Food in the Ice box

When there is an event that rips you apart and throws you into the bitter unknown, you must ask for help.

Spirit didn’t really think I needed a few days in the Bahamas, no, I was catapulted into the moonscape ice covered town of Sun Valley Idaho.

I hadn’t been in snow since I moved from Chicago some 20 years ago. No longer fun, it challenged my footing, made my toes burn, and egged me on as I tried to follow the fast steps of my dearest friend Maya, whose excitement for the land was better than a tour guide at the Louvre, and whose life reflects the beauty of her vast and mighty spirit.

I ran to the ice box and when I looked in it was filled with the most delicious unfamiliar sounds of silent snow, the warm embrace of a powerful friend, a banquet of bubbling pots of curry, reductions spooned by Tim the master chef , wine in a glass and the carnivore cuisine of Oh -my- God-incredible buffalo burgers on the grill.

We’d talk, muse, laugh and watch each others intricate quirky stories reveal truth, fear, love and the American way of the stock market, as they held me close.

I babbled to a detective who trusted me to look at a troubling case, perhaps my ability of sight could mirror his own.

I pushed though confusion by listening to those dear and supportive friends in my phone as I watched a snow storm batter my senses.

I gathered myself to see and hear for others, strengthening my resolve as my work for brief moments felt just as majestic and stalwart as the Saw tooth mountains. Yet, I was cold.

Nothing was colder than the bitter betrayal that pushed me on the plane, but I gained perspective when two days after I arrived, Stella a hometown, expert skier was crushed in an avalanche.

How she lived and then died by the mountain, gave all pause; a reminder that life in all its pain can and must go on if we are hungry enough to go searching.

I was blessed and satiated I found great bounty in the ice box.