Comforting Food

What is comfort food to you? We all have our own definition. Some of my favorites are things Mom served the family for years...meatloaf, tuna noodle casserole, and creamed tuna on toast. But I have an additional set of comfort foods that are all ethnic. The paternal side of my family is 100% Greek. My Yiayia (grandmother) was a REALLY good cook, and some of the things she made became my comfort foods.

The difficulty is that my Yiayia is long gone. She didn't write down her recipes. Now I roam the earth searching for happiness in the form of truly good Greek food.

Fortunately, I have some good recipes that dirty every pan in the kitchen, but yield good results. And I have some favorite Greek restaurants too. They include Molyvos on 7th Avenue in NYC, and Melanthios or the Parthenon in Chicago. But I keep looking...

Last night we tried Greekfest in Phoenix, and were disappointed. Several things were overcooked, and the seasonings were off base. But the owner had just made fresh kourambiethes (a Greek version of something you might know as wedding cookies). So my consulation was to take a bag of those back to the hotel for dessert. Not as good as Yiayia's, but comparisons rarely measure up.

Comfort food elicits groans of glee and memories of happy, loving times. Don't we all pursue those feelings? I'm always on the prowl.

P.S. This blog entry was written on my cell phone at the airport. I apologize for any errors caused by big fingers on itty bitty keys.

The Healing Comfort of Home

We become more attached to our routine and appreciative of the comfort of our own home as the years pass.  I enjoy travel and having some newness in my life, but there is never anything better than coming home.  The familiarity of everything soothes me - from the view out the windows to my comfortable bed to having my "stuff" around me.  I've been away now for almost a month, and I truly miss our home, our friends, and our routine.

Two weeks ago, Mom had her open heart surgery and valve replacement.  Just yesterday she escaped the hospital, and all its noise, interruptions, and sterility of atmosphere.  She has one more stop before home, staying for about a week in a skilled care facility.  Here we hope Mom will eat better and get the physical therapy and rest she needs to regain her strength.  But I'm convinced the most rapid progress of her healing will take place in her own home.

At our family home, affectionately referred to as "1070" (part of the address), Mom will be able to recapture the comfort and serenity I know she craves.  She can make breakfast in her own little kitchen, do the daily puzzles in the Manchester Union Leader, and enjoy watching Fall wind down outside her bedroom window.  Once again, Mom will enjoy the privacy of her own bathroom and the relief of sleeping in the bed she shared with my father for so many years.  Meals will be served on her schedule, and be comprised of her favorite items.  With all this, and her favorite people and things around her, she will heal and thrive.

So, 1070, get ready to welcome Mom home.  She needs you.

Comfort in Routine

As the world turns and living creates turmoil beyond our control, I find comfort in personal routine. For example, eating is a necessary routine and “Comfort Food” is virtual transportation back to simpler times, when Mommy fed me favorite foods that made me warm and happy. I love mom’s Meatloaf, and various Greek dishes that evoke the memories of the fellowship at our church. When I have those foods now, they simply make me happy on a soulful level.

Retired now, and able to shield ourselves from much of the chaos around us, we have discovered a few things. We don’t much care for having our routine involuntarily interrupted. Our tolerance for personal drama has withered. The new life we have orchestrated puts a high value on calm, relaxation, and pleasure. Perceived attacks on that stress-free lifestyle are defended. There certainly will be life events that disrupt the peace – accident, illness, family misfortune – but we will deal with those as they occur, without artificially creating or anticipating disaster.

The day begins when I make a pot of coffee, open the window shades, and check in on my friends online. Before showering and dressing, I make the bed (it’s a rule). I try to work out 5 days a week, but I have to admit that’s not a routine quite yet, and my exercise often takes different forms (elliptical or treadmill/crunches/weights, or a round of golf, a hike in Prescott or a long walk in the city) at different times of day.

When I’m tired and ready for bed, the routines are short and sweet. I wash my face and brush my teeth, and turn down the bed. My feet get a luxurious treatment with a lavender-scented shea butter crème, before they slide between the sheets. I usually fall asleep easily, with the smell of lavender on my hands.

These little routines create normalcy that simply grounds my day. When my schedule was more hectic, many things fell by the wayside as stress and time pressures caused me to foolishly deprive myself of the simple pleasures of finding comfort in routine. No more. I deserve this.