It’s how I feel when I get to spend time with my girls and it’s also a pretty incredible resort in Sedona, AZ where her sister and I took my youngest to belatedly celebrate her winter birthday.

The dramatic red rocks of Boynton Canyon stand at the ready creating a wondrous backdrop to every vista of the 70-acre resort. Whether sitting on your balcony, walking to the spa or tennis court or having a drink poolside, the rocks, with their purported spiritual/healing properties, are majestically ever present whispering, beckoning, daring you to try.

Upon arrival, the extremely gracious staff welcomed us with cool water, a rose and chocolates for the birthday girl and, thankfully, a ride up the very steep hill to our adobe dwelling with our bags. After settling in, we opened a bottle of wine to enjoy on the balcony and then headed down (literally) to the more casual of the two restaurants on site, Tii Gavo. Here, you can dine indoors or al fresco, by the roaring fire pit.

We started out with a “Raspberry Fields” (Titos vodka, compressed raspberries, poppy seeds, lemon & Topo Chico), a “Controlled Burn” (Habenaro tequila, Vago Espadin Mezcal, lime juice & agave), and a prickly pear soda. Arizona Nachos with home-made crema, black tepary beans, charred corn, salsa verde, queso and a sprinkle of cilantro warmed us up for dinner: three different tamale bowls, mole braised short-rib, seasonal squash and poblano cream shrimp. Satiated and feeling like we had made a great start to our girls’ weekend, we started our walk back to our room. Maybe walk isn’t the word . . . . . perhaps climb is better. Meh, I’m just weary from the traveling. A good nights sleep and I’ll be raring to hit the trails in the morning!

Having never hiked before, I donned my shorts, t-shirt and sneakers (!) thinking hiking was the equivalent of a walk in nature. I was soon to discover just how wrong I was! We headed out early the next morning, after a healthful and delicious breakfast of acai bowls, to hike the Boynton Canyon trail. The morning started off chilly, but exertion had us warm soon enough. The well-traversed, arid terrain started out fairly flat . . . . until it wasn’t. I dealt with this the way I deal with most things – I started making jokes, my sarcasm and wise-assery in full bloom. There were rock scrambles and the red dust, covering every surface, made the footing quite slippery (when you’re ignorant enough to wear Reeboks!) I huffed and puffed struggling through a tough, fairly vertical climb toward the end. I had been using trees and branches as handholds but eventually, the only choices were cactus so it really got tricky! We reached the top and were rewarded with breathtaking views of the canyon and sat for a while on some large rocks, resting our weary legs. After some recovery time, we started the hike back. (Down is only slightly easier than up, by the way.)

A few hours after we began, we were finally back at the resort only now we had to climb up to our Casita to change into our bathing suits. Oh the torture! Christina laughed as she watched me slowly try to ascend saying, “Walk backwards – it’s easier!” She said this each and every time we had to walk back to our room for something and no – it wasn’t and never got easier!

Once in the hot tub with some drinks in hand and some of the red rocks we had conquered earlier in view, the girls called me out on my wise cracking. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll help you whenever you need it.” And they did. And they do.

They make me better. They make me try things I might not have otherwise and teach me how to just shut up, sometimes, listen to the quiet (or the perfect music Sarah always seems to find when she DJ’s for us) trusting in the adventure and the three of us.

The next morning, I didn’t know if my weary legs could bear another hike. After all, we hiked for hours the day before logging about 14 miles and climbing the equivalent of 22 stories. My legs felt weak and rubbery, but we were there belatedly celebrating Sarah’s birthday and who was I to be a party pooper? I chose a “superfood bowl” for breakfast with egg whites, spinach (hey, it worked for Popeye!) hemp seeds, squash, quinoa, tepary beans, corn, pico de gallo and avocado washing it all down with an “Energy Tonic” of matcha, cucumber, green apple and mint to, hopefully, set myself up for success. I vowed to keep my mouth shut and do my best.

This time, we were headed for “Devil’s Bridge”, another trail rated as “moderate” but this time, with a completely different landscape and feel. Devil’s Bridge is the largest natural sandstone arch and makes a great photo op if you’re not faint of heart. This hike was through a lush, green forest and the trails were much quieter which allowed for peaceful reflection. As we inched closer to Devil’s Bridge, the trail narrowed and there were very steep stone steps and rock scrambles. My legs were weak from the previous day, but each time I struggled, there was a cool hand taking mine, helping me climb whatever obstacle I was struggling with.

This trip really embodied the relationship we three share. When one of us doesn’t feel well, the other two leap into action to take care of what needs to be done, get medicine, water, etc. When one of us needed to make a pit stop in nature, the other two stood guard on the trail. We helped each other with the climb and when we stumbled, we encouraged one another to keep going. And at the end of the day, in matching robes and slippers, sat on our balcony, drank in our incredible view of the red rocks and celebrated each other with great food, fine wine, some profound insights and always, lots of laughter.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. We think we know how to do something. We’ve maybe even mastered it. We get comfortable in the way it’s always been and fall into thinking that’s just it. Our patterns are set and we keep repeating them (whether consciously or subconsciously). We just don’t know anything else.

Maybe you, like me, grew up eating canned vegetables, thinking the muted color and mushy texture were normal. I thought I knew what peas tasted like. (I hate peas.) But as an adult, I discovered fresh, flavorful, more nutritious versions of vegetables (including peas) and discovered that what I had grown to accept as standard was not how it had to be. Maybe you also had macaroni and cheese from a box and you liked it well enough. It’s what you were used to. That’s what mac and cheese is, right? Then someone comes along and makes it from scratch. They boil the pasta. They use a mixture of gooey, creamy, stringy actual cheeses, real milk, seasonings, etc. and actually make Real Mac and Cheese The quality is clearly better but it just doesn’t compute. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be”, you might think. Can you even let yourself like the higher quality, more nutritional version?

Our patterns and habits can stunt us in a myriad of ways. We may have found emotionally unavailable partners more intriguing and attractive, habitually. Many of us seem to be programmed to attract and be attracted to unhealthy mates. They are mysterious and just a bit elusive, may have a bit of a wandering eye, indecisive about what they actually want with a big fat fear of commitment. I can win him over, though. Challenge accepted – game on! That’s just the way dating is, right?

The bad boys are exciting and require the strategy of a chess match but, inevitably, it ends the same way each time. Later, rinse, repeat. As painful as it is, it’s what you’re used to. Are some of us incapable of being attracted to healthy people? It feels crappy, yet comfortable and familiar. It’s the box of dry elbow pasta with powdered “cheese product” personified, but it’s what you know. You’re trapped in a cycle that doesn’t serve you.

Decent, honest, kind people are, it seems, like a needle in a haystack but when one comes along, it’s time to break the cycle and make a shift from what we’ve grown used to accepting to what we actually deserve – an upgrade! The crappy boxed mac & cheese is NOT how it has to be and canned vegetables pretty much suck. Love yourself enough to hold out for the healthier, higher quality version of what you’ve had before. Reject what you’ve grown to accept as standard. It can, indeed, be stable, happy, angst-free and easy.

Every once in a great while, someone comes along whose priorities and values mirror your own. They’re positive, deep and steady and you don’t have to jump through hoops for them to think you measure up. In fact, they think you’re pretty fabulous just as you are and although you’ve had way too many of the lower quality versions, you’re finding them pretty fabulous too.

As for me, I’ve got a hot latté in hand, music is playing throughout the kitchen and there’s a pair of warm eyes smiling at me from across the counter helping grate the smoked Gruyere.

Having been a dancer for most of my life, going to a traditional gym never appealed to me but I’ve gotten into the Peloton. I’ve discovered an instructor who plays great music and keeps me laughing for the whole ride (isn’t that what we’re all looking for: someone who can distract us from the painful parts with humor?) I’m committed to using it in the morning before work.

There are a multitude of machines here, but just one Peloton bike. For some reason, the gym doesn’t open until 6am and there is suddenly another resident who (although he works from home) wants my time slot on the bike. For our purposes here, we’ll call him “the twerp” and he’s ruining my morning routine.

Upon arrival, his twerpiness adjusts the seat, inserts his ear buds, drapes his towel over the handlebars and starts pedaling. Soon enough, the towel is used to wipe the sweat from his face (completely normal- I get it) Then, however, he blows his nose in said towel and smoothes it out, once again, neatly on the handlebars. Within minutes, he is wiping his face with it again. The whole wipe, blow, smooth procedure is on repeat for the rest of the ride as I watch in disgust.

I had been getting up early walking my dog and then getting to the gym just moments after the twerp commenced his setup. I thought I’d wait and see if possibly he varied his workouts or schedule, but no. Day after day this went on and finally I approached him. “Do you use the Peloton every day or can we work something out so that I can use it too before work?” “No, I use it every day,” was the answer. Twerp.

He was not yet aware, but there would be a compromise whether he liked it or not. I decided he could at least let me have it on Tuesdays and Thursdays so on those mornings I sneak out quietly, leaving the dog sleeping, and go straight down to the gym. (Don’t worry, I walk him right after!)   I’m waiting at the gym door at 5:50AM. The minute it clicks open, I’m in, adjusting the bicycle seat and choosing which class Cody will lead me through that day. (No, I don’t have a snot towel.) As it’s still dark, I can easily see the twerps reflection in the windows as he enters, sees me there forcing an equitable compromise and skulking back out. Compromise achieved!

But when I’m back in my apartment, I’m the queen of the castle. The art is to my liking as is the arrangement and style of the furniture. The kitchen is set up in a way that works for and makes sense to me.  I chose the sofa alone. I eat what and when I want and watch whatever tickles my fancy– always; and it’s gotten downright boring. Some would envy my situation. I, however, would love to have to compromise. You want red when I feel like white? You prefer Manhattan clam chowder and I crave a creamy New England? Angel hair or penne? Go out or stay in? And what movie can we settle on for a night of Netflix and chill?

I would give anything to come home to a smiling face who had made some Irish stew with crusty French bread for us when I had been thinking about Italian all day.

When it’s all your way all the time, you often find yourself in a rut. I’ve found I’m actually okay with the twerp on the Peloton now because he’s forced me to find other workouts for my alternate mornings making me more well rounded in my training

Having to consider another, challenges you to look at things in an alternate fashion, try a different way of preparing something that you might not have otherwise given a chance but for your love of the other person.

For example, weeknights have me falling back on salmon or mahi mahi with a drizzle of olive oil and some herbs or a dollop of pesto but my daughter was visiting and suggested Mike’s Hot Honey and a bit of Dijon on the fish . . . . delicious!

A jazz musician playing solo may have a plan in her head. She’s in full control of where the music’s going to go. That’s great sometimes, but isn’t it so much more fun to riff and bounce things off of another person? You may have to step back and make some concessions, but together you’ll travel to a whole different place neither one of you expected.

I’ve only got so many crayons in my box and after all this time, I’ve grown weary of them. I look forward to the day another shows up with markers or watercolors so both our worlds can expand and become more colorful. I’ll even compromise in the kitchen . . . . . to a point!

I hope one day I have to spend some time compromising on a sofa or coffee table, drink red when I really wanted white, have pizza when I was thinking about Chinese all day and then sit and watch a movie I had not thought I’d like, but later discover I do.

Many were willing, this holiday season, to risk everything to have the traditions and thereby the holiday they’ve always known, but most of us found ways to modify or outright change the way we’ve always done things.  And maybe a fresh look can be a good thing.

I watched footage of some Long Island, NY neighborhoods that were able to continue their much loved traditions as they take place outdoors and are naturally socially distanced as families watch from their separate front lawns.  Bagpipers marched down the street of one town playing The Little Drummer Boy and in another, the local volunteer fire department still drove their shiniest fire truck up and down the streets they serve with Santa Claus sitting atop tossing candy canes generously to delighted children.

Some of the customs in other areas did not fare as well.  A friend who owns an obedience school always has her students visit the local nursing home with their dogs.  There’s usually a demonstration of tricks, some caroling, the delivery of cookies, and of course lots of puppy love to go around to all the residents.  The same fate unfortunately befell the picturesque Northern Virginia town of Middleburg where literally thousands gather to line the streets to see the local hunt clubs lead off the Christmas parade on horseback dressed in their finest equestrian attire surrounded by a bountiful brood of hounds.  The barking, shouts of “Merry Christmas” and clip clop of hooves down Main Street are usually the beginning of a day of hot chocolate and shopping for treasures.  Perhaps next year.

The determined and creative types were still able to find joy in the season by modifying the familiar or, in some cases, trying something totally new.  One family I know always celebrates their own family Christmas the week before with a pajama party (leaving the 25^th open for each of them to spend with their in-laws).  They adapted this year with a Zoom party that still included the pj’s, singing, laughing and even a cleverly designed scavenger hunt.  Another family booked a small place for just the four of them on Chincoteague Island for a quieter Christmas with wild horses and freshly harvested oysters.  They can still watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” at the end of the day, and who knows; they may end up deciding they prefer the hush of the beach and decide to make this their new family tradition.

One young woman and her Mom decided to start a new tradition of their own, after seeing how tough this year has been on so many.  They put together bags of goodies, warm socks, protein bars, masks and a few dollars to keep in the car and hand out to the homeless they see in the course of their everyday travels.

I was delighted, this Christmas, when I heard my own daughters telling my son-in-law to be about us not only putting out cookies and milk for Santa but reindeer food for the team that pulls the sleigh – our own mix of carrots and oats mixed with a little glitter (to make it easier for them to see in the moonlight) that we would sprinkle on the snowy ground just outside our back door.  When he said he had never done anything like that they exclaimed, “You mean you didn’t have magical Christmases like we did?!”  My heart soared.

Of course, the foods we make year after year are also an integral part of our cherished memories.  I knew one man who never let Christmas pass without making Buche de Noël and another who made a Kings Cake right after New Years without fail.  For some, Christmas dinner may be “Thanksgiving, the sequel” or, for one family I met here in Texas, it’s a full day of making fresh tamales for the family.

My own shift in location and lifestyle saw modifications to our holiday patterns too.  Instead of me alone in the kitchen for days in advance, cranking out a multi-course feast, we’ve simplified and scaled down.  Rather than our usual Festa dei Sette Pesci (Feast of the Seven Fishes) on the 24^th, we had ceviche and homemade lobster ravioli with a butter sage sauce that we all prepared together.

Christmas day started with Sausage Bread (one of my son-in-laws family traditions that we are more than happy to adopt!) then a dinner of Beef Wellington, roasted winter vegetables and herbed Gruyere popovers that we all had a hand in.  For dessert, there was a brand new set of Christmas cookies we’ve never made before:  Dirty Chai Earthquake Cookies, Lemon Rosemary Cookies with Pistachios, Dried Raspberries and Pomegranate Seeds, Pistachio Thumbprint Cookies and some Texas friendly Gingerbread Cookies.

Sometimes we need to be open to these changes because we’ve gotten older and just can’t do it anymore, it’s become to costly or we just don’t want to add to an already stressful life . . . . . or, you know, there’s a worldwide pandemic.

Whatever your holiday changes or adaptations, you just may discover new ways to make your holidays meaningful with slightly altered or totally new foods or activities that bring you joy.  There are so many ways to delight in special days and the ones we love if we are open and flexible.

The recipe to a happy holiday isn’t like a soufflé where each element has to be there in perfect measure – the temperature and the treatment a delicate dance.  If one piece is slightly amiss, the whole thing flops.  In the end, the where and the how don’t matter nearly as much as the WHO.  If you have dear ones you love and who love you back, that’s the entire recipe right there.

We’ve all been through a hell of a year.  Who knows what the new one will bring.  Who knows where you’ll be, on what you’ll be dining and who you’ll be with, but I hope for each one of us, it’s exquisitely joyful.  We deserve it!

This is not the first time I’ve received a message like this from a man I was involved with.  In fact, it’s happened several times now.  So what about me makes it easy to walk away then, years later, regret that decision?  Or am I just a bad burrito that keeps repeating on you?

We’ve all passed on something only to smack our foreheads later (I coulda had a V-8 style).  The perfect skirt or shoes I saw in the store that were a little pricey or I didn’t think I actually needed were items of quality I really should have invested in.  I have never been able to find anything like them since.

The evening in the restaurant when I got the cheaper bottle of wine instead of the one I knew I really wanted or I ordered the fresh berries for dessert instead of the tiramisu or chocolate lava cake to save on calories . . . . .  . I thought about that wine and dessert for at least a week after.

As we reach the end of 2020, there have been many lessons, hard-learned.  People can be selfish and awful and people can be heroic and wonderful.  Solitude can really suck after awhile.  Appreciate every bit of what and who you have.  And, most of all, none of us know how long we have.  In a New York minute, as they say, everything can change. 

I think a great resolution for the New Year is:  NO REGRETS.  Drink the best bottle of wine you can.  Eat the damn dessert.  Buy the shoes.  Take a chance and talk to the cute stranger you’ve had your eye on.  Make the move.  Write the book.  And for God’s sake, if you love someone, tell them.  Do it as soon as you figure it out.  Or maybe, even better, don’t let the good ones slip through your fingers so easily in the first place.  Don’t allow fear to stop you from finding, and keeping, that one that feels like home. 

2021 . . . . . . . no regrets!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO1gX8GqmJ8

I am slowly adjusting to the sounds of a city; the frequent sirens and traffic noises in deep contrast to the utter silence of the small, country town where I last lived.  My dog has become the mayor of the building, getting loads of attention in the elevator and has taken a surprising liking to our balcony where I sit with coffee while he watches the world go by.

The never ending box opening and furniture assembly, however, are beginning to take their toll and both my manicure and my patience had worn thin, so when my daughter suggested an outing to the arboretum I happily accepted.  The positively autumnal weather was right on point as we stopped for pumpkin spice lattes on our way to the 66-acre gardens’ fall pumpkin display.

Part of the fun of moving to a new city are the discoveries – a great new restaurant, a cute little boutique not too far from your apartment and this jewel of botanical gardens within the city of Dallas.  We walked in the sunshine, a brand new delight around every bend – species of plants I had never seen before, artfully inventive combinations, a free concert on the lawn overlooking White Rock Lake and, of course, thousands and thousands of pumpkins.  Every size, color, type and texture is represented here and playfully arranged into cottages, waves of color and even the reins to a horse drawn carriage.

We wandered happily and discovered a European style garden with an infinity pool, an organic vegetable and herb garden where cooking classes are given, a pathway covered by an arched web of trees and huge colorful pergolas with copper roofs along a pathway for an upcoming “12 days of Christmas” display.  I can’t wait to see the beauty of this magical place in every season.

As I battle my directional disabilities and work on learning the roadways of this new place, try to choose my new supermarket, my new doctors, hair salon, etc., I hope my new home will be much like today – a series of great new discoveries, options I never knew existed and happy surprises.  I’m ready.

But for now, I think I’ll go home and make some Pumpkin Risotto with Goat Cheese.  I THINK I know where the pots are!

My guests marvel at my “bravery”.  “You’ve never made any of this before?” they ask aghast.  Most people go with the tried and true- things they’ve practiced time and time again; things they know people like; things that are safe.  That just seems like a wasted opportunity to me and is just not my style.  Let’s strike out into new territory and try something unfamiliar!

I think about that now as I sign the contract selling my home of almost a decade.  I’m getting ready to turn the page and write a brand new chapter in the book of my life.  I’m buried in to-do lists and busy selling long-held possessions.  I remind myself that, like a mountain climber, you have to let go to progress.  As a caterpillar sheds its chrysalis, I will shed about 2/3 of what I have and emerge incredibly light and free.

Slowly, each item is ticked off the list as I acquire each ingredient for my exciting new experience, the meal of my new life.

Appropriately, my oldest friend who has seen me through every single transition and adaptation raises her hand yet again for this one.  Our over 50 year friendship will once again have her by my side helping in any way she can, as always, seeing that I don’t have to make the journey to the next course of my life all alone.  She has volunteered to join me in preparation of the feast of my life anew by accompanying me for the 1200 mile drive, Thelma & Louise style (as my elderly dog and cat probably wouldn’t do well in the cargo hold of an airplane).  These two New York pizza and bagel girls will load up and head due south, listening to some country and blues, stopping for cornbread and BBQ, fried catfish and pickles and maybe a Bushwhacker when the day is done!

My approach to food and to life may not be for everyone.  Like Netflix’s show Crazy Delicious where three contestants are charged to think outside the box and come up with dishes that are meant to surprise, whether by form or by sometimes incredibly odd sounding combinations of flavor, it’s not for everyone.  Many want predictability.  What sustains them should be made and served the usual way, the way they’ve always had it.  I knew a family that had their weekly menu on the refrigerator and it never varied:  Monday – chicken, Tuesday-burgers, Wednesday-meatloaf, and so on.  For them, it was cozy and dependable. What gives some comfort is that the taste and look of their meals is predictable and consistent.

For some of us, however, the staid and traditional can sometimes feel mundane and constrictive.  I want to try the Color Changing Lemonade or a giant rainbow ravioli filled with smaller ravioli and bolognese sauce or maybe the banana tacos, arancini drumsticks or a “cheeseburger” that’s really a dessert!

When life has stalled and we’re just not finding what we seek, it’s time to create a fresh, new menu.  It’s a gamble.  Some dishes may flop.  Bliss isn’t without risk, but there’s no way to discover the new, the fresh, the WOW without a little bit of a leap.  And so, I jump!

I will pack away all the plans for my life here that just didn’t work out, in the now empty garage, and slowly lower the door on them all.  I’ll climb into the drivers seat and adjust the rear view mirror taking one last look back.  I think I see him there, a misty apparition, ghostlike and elusive, as always.  True to form, when I try to reach out or dare to get too close, he fades into a wisp before disappearing completely.  I firmly put the car in drive and move forward, creator of my own menu, architect of my own destiny, headed, hopefully, toward something CRAZY delicious!

I think, my favorite people are those who can make something beautiful out of just about anything. We all know a couple of them. A few scraps of fabric, something someone threw away, some random ingredients in the pantry all are transformed when the right person touches them.

The web series done by Clara Cannucciari (who passed away in 2013) called “Depression Cooking with Clara” is a perfect example of this. Soft-spoken and sweet, she pads around her humble kitchen showing us how to create a satisfying feast for the ones we love from a few handfuls of staples we all have on our pantry shelves. Her web series and her cookbook, Clara’s Kitchen, have seen a rise in interest since Corona virus has become part of our vocabulary and we’ve now had the experience of visiting supermarkets with half-empty shelves.

It’s been almost two months of self-quarantining and social distancing and as in so many areas of life, the wheat and the chaff separate themselves without even trying. The chaff people don’t really contribute anything except negativity. They’re the complainers who, armed with a comfortable home, mostly plentiful food & drink, Netflix, telephone, Face Time and a limitless supply of music and books (thanks to the internet) just can’t endure. I want to point out that Anne Frank lived in an attic with seven other people for over two years with none of those conveniences and then ask, in true Sebastian Maniscalco form, “Aren’t you embarrassed?!”

I am, however, in awe of the creativity of so many others – the wheat. I’ve watched families sheltering at home together choreograph intricate dance routines, enjoyed musicians give weekly free performances from their homes, listened to Italians join in nightly song from their separate balconies and watched horse owners bring their horses to nursing homes to share some equine love through the safety of the patients windows. 80-year-old Pasquale Sciarappa does online cooking demonstrations from his New Jersey kitchen each day. Not only is he keeping himself busy, he’s sharing his gift and bringing much needed joy, inspiration and laughter into our homes. “Cin, cin!”

Teachers are helping kids learn online or by phone. People are organizing drive-by “parades” to celebrate the birthday of someone special, sewing masks and delivering food to those who need it. Actors and others are reading to kids online. John Krasinski even organized a Zoom prom for this years seniors who are missing this traditional milestone.

I’ve used the extra alone time, like most of us, to do some extensive cleaning, organizing and reading. I’ve also traversed Mont Saint-Michel in France, wandered the streets of Positano, Italy and attended a live performance of one of my favorite bands in Scotland – all without leaving home. We don’t often take the time to read a new book, explore works of art, write a letter to an elderly Aunt, reconnect with old friends – really appreciate and bathe ourselves in the words or the art of those who so fully express things we feel, but sometimes cannot articulate. This is the perfect time for that. It helps us to not feel so alone in what we’re thinking or feeling. It is essential to pulling us out of sadness or loneliness. It allows us to feel connected, validated, understood.

Bertrand Russell explores this in his essay, “In Praise of Idleness”. Too often, creating or really delving into art, books, poetry or music only happens in the stolen moments; the slivers of time in between all our other responsibilities and distractions.

Now, there’s time – time to examine life, friends, family, career and relationships with a discerning eye. This can be a transformative time in which to take advantage of the quiet solitude for self-reflection, taking stock and examining the direction of our lives and our priorities.   Cull through and keep only that which (and who) is positive in our lives.

The happiest people make the best of difficult situations. Although none of this is easy, I choose to strive to be happy. I’m going to use this time to appreciate the connection and validation that all these generous artists sharing their gifts supply (and enjoy getting a tiny peek into their homes and families, as well!) And so, I prop up my computer on the kitchen counter. Melissa Ethridge has invited me into her living room for one of her free concerts. I watch her build loops and make mistakes – which is nice to see! We all screw up sometimes. She makes me smile and laugh with her stories and raspy renditions of her own songs as well as various other artists’, while I begin cooking one of Pasquale’s recipes for my dinner.

Tomorrow is Easter but this year, of course, is very different. Although it sounds like a bad movie, we’re in the midst of a pandemic so there will be no gathering. COVID-19 has brought our plans to a screeching halt. My daughter’s wedding next month in Tuscany is postponed. The holidays? We’ll just do it next year. And my oldest, dearest friend, who just lost her Dad, will have to weather that pain without me by her side to lean on.

Another cup of coffee is poured and I settle in to let technology take me where I want to go. Photos on my computer from Easter’s past of my daughters and nieces in their Easter dresses scampering around our property on Long Island hunting for eggs bring a smile. In later years, as teenagers the frilly dresses gave way to jeans but it went much the same. We warned them there were no brown eggs and set them loose with their baskets.  They ran and laughed taunting each other with who found more.  Then, a month or two later, I’d come across a few stragglers filled with soggy/melted chocolate in the garden on a summer day and get to relive the memory with a chuckle.

While the girls were busy laughing and running, the adults would be on the deck with drinks and hors d’oeuvres shouting hints. “You’re cold; very cold! Ok – warmer, getting warmer!” There would be a cheese board with fruit, crackers and prosciutto, my Dad’s famous artichoke hearts and some spanikopita (a Greek, savory “spinach pie” in which dozens of layers of crispy phyllo dough are filled with spinach, feta cheese and herbs) One year, my cousins wife (who is Polish) drove to Greenpoint, Brooklyn just for kielbasa. She brought us a large platter of the most flavorful kielbasa I had ever had, sliced and served with spicy mustard. We had our own little ethnic melting pot right there on the deck and our taste buds were grateful.

We would then move inside where our springtime table would include a vegetable lasagna – no heavy red meat sauce here, just layers of homemade noodles, a mélange of vegetables and cheese. Next we might have a ham, asparagus, herbed popovers and a spring salad with blackberries, goat cheese and a sprinkle of slivered almonds.

Just when we felt we couldn’t eat another bite and were ready to scream “Uncle!”, the scent of espresso brewing would waft into the dining room and bottles of Amaretto and Sambuca were placed on the table. Unbutton those pants and get ready, because here it comes! Platters of Italian cookies and pastries appear. There are mountains of biscotti, savoiardi (an Italian lady finger made with a sponge cake batter), pignoli cookies (a moist, soft, chewy cookie made with almond paste and studded with golden pine nuts, typical of Sicily, Italy) and pastries: cannolli (the cannolo comes from Sicily, and consists of a piece of dough that’s fried until crunchy. The tubular shell is then filled with a sweet, creamy filling made of smooth ricotta, mascarpone and chocolate chips), pasticciotto (depending on the region, they are traditionally filled with either ricotta cheese or egg custard), and sfogliatella (layers of crispy, paper-thin dough filled with a soft, not-too-sweet ricotta mixture with candied orange that’ll balance out the hard crunch)

The queen of Easter for me, however, was the grain pie – Pizza di Grano. To someone who’s never had it, it probably doesn’t sound all that appealing but to me, it just isn’t really Easter without it. It tastes similar to the Italian ricotta cheese cake: rich ricotta cheese with hints of orange flavor and citron with the addition of wheat berries that are softened over a 4 day process, giving it a little more of a chewy, rather than creamy texture. The whole thing was sprinkled with confectioners sugar and the taste and texture was as addictive to me, as any drug. I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

This year, we are forced to press pause. Instead of our usual celebrations, traditions and togetherness there is solitude – a time to reflect and remember happy times past and to learn to wait patiently for what’s to come. I’ll reset my clock and as soon as it’s possible travel the miles to go hug my friend. I’ll once again wait with anticipation for a beautiful wedding in Tuscany. I’ll look forward to one day watching little ones stumble with excitement through the grass to collect Easter eggs while I enjoy a slice (or four) of Easter grain pie.

Sunday morning began simply enough. Animals were fed. Coffee and a blueberry muffin were consumed and one of the first unseasonably warm, sunny days of late beckoned just outside my window. Soon, I was on my way to DC in search of food for both body and soul and, of course, the elusive parking space.

Car parked and location noted, we walked in the direction of the National Gallery of Art. We decided to feed body first and came upon Oyamel Cocina Mexicana in the Penn quarter. It’s a very lively, upscale restaurant with a menu and cocktail list creative enough to please the most discerning foodie. The menu revealed that this was a José Andrés restaurant and we knew that we had, quite fortuitously, stumbled onto something special.

This is like no Mexican food you’ve ever experienced. The ingredients are incredibly fresh and traditional concepts are elevated to a more sophisticated level. First, came hand-made chips and salsa – impossibly thin chips, made only hours earlier, were satisfyingly crispy with the perfect wisp of salty heat. The somewhat smoky chorizo salsa ranchera is now my ideal against which all future salsas will be judged.

Next came ceviche de atun Pacifico: ahi tuna with Maggi-lime marinade, scallions, avocado, toasted pecans, Fresno chiles and crispy amaranth. The medley of textures and the layers of flavor were nothing short of extraordinary. It’s a small plate, but those few bites bring you to another place. We feasted on crispy Brussels sprouts with a chile de arbol sauce, pumpkin seeds, peanuts and lime and a crazy good grilled flank steak with salsa jitomate, cherry tomato pico de gallo and radishes. The meal was basically a party in our mouths and a pretty rocking one, at that.

Each plate was tiny and I couldn’t help but think of what a few of my family members would say if they were presented with these jewels, so skillfully created. They would calculate the serving size divided by price and be very disappointed . . . . . but they’d be missing out.

After a last sip of Margarita del Serrano with its rim of fiery salt, we walked to the gallery to see the Raphael exhibit. We entered the West Building, walking past the collection of American furniture, until we came upon Raphael’s sketches and other European paintings from centuries ago. There really isn’t time to see and enjoy the museum in its entirety in one visit so we limited ourselves to this one section and, as I wander, it’s clear there are only a few that really touch me and cause me to want to linger and soak them in – small bites.

There was a painting of a volcano in Stromboli and then, a rolling landscape where the artist conveyed Tuscany’s golden light so magically it was astounding. These are the small plates we wait for – those miraculous moments that only come in tiny morsels. To hear the joy in your daughter’s voice when she says, “Mom, I got the job!” or find yourself lucky enough to be included in drinks and dinner with your daughter and all her friends, getting to listen to them reminisce about their childhoods and talk about how their lives are unfolding now, each unique and remarkable – such precious small plates.

Like finding a pearl in an oyster or turning a dreary corner only to discover a rainbow, these small plates of our lives are scarce, uncommon gems to be relished. Now go to Oyamel and order the ceviche . . . . really!