It’s taken me a while to come here.  I haven’t blogged in an
eternity..or so it seems to me. I needed a break to ruminate and
embrace this holiday month.

More things have happened.  Clarification.  Understanding.  Dust has
settled.  Anger and hurt has dissipated.

For all my 31 years, I’ve been skipping along a directionless path.
 Although the directionless aspect, in itself, is a direction.  It’s
been a life of twists and turns, fallacies and discoveries.

I discovered someone.  And it has floored me.  The enormous
measurements of that discovery keep expanding.  And will
keep expanding for the rest of my life.  Of course it’s him.
Of course it’s D.  I’ve known him for five years now.  Friends for
most of those years, then a couple for the rest.  Though the last year
has been tortuous and intermittent, a common thread of love
refuses to break.

I can’t skip along the directionless path anymore.  I have to grow up.  I
met someone who loves me seriously.  Someone who loves me enough to
keep me accountable and heading in a focused direction.  I’m doing the
same for him.

Intellectually, it could all be diced up into
nothingness.  That is a mistake.  The heart keeps it whole.  It’s the
same heart which believes in something larger and more profound.  Love,
like faith, is not categorizable or quantifiable.  It rebels.  It goes
it’s own way.  It does what it needs to do.  To get in the way of it
is to break a bond of the universe.

This holiday season has been really good.  It started out with an exciting
shot in the arm: New York City.  Mom, me and a friend of hers took a bus down for the
day.

I’ve been to New York a handful of times.  I love it.  An burbling stew of a
city full of possibility and creativity.  All I really needed to do
was walk around and LOOK.  And look some more.

We started walking and stopped in at the library. I have never been there. I walked into a reading room and plucked a book of english poets off the shelf. I wanted to read a complete poem. I alighted upon Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty”. A joyful smile spread from ear to ear.

We saw Rockefeller Center. We did the Fifth Avenue stroll, popping in at Tiffany’s and F.A.O. Schwartz. Then we took a Central Park carriage ride, pulled by a horse named Betty. And New York birds really are New York birds. They like their hot dog buns.

Our next stop was Katz’s. (Another first. Almost everything in this trip was firsts.) You get a ticket when you walk in. Heaven help you if you lose it. You’re out $50. There wasn’t much of a line at 2 PM, so we ordered right away. The counter guys were charmingly nonchalant, tossing spanish back and forth while slicing up delectable chunks of meat. I ordered pastrami. Again, I’ve never had it. Mom ordered brisket. Her friend ordered corned beef. I tried them all, but I liked my sandwich the best. The pickles were the key supporting player in this delicious theater.

We ventured on to Little Italy in search of Ferrara. It’s a bakery which has been open since 1892. The old-world ambience was still there. The wait staff wore white jackets. We ordered our yummies. I got a frothy cup of cappuccino.

Heading back, I glanced down a side street and snapped a pic. This is Christmas, New York-style.

Our last official stop was Eataly. Eataly is a recent phenomenon in New York, but I’m sure practiced New York foodies adjusted within a millisecond. It’s a food emporium imported from Italy. I had to see it for myself. I walked around in a daze and bought nothing. I’m used to mega groceries with a million choices. I’m NOT used to a million EXQUISITE food choices stretching beyond the limits of my imagination. Maybe I’m still a hick girl from the sticks. I will never be a practiced New York foodie. I’m glad I’m not.

We finished our happy day by looking at department store windows and other lovelies. The Empire State Building was a mysterious blue beacon in the inky dark.

The last dollop of cheer? Skaters in Bryant Park.

That trip jump-started me. I didn’t have much money for gifts this year, so I sent out biscotti instead. I made them with lemon curd and orange flavoring. Yum. Everyone liked them.

Dad wanted his mother’s sugar cookies. I couldn’t find that recipe, but I did find this variation. Deciphering her chicken scratch was an amusing challenge. I miss her in these moments.

The cookies came out of the oven warm, fragrantly spiced, and comforting. I added my own secret ingredient. Well, not so secret…it is one of the flavorings in my biscotti. I’ll leave you to figure out which one;-)