Salt and Light

It is commonplace for me to draw attention at meal time.  One such time I can vividly remember, I was eating a dish of pasta with much fervor. Subtle groaning sounds, chewing, and the slur of adjectives like beautiful and gorgeous left my lips. It wasn't a beautiful creature in front of me that illicited such a reaction. It was simply carbonara, crusty bread, a glass of wine. My fork clanked on the table. I longed for the plate to replenish itself. Some sort of miracle to negate the calories, conjure more. I wanted to begin again. I felt gawking eyes. They were wondering what the big deal was I suppose. They had no idea the pity I felt for them. That they might not know the joy of being infatuated with meal time, or realizing the true gift it is to have and relish in food that nurtures, that sustains. 

Elevate dessert presentation by offering up a label that matches your guests' personalities. All you need are labels, a sharpie and a little twine.

We liken ourselves to food so frequently.  Stop for a moment and think about it. If you disregard context, it's difficult to determine if we are talking about a dish of pasta or a human being. She is saucy, him sour, her quite bland. But that one. That's one tough cookie. You should stop being such a couch potato. She has an apple shape. I'm more of a pear. What a lemon. It's easy as pie. Gosh her zest for life is contagious. You are the salt of the Earth. 

I don't think this is a coincidence. I think the food we eat captures where we come from and who we are. It encompasses our struggles, our weaknesses, and our motivation. It is as essential as the air we breathe. Food is a life source and tells a story- a colorful, vibrant story. It highlights conversations, gathers us in to be with one another, and the lack thereof can bring us to our knees. We strive to be as hearty, as robust, as reliable as the stew our Grandmother made.

“You are the salt of the Earth. You are the light of the world.”

— Matthew 5:13-16

While many foods have rich meaning, salt carries with it immense symbolism in historical and religious context. It waged wars, preserved civilizations, and continues to flavor our daily lives. To be the salt of the Earth connotes an enviable quality, to be unpretentious but certainly valuable. To be common perhaps but ever worth while. I love topping sweet treats with salt. I found a recipe for chewy salted chocolate chip cookies via Cooking Light and made just a few changes. They are well, gorgeous.  

Ingredients 

• 1 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 6 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 6 tablespoons butter, softened
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 3/8 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 1/4 cup shredded coconut
• 1/4 cup chopped walnuts
• 1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt

To Prepare

1. Preheat oven to 375°

2. Place dark brown sugar, oil, and butter in a large bowl and beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended. Add honey, vanilla, and egg; beat until well combined.

3. Spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk. Add flour mixture to sugar mixture and beat at low speed until almost combined.

4. Add chocolate, walnuts and coconut; beat at low speed just until combined.

5. Drop dough using a melon baller onto a parchment lined cookie sheet or use a non-stick mat. Sprinkle course sea salt over each cookie and press down gently. 

6. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until edges are barely browned.  

7. Cool cookies on pan for 3 minutes; place on a wire rack to cool.

It's been so long since last we met

Struggling into Union Station with heavy bags on each arm, circulation ceasing in my wrists, I tiredly said "dinner for just one." I said it as if I was apologizing, or maybe I was saddened that my company from the weekend prior would not be joining me. But to my great surprise the maitre d' smiled warmly and said , "Not just one. One is as significant as one hundred." That resonated with me. I proudly ate quietly, alone. One is just as significant as one hundred. 

"It's been so long since last we met..." That was the beginning of our Fight Song as students at Georgetown and after attending my five year reunion, I realize now it will be my fight song indefinitely. Once a Hoya, always a Hoya. Groups of older individuals gathered excitedly, impeccably dressed in Lilly Pulitzer or Vineyard Vines (some things never change) , and they chuckled, posed for selfies in front of the John Carroll statue, and explored all the ways in which the Georgetown they had once attended changed, yet remained the same. 

I was anxious to attend the reunion. I hadn't been back for any Homecoming, for whatever reason. Perhaps I feared social comparison. There was an air of competition and social climbing in the business school, I won't deny that, so I wondered how I would measure up to my peers. How would they perceive me? Do I look ok? Gosh, how vain but these were the recurring themes. I felt until recently a level of resentment towards higher learning because the world I had envisioned as a senior in college, a world of promise and opportunity, was not the world I experienced as a young professional. I realize now my blame was poorly conceived but at that point in time I felt quite lost. My professors said the world needed my gifts, they said I could make an impact, they said I could help others... I've come to a place now where I am able to do those things in a very tangible way working in the human services sector. For other young idealists entering the workforce I would say to be patient and gentle with yourself, set realistic expectations, and bring your ministry wherever you are whether it be filing paper, getting coffee, serving in the Peace Corps or presenting in the Board Room.

At the class party some insecurities bubbled to the surface despite convincing myself that I would not be affected by the same pulls of my undergraduate self. But I reconnected with my dear friend Maria who shares may values and moderate neurosis, and we navigated the space together. She helped me to blossom a little more fully that night and to embrace the experience. So did the whiskey sour. From there I saw and embraced one after another of my old acquaintances, some I had stayed in touch with and others sadly I had not. But the fervor was the same and we picked up as if no time had passed. A beautiful tradition at Georgetown is that the 50 year reunion class sponsors the 5 year reunion class party and they attend it alongside the younger people.  With their generosity we were able to attend a glorious affair in the sprawling Andrew Mellon Auditorium, an opportunity not all of us could have afforded at this time in our early careers. It was a testament to the camaraderie that Georgetown has engendered  and the sense of belonging a Hoya feels whether they are 25 or 65 years old. I was grateful to share compelling discussion with others, and some giddy dialogue about food, relationships, and the consistent theme of still trying to figure it all out. A few people shared wonderful words of encouragement about my writing, and commented on my spirit and energy as an undergraduate. They said I had not changed. My hair cut and smile have remained. While self esteem should come from within, these moments did make my heart feel warm. To know you have been able to make an impact, even a small one, is a beautiful gift.

I sat in on a lecture called "The Problem of God Revisited". As freshmen at a Jesuit institution religion classes are a requirement. My first class five years back being none other than "The Problem of God" was a class unlike what you would envision a religion course to be in a Catholic school. It investigated many faiths and invited the discourse of thinkers in other faith and non-faith based traditions. Classes like these have, I believe, helped to inspire tolerance and understanding while still enforcing the importance of understanding thyself and figuring out how and if faith serves personal needs. For me, my reliance on faith was reaffirmed by these words. "Mercy is the willingness to become involved in the chaos of another person." The presentor, Father Steck said this a few times for emphasis. Everyone can show mercy, regardless of your creed. The world needs mercy, desperately.

“Mercy is the willingness to become involved in the chaos of another person.”

What stands out in my mind as a benefit to having received a Jesuit education is the underlying tradition to act for the Greater Glory of God, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam. The invitation if not mandate to to be merciful. To find the fractured parts of the world and identify the individuals on the periphery so that we can dedicate our passion and our energy to make their burdens less. 

There was a lot of love that weekend. I was pleasantly surprised to feel the same pull and enthusiasm at the Healy Gates as when I first began school. Even though my time as a student has passed, my duty as a Hoya has not. It was also comforting to know I still had a home on the Hilltop. I stayed with dear friends in Virginia and we ate at Filomena's together, the place where I met my husband. It has been years since I ate there and all of my friends greeted me with the same warmth as when I was a hostess in my cummerbund and clunky black clogs. And the food, gosh the food is still magnificent. There is love poured into every gnocco, and that is apparent. Chocolate Caramel Turtle Cheesecake. Yes.

I brunched with pals from the business school and we laughed like we hadn't in years. I wandered and ate with my darling friend who recruited me to join Best Buddies my freshman year. She has since been in my wedding and will undeniably be in my life forever more. I met a remarkable Hoya, Theresa, who was celebrating her 35th reunion. She didn't look a day over thirty but that is neither here nor there. She sat with me at a social as I was all alone and in true Hoya fashion, our worlds aligned. She works in financial planning for families of children with special needs. Her sons happen to have autism and we shared ideas about our roles, she as a mother and financial planner, me as an advocate and non-profit professional. The hilltop brought us together and I know we will share ideas and hopes for a more inclusive world in years to come. 

There was shopping on M Street and Wisconsin Avenue, blistered feet and purchase of new shoes, ice cream from Thomas Sweets,  quiche and chai from Baked and Wired followed by a glorious cupcake from Baked and Wired, obviously. Then I ate all alone in Union Station, but one is as significant as one hundred.

Hoya Saxa, until next time Georgetown. 

The Tiramisu That Shouldn't Have Been

It was his birthday two weeks ago and I am only now getting around to speaking about the Tiramisu that shouldn't have been. I had gone to the market and picked up marscarpone and ladyfingers among other items. I envisioned having the Marsala at home. We use Marsala often and I thought to myself, I must have coffee liqueur as tiramisu is a family favorite. I allotted the evening before his birthday to prepare the dessert. As often happens when I am rigid about keeping a specific schedule and fulfilling circumstances by a designated time, my carefully laid plan never came to fruition. I worked later than anticipated and then I had to help someone do something which at this moment escapes me, but it was significant. I remember it being significant. More significant than making tiramisu. I arrived home late in the evening, frustrated and disgruntled. 

I woke the next morning, the morning of his birthday, at 5:30 am. I was going to make tiramisu for my husband. I'd like to say I wake up every morning that early to exercise or meditate, or do something meaningful, but the truth is 5:30 am activity is a rarity for me so this was a momentous occasion. It was quiet and dark in the kitchen. The window was open. A subtle breeze snuck in, enveloping me in morning chill. I gathered my ingredients from the pantry and realized I was missing some critical elements: Marsala and coffee liqueur. Another flaw in my plan, more spilled milk. I got anxious as I lost my illusion, albeit foolish illusion, of control. I hadn't the time to run back to the store before work, so I broke the rules and used ingredients that should not have worked. Articles on the internet emphatically declared, "do not substitute x, y or z. These are crucial to an authentic tiramisu." Miraculously, the tiramisu came out beautifully and was enjoyed by many. I have included my flawed recipe adapted from Epicurious below because it should not have worked, and it did. It shouldn't have been and it was. 

This experience, although insignificant in the grand scheme of a lifetime was poignant and I can only try to understand why. It was dessert after all, not a peace treaty or a cure for a debilitating illness. It spoke to my error in imagining I can have any level of true control or perfect understanding. To me, perfectionism is a desire for the unattainable. If something is unattainable you can always keep yourself down, prey on your flaws and live perpetually imprisoned. It becomes safe to hold yourself at a distance rather than embracing your imperfections. To chastise and belittle is easy. To look at what is ugly and fallible in you, and others for that matter, and say I choose to accept you anyway takes courage. We are all worthy of that.

Once the cocoa powder tops the square gridlines made by the baker's twine, you have guides for slicing. 

I speak of my personal experiences to combat with my words and my might the appeal of perfection that our culture dictates should be the desired outcome. That dreadful "should". What a reprehensible term. Should makes me doubt myself at each juncture looking for other people, things, or attributes to give me the feelings of security and esteem I could be giving to myself. It feels like a perverse journey of attainment, temporary relief and then additional seeking. A brief moment of peace followed by desperately canvassing our mind to find what we need next to be ok. I even seek perfect order in my thoughts. This is especially problematic when I have faulty neurons firing stupid sh*t that is least of all what I want to be dwelling on.  The nagging feeling persists that in order to be acceptable, all must be just right. Guilt and shame creep in.  I must put Marsala in my tiramisu, I must earn an impressive wage, I must please others, have control, have a plan, maintain a clean home, insert whatever limiting belief keeps you from being content in your mind and skin. 

Although I rationally know otherwise, my wiring leads me to believe nothing less than certainty will do.   Certainty that my tiramisu will turn out alright, that my husband's birthday will be saved. For the parents out there, the sentiment can be a desire to have your children turn out ok, for the professionals a desire to do your job perfectly well. I burden myself trying to discern what comprises a good life. What should be happening at this very moment? Are my thoughts and actions acceptable? Am I absolutely certain that I am living up to the standard I have set dictated by the pitfalls of the should, guilt, shame, and social comparison? But this certainly doesn't exist. All that exists in seeking certainty is cognitive dissonance that makes me anxious, and anxiety that makes my body ache, my mind uneasy. And it does not feel good, not in the least. 

I cannot be any other place than I currently am at this instant. I cannot do better than my best. I cannot change my brain but I can lean into it and learn to love it and accept it. My environment and upbringing, my unique chemistry, the decisions I have made, a little luck and a dose destiny have led me to this very place. Panicked and barefoot in a cold kitchen with no Marsala. And it feels good when I let go of my need for certainty and control.  The only thing we definitively have is right here, right now, mess and all. It is not perfect, but it is ours. Put the Sherry in your tiramisu. It'll turn out just fine.

You'll Need*:

• 2 cups boiling-hot water
• 3 tablespoons instant-espresso powder
• 1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar, divided
• 3 tablespoons pumpkin pie liqueur (or coffee liqueur if you have it*)
• 4 large egg yolks
• 1/3 cup cream of sherry (or dry Marsala if the stars have aligned in your kitchen*)
• 1 pound mascarpone (2 1/2 cups)
• 1 cup chilled heavy cream
• 36 Italian ladyfingers; from two 7-ounce packages
• Unsweetened cocoa powder for dusting

To Prepare:

• Stir together water, espresso powder, 1 tablespoon sugar, and liqueur in a shallow bowl until sugar has dissolved, then cool. 
• Beat egg yolks, Sherry, and remaining 1/2 cup sugar in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water using a handheld electric mixer until tripled in volume, 5 to 8 minutes. Remove bowl from heat. Beat in mascarpone until just combined.
• Beat cream in a large bowl until it holds stiff peaks.
• Fold mascarpone mixture into whipped cream gently but thoroughly.
• Dipping both sides of each ladyfinger into coffee mixture, line bottom of a 13- by 9- by 3-inch baking pan with 18 ladyfingers in 3 rows, trimming edges to fit if necessary. (I did this wrong as well. I filled the dish with cream first. I have no idea why but I wanted to line the bottom with cream, which doesn't make much sense because the cookies make for a more stable base when serving. Regardless, it firmed up just fine in the refrigerator and serving was not difficult. No one noticed the difference. Lesson: how the catastrophes in our narrow minded outlooks are really anything but catastrophic.)
• Spread half of mascarpone filling on top. Dip remaining 18 ladyfingers in coffee and arrange over filling in pan.
• Spread remaining mascarpone filling on top and dust with cocoa. Chill, covered, at least 6 hours.
• Let tiramisu stand at room temperature 30 minutes before serving, then dust with more cocoa.

Source: Epicurious 2009
Special thanks as always to the writers and the dreamers Brené Brown and Elizabeth Gilbert whose works I find such solace in.   

Return on Investment

Get an education, the masses said. It's the surest way to ensure a prosperous future. Study hard, the teachers said, and the world will be yours. I listened to their entreaties. I always listened without fail. The alternative was a frightening prospect. Thoughts loomed in my mind of wasted potential, missed opportunities, and an uncertain future, ill-prepared for.

So I studied and I strived, joined clubs, and played music. I swam on the team, volunteered, and took challenging classes. When my parents received the letter that I had been accepted to Georgetown University, they cried. My dad, all six feet three inches of him, weeped.

Towards the end of my time as an undergraduate, I was ready to venture out into the real world and ride this promising wave of momentum. I walked across the stage, received my diploma, and uttered to myself, "I have arrived." Love kept me in Washington for two years after graduating. A string of less than desirable jobs there eventually led me back home to New Jersey. Yet every position, however volatile, taught me something critical. I value these experiences as necessary for my journey. The difficult lessons were the most formative. I grappled with the disillusionment of the entry level space, desperate to yell at someone, anyone, "But I have ideas. I can do things. Please just let me show you." After many tears, more positions left then I care to divulge (one lasted eight days, yes you heard correctly), and the festering fear that maybe I wasn't cut out for the world of work, I was fortunate to find a nurturing and motivating boss. He taught me a lot about the web and practical things. Most significant were his lessons about valuing what is truly significant: time wth loved ones. Although I no longer work there, this experience gave me a renewed faith that there was decency to be found beyond Healy Gates.

I've yet to receive a return on investment in a purely quantitative sense of the word. My loans roll in and my husband and I work to make the bills month to month. My parents are still saddled with a bulk of the debt that amasses when a child attends a premier institution in a blue collar family. At marriage preparation they told us to save a small fortune in the case of a tragedy. Have they seen the job market? Have they experienced the doldrums of entry level positions, of having your idealism squelched and your sensitivity misconstrued for weakness and inadequacy? I had faith that being a good student would be enough and believed the future would naturally take care of itself. I was so entranced by the experiences unraveling around me that I forgot to lay concrete plans.  I've arrived, an adult, and yet I still feel so lost. But here is what I do know for certain... 

In my four years in university, I experienced more than I ever dreamed was possible. In the nation's capital the world rested at my fingertips, literally for the taking. Decisions made had tangible outcomes. For every action, an equal but opposite reaction. In college, this law of nature rang true with blatant proof. With effort came achievement, and it was measurable. I could touch it, and appreciate the feeling of having found it. I was validated. There were committees, certifcates of completion, and curricula. Syllabi outlined metrics for success and with a meticulous attention to detail, they were completed every time. In those four years I discovered my fervor to achieve and to contribute. The single most valuable takeaway university afforded me was the ability to think. This precious gift I will use every day for the rest of my existence, whether I end up a high-power professional, a diligent nurturer, a vagabond or a combination of them all. 

In those four years, I flew 22 hours to Hong Kong and danced in an obscure club with bright students from all over the world, one more driven than the next. I walked out of my dorm room and trotted straight to the Inauguration, Aretha's voice singing the National Anthem still echoing in my ears. I studied abroad in Italy with my classmates. We lived in a charming convent on the corner of a quaint brick road in a small town. We chatted animatedly in the sunny garden, digesting each page of culture and possibility. We prepared meals from scratch each day with fresh ingredients retrieved from the center of town and fed stray dogs to the disdain of the locals. We prayed in Assissi and looked on in awe at Carmina Burana under a starless Italian sky.  We sang songs and picked lemons in the Amalfi Coast. I discovered the joy of being a part of a grassroots movement endeavoring to make the world better, more accepting. As cliché as it may seem, during those four years it became evident that young adults if given the opportunity are capable of astounding works. In our naivete, we think not of limitations, only of what we will need to achieve the desired end we so desperately crave. 

I biked miles through the center of the city, a herald for friendship and inclusion. I dined at the residence of the Vice President, several embassies, and in poorly lit dorm rooms with tomorrow's leaders. I befriended individuals who would stand by me the day I wed, who I would laugh with and cry with, and spend countless hours on the phone while eating ice cream with. I met a vivacious spitfire from Newark, a German teacher full of grace, countless doctors, entrepreneurs, and humanitarians, a brilliant attorney, and change makers when they were at the very beginning of their respective journeys. And while time and space will separate us, the chant of Hoya Saxa will keep us tethered regardless. 

I ate Ethiopian food for the first time, lent my voice to sing in front of the Pope, and danced in the dark at the 930 club. High tea at the Willard Hotel, the National Tree Lighting, long nights in the library, and being called to action.  A job I sought to make a little extra money was the place I laid eyes on a quiet Chef with expressive hazel eyes that would become my husband. I felt the joy of participation and community. I found my path to advocate for and with the individuals our society all too often casts aside thanks to the welcoming smile of a young woman with Down Syndrome at the student activites fair. I dreamt of possibilities in a cramped corner of countless Amtrak trains, chatted with strangers if just for a moment, and ate french fries and falafel out of a cone. I fell in love with learning.

It's best for my soul and my mind to accept that it's ok I have yet to recoup what it cost to attend,  earn a commanding salary or some lofty title. It's ok I will be forever indebted to my family for sending me to this home away from home on the hill. Every victory no matter how small, I can attribute to this selfless gift of theirs. Every opportunity to think critically, to extend a hand of compassion, to contribute is born of this gift.  Selfishly, I want to be significant and Georgetown gave me significance. It gave me a badge of honor to affix to my chest. A navy G that safeguarded my worth. Alas, my surroundings have changed but the spark is still within me. Those four years will always be mine. 

I'm still searching and striving, making plans and having faith. There are no syllabi to help guide my path, or grades to provide the affirmation that I seek.  I departed the era of four year concrete compartments with prescribed outcomes and leapt in to the great abyss of adulthood. Maybe this fire that's burning inside is success enough for today, for a lifetime even. Maybe I've been too ignorant to see glimmering proof of this return on investment in the every day. 

---

I have for you a treat with a hidden surprise. As we sometimes have trouble seeing the treasure in the simple, here is crumb cake with a twist. Begin with this Crumb cake from Martha Stewart Living, then fold in your favorite fruit preserves before topping with crumbs. Bake according to the recipe and enjoy the sweetness you've been overlooking. 

What I learned in 2015

With alarming quickness this year has come and gone. In 2015 I entered into the second quarter century of my life, began working in the non-profit sector with remarkable individuals, and became a wife. A few things I learned along the way...

I learned that sisters do not have to share the same parents. You can be fortunate to find  friends so dear that you look to them as family. The label of a friend is not nearly momentous enough. I also learned I'll be gaining a brother this upcoming September, and he has already given our family such love.

I learned that spanx work wonders when you're wearing an ivory gown, navy blue cowboy boots make fine footwear for a wedding, edible favors are the best favors, and whiskey and beer beat an extensive bar list for the right crowd. 

Two words: Vegan Chili. 

I learned that there remains in me, despite my knowing better, a fixation with the illusion of perfection. Maybe because perfection is celebrated and applauded. As a people, we flock to what is beautiful and pristine. And together.  We are drawn to people that present an air of ease, pride, and confidence.  But, we only see a small part of the picture. The Facebook version of our existence is a dreadfully unrealistic one. And we see what we choose to see.  I have learned it is a worthy undertaking to see the wholeness in us through the broken glass. The beauty in our fragile state, and the love that seeps from our words and deeds.  The unkempt homes, unconventional relationships, anxieties, and extra pounds. The poor self esteem, problematic skin, unforeseen challenges, and burdens. When we stop comparing, the only thing left is the right thing. We are already enough.

I learned Basic Sign Language, and how to communicate with individuals who are both deaf and blind, using tactile signing. In my ignorance I had not known someone could be both deaf and blind as I had never experienced it before. I also work with individuals who have intellectual and developmental disabilities, complex medical and behavioral support needs, or a combination of disabilities.  These individuals have interests like you or I, give back to the community, and hold jobs. They wrap presents for inclusion, make decor for holiday parties, pack lunches, attend mass, and sing Christmas carols. They have inspired me in a formative way, and not because I look at them as lesser, but rather because we live in a world that is geared towards those with access to all of their senses and a range of abilities. Regardless of barriers to participation, these individuals are vital members of their communities, they contribute, and they deserve every opportunity any other person is afforded. It is our duty as a civilization to ensure access to these opportunities for everyone, regardless of the differences that divide us. These peers of mine have taught me more than most able bodied and able minded ever will.  Now look me in the eye, and tell me this is not their power. 

If you have any interest in supporting quality programs for these individuals, I welcome you to make a contribution to our Holiday Campaign. 

I learned that when I am critical of myself it overflows into my judgement of others. I judge more harshly and peer with critical eyes when I am feeling inadequate; maybe this is a survival mechanism. If I am in a deep well, I am pulling someone else down with me? But what I have learned is It would be fortuitous for everyone to begin with self love and acceptance.  When we are in touch with our worth, it is easier to accept others.  They deserve our best. And we do too.

I learned what it feels like to be on screen thanks to the timeless craftsmanship of Shane Kress. And what it is to have my written work shared on a larger scale than this digital space of mine

We celebrated our reception in an charming, historic mansion: The Oakeside. 

I learned that a state of mind has very little to do with the state of affairs. Inwardly we can be in shambles, yet to others we seem typical and unfazed. I also know that having everything from a tangible perspective does not correlate to peace of mind.

It is ok to be pleased with an uncomplicated life, to relish in the simple. To look the rat race in the face and say NO, I am not going to participate no matter how alluring the cheese smells. 

All cakes, favors, planning, and venue decor by 2SweetLLC.

I learned that the most vulnerable, the cast out, and the people who are last in line are the keepers of what is important.   

I felt what it was like for time to be suspended for a day. I walked down an aisle in a quaint Franciscan church before my family, friends and the heavenly Father himself, and walked away from the altar a wife. 

I developed a taste for Rum punch, leapt off a cliff in Jamaica, and had my very first massage. I also had my second massage. It was a good year indeed.

I said good bye to two women who were fighters to the very end. They looked pain and uncertainly in the brutal face, undeterred, and lived fully until their last breaths. I learned that when we confront sorrow, a hard shell develops so we can cope with what we experience. This does not cast out our compassion, but rather ensures that after we experience pain we can still wake up and face another day with courage. I learned how truly trivial a majority of our worries can be. I learned to be a little tougher like my sister. 

I learned that if all else fails to take a deep breath, followed immediately by a bubble bath with a bath bomb from Lush.