After the Sunday Super Bowl food fest and cooking extravaganza, I’ve been cruel to my family, forcing them to eat leftovers and random odd bits of barely identifiable food matter all this week. Pobre Chicos. Its been a bit of a repose, which I frankly have enjoyed. Don’t get me wrong, cooking is most definitely a pleasure and NOT a chore, but this week has been wonderful to relax and not be frantic in creation of new delights.
It’s also allowed me the time to reflect and gather wisdom, from a dear friend. She was a whirlwind of ‘being’; thought, task and joy all rolled into a twirling ball of energy. She loved cooking for others, and cherished her chefs apron which she donned every year at her Christmas party. Proudly presenting her classics and new recipes, she would call me a week out and give me the ‘menu’. Food was good. But it also was the enemy. Her list of do’s and don’ts of what she was eating was sometimes unwieldy and more often ever changing. She was that kind of irony. And that taught me so much about emotional and physical tension and the beauty of balance as a source of nourishment for living.
The measure of our life is not in its memories but in its progression forward even after our deaths. She taught me to live an active not static life, massaging daily that balance in life’s power’s and accepting of each side; the light and dark, the good and bad, the eager and the resistant. She taught me to face forward, while looking back. To go deep in thought, while staying connected. To squeeze every single minute out of a day. And to spend time in meditation. A contrast in art she was, like the balance of sugar and salt, hot and cool, sour and spicy. Ying and Yang.
And in life’s ultimate tension, the primal power struggle in balance, she taught me about life, and acceptance, in her death.
I love you Debra and miss you everyday.