I sat in the back pew of an upstate church with the February sun leaking in through the stained glass windows. The room was cold and empty. The wooden benches were cold to the touch and the silence was loud enough to make my ears ring.
My hands were cold because the heat was turned down. My thoughts were scattered and my stomach growled because my breakfast was only half-portioned.
Outside, the sky was a brilliant shade of winter blue with long faded strips of Continue reading →

I believe in the healing power of a home cooked meal. I say there is nothing as heartwarming or welcoming as a table filled with plates of food, because food is love, and aside from the nutritional value is the beautiful gesture that comes during its preparation.
Some of my warmest memories are linked to great meals. Some of the memories are from crowded family tables and some are more intimate and candlelit. Like the time I made acorn squash, mashed with butter and sweetened with brown sugar. I plated this with chicken and served it as the first meal I ever prepared for the girl that became my wife.

Food is love . . .

After a long day at work, I had the kind of day that left my bones aching and my Continue reading →

This morning, I sat on a bench on the platform where the morning train carries its share of bodies into a constantly moving city. I faced south because the south side was the sun’s side. Its early orange globe began its hike above the morning horizon, and other than a few strips of pastel clouds, the sky was beautiful and clear.
Below at street level, Sunrise Highway scattered with an early version of life, which would soon congest with traffic, and angry drivers behind steering wheels would complain about other drivers on their cell phones and curse at the rearview mirror about the cars that tailgate behind them. Continue reading →