1. Five days of fine dining in my 250 square ft. apartment in Maine, in early December, cooked by my young adult children, who were visiting, and served by me in the fine china, silverware, folding table, and lace tablecloth I purchased at the second-hand store in town.
2. A young Mainer woman flaunting her style--vintage faux fur, Van Halen t-shirt, madras jeans, bangles, lace up boots, round shiny sunglasses, and tight, high ponytail--who sauntered down Forest Avenue in Portland with a smile intended only for the winter sun. A vision and lesson in staking my beauty and womanhood in joy.
3. Liver pate, hummus, and a White Chocolate, Cranberry pound cake, prepared by and shared with a friend who made the same treats for United States Presidents who visited campaign donors on Proust Neck, where she once worked as a cook for the wealthy who summered on the peninsula.
4. Homemade dark chocolate candy filled with jams of ginger, cherry, or grape and gifted to me, along with a card and message written by a friend, who said I was one of the most magical people she'd ever known.
5. An epiphany about a lover of ten years ago while on a bus trip to NYC on Christmas Eve. The last verse of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah—a song we dedicated to each other long ago in love letters sent simultaneously via email—played in my earphones, reminding me that “even though it all went wrong I’ll stand before the Lord of Song with Nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah,” a word I whispered to myself as the bus sped by half-frozen lakes that looked like black and white cookies.
6. Mahammad, a Lyft Driver, who leisurely made his way along the Hudson River to my stop in the Lower East Side of Manhattan while talking about his fifty-year-old love affair with New York City: pastrami sandwiches at Katz’s Diner, an apartment on 42nd street, where millions gathered to watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve; and respect for all the mayors the city had ever known.
7. A conversation
with a friend about love, sex, and great movies at a
Japanese tea bar in Soho.
8. A Gordon Ramsay Roasted turkey, with parsley, lemon, and garlic, cooked by my brother-in-law, who followed the recipe to a tee, and served it with my mother’s delicious rice stuffing.
9. A compliment whispered in my ear by my six-year-old niece who said I was the best grown up in the world.
10. Rainbow Cookies on Christmas Day, the same cookies I paid $8/pound for at Regina’s Bakery in Brooklyn the day before with seven layers of melted chocolate, almond cake, and Raspberry and apricot jams, served up in the green, white, and red colors of the Italian flag.
11. The Staten Island Ferry: riding it through thick fog to and from lower Manhattan with its shiny buildings stacked tightly like figurines in my former and deceased mother-in-law’s curio, while I listened on earphones to Coldplay’s “Christmas Lights,” The Pogue’s “Fairytale in New York City,” and Ray Charles’s “Spirit of Christmas.”
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