Brother Bears.

Today is National Sibling Day. It's not on my calendar but everyone on Facebook says it is, so it must be so. I'm OK with that. Any excuse to reminisce on my brothers is a good enough excuse for me.

Stephen (not Steven... pronounced Stefan, thank you much), Jon, and I have always been best friends. Please don't get me wrong, we have also been worst enemies. Each other's nightmares. Boxing opponents. Each other's science experiments. Cohorts in crime. Drinking buddies. Voices of reason. Voices of un-reason. We have been raised by each other. We have kept secrets for and from each other. But most of all, we have loved each other.

Stephen 

Stephen's first day of 1st Grade in AUS

We have always been each other's rock. When I would cry, he would come running. Always. Without fail. As most siblings do, we went through a few tumultuous years. Oh, the epic battles. I seem to remember knife fights (ahem... mostly from me), cop threats, being thrown off the boat while Dad was diving, purple-nurples and drawn on mustaches. All violence aside, Stephen is the most gentle human being you will ever meet. He is 6'10 and I couldn't even begin to guess how much he weighs. But the first time I saw him hold his tiny daughter in his arms, I remembered the feeling I used to get when he would wrap his 6 year old arms around me and say,

Stephen and his wife.. He's so sweet. 

"Oh.. Arielle. Don't cry. Don't cry, Arielle. Don't cry." He is sensitive and strong. He can't spell very well, but he can blow your mind with the amount of knowledge he holds in his brain. Ask him anything about the ocean, and I guarantee he knows at least a little bit about it. He's not a small man, but he is graceful underwater. When he was 13 he could free dive 40+ feet with a pole spear, stone a fish dead, bag it and swim to the surface with nothing but a mask and still have breath to spare.

He is turning 27 this month. He will also celebrate his one year anniversary to the most perfect woman and his son's 6th birthday. His son is the spitting image of him. They even have the exact same paddle feet. I love you, Stephen. Today and every day.

One of my favorite pictures from when the kids were little(r).

Cooking for One. Cooking for Many. "The Secret Ingredient."

I love cooking. 

Not as much as I love yoga, but I would say it is definitely a close second. I used to cook with my mother growing up and it never really felt like a chore, even though it was clearly printed on the list squeezed right between "Do Homework" and "Do Dishes."

 I hated that check list. I hated those chores. I was angry that my friends didn't have a list the size of their forearm (drama didn't begin in my 20's... clearly) to complete EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. They may have.. and they may have not. But I was convinced that I was the only person in the entirety of Planet Earth that had to do any of these absurdities. Make my bed and put my laundry away? Surely, if only the Chinese had my mother in their ranks they would have thrown away water torture and resorted to back breaking pick-up-your-own-dirty-socks type activities. 

"Cook Dinner with Mom," however, never felt like a chore. 

I remember the day mom taught me about making gravy. 

"You can't stop stirring it, Arielle. Or else you'll get lumps." 

And I didn't stop. I stirred and stirred until I thought my arm couldn't handle stirring any more (approximately five minutes). 

And mashed potatoes? 

A box was blasphemy. I would stand at the trash can and peel a pile of potatoes so high I could barely see over them.

Pancakes.
Flip them when the bubbles start to pop. 

If I don't stop right here this will become nothing more than me remembering the first time I cooked rice and burned it. Or the first turkey I made for Thanksgiving and rocked it. 

Point being, I loved cooking then and I have only continued to love cooking even more as I have grown. 

There is one type of cooking that had always terrified me.

Cooking for myself. 

I must not be alone. There are cook books, websites, classes and workshops you can attend to teach you how to cook for one person. I have never taken advantage of said resources but I'd like to. 

In the past four years or so I have fallen in love with cooking for one. 

I can try new things without worrying if it comes out perfect. 

I can ask myself "What do you want to eat?" and really listen to my body for the answer.

As the years have passed I've cooked a lot. Both for other people and just for myself.

Beautiful red quinoa. 

Last night, I went to my friend Katy's house and we cooked for her family. Recently I've been cooking a lot for two people, which is also really fun. Realistically, cooking for two is what I have done the most. Last night we cooked for four. It was so much fun. Watching each person enjoy different parts of the same meal in completely different ways. The little one loved the "chicken" (read: fish) but only from his mother's plate. I was freaking out over the red quinoa. Katy loved the salad. Everyone enjoyed it all. 

It made me remember how much fun it is to cook for more than just one or two people.

Yoga has changed every aspect of my life. Including how I eat.

The yoga of eating.

There are numerous articles, books, lectures and opinions out there on this very subject. For me, the most prevalent idea is that as we cook we are transferring our energy into the food. Our emotions. Our thoughts. Our feelings. And the people who eat this food are literally eating our emotions. You remember that typical mom phrase, "I made it with the secret ingredient.." as they hand you a brownie and pull you in close. "Love." they whisper in your ear just as you take the first bite out of a warm, fudgey, chewey brownie. 

Of course now we "know" that love can't be taken out of your heart and mixed in with the brownie mix. But, undeniably, mom's brownies were the best. Even if years later you found out they came out of the box. There really was some secret ingredient. 

Love. 

Why not?

I have never met someone who can quantify or qualify love. Or anger.  Or happiness.  Or disappointment  Or any other array of emotions. Sure, you can tell me all about the biochemical reactions going on in our bodies. You can tell me all about brain activity and synaptic responses. But that's not LOVE. That's not HOPE. That's not FEAR. 

And in that light, I hope that every time I cook I am adding the secret ingredient(s). 

I try not to cook when I am in a less than decent mood. Granted, I don't like to eat when I am in a less than decent mood unless I am shoving brownie after browning (lacking in such secret ingredients) into my face... which is a whole separate discussion on self-control and restraint. 

So tonight, I will cultivate all the beauty in my life as I cook. 

I will focus on the incredible weather. My sweet dogs. All the yoga I have learned and will learn. My truly precious friends. New love. Old love. Family. Hope. Dreams. 

Tonight, I feed myself so tomorrow I can feed others.

A

Inspiration from Today's Yogi Tea:

To learn, read. To know, write. To master, teach. 





















Love what is ahead by loving what has come before.