I was raised between the kitchen and dining room table, flitting between cutting board and stove. Learning the lessons of taste over the chopping of onion and garlic. The transmutation of anchovy into love as it melts into tomato sauce. The spoken prayer after sliding cookies into the oven. I know that the magic of the kitchen is a form of sacrifice and alchemy.
I do believe the kitchen table is where everything begins and ends. I am grateful each morning and evening, and if I am lucky, some afternoons in which I can break bread and share a meal with my loved ones. For me, there is nothing more healing than a meal with conversation, questions, and laughter.
As we head towards Thanksgiving, I want to share one of my favorite poems by our indigenous poet-musician and US Poet Laureate Joy Harjo. Her words have constantly fed me. May they nourish your spirit as well.
Blessings around the table to all.