When I had first tasted my first sweet and sour dish in the first chinese restaurant I went, probably 20 years ago (god I am aging!!!), I was stunned.
When I savoured the contradicting flavours in my mouth I felt them from head to toe. It was such a weird pleasure, two so different flavours mixed together, not being able to actually point which was stronger, the sweetness or the sourness.
This is how I feel today.
The sourness of my mom's illness is mixed with the sweetness of having grown up with such a wonderful mother that the thought of her going through this breaks me.
The sourness of my agony about the results of the biopsy is mixed with the sweetness of your support, along with the support of my husband and friends.
The sourness of my feeling the unfairness of her situation is mixed with the sweetness of life when I see a kid walking holding hands with its mother.
As Gibran says, isn't the subject of our sorrow the very same that has given us such immense joy before?
This weekend is our marathon in the therapy. Two days, from 10 in the morning to 8 in the evening with a group of ten. The topic in this marathon is mother. I am so looking forward to it.
The premiere last night went exquitely well. It was supposed to start at 11, but it got delayed for 40 mins, so the program finished at 4 a.m. I was home at 5, very hyper from all the tireness, totally unable to sleep. Guess what I did! I cooked! You all mention that I sound such a great cook. Truth is I am. Because I am an emotional cook. When my girlfriends complain that although they cook the dish with the exact directions I give them, it never turns out as good as mine, and ask me what is that I do, I always tell them that the secret incredient is lovewaves. You got to love the person you cook for and love each and every ingredient enough to treat it with the respect and thankfulness it deserves. I think this is the main thing that made me go organic in grocerry shopping. I was hearing all these horor stories about cattle firms and antibiotics in greens, that I had stoped respecting the food I bought and started detesting it and fearing it too!
So, here I was in the kitchen at 5am, marinating chicken breast fillets in fat free yogurt with crashed garlic and sweet paprika, slicing portabella mushrooms, red onions, and sweet red peppers, cherishing the tears brough to my eyes by the onions, rolling the fillets with the sliced veggies, and grilling them so that I will have lunch today and tomorrow.
Then I went to bed a little past 6 am, and woke up at ten. Last night I only drunk water and club soda, yet I feel like I have drunk an entire bottle of tequila. Perhaps this hangover feeling is due to lack of sleep.
I just realised that that this is perhaps the most incoherent entry I have ever posted. You think I should turn off the puter and go home and sleep?