I wasn’t ready. No where near un-boxing the trauma and the hurt I had been experiencing. I was hardly afloat but I had a toddler to take care of so I persisted. The dreams I had, the future I built in my mind, shattered like a broken glass. I was young, hardly an adult but my mind was made up. I was not ready to love again, and maybe, I never would because that’s safer. When I met my husband, I was broken, a bird without feathers.

My favorite thing about him , is his willingness to show up. When we met, he literally just showed up! I was committed to hating men and I was mean. I would walk away from conversations, ignore him as I worked but he showed up with supplies I would need, so that I didn’t have to climb the shelves. He restocked my refrigerator to the exact OCD specifications I had. Labels all turned out, 2 rows of each beverage with the diet alternative to the left of the product. He did this without me asking. He observed me and took a minute to learn about the things that make me tick. (now, no one can keep an organized kitchen cabinet but whatever lol)

I didn’t want him, told him so to his face, several times and he always answered with, “I just want to get to know you, that’s it.” I didn’t have time for that either. I wasn’t in the market for new friends, all I wanted was to go back in time and fix my damage, alone.

I had moved back to my mother’s house after my seperation, divorce was my future at 23 years old. The only real outlet I had was my spirituality. It has helped me survive, and it was continuing to be a support in my current situation so I allowed myself to lean on it for strength. Traveling to the temple from queens was 2 hour journey, one I committed to all the time, the train was my friend.

I had to work one weekend, and it so happened that I was also participating in a ceremony so I had to bring several bags with me, no biggie right? I also had a huge list of things I needed to get, and of course, life got in the way and my shopping would have to be done after work. Did I mention I forgot some things I needed at home and would have to go back to queens first? Yup!  I was tired after my shift, but I was a workhorse then, so I slung my bags over my back and headed towards the door. “Let me give you a ride.” I heard him say.

“No thanks!” I said, through thin lips and a wave. “Let me help you…” he said again. “I’m good, I don’t need help!” I said back, as the bags weighed me down. “It’s really no trouble” he reminded me. “Yea, I get it but I’m good!” I said once again. I wasn’t used to having men offer help and not want something in return. Frankly I forgot what a favor or help from another person even was…. I shouldered all the burdens of my now broken marriage. I was raw, and still unwilling to let anyone show me kindness because nothing is free. “Why are you so stubborn?” he asked, slightly irked by my consistent refusals. I was shocked! I turned to him, brows scrunched and teeth showing, I was ready to attack. “Um, you’re the one that doesn’t get the message here! I’m good, means, I’m good! What do you want from me?” I said in frustration, holding back tears.

He picked up my wavering resolve and spoke softly and reassuringly. “I don’t want anything from you, I want to help you.” “Well, I don’t need any help!” I interrupted. He squinted his eyes at me and reached for my bag strap that was falling off my shoulder “Yes, you do” he said, catching it. I sighed in defeat. I was tired of fighting, tired of the pain, tired of feeling tired. I needed help and I didn’t even know it but he did, so he showed up, and I let him drive me to queens. We talked about random things on the ride, and it was a relief to just sit back and relax. When we got to my mother’s I thanked him and gathered my bags. “I can wait and take you up to the bronx ya know.” he offered. I smiled, genuinely and said “ I really appreciated the ride, but I still have a lot to do and things to gather before I go up there. Thank you though.”

“I’ve stopped asking you out after you said no like a hundred times so you don’t have to worry about that, but I still want to get to know you, and I want to spend time with you. I am free for the rest of the day, I can take you anywhere.”

I felt that in my soul like a stone dropping into a still lake. He was offering me his time, the most precious thing we can give to a person. I started to refuse again, going down the list of things I needed to get and places I had to go to. “Jesus!” he exclaimed. Knowing I had scared him off, I again reached for my bag. “Wait! What are you doing?” he asked confused. “Did you not just Jesus me? I assumed that meant you were backing out” I laughed. “No! I was wondering how on earth you were going to do all that on foot!” he explained. Shrugging, I said “I have to, there is no other choice.”

He took me everywhere I needed to go. He carried my bags, told me funny stories and made me feel like I was the sun. I didn’t remember what it was like to be acknowledged, his kindness showed me that I deserved to be seen.

Our adventure came to a close when we arrived in the bronx. He helped me with my bags and got back into the car. “You know, I can come back later and bring you home” he smiled. I chuckled to myself because only I knew how late our temple gatherings were. Placing my hand on the lowered window I said “I can’t thank you enough. I appreciate your stubbornness and for not giving up because I really did need help. Our events run late and I won’t be bringing anything back so I’ll be ok.” I smiled and left. He had been the perfect gentleman.  He didn’t make a single advance that day, never brought it up, didn’t touch me at all and respected all of my boundaries because he knew what I really needed and showed up as a friend.

I thought about him that weekend quietly, secretly, and full of longing. I wasn’t ready for what I was feeling, I rejected those emotions but his act of kindness kept piercing the crevices of my stone wall and shone through the darkness in my heart, that light was his love and it radiated with such force that I had no choice but to also acknowledge it.

When I arrived at 6 am, the coffee filling the air while the clanging of pots made music as I floated in through the loading dock, high on spiritual vibes. I went to grab my usual cup and realized that every morning this coffee was here… ready… but who made it? I turned around cradling my cup and he was there, reading the DaVinci code. I was seeing him for the first time and I realized, he was my sun.

I walked over to him and lifted the book cover with my finger “Oh! You read?” I said. This was the first time I had ever greeted him in the morning, and I had worked there over a year and because I am awkward, I immediately opened with an insult. He raised his eyebrows at me and I laughed loudly and nervously. “That’s not what I meant!” waving my hands frantically. I didn’t know how to recover. “I’ve just never seen you reading a book before.” i said sheepishly. “You hardly knew I existed, or else you would have seen me with other books before.” he pointed out.

I wanted to die under a rock. He laughed it off and we chatted quickly and I was off to my station but not before he asked if I was ok and how things had turned out.

Later that day, after several random exchanges I realized that he was just like Wesley from the Princess Bride. He had been as you wishing me all this time and what I thought to be coworker camaraderie and required tasks – what he was really saying was I love you.

It took a while but that was the turning point in our relationship. He always showed up and still shows up. Last night, after work, after dinner, after some Christmas decorating I was still baking for a work event and my IG page. We needed to do a supermarket run and I don’t have my car anymore so of course, he drove. He bought my ingredients, carried my bags and offered me coffee.

When we got home, he showed up in the kitchen and although I was tired, frustrated and annoyed, snapping at him over my stupidness, he scooped, rolled and decorated cookies. He washed my pots as I worked and photographed then got yelled out for moving my strategically placed greenery for my pictures. He still showed up in the kitchen again, helping me with the last details and cleaning up. At one point after apologizing several times to him, I said “ I’m sorry babe, its after midnight and so late… I know you didn’t sign up for this..” he cut me off and said. “Yes I did. And I’m here for whatever else.”

We finished up and I stayed behind putting some things away and then I walk into my bedroom playing “It’s our anniversary” by Tony! Toni! Tone!. Today we celebrate, not our wedding anniversary but the first time we saw each other because I had been closed off to the world. We also celebrate the first time I tried to engage in a conversation with him and ended up insulting him!

I celebrate him today and his willingness to show up without a promise of a reward. I celebrate his willingness to look at a broken person and see the potential in them. I celebrate his ability to love me unconditionally, through my trauma, my rage, my sharp tongue and my meltdowns. I celebrate him showing up as a father to a toddler, for proving time and again that he was there for her and his continued support through her teenage shenanigans, pms mood swings and the attitude passed down from her mother! I celebrate his cheerleader spirit and the moments when he channels his glass half full/ Deepak Chopra mentality making me all sorts of mad while reassuring me that my feelings of inadequacy and defeat are valid but they do not define me and that I am better than what the voices in my head are trying to convince me of.

In him, I have a partner ( that I want to throttle on occasion). I have a confidant, I have my soulmate, my peanut gallery, my cheerleader. He makes me strive to be a better person every day, especially on the days where I don’t want to show up for life. I only hope that I have done the same for him, because I strive to be that rock in his life, and not the kind that gets in the way, but the kind you can hold on to, build from and build on.

He is the sun to my flower garden and I’m so happy that he still shows up, twelve years later.

Happy “Firsts” anniversary my love.

The holidays don’t officially start until the coquito gets made in my house! I have spent several years revamping, fixing and tweaking the recipe and have finally felt that it was just right. Coquito screams  “Joy” it means spending time with family and friends. It means forgetting about all our problems and having a moment to just be .  It means, I can carry a gift to someone and see them smile in appreciation. It means I can contribute something to a meal, a party, a gather. Coquito evokes the feeling of belonging, like a clan, a group, a coven, a family. So in full food magic form, Coquito making is a well calculated ritual performed on a specific day, and an almost specific time. The music has to be just right and the kitchen has to include all of my ritual participants ( my hubby opening cans, my daughter bouncing around getting in the way and the dog, totally underfoot causing mayhem. The scene may look chaotic but the energy is euphoric. I stir my giant black cauldron and mix away, adding ingredients as needed, invoking the spirit of happiness and guiding it through my hands into my mixture in the hopes of reaching all those who will consume it… So mote it be!!

Every thanksgiving I visit my mother and grandmother (she’s 96 and a firecracker). I ask mom “Hey, what should I bring?” and her response is the same. “You don’t have to bring anything just come! We always welcome anything you want to contribute but please, don’t forget to bring your grandmother coquito!!!” . I laugh and say “I would never forget!”  My grandmother was never a drinker in her youth and always vehemently opposed  its consumption in her presence but coquito… that doesn’t count at all! My greatest joy is pulling out those bottles and her face lighting up.

The first round is over and as we get closer to Christmas I need to make a new batch, I love to gift these and do drive by drop offs! With the last bit hanging out in my fridge, no one daring to take the last sip, I decided to use it for a cookie and boy was it worth it! Check out the recipe below! Hope you enjoy them as much as I did! Happy Baking!

Coquito snickerdoodles

Makes about 36

½ cup butter, softened

1 cup +1 Tbsp sugar

*2 eggs

½ tsp vanilla extract

½ cup coquito

2 ¼ cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

½ tsp salt

⅓ cup sugar, for rolling

½ tsp cinnamon, for rolling

In a large bowl or in a standing mixer with a paddle, combine butter and sugar and cream until light and fluffy, scraping down the bowl often.  Add the eggs one at a time, then add the vanilla.

In another bowl soft flour, baking soda and salt. Add flour to butter mixture, alternating with the coquito until fully incorporated. (dough will be soft, and batter like)

Shape into logs using plastic wrap or put into a container and refrigerate for 1-2 hours or until it has hardened enough to scoop.  (if you’re in a hurry, you could put it in the freezer for 15-30 minutes)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Combine remaining sugar and cinnamon in a bowl. Working in batches, use a tablespoon to scoop the dough and form a ball, then roll in the cinnamon sugar. Place on a parchment lined cookie sheet and bake for 8-10 minutes or until edges begin to set and starts cracking. Remove from the oven and let cool.

*If your coquito contains eggs/eggnog then cut back to only 1 egg

If you make these, please #foodmagic and #gourmetwitch_cookbooks I would love to see how yours come out!

“Noonycakes” Amelia said calmly, “We are running out of fuel…” “I know, sweet pea” Fred answered, squeezing her shoulder. “Just fly till she gives out, we might spot land!” he encouraged. She got back on the radio one last time “”We are running on line north and south. We should be over Howland Island. Itasca, can you hear us? Do you copy? We are almost out of fuel, do you copy? ” All they heard back was static, radio transmission had been lost for a while, cutting in and out, mostly inaudible. The morse code signals had come through but they were still off course and there was no sign of the Itasca which was meant to help them navigate the rest of the way or at least provide relief should something happen. The ship was large and yet Amelia could not locate it either.  Her insides were screaming with fear, but she had to remain calm in case there was still a chance, even the slightest that they could survive this.

Amelia was a modern woman for her time, relied on logic, science and technology while promoting women’s rights, leading and participating with many activist groups. She had gone to university, excelled and followed her passion to became the first female aviator, who was also the first to fly alone across the Atlantic. Speculation on how she was able to achieve all this on her own was the main topic of conversation that surrounded  her but she never paid it any mind. She was happily married to George Putnam and that was all she had to say on the matter, ever.

In these last moments she reached into her pocket and produced a small book of psalms. She found comfort in prayer though she never really enjoyed the whole idea of church. Hands shaky, she tried to open the book and say her favorite psalm, one last time. Out from between the pages fell a folded piece of paper.

“My Dearest Amelia,

I can’t get the idea of you and Fred Noonan out of my head. I know you’ve said countless times that you weren’t together but my gut says otherwise. I’ve supported you through your career, I’ve been your lap dog this whole time. I went as far as setting that fire so that we could have the money to move to California and this is the thanks I get! It’s a slap in the face to a faithful man. When we married, you made sure that I knew we were partners, equals and not bound by any conventional ties… I didn’t know you also meant the ties of our hearts and our bed. I hope in your final moments that you think of me, the love we shared and how much you meant to me. Your career and your incessant need to fight for equality has brought you to where you are now. The men you think were colleagues wanted more than anything to be rid of you and so your coordinates were tampered with…You will never find Howland Island, I made sure of it. I hope noonycakes can comfort you during this time and I pray that your corpses are devoured by sharks or never found. I hope one day after you have passed that your spirit will forgive me.

Goodbye dear wife,

George Putnam

The engine began to sputter and the plane began to smoke as the last of the fuel was burning. The alarms were going off, loudly beeping as if this racket would help them in any way at this point. “We are losing altitude” she said to Fred. “You have been a great navigator my love!” she yelled over the wind picking up as they dropped from the sky. “Don’t lose hope!” he shouted back. She carefully lifted her hand with the note over her shoulder. Fred grabbed it and tried to open it “No need! We aren’t going to make it to Howland Island, George knows about us. He changed the coordinates, and we will die here.” there was no need to turn around, she knew the color had drained from Fred’s face. She was sorry that he would meet his end by the hand of a cuckold.  Amelia focused on straightening the plane as best as she could but they continued to drop rapidly. “Brace for impact!” she screamed and in a flash, they were in the water.