As some of you may already know, this week I had to say goodbye to my dear dog, Athena.
This was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
After 10 years of unconditional love, steady companionship, and the predictable sound of her paws shuffling across my wood floors, I had to let her go. It was her time. Her body was eaten by disease. Her legs refused to stand. Her eyes flickered nervously, begging for comfort.
I had to let her go.
And I have missed her dearly.
More than I could have anticipated.
I have been searching for comfort.
Last night, I searched in the kitchen. I set up my cutting board, honed my knife, and began the monotonous routine of dicing onions that has begun so many of my days.
I felt heat in the pan.
I smelled spices toasting
I heard sizzling peppers.
I tasted strident lime.
I breathed. I woke up.
I felt grateful.
Some people have yoga. Some have their marathons.
My meditation comes in the kitchen - where the rest of the world starts to make sense.
Rip Miss Athena. Thanks for being my Sous Chef, 2003-2013