The Gift

Los Angeles, California

I collect words. They're my favorite thing. One of my other favorite things is paper. But the best words I collect are not placed on paper. They are put onto a page entitled Writing in my Notes on my iPhone. When I read something that speaks to me with a degree of gravitas, I add it to the collection. When I think of something that I can put into words which feel profound to me, it goes there as well. I experiment a lot with words: words constructed together as posts here on this blog; words written fast and randomly in my journal; words formulated as prayers. I find sentences magical. There is the alchemy of someone stringing words together to form sentences that can really speak to, really emotionally move, mankind.

If you watch certain news networks, there can be, unfortunately, a barrage of disturbing words thrown at you. I listen to NPR which becomes the background to many of my days. But I also listen to music, and I pay attention to lyrics. I am also attentive to dialog in films. My favorite films are those which were originally plays because the dialog is usually stellarly tight, having been toned and honed throughout the play's creation and production.

I once borrowed a book from a friend and found several pages had their corners dog-eared. Upon returning it, I inquired as to the significance of those pages. She replied that she did that when there was something on that page that was particularly valuable, and that she might want to go back to review what was written. I have my own means of dog-earing in screenshots of quotes, my aforementioned Notes collection, as well as clippings from newspapers and The New Yorker (yes, I still read, joyfully read, in print).

Joel was helping me organize my office this past weekend. Ok, organize is probably too strong of a word. Remember the old saying about getting your sh*t together? Well, I'm not setting the bar that high. In that room, my goal is to just eventually get it all scraped into one pile. I frankly think that Marie Kondo would throw up her hands and switch careers if she saw my office. But I digress... In the process of sorting through some paperwork (meanwhile, Joel was sorting through a collection of hotel laundry bags which I insisted I could not throw out as each was a memory of a trip, many with Sandra. See what I mean?). Anyway, one of the things I found in this pile of paper was a Christmas tag. You know, the ones that we write on and attach to the ribbon of a wrapped gift? I remember purchasing these particular tags (one of, oh, about 10,000 which I have collected, and please don't utter a word about this) at Crate and Barrel, back in the day when Crate and Barrel stores were located in malls, and didn't sell much furniture. On the side where you would write the To: and From:, I had written this in red ink:

Bronte, Treat each day as a new recipe to be tried or a faithful one to be improved upon.

I don't recall writing this, but suspect it was something I did for myself one recent Christmas. I have long given myself a birthday present. Something I would not buy myself on any of the other 364 days of the year. The first was an exorbitantly expensive (at that time) pair of Frye boots when I was in college. I've also bought myself a Mason Pearson hairbrush, which is something every woman should own. Over the past few years, I have also given myself Christmas presents, usually cookbooks, following in the tradition of both my mom and myself collecting them. Although, in Christmas 2015, I bought myself a 75-inch Samsung television so I could watch my favorite Christmas movies. It was a step towards addressing a holiday with intense memories combined with loss and loneliness. Did it work? Mas o menos, as watching some of the films was just too painful.

But back to the gift tag. I think this was on the gift I gave myself last year. It was most likely attached to the cookbook which I bought and wrapped for myself, waiting until Christmas day to unwrap. I would have curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in an afghan (blanket, not hound), and then read the book from cover to cover. I don't just choose cookbooks for the recipes, but for the writing as well. I don't often cook from Nigella Lawson's cookbooks, but I buy them all for the delight of her writing. Other favorites: Amanda Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte; A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg; My Kitchen Year by Ruth Reichl (which may very well have been the one that was attached to that tag). Although not cookbooks, my hands-down, very favorite food writer will always be Calvin Trillin. His collection of articles, Feeding a Yen, is a book I often carry with me when heading out to appointments. I can open it to any article and read with delight.

But, let's loop back to that gift tag. I have often remarked (and I am sure have written here, probably more than once) that if you get one good recipe from a cookbook, it was worth the price of purchase. And that is not a bad way to approach each day. Sometimes when you make a recipe, you find it's almost there. Maybe it needed something more -- more sabor, Joel would say, but he usually just means more salt or chilies. I often find that soups need some spiking, a bit of lemon juice, or a dash of sherry vinegar, or even some Louisiana hot sauce. Something that brings the flavor up. And our days can use that seasoning as well. Many people have written or remarked that each day is a blank page or blank canvas, but I think not. For me, the day spreads before you like a recipe. It offers ingredients which are the friends or family you see, or the strangers you encounter. There is the method, which is how you put your day together with the things that you need to do. It will require industry, which is the work required to get things done, and the workout you do each day to keep your head and body straight. Patience, required while marinating, roasting or baking, can come in time set aside for meditating or resting. That spiking or sabor to bring up the flavor comes in many forms, but for me, dancing salsa provides it in a spicy hit. I also appreciate the marination part, in the idea of time out each day, whether in the form of a nap, meditation, or bath. And the celebration of the day's end by a designated cocktail hour or even tea ceremony. Finally, bread broken at the last meal of the day can provide the reward of completing the day's efforts and savoring the results of the day's endeavors. At bedtime, you might want to copy out your recipe, including the changes or tweaking that occurred. For me, that is by keeping a journal, which I know not everyone does, but is essential for me in sorting out all of the thoughts I have swimming around in my head. 

Some recipes simply don't work out. Some are disasters. But maybe that's the time to come back to the faithful ones. The ones that make up your repertoire as a cook. With these, you can prepare as you always do, or tweak a bit. Each day has the same potential to not work out or to be a disaster. But even in that, we have learned something, if we look for something to learn. And that is perhaps the gift I was trying to give myself with that Christmas tag. A thought in the gift of words that mean something to me.  A gift from me to me. And now, a gift from me to you.

Thank you for reading my blog. And, go DODGERS... please, PLEASE GO DODGERS...