Friends,
good morning from New York City, from your good friend Sarah, who is catching
up on life and work after a very busy, very wonderful holiday week.
My
trip home was a critical week of business for me, in addition to a whirlwind of
Chefs, Friends, and Family. This
Christmas was the very last year my Grandma will have in her own home, and I
knew she would be alone on Christmas Eve.
I am a protector, a Fusser, a Nurturer, a Caretaker, and even though I
was working 19 hour days even during holiday week, I knew I needed to make the
3 hour drive in white-out conditions to be there with her, and I sweet-talked
my way out of a speeding ticket from State Patrol in order to be there on time
to take her to church.
What
state patrolman can resist my batting baby blues as I immediately say, “I was
speeding, I am sorry, I am late for church with my Grandma in Fairmont, and it
is all my fault.” No one can resist
that, not even State Patrol. I sent a
quick thank you to Santa and sweet baby Jesus both, for that little gift.
I
arrived in Fairmont, Minnesota, the farm country, on time, but not without a
very challenging, scary drive across black ice and blowing snow.
I
hugged Grandma and got her ready for church, the same church where she had
directed the men’s choir for 40 years, the same church where my Aunt had gotten
married and where I used to listen in awe at the voices of my uncles singing in
harmony, all the hymns, as my Grandpa snuck me little Certs mints from his
secret suit coat pocket before I snuggled up against him to listen to the
sermon.
Before
we walked into church she took my arm (as she has a walker now) and made sure
she knew where I was living now (because I hop around a LOT) and where I had
traveled. I reminded her again that I
live and work in a Kitchen in New York and had just gotten back from Budapest
and Brazil. I had to bite my lip to keep
from correcting her as she walker-hopped her way up to (of course) the very
front of the church, stopping every other pew to tell people in FAR too loud a
whisper, “This is my granddaughter Sarah, and she is a top Chef in New York and
just got back from Budapest and South America.”
Some
little white lies just have to stay put, when it comes to Grandmas. She knows full well that my job is the lowest
of the low, but in her mind, “little Sarah” (as she still calls me) will always
be the top chef, even if she knows that what I really do is prep all the herbs
and vegetables and butter for the real chefs.
My Christmas present to her was keeping my mouth shut and letting her
have her oooooohhhhs and aaaaahhhs from all the other sweet little old ladies
who live in the country and told ever-grander stories of their own
grandchildren. I know this because I
spent about 35 minutes after church was over, listening to them all telling the
same stories over and over, each time getting more magical and
interesting. It’s sweet, really, as don’t
we all need little grandmas in our life to see us as bigger than we really
are? Yes, yes we do, and as I listened
and quietly smiled to myself I knew that I had already started taking on these
traits, too, since I had learned from the best.
I
am a storyteller, and my stories from the Kitchen are a mash-up of multiple
encounters from multiple Kitchens. Some
of the stories are word for word what happened, but many of them are a
summation of the feelings I get while being in a Kitchen, and that feeling is,
of course, love and joy and feeling so happy and grateful to give back in
thanks for what I have been given by taking care of other people. I never want to be the star, but I do want to
be the girl behind the scenes, making sure everyone has what they need and is
happy. My job is to make everyone else
shine, whether in my medical business or in my Kitchen, and so that is what I
will do in 2014, with such joy and happiness, even when I am so, so, so tired.
Grandma
and I wrapped up our church chat, and we returned to the house in Fairmont, the
house where Grandpa died, the house where, when I sleep there in the little
blue bedroom, with the matching duvet and curtains from 1978, the room from
which I can hear her call out in her sleep about every 90 minutes to my
long-gone Grandpa, we had our little Christmas, just Grandma and me.
I
did not make anything fancy at all, because I was exhausted, and because she
did not want that. I picked up lobster
tails and crabcakes, green beans and baking potatoes from Whole Foods, because
I knew that is what would make her happy.
We kept it stripped down simple, even as she brought out her treasured “Waterford”
(ahem…shhhhhh...if my Grandma insists they are Waterford, then by God they are, so zip it) crystal sugar and creamer set, her bright red tablecloth, and her
very special “libations” of Bartles & Jaymes winecoolers. She had put thought into that night, too, and
made it the most special way she knew how.
I could not help but smile to myself.
I
was so tired, but I was so happy to listen to her sing hymns in the background
as I washed dishes, before I performed the obligatory piano concert of Chopin
and Moon River, Claire de Lune and Silver Bells, just as I had every year since
I was 7 years old.
I
love her. I would do anything for her,
just as she would do anything for me. Being
the first grandchild and listening for the 196th time about how my ever-tough
farmer Grandpa just melted when I was placed into his arms for the first time
made me know, without a doubt, that this was exactly where I was meant to be.
We
sang our hymns in church in harmony, we enjoyed our simple dinner, which she swore
was exactly how they cooked in New York (shhhh….play along now, Friends), and
she cried as I played piano before I did a quick physical exam on her knee and
ankle and checked on her other medical conditions and talked about how to plan
for her move into assisted living, away from all of this, away from the home
she shared with Grandpa. She is afraid to
leave this place, this feeling of security, to face this transition that is the
place in life where you do not turn back, you do not have any more chances or
time to do anything different. I knew how important this was, and I knew how lucky
I was to have Christmas with Grandma, just the two of us. I sent a silent thanks to all my Chefs in my
life who taught me how to cook on the fly, exhausted as I was, so that I could
cook with love and make it a special Christmas for her. We had a perfect night, a perfect last
Christmas in that home that held so many stories and so much love, and that
little dinner will become the next story for the little old ladies at church,
which made me smile to myself, too. Some
presents don’t cost a thing but time and love, and we all have some of that to
give, don’t we?
When
I work in my New York Kitchen, I know that even my smallest, least important
role of preparing the butter or picking little stems of herbs are a small part
of my team of Chefs making something beautiful and wonderful for all of our
guests who eat dinner, and I was proud to be able to do that for my sweet and feisty
Grandma, where I could be top chef for just a moment in her eyes.
May
we all have those moments, those precious, precious moments together, around a
table, knowing exactly where we are meant to be and knowing we are loved.
My
wish for you in your 2014 is that you take time and space to be your own top
chefs around your own tables, with simple or elaborate dinners, with the people
you love the most, the people who look at you and see you at your very best,
always, whether or not a little magic is added to the story, as it always is. We will all shush ourselves for that and just
enjoy these moments together, because that, right there, is what it’s all
about. And if you're lucky, I just might get out the Waterford.
With
lots of love from my Kitchen to yours,
Your
Good Friend Sarah
