On Sunday evenings at 9:00 p.m. sharp, I am tuned in to the television to watch The Next Iron Chef. I used to watch the Iron Chef back when they had dubbed voices for the Japanese-speaking judges. It was actually quite comical. You could tell that the judges were having a good time, laughing a lot in between their comments as they watched the chefs cook off for a win. At some point in the years, the judges changed and the show was no longer dubbed. I stopped watching on a regular basis and became an intermittent watcher. I had never watched how one became an Iron Chef, but when I saw a few weeks back that The Next Iron Chef would be airing, I knew I would be glued to the TV for an hour each Sunday.
It’s all about the secret ingredient and how successfully you incorporate it into your dish. Several Sunday’s ago stands out to me as one of the most challenging competitions: The Concessions Challenge. The chefs would have one of several concessions items: root beer, malted chocolate balls, and sour candy, to name a few. The chefs would have to create a masterpiece in an hour showcasing the secret ingredient in their dish. Can you imagine? It’s exciting to watch the chefs, as they figure out quickly what they will cook as they set to work, concocting, tasting, plating. It’s a culinary whirlwind.
This past Sunday’s show was my favorite so far: Storytelling. The chefs were presented with six postcards featuring six iconic New York City locations: Brooklyn Bridge, Statue of Liberty, Broadway, Central Park, Times Square, and the Empire State Building. Wow! Food and storytelling—this would be a dream episode to savor. I started to think about food in general and the story that it does tell. I thought of memorable meals that I have experienced and if I were to cook from a perspective of telling a story, what would I cook and what story would I want to tell.
Back in Kitchen Stadium, each chef would pick a number from one to six and be matched up with a post card. The chef with the advantage from the last competition would go last and have the option of keeping their postcard or swapping for one of the five in hand. All of the chefs seemed pleased with their offerings. As usual, I watch in anticipation and excitement at the creativity and passion that these chefs exhibit as they set out for a win. The clock ticks down. Time goes fast. Time’s up: Step away. Judging time.
Two stood out to me for different reasons.
What I recall about Chef Alex Guarnaschelli’s presentation is that she wanted to evoke the smell of New York, of walking the streets and being hit with that NYC smell. Her creativity is what got me. Along with her meal, she had a small brown paper bag that was meant only for smelling and in it were the burnt roasted peanuts to bring the judges there to NYC. Her overall meal was not that exciting and she did have some bumps, but her creativity got me.
Chef Anne Burrell was the clear winner in her story, food presentation, and delivery of her own memories tied to Central Park and what it represents to her. She personalized it and made it universal. It was as though from the moment she got her postcard, she knew exactly where she was headed. She recounted how most may think of her as a city girl, but she was actually raised in a country setting and it was this feeling that she received from sitting in Central Park, with the pigeons, trees, grass, and birds.
And how could I not think of Red Room member, Mary Wilkinson (m), in all the stories—stories that she has served up with food and words. It made me reflect for a moment upon her blogs, especially the food blogs and the wonderful stories that come out of her kitchen. And for the lucky passerby in her cozy area, they could probably catch the mouth-watering smells that sneak from her kitchen windows. I imagine her on her culinary journey and how she gets to do what these great chefs do in this one particular episode of telling stories with food. I guess this last part is a small token of appreciation to, m, all the way in Ireland: An ode to her and an ode to all the chefs and aspiring chefs of the wordly and culinary world.
Salute!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
A Series of Events: Unexpected Light
There has always been a spiritual home inside of me, and at times, it may have grown dark and cold, but mostly a light was always left on because of my grandmother. When I was "finding" myself in my late teenage years, I rejected aspects of my Catholic upbringing. This struggle would continue as I wrestled with myself and tried to find what was true for me on my terms.
I feel blessed to have been touched so deeply by two living angels and to know that I have that presence in my being—in light and dark times. For that, I am eternally grateful.
A fading memory flickers in and out, always there, but reawakened on a recent visit to Carmel. I’m in my early twenties, sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother discussing how the Catholic religion is not the only one that is good. On that she agrees, but I feel her desire to want me to embrace it as she has. At the time, I was exploring Eastern thought. When I saw the look in her eyes and knowing her passion and devotion to Catholicism, I realized it didn't matter and I backed down. I didn't want to take that from her. At the same time, I didn't want her to take my explorations from me. At that moment, her own wisdom to me whispered in my ear: To respect my elders.
I remember a point in my life, a seemingly long sporadic time of feeling angry at the world, easily upset, slightly depressed. Time shows that there is an order to events that don’t often go in a straight line, but usually connect, disconnect, and reconnect. Amongst the many synchronistic influences and events along the way, one defining moment was when an old friend called me out of the blue with an extra ticket to see a Buddhist monk speak in Berkeley. I didn't have anything else to do that night so I went along. I didn't know who Thich Nhat Hanh was at the time and didn't know what to expect. I still have the ticket stub. Touching Peace: Thich Nhat Hanh, Berkeley Community Theater. The year is 1993.
I met my friend in Berkeley. He would have to head back home to Santa Cruz that night. We caught up on old times while we waited in the long line to enter the auditorium. Inside, we took our seats. The whole place buzzed with conversation, people finding their seats and visiting with people they knew. The velvet red curtains stood out to me. They looked regal and added warmth.
Next I remember people taking their seats and the chatter fading to silence after someone announced Thich Nhat Hanh.
Silence.
As soon as Nhat Hanh walked out to the front of the stage in his robes, the Buddhist nuns nearby, I felt an instant peace in every part of my being. And then he spoke in his calm, loving voice. Nhat Hanh radiated the most positive, loving energy that I have ever felt and it spilled out into the room. I was touched. His voice was low and it was difficult to hear him at times. But because of how he spoke and the genuine smile on his face, the love and compassion—his body language—this made the words not matter. He embodied the words, the teachings—and delivered them with love. He was truly present with every ounce of his being right there in an auditorium emanating with his inner peace, that same love and compassion reflecting back to him.
Ever since that day, I felt changed. I felt renewed; the light inside of me would be restored. As I continued to learn from Nhat Hanh through his books, I appreciated how he respected all religions and encouraged us to make peace with the religions we were raised in. Over the years in between, I came to embrace Catholicism, mostly the way I remember my grandmother practicing it through her actions, through her loving kindness.
The two spiritual traditions that guide me most today are Zen Buddhism and my grandmother's Catholicism. Nature serves as my all encompassing teacher, which is embedded within and lives in me. I am a human being that connects with her grandmother’s light, connects with human light, who does this on her own terms, where the great blue sky and all the creatures are her guides.
In Carmel, walking through both the monastery grounds and the mission grounds, I feel my grandmother's presence and I also feel Nhat Hahn's presence. I feel the light inside as I walk quietly through the small monastery garden and pathways with images of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the ocean in sight. I light a candle at Mission Carmel, sending positive thoughts to those in heaven and all around.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Carmel Beach on a Monday Morning
We took a weekend trip to Carmel to celebrate our one year anniversary together. Our weekend began on Sunday and ended on Tuesday. We both love the sleepiness of Carmel, the quaint fairy tale feel of it— and the ocean being right there.
I wanted to take a piece of the ocean back with me.
I noticed I’ve been recording videos on my iPod Touch here and there. The snippets are starting to collect, and naturally I decided that it was time to open a YouTube account to make it easier to upload and share.
This video is just a small clip of Carmel Beach on Monday morning. The Crow always finds me, as you will see at the end there. He was rather friendly and seemed to enjoy being close to us. I found him to be quite beautiful. The big white dog caught my attention too. You can’t hear it in the video, but each time he walked by, the sound of his clop, clop, squish, in the sand made me smile so wide.
Rebb’s Video of Carmel Beach (44 seconds)
Friday, November 18, 2011
Morning Relaxation
It was a stiff morning, and though my body is still young-ish, it sometimes creaks. It seemed a good day for Yoga. Slow down. Center yourself. Invite peace. Offer peace.
The same CD always brings an instant calm—more than any of the other meditative CDs. Why is that? Was it the one that I used from the very early stages?
And so I begin with the poses that I’m familiar with and that my body yearns for. It’s a brief session; next time, perhaps longer. As I lay there, transitioning toward the end of my session, body face down, head to the side, fully relaxed, the music washes over me, the plucking of the sitar lulls my body deeper into relaxation, punctuated by the ting, ting, of the chimes, a deep breath exits my mouth. I feel all the muscles loosen—a deep calm permeates the tight muscles of my bodily container. I hear the rain outside through the bedroom window. It snuck in—wheels driving by on wet pavement turns to the swish of waterfalls.
I rise out of this pose slowly, carefully, in small stages. After a few more poses, my body decides that my next to last pose will be the warrior and my mind decides it will be for strength.
The last, how I always end, is to give thanks. Today, I turn to the North, East, South, and West, and bow with my hands in prayer, held close together, like angel wings surrounding a beating heart. I then kiss my palms and blow a kiss of love into our home and out into the universe.
The same CD always brings an instant calm—more than any of the other meditative CDs. Why is that? Was it the one that I used from the very early stages?
And so I begin with the poses that I’m familiar with and that my body yearns for. It’s a brief session; next time, perhaps longer. As I lay there, transitioning toward the end of my session, body face down, head to the side, fully relaxed, the music washes over me, the plucking of the sitar lulls my body deeper into relaxation, punctuated by the ting, ting, of the chimes, a deep breath exits my mouth. I feel all the muscles loosen—a deep calm permeates the tight muscles of my bodily container. I hear the rain outside through the bedroom window. It snuck in—wheels driving by on wet pavement turns to the swish of waterfalls.
I rise out of this pose slowly, carefully, in small stages. After a few more poses, my body decides that my next to last pose will be the warrior and my mind decides it will be for strength.
The last, how I always end, is to give thanks. Today, I turn to the North, East, South, and West, and bow with my hands in prayer, held close together, like angel wings surrounding a beating heart. I then kiss my palms and blow a kiss of love into our home and out into the universe.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Afternoon Walk
An afternoon appointment sent me on a brisk walk through the streets from work to the doctor’s office. I was going to drive but thought it was walkable, and if I kept a very quick pace, I’d make it on time.
I slipped my headphones on, turned the iPod Touch on and began listening to the audio. I don’t usually listen to anything through headphones when I walk, but today I was in the mood, and I could still hear the cars and other noises. I wasn’t completely shut out.
It was a quick visit. Leaving the doctor’s office, I thought how nice it was to receive good news for a change—or rather news that wouldn’t lead to a follow up appointment; and then several more follow up appointments. I left the office with a slight worry shed from my shoulders and I walked back to work at a much slower pace, no headphones. I’ve walked this path many times. And as I looked up, down, and around, at the homes, the gardens, cars parked, men working, this is what I saw and this is what made an impression in that moment—a continuation of the little beauties in the world:
Walking back, inhaling the sun, little wooden birdhouses sit just outside the window—three in a row. Each with a heart for a doorway—a doorway for a heart.
On the cabled wires above sits a squirrel, looking down at her. Walking, walking—red and orange leaved confetti tossed on the pavement, glows in the sun.
She turns the corner after seeing pink blossoms scattered on the eucalyptus. A Great Oak is just ahead; two large connected roots reach up. She looks and looks and then sees the folds and nooks, the skin of the Oak, and right where the large roots meet, the image she sees is of large white angel wings. It takes her breath away and all of these little moments gathered here, were prompted to be written down because of the Oak and right before she pulls for the paper and pen, a black crow sneaks into the pine tree near her next turn and she smiles because he is friend to her, and it is as though he is also summoning her with his caw caw and the way he bends his head—to write it down and enjoy this day.
I slipped my headphones on, turned the iPod Touch on and began listening to the audio. I don’t usually listen to anything through headphones when I walk, but today I was in the mood, and I could still hear the cars and other noises. I wasn’t completely shut out.
It was a quick visit. Leaving the doctor’s office, I thought how nice it was to receive good news for a change—or rather news that wouldn’t lead to a follow up appointment; and then several more follow up appointments. I left the office with a slight worry shed from my shoulders and I walked back to work at a much slower pace, no headphones. I’ve walked this path many times. And as I looked up, down, and around, at the homes, the gardens, cars parked, men working, this is what I saw and this is what made an impression in that moment—a continuation of the little beauties in the world:
Walking back, inhaling the sun, little wooden birdhouses sit just outside the window—three in a row. Each with a heart for a doorway—a doorway for a heart.
On the cabled wires above sits a squirrel, looking down at her. Walking, walking—red and orange leaved confetti tossed on the pavement, glows in the sun.
She turns the corner after seeing pink blossoms scattered on the eucalyptus. A Great Oak is just ahead; two large connected roots reach up. She looks and looks and then sees the folds and nooks, the skin of the Oak, and right where the large roots meet, the image she sees is of large white angel wings. It takes her breath away and all of these little moments gathered here, were prompted to be written down because of the Oak and right before she pulls for the paper and pen, a black crow sneaks into the pine tree near her next turn and she smiles because he is friend to her, and it is as though he is also summoning her with his caw caw and the way he bends his head—to write it down and enjoy this day.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
PO Box – Letter to Self: Eight Questions
Has it been that long and so short? one year and five months. Summer of 2010. I know that I’ve mentioned the public speaking class I took on a few occasions recently, but it felt as though it was much further in the distance than I realized. Time has gone by fast in 2010 and continues to speed by as the end of 2011 is near.
When I sorted through the mail, I saw a familiar address label, both receiver and sender: Rebbecca Hill. Hmm. What is this? No memories triggered. I didn’t know. Probably another bill. I opened it then and there. Now I remember…yes, the instructor had us do a first assignment: Answer eight questions. Be honest, he said. This is for you. Turn it in to me with a self addressed and stamped envelope. I will send this back to you in one year.
It felt good. It felt true. And it came at the right time, when I needed to hear my own encouraging words to myself at this point in time. I held it close, and I laughed and thought, all be darn. It’s seems so long ago, yet, it’s only a little over a year.
I still have the assignment on my computer, but I really had forgotten about that piece of the class, and I’m glad I forgot because it was a great surprise to receive a letter from myself, well not a letter, but a reminder of where I was and where I am in eight questions. The destination is similar and I continue on my path, making adjustments, just as I have been and it feels right.
**
Rebbecca Hill
June 14, 2010
SPCH 120
MTWTH 8:15 a.m.-12:30 p.m.
First Assignment
Part 2
1. Why am I attending college? I love learning and will attend college or take classes as long as I can—hopefully I don’t run out of classes.
2. What do I believe I might be doing in a year (specifically)? I’m honestly not sure. It’s possible I may be doing work with my voice and by then maybe I will have finally submitted something for publication. In 5 years? In five years…wow, that seems like a long time out. Let’s see, in numbers, in five years, I’ll be 42 years old. I can see myself teaching or communicating. I may have found just the right teaching environment by this time and I may have found out how to make it happen as far as credential/education needed to do this. And I hope that I am able to make a good living doing what I love.
3. What three values does my life stand for/represent to others? This is hard to answer. I think people see kindness, curiosity, love for life. I think many people see me as a teacher and writer.
4. What about me do I want to change? I think I’d like to continue working on my situational social shy skills. I’d probably like to see me become a better networked and be open to more friendships, which time wise can be a challenge.
5. What about me do I hope stays the same? I hope to always maintain my zest for life, my childlike curiosity and wonder and ability to continue laughing and trying to make the best of life.
6. What is happening in my life now that I hope to be able to laugh at in a year? I can’t think of anything in particular, maybe I’ll have a good laugh about voiceovers.
4. What about me do I want to change? I think I’d like to continue working on my situational social shy skills. I’d probably like to see me become a better networked and be open to more friendships, which time wise can be a challenge.
5. What about me do I hope stays the same? I hope to always maintain my zest for life, my childlike curiosity and wonder and ability to continue laughing and trying to make the best of life.
6. What is happening in my life now that I hope to be able to laugh at in a year? I can’t think of anything in particular, maybe I’ll have a good laugh about voiceovers.
7. What do I want to be sure to remember about my life today, and remind myself about approximately a year from now? Keep remembering to appreciate every moment and to honor and respect the past and future, but to keep the present in mind—in perspective. Remember that you signed up for public speaking and you decided to face one of your biggest fears head on. You should be proud of yourself :)
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