When the worst things happen, I become a yo-yo of emotions – sorrow and joy, anxiety and peace, chaos and quiet. I have a million words, and at the same time, none at all. That’s how the empty numbness sets in : when I feel all of it at once and don’t know what to do with it.

I suppose this is why I find comfort in cooking; it puts my heart in a place of utter quiet when my writer mind is mad with the world. I want more than anything to bring all the hurt close to me and heal it. I want to put your fear, my fear, everybody’s fear, at ease. I can’t though, and so I make a table for anyone who is close enough to sit with me, and I bring to it the very best I can, with the elaborate simplicity of a good meal.

A whole roasted chicken stuffed with fresh orange and rosemary, the creamiest mashed potatoes I’ve ever made, a glass of Merlot to go with it.

And grace, always Grace :

Let’s light a candle for the lonely and brokenhearted flung far from us this night. Let’s say a prayer for peace.

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