“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi
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There have been many quotes I have used to begin posts on this blog but none have had as much of an impact on me as this very powerful string of words.
I lead a very fortunate life. I may not be rich in terms of dollars and cents but I am wealthy. I have roof over my head, a job that I love and I am surrounded by a wonderful network of friends and family who are nurturing, loving and supportive. Perhaps that energy is the fuel that brought me to this moment in my life, the moment when I realized I wanted to give more of my time to people who could use a hand and in a way I felt I was best able to help.
There is no set of standards for helping others. There is no rule book, no guideline and no complex set of algorithms. It is a simple equation. Time + Effort = Results. And for some, the results of our time and effort can make more of a difference than we will ever potentially realize.
A small group of people, including myself, spent a little over two hours of our time a week ago Sunday and the outcome of our concerted efforts will provide dinners for deserving families in our community. It was two hours out of our Sunday. We chatted, we had cocktails and we laughed. And in that small window of time, we made a huge difference. We created meals that will allow people to, not just feed their family during a tough time but, feed their family a home-cooked meal made with real food. And next Sunday, and maybe every Sunday this winter, we will do the same thing again with some familiar and some new faces and, hopefully, take another small amount of weight from the shoulders of the families we are trying to help.
If I can subsequently find myself while losing myself in the service of others, point my compass in that direction any time. I go to bed with a tired body, but with a full heart. And if my journey has taught me anything, it is that life is not defined by what you have. Life is defined by what you give.
Category Archives: food
Let’s talk about something hopeful for a change…..
4 CommentsAfter all of the negative posts, press, photos, social media, flyers, riots…..I can’t stand it any more. There is still so much good out there, laying in wait, hoping it feels safe enough to come out and be the captain of the ship in this swelling sea of anger. But I didn’t want to wait for that to happen. I needed positive energy back in my life….so I took the helm of the tiny ship I knew I could control and pointed it towards the water I knew would be still and serene.
My crazy eleventh grade teacher used to ramble on about something to do with the law of cause and effect, you get back what you give. I prefer its more poetic version “the ethic of reciprocity”. Either way, both ideas embody the notion that you do get what you give. Doing unto others is not just a lesson we learn as a child. Doing unto others should be stamped into our DNA. Doing unto others should be as commonplace as breathing. But sadly, it’s not.
I have been so eager to use my time in the best way possible, to make a difference to those who may need a hand during the months that our small town economy hibernates. Too many families who thrive in the summer feel the pinch as they stretch their Employment Insurance dollars to attempt to fill the space where their full paycheques used to reside. It is a sad reality, but a reality nonetheless.
I haven’t coined the proper name yet, the words elude me, but the idea is a good one and today I learned that many others understand what I am trying to do and support my idea. I want to continue making Crockpot Freezer meals for families who could use a hand. By providing them with what is basically a home-cooked meal, I’m hoping they feel the support of their community. And that community, and even the communities outside of our tiny geographical location, spoke loud and clear that they are on board. In less than 24 hours of posting a Go Fund Me account, I received $1,000.00 in donations which will make about 6o meals, 60 meals made with chicken, beef, pork, potatoes and vegetables, that will serve 4 to 5 people each and allow for leftovers.
In the angry sea I noticed a tiny light on the shore and, as I got closer, I realized there was an army on that shore. And when this angry storm finally settles, I hope everyone is able to see that light and know that their army is waiting.
Getting the green light
6 CommentsThe lodge where I am employed is closed for the season, our quaint little village resembles more of a ghost town with a few tumbleweeds rolling down the main street and the silence at night can be deafening.
But in these times of serenity, behind the doors of seemingly empty kitchens, a group of women and men are readying themselves to wield sharp knives and give even Gordon Ramsay a run for his money in the chopping department!
Our small group of devoted volunteers meet for a couple of hours over a couple of weekends to create crockpot freezer meals to help a few families who may be struggling, for whatever reason. Last year, it was a young family who had lost their home in a fire just after delivering twins. This year we are doing our best to spread the meals to a few families and not just one.
There have been a few hurdles along the track to finding these families but the ribbon at the finish line is getting to be within striking distance. Although the meals are being prepared in an inspected and certified kitchen, many of the choppers have not taken a food safety course, so there was a question as to whether the food bank was going to be allowed to accept our donations.
The joy of living in a small town is that you can literally ask your neighbors if they know of any families who could benefit from our knife skills and they will immediately give you a list of names. And I have recently discovered that, as long as the meals are labelled with all ingredients (which they are), the food bank will give us that long awaited green light and accept the meals – so the only thing left to do is shop and chop!
Are there therapy groups for an addiction to Pinterest?
5 CommentsI thought I was over it. It had been months since I had really even thought about it. But like a recurring rash, my obsession with Pinterest flared up again with no warning, not even the smallest hint, that it was coming back. It’s like taking a bite of a deliciously crisp pickle. Once the salty goodness of that fermented cucumber awakens your taste buds, you can’t just put it down.
So I found myself, eyes glazed, clicking incessantly through the plethora of recipes and pictures of food porn. I love to cook. I’m pretty sure I have already established that on this blog but I have just begun a weight loss challenge with some friends and I was looking for new ideas that may be slightly more appealing than salad-in-a-jar. And then I saw it….and the angels sang…..and a rainbow appeared over my computer. Okay, those last two things didn’t happen, but the feeling I had would have mirrored the same happiness had those things actually occurred.
A grain bowl – the newest rage on Pinterest. This was my lunch yesterday, and most likely will be my lunch today. It is a Mediterranean grain bowl with quinoa, cucumber, avocado, black olives, feta and a roasted red pepper sauce. And as pleasing as it was to the eye, it was more pleasing to the palate. It was absolutely delicious….and filling.
Looking at it from another perspective, perhaps my Pinterest addiction has benefits that far outweigh the burdens of my slight obsession. At least, that is my story and I’m sticking to it!
Yes, I can see it. No, I’m not neurotic.
19 CommentsI’m a cloud watcher. I can only sunbathe for so long before I feel like I will spontaneously combust (thank you blood pressure medication) so I move my overheated body under the canopy of my deck umbrella and watch the clouds go by. They never cease to amaze me. Whether it is the pattern in their wisps or the shapes I see in their billowy contours, I can cloud gaze for hours.
I have not been able to watch the clouds lately, however, because the sky has been a solid, monochromatic grey. Perhaps because I am so accustomed to looking beyond what I really see, recently I have been seeing faces in the strangest locations.
This morning I rolled over, still shaking off the remnants of my slumber, and faced my closet. A shirt that was at the top of the laundry basket was piled in such a way that the aged face of a man stared back at me from the shirt’s folded elbow. For some reason, I couldn’t avert his keen focus on me and I stared back with the same intensity.
He seemed familiar to me. And this is not the first time I have discovered a genial visage in a random place. It happens more frequently than I should probably admit.
I have since discovered that this phenomenon has a name – Pareidolia. There are many people, like me, who have the ability to see faces or animals in a benign object. An extreme example is the woman who sold a 10-year old grilled cheese on eBay for $28,000.00 because it supposedly had the image of the Virgin Mary on it. Some people see a cinnamon bun below, others see Mother Teresa.
Whatever the reasoning behind this strangely named anomaly, the writer in me enjoys the visits from these odd characters. I’m sure one day they will insert themselves into a story line somewhere along my writing journey and I will be grateful for their intrusion into my reality.
Time for audience participation – cinnamon bun or Mother Teresa?
The day the spaghetti broke
14 CommentsI do not consider myself to be a “food snob” but there are certain things that are either right or wrong when it comes to the kitchen and food preparation. Sure, bastardized versions of many dishes have been made popular over the years to appease the increasing number of dietary restrictions, but there is one thing that I find offensive if it is messed with and that is spaghetti.
One of my dear friends shared a story with me (mainly because he knew I would lose sleep over it) about “the incident” that may haunt me for the rest of my days.
We are both twirlers. We take great pride in reaching into that steaming bowl of pasta with a fork and twirling that spaghetti, either on a spoon or in the bowl, until a pleasing mound of pasta is gathered in a beautiful spiral pattern. There is something very fulfilling about the twirling process and the effort to twirl makes the reward of the first bite that much better.
It was a day like any other. He had been out working in his shop and could almost smell the pungent aromas of tomatoes and spices wafting through the air. As he neared the house, the scent of the sauce was accompanied by the fragrance of a fresh baguette, lathered in garlic butter, toasting in the oven.
She was there to greet him with a glass of wine and, as he got cleaned up from his day, she then busied herself getting the table ready for dinner. He was eager to sit down to a heaping bowl of what he thought was going to be a fantastic meal. Once he had seated himself at the table, she presented a bowl that looked very similar to this:
What promised to be a meal fit for a King turned into a meal fit for a toddler. I can only imagine the amount of time that elapsed while he gaped at the bowl in front of him, trying to be appreciative of her efforts but not commenting aloud about the egregious choice she had made. She had sacrificed everything that is good about spaghetti and had broken the noodles into bite-size pieces.
He felt the harness tightening, encasing him in the invisible high chair in which he now felt trapped. He repressed the urge to turn into that toddler and throw the bowl to the floor while he struggled to come to terms with the embarrassment those noodles must have felt. He suffered in silence along with them as he spooned the unrecognizable pasta into his mouth.
Years later, I now suffer, not so much in silence, with him. A law of nature was twisted that day – the day the spaghetti broke.
Good things come to those who wait
11 Comments
The snap of the spring echoed throughout the house. Nervous whiskers twitched as big eyes peered from the hole in the floorboard. A lone piece of cheddar sat untouched on the trap. The second mouse pilfered the cheese without the slightest hesitation.
A Sunday well spent
15 Comments“I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.”
― W.C. Fields
For those who have read my recent posts about my passion for cooking and my desire to give back to people in need, this post should come as no shock to you.
I recently stumbled on the genius trend of freezer crockpot meals. These meals are all prepared ahead, placed uncooked in ziplock bags, laid flat and frozen. When thawed the night before, they can be dumped into a crockpot the next morning and 6 to 8 hours later, a family has a hot meal waiting for them.
I had one specific friend in mind when I decided to do this but as I told people what I was doing, the list of recipients grew a little longer. I spent a Sunday afternoon, without watching football, and chopped, poured and bagged until I had completed 16 meals. At the end of the process, it had taken slightly more than three hours from start to finish – a very encouraging pace.
This Sunday, and most likely the following Sunday, I am going to gather with a group of women to do it all over again, with one major difference. Although many of the women will take some meals home for their families, we will be donating at least one meal per person to a young couple who lost their home and all of their belongings in a fire. And though the fire is tragic enough in itself, they were at the hospital giving birth to their first children, twins, as their home was slowly destroyed.
It breaks my heart to think of this couple, worried enough about being parents for the first time, now starting their life as a family with absolutely nothing. It overwhelms me with emotion to think of all the joy they had setting up the nursery, all of the meals prepared by family waiting in a freezer to ease their first days parenting – all of it, gone.
It is through tears I write this last paragraph. Currently there are about 16 women wanting to help this family by packing freezer meals for them, as well as some dear friends who have donated cash to the grocery bills. We shall divide and conquer. We shall chop, bag and provide, not only food but, our support and concern for a family who could really use a helping hand.
Table for one?
13 CommentsThis time of year my office is a much quieter place than it is in the summer and the first thing on my mind when I get home is to change into some comfortable track pants and relax with a glass of wine. Curling into a corner of my couch should be enough to soothe the winter blahs I feel at the end of a long day, but it isn’t.
What relaxes me most, what softens the reality of a dark winter day, is cooking. And although I typically cook only for myself, I enjoy creating a food experience rather than just making something to eat. I like to think of food as an encounter more than just a necessity. Food should nourish but food should be enticing. I don’t just put my dinner on a plate. I want my meal to have an attraction beyond taste and, even if I am only cooking for one, I will put that effort into the presentation of my meals.
There is something truly invigorating about inhaling a combination of smells that you know blend into an amazing taste medley. And the effort of cooking these meals for one is not as taxing as people would think. A simple preparation of “real” food takes a few more minutes than opening a package of processed food and putting it in the oven, but the benefit far outweighs the effort.
Perhaps the artsy side of me weighs heavily on my plating but, regardless of the reason, I continue to put a concerted effort into each dinner I create. I take great pride in knowing that I nourished, not only my body but, my eyes and my mind. Food feeds the soul as much as it feeds the engine and as I dig into my meal I always feel happy knowing I didn’t reach for that can of Alphaghetti!
A big ol’ bowl of Christmas
6 CommentsThere are many Christmas traditions I miss – those familiar happenings that only my dad could have created. He was the biggest kid when it came to Christmas. He would bravely face the busiest malls leading up to the holidays and no expense was spared. Our tree overflowed with gifts, the food and drink were abundant and the festivities began bright and early each year with a barrage of Beach Boys music at 6:00 am on that merry morning. And in the subsequent years, long after I had moved out of the house, that music still sounded when he called me at that same hour to make sure I was up and getting ready to head over. (side note: I took a break after writing this paragraph to surf Facebook and one of the videos I turned on was Beach Boys music – got the message loud and clear Dad!)
Our Christmas dinners were much-anticipated. The turkey was always perfect, the mashed potatoes and gravy were unrivaled and nobody made stuffing like my mom. We were always thankful for copious amount of food because that meant turkey sandwiches, Turkey Tetrazzini and, of course, my dad’s famous Turkey soup.
It took me years to figure out why his soup was so good. I’ve known lots of homes that had the stock simmering and the soup ready the next day but none of those creations even held a candle to my dad’s soup. It wasn’t until I paid faithful attention that I realized his closely guarded secret when it came to his ingredients.
Each holiday celebration when we have a turkey, I happily pack up the leftovers to recreate dad’s soup and I am confident that my dad would be proud of the results. When all is said and done, our turkey soup tastes just like Christmas dinner in a bowl. It’s thick and it has all the components of a full turkey dinner.
I no longer call it Turkey Soup. It is called Christmas soup, and for good reason. It takes all the elements of our celebration from the carefully cooked bird, to all of the tasty side dishes, to the laughter at my nephew pointing out that his Under Armor Boxers were on backwards, and simmers all of that magic together in a pot. It is a soupcon of memories, a fragrant blend of cherished moments, tears and laughter that make up our holiday season.
This years’ Christmas soup is simmering on the stove as I type this blog entry and I’m sure my dad would be happy that his post-festivity creation lives on in the kitchen of our past, present and future holiday celebrations.
polysyllabic profundities 