Three Stories

First story.
Today I made a big pot of lentils- Which, Jeane & Chris especially, I know you like photos, and I keep forgetting to take them because I am so into the moment….  I need a photographer, or better yet, I need a chef.  Actually both would be nice, then we could trade roles.
Moroccan Lentils

The Moroccan Lentil recipe was introduced to my family about 43 years ago by Doris….at this point, in an almost rap beat, she would rattle off a bunch of her different last names.  I think there are seven total.  When I was a kid I used to beg her to say all of them because it was so fun for me to hear.  That was way, way, before rap.  
I called Doris last night to pick her brain about something.  I ended up giggling in and out of the entire conversation.  That is who Doris is.  She makes light of life in a really beautiful way.  It is at no one’s expense.  There is no brunt at the end.  It is life and she laughs with it.  Through some truly tragic things too, her soul laughs.  I love being reminded that the people who I have loved for a really long time, are still the people that I love, through all of our changes, no matter that we haven’t seen each other or talked often. 
Second story.
When anything is in a big pot on the stove, holding my face over the steam is a habit of mine.  A mini facial in the middle of the cooking process.  I am in awe at the character of steam.  Between its ability to open the pores on my face to the thick fogging of the windows in this tiny apartment, the steam just does its thing in a phenomenal way.  

Third story.

“Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday, I walk myself into a state of well-being & walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, & the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill. Thus if one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right.”

― Søren Kierkegaard

On my walk up the hill, with the wind at my back, I feel my heightened energy. There is the snow, there are all of the let down people on the computer because the world didn’t end today (at least I think they seem let down), there is the holiday, and there is a lot of stuff that just goes on in my head.  My pace is on high.

With the snow coming from my back I am able to see the actual flakes fall in front of me.  Perfect crystals of ice.  I have now been introduced to the graphic of snow.  It is not the muddy mess that we, as Southern Californians, would excitedly drive up the mountain to see.  It is far from that.

I turn to go home.  The snow blowing horizontally into my face stings my eyes. There is no making out the tiny details now, the wind is too strong in this direction.

It amazes me how the first half a walk can be so different from the last half.  The shift of the brain.  The direction of the wind.  The energy burned the energy gained. The last day of the Mayan calendar the first day of the rest of my life.

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