year of my 20s and still feeling 20, moving back to DC, this time with a fiancé, and then another move in October.

This year was the year of change.

Not to mention major life lessons learned along the way, and fears realized and confronted. My faith grew by leaps and bounds this year, as did my skepticism. I became a cynic. A doubting Thomas and a trusting devotee all in one. I'm grateful it's the end of 2012, truly, and ready to bury this year and wipe it clear off the calendar. Being diagnosed with a chronic disease and hearing the words "no cure, but manageable" and "late stage" and then getting a second and third opinion was a frustrating challenge...but it's December now and finally things are starting to fall into place. Really starting to feel like I'm finally turning a corner, as the toxins are exiting my body and the symptoms are dropping like flies with each new medicine. Progress.

However, you can read all about that subject on my Lyme blog. I intended on writing it about embracing a holistic manner of treating Lyme, but the first and only two posts deal mostly with the emotional processing of the worst point of my life. I over-share a few early days of dealing with the emotions of a diagnosis, and hope to give more updates at my individual progress (not only physical, but mostly mental and emotional progress in the understanding, acceptance and management of chronic pain) since March. Thanks to the support of my fiancé, family and friends and cheerleaders along the way, and of course, God's hand of healing and provision, my Lyme journey has turned a corner and my body continues on this path to full wellness of body and mind.

I guess it was in Maine this summer with my entire immediate family, which doesn't get together often with a sister and brother in law in Georgia, and my fiancé, where I realized what life is ALL about. It took a while to get there...and it's a continual journey. It's about health, yes, but when you're not healthy, or on the road back to wellness, it's about surrounding yourself with whatever brings you acute joy. For me, this undoubtedly means two things: family and food. In that order, but combined equals pure joy. When I am with my family, fiancé, and fiancé's family, I'm truly happiest. It is the reason that the happiest day of my life thus far was on June 19th when my then-boyfriend visited sick me living at home with my family, brought our two families together for dinner at his parent's new home, which I thought was a house-warming party, and PROPOSED! I have never been so shocked nor so ecstatic, and pure joy exuded that night. Sickness didn't matter and melted away as we started dialing our family (my sister had been waiting by the phone and was the first call I made) and friends, and I shed some tears of pure joy. We had a lovely dinner of grilled kabobs and blueberry cheesecake for dessert, followed by a champagne toast. In that moment, sitting next to my new fiancé, surrounded by those I cherish most in this life, and having spoken to my sister, I realized, this was all I needed in life, and could then die the happiest woman (I was sick, and still taken to histrionic thinking).

In Maine there was more time of culinary therapy and familial togetherness. The accessibility of fresh lobster didn't hurt. I can direct you to the best lobster shanty in southern Maine, and arguably the best lobster roll in all of Maine. In many moments sailing on that lake which honestly earlier in the year, I never thought I'd see again, much less sail across, there was a sort of emotional release which happened. The release of endorphins, for sure, but something greater, something on a deeper spiritual level. The presence of God and Health and Life and Healing. When those you love are all around you, you're regularly eating crustaceans fresh out of the sea that day and onto a grilled and buttered bun, glistening in lemon juice, and swimming in a lake with your mouth open and free, drinking in the pure water, the fears of life drift away.

One special memory I'll write about soon was of an engagement celebration dinner with my sister and brother in law. They generously had offered to take us out to a nice dinner when the four of us were able to meet up in Maine. It was the first time we four had mingled alone, and the first time we'd all seen each other since their recent nuptials. Unsure of where to go, having not really had the freedom of cars in Maine before, I was at a loss as to which restaurant to choose...we ended up on this sort of spiritual quest (lobster is a form of spirituality for we Maine lovers), navigating our way through shacks and seafood joints along southern Maine's main drag, making our way down to the coast and the great city of Portland. We decided upon the Old Port district and found an authentic seafood restaurant right along the water, surrounded by shops and taverns and little cafes. Foodie heaven, as my sister termed it. Jeremy and I were thankful to be in the midst of such great company, as our visits are few and far between, and delicious seafood like scallops, flounder, and oysters (of which my sister actually tried for the first time!) combined with some pretty stellar cocktails, and of course exciting conversation of wedding advice (we most definitely needed) and wedding planning details, and what the first year of marriage is like. That night will live on in my memory, even though some of the details have been misplaced in my brain. The wine might have had something to do with that. A walk along Portland's pier and glimpses of shop windows and cobblestone pathways lead us back to the car for our journey "home" to camp...but it was a night to remember.

Food has this unique way of curing any ailments when I'm alone, and I can groove to the healing properties of good ingredients slowly prepared, in a sort of epicurean prayer. For a lot of this year, especially the days and months since August and moving back to Washington, food has been my zen, my meditation, and the way I most see the reflection of God and experience the magnitude of Grace. Sometimes when the pain is too great I waltz (more like, limp) into the kitchen to sauté sliced garlic in olive oil, wafting the scent to my nose as I go and praising Grace and God and Benevolence for still allowing me my senses, of which are continuously affected, perhaps even more powerfully than before. With this new chapter of life comes a heightened sense of awareness and sensitivity, and, thankfully, this period of sensual stimulation greatly affects taste and smell. When I am in the kitchen I'm slowly feeling cured by each aromatic dish and when I'm sick and sad, the place I long for most is anywhere food is. Over a hot stove (our new place has a gas stove...my first, and I'm forever falling in love with this method of cooking. I feel like a cooking virgin. Hot hot hot!), choosing delectable fresh vegetables and fruits at the market, discovering new drinks I can actually enjoy (kombucha!) without my body wigging out for days, and the pleasure of slowness. The kitchen is the perfect, most opportune place for slowness. Food isn't meant to be rushed, not in the selection of ingredients, nor in the preparation of procedure, nor in the enjoyment of flavor. It's meant to be savored, and in turn, wholeness follows.

My soon-to-be mother-in-law has become accustomed to sending me encouraging texts should I send her photos of what I've made "in the kitchen", if I so get in there that day. She says, "I know when you're feeling well. When I get photos, I know you're cooking, and I know when you're cooking, you're feeling OK!" This is a beautiful sentiment, and one in which brings me more relief than I can explain. In all honesty, it's when I'm feeling the very worst that my body craves the feel of heat, my skin needs the texture of a raw onion, finely sliced, sautéed in olive oil, and then the aroma of garlic. Intoxicating. It is when I cannot cope with the pain any longer that I desire to become drunk on the senses of the kitchen. It is in the acknowledgment and embrace of pain that it can become diminished. A supernatural force drives my fatigued and aching body into the kitchen because the physical body knows therein lies the answer to wellness of mind and wholeness of spirit.

In the beautiful documentary, Bill Cunningham's New York, New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham emotionally utters the breathtaking truth, "When you search for beauty, you will find it."

In the kitchen, my search is over.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

"I Know When You're Cooking, You're Feeling OK!"

It has come to my attention that I have not blogged in a very long time. Too much has happened this year, far more than any other year combined, with too many life changes to even count. I neglected the food blog because I didn't honestly think I'd LIVE long enough to cook and blog about it. Not being dramatic. This year was intense. A diagnosis, a move home, a marriage proposal (!!!), a tree collapsing my family's house, dividing it in two, moving my entire family and myself into my fiancé's family's spare apartment (divine intervention and human generosity of its utmost nature), a vacation of solace in Maine, turning the last year of my 20s and still feeling 20, moving back to DC, this time with a fiancé, and then another move in October.

This year was the year of change.

Not to mention major life lessons learned along the way, and fears realized and confronted. My faith grew by leaps and bounds this year, as did my skepticism. I became a cynic. A doubting Thomas and a trusting devotee all in one. I'm grateful it's the end of 2012, truly, and ready to bury this year and wipe it clear off the calendar. Being diagnosed with a chronic disease and hearing the words "no cure, but manageable" and "late stage" and then getting a second and third opinion was a frustrating challenge...but it's December now and finally things are starting to fall into place. Really starting to feel like I'm finally turning a corner, as the toxins are exiting my body and the symptoms are dropping like flies with each new medicine. Progress.

However, you can read all about that subject on my Lyme blog. I intended on writing it about embracing a holistic manner of treating Lyme, but the first and only two posts deal mostly with the emotional processing of the worst point of my life. I over-share a few early days of dealing with the emotions of a diagnosis, and hope to give more updates at my individual progress (not only physical, but mostly mental and emotional progress in the understanding, acceptance and management of chronic pain) since March. Thanks to the support of my fiancé, family and friends and cheerleaders along the way, and of course, God's hand of healing and provision, my Lyme journey has turned a corner and my body continues on this path to full wellness of body and mind.

I guess it was in Maine this summer with my entire immediate family, which doesn't get together often with a sister and brother in law in Georgia, and my fiancé, where I realized what life is ALL about. It took a while to get there...and it's a continual journey. It's about health, yes, but when you're not healthy, or on the road back to wellness, it's about surrounding yourself with whatever brings you acute joy. For me, this undoubtedly means two things: family and food. In that order, but combined equals pure joy. When I am with my family, fiancé, and fiancé's family, I'm truly happiest. It is the reason that the happiest day of my life thus far was on June 19th when my then-boyfriend visited sick me living at home with my family, brought our two families together for dinner at his parent's new home, which I thought was a house-warming party, and PROPOSED! I have never been so shocked nor so ecstatic, and pure joy exuded that night. Sickness didn't matter and melted away as we started dialing our family (my sister had been waiting by the phone and was the first call I made) and friends, and I shed some tears of pure joy. We had a lovely dinner of grilled kabobs and blueberry cheesecake for dessert, followed by a champagne toast. In that moment, sitting next to my new fiancé, surrounded by those I cherish most in this life, and having spoken to my sister, I realized, this was all I needed in life, and could then die the happiest woman (I was sick, and still taken to histrionic thinking).

In Maine there was more time of culinary therapy and familial togetherness. The accessibility of fresh lobster didn't hurt. I can direct you to the best lobster shanty in southern Maine, and arguably the best lobster roll in all of Maine. In many moments sailing on that lake which honestly earlier in the year, I never thought I'd see again, much less sail across, there was a sort of emotional release which happened. The release of endorphins, for sure, but something greater, something on a deeper spiritual level. The presence of God and Health and Life and Healing. When those you love are all around you, you're regularly eating crustaceans fresh out of the sea that day and onto a grilled and buttered bun, glistening in lemon juice, and swimming in a lake with your mouth open and free, drinking in the pure water, the fears of life drift away.

One special memory I'll write about soon was of an engagement celebration dinner with my sister and brother in law. They generously had offered to take us out to a nice dinner when the four of us were able to meet up in Maine. It was the first time we four had mingled alone, and the first time we'd all seen each other since their recent nuptials. Unsure of where to go, having not really had the freedom of cars in Maine before, I was at a loss as to which restaurant to choose...we ended up on this sort of spiritual quest (lobster is a form of spirituality for we Maine lovers), navigating our way through shacks and seafood joints along southern Maine's main drag, making our way down to the coast and the great city of Portland. We decided upon the Old Port district and found an authentic seafood restaurant right along the water, surrounded by shops and taverns and little cafes. Foodie heaven, as my sister termed it. Jeremy and I were thankful to be in the midst of such great company, as our visits are few and far between, and delicious seafood like scallops, flounder, and oysters (of which my sister actually tried for the first time!) combined with some pretty stellar cocktails, and of course exciting conversation of wedding advice (we most definitely needed) and wedding planning details, and what the first year of marriage is like. That night will live on in my memory, even though some of the details have been misplaced in my brain. The wine might have had something to do with that. A walk along Portland's pier and glimpses of shop windows and cobblestone pathways lead us back to the car for our journey "home" to camp...but it was a night to remember.

Food has this unique way of curing any ailments when I'm alone, and I can groove to the healing properties of good ingredients slowly prepared, in a sort of epicurean prayer. For a lot of this year, especially the days and months since August and moving back to Washington, food has been my zen, my meditation, and the way I most see the reflection of God and experience the magnitude of Grace. Sometimes when the pain is too great I waltz (more like, limp) into the kitchen to sauté sliced garlic in olive oil, wafting the scent to my nose as I go and praising Grace and God and Benevolence for still allowing me my senses, of which are continuously affected, perhaps even more powerfully than before. With this new chapter of life comes a heightened sense of awareness and sensitivity, and, thankfully, this period of sensual stimulation greatly affects taste and smell. When I am in the kitchen I'm slowly feeling cured by each aromatic dish and when I'm sick and sad, the place I long for most is anywhere food is. Over a hot stove (our new place has a gas stove...my first, and I'm forever falling in love with this method of cooking. I feel like a cooking virgin. Hot hot hot!), choosing delectable fresh vegetables and fruits at the market, discovering new drinks I can actually enjoy (kombucha!) without my body wigging out for days, and the pleasure of slowness. The kitchen is the perfect, most opportune place for slowness. Food isn't meant to be rushed, not in the selection of ingredients, nor in the preparation of procedure, nor in the enjoyment of flavor. It's meant to be savored, and in turn, wholeness follows.

My soon-to-be mother-in-law has become accustomed to sending me encouraging texts should I send her photos of what I've made "in the kitchen", if I so get in there that day. She says, "I know when you're feeling well. When I get photos, I know you're cooking, and I know when you're cooking, you're feeling OK!" This is a beautiful sentiment, and one in which brings me more relief than I can explain. In all honesty, it's when I'm feeling the very worst that my body craves the feel of heat, my skin needs the texture of a raw onion, finely sliced, sautéed in olive oil, and then the aroma of garlic. Intoxicating. It is when I cannot cope with the pain any longer that I desire to become drunk on the senses of the kitchen. It is in the acknowledgment and embrace of pain that it can become diminished. A supernatural force drives my fatigued and aching body into the kitchen because the physical body knows therein lies the answer to wellness of mind and wholeness of spirit.

In the beautiful documentary, Bill Cunningham's New York, New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham emotionally utters the breathtaking truth, "When you search for beauty, you will find it."

In the kitchen, my search is over.