I’ve been creating sad, superfluous loungewear out of old clothes for years. And that’s not my only problem. I’ve also been treating my parents’ home as a “haven for mementos”, and I have a deeply rooted book-hoarding problem. Marie Kondo has me figured out! I’m reading “The Life Changing Art of Tidying Up” and learning so much about myself. 

We were just walking down the street when an elderly lady handed my dad a big, wide basket full of passion fruit. The bowl was lined with newspaper and filled to the brim. She had run out of her house as we were passing by and she beamed when my dad accepted her present. We were in Sri Lanka. I was eight. According to mom, who translated the transaction for me, the old woman had known my grandfather. The passion fruit were from her tree. They were her gift to my grandfather’s eldest son to welcome him back to the island after so many years.

If you have a moment, make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Use nutritionally void soft white bread. Eat the crusts off first. Then look at what you’re left with. Examine it objectively. Close your eyes and take a bite. It’s tender but toothsome with just the right amount of ooze. It’s soft and sweet. It’s creamy and tart. Be honest. It’s not really a sandwich, is it? It’s more like a perfect little layer cake.  Dessert masquerading as lunch.  And it’s really delicious. This exciting discovery has changed my life and my fridge. 

For a good chunk of my life, I didn’t know that there was more to New York City than Chinatown. I assumed that the earth fell off at the edge of Kenmare Street, Frank Sinatra was singing about dim sum, and the Great White Way referred to Mott Street with its rows of fish markets full of pale creatures in white Styrofoam coolers. When I was little my family made countless day trips to New York City, but we never went to Macy’s or saw a show on Broadway. Instead we made a beeline for Chinatown and stayed there. After so many visits, I just assumed that the only thing to do in the whole of New York City was shop for groceries from busy street stalls and eat delicious Chinese food. That was my New York City and I liked it.

I feel like a miss. But lately I’ve been getting ma’amed all over town. I live in a youngish neighborhood by some standards. Perhaps in that context I look especially ma’am-like? I only have a handful of grey hairs. Maybe it’s the fact that my gums are receding and my teeth are just a bit gappier than they were before. I didn’t think that was noticeable. 

Set-It-and-Forget-It Seneviratne. I’ve earned a few choice nicknames over the course of my life, but I think that one might be the most apt. (Samantha the Panther was probably the least.) See that pot that’s bone dry and smoking because someone put water to boil an hour ago? Who did that? What about those nuts, burnt to an unrecognizable crisp? I like to think that my absentmindedness is charming. But possibly not.

I have to be honest. I haven’t exactly been glowing with holiday spirit this year. Last month we ate Chinese food on Thanksgiving. We don’t have a tree, just the same old plants. There is printer paper all over my desk, but no wrapping paper to be seen. I’ve kept my head buried in work while the tinsel and the lights have been strung up around me.

The whole season might have come and gone if it weren’t for gingerbread. The other day, I got to bake some for Mrs. Patmore. Do you know her?

I’m so glad that Birkenstocks are acceptable again. Almost cool. Over the past couple of years I’ve seem them on fashionable New Yorkers, and I just bought a pair. I had forgotten how comfy they are. They’re still not exactly good looking, but I like them. They feel sort of age appropriate in a nice way.

I spent this last week doing not a whole heck of a lot. I made two trips to the beach with dear friends, a new baby beauty, and a baby in utero. (Not my utero.) I watched another inspiring friend complete her first triathlon. I read books and drank coffee on my couch. I saw the new X-Men (x-tremely boring) by myself and drank my annual cherry coke (delicious). I went to the farmers’ market for the first time this summer (!) and bought a ton of heirloom tomatoes. And I loaded up on more currants. Lots more currants. 

I’ve seen the movie Titanic more times than I would like to admit. I saw it in the theater when it came out. We owned a copy on laser disc that I used to enjoy occasionally. And it’s been on TV a fair number of times. Let’s just say that I know the film pretty well. Well enough that the best way that I can explain my life is through a scene from the movie. Not that “I’m king of the world” business, either.

What the heck are black currants anyway? I’ve been watching old episodes of Louie so I feel entitled to phrase all my questions really aggressively. 

I was at Whole Foods the other day. I had a short list of things I needed and a long list of things I needed to do. I had a strict schedule to follow. And then I got carried away by the currants.

For a while I had a spin teacher who ended every class imploring his students to spend a second being grateful that they were healthy enough to exercise. That seems right to me. I love to jog. I like the feel of the sun on my shoulders and the wind in my hair. Once I’ve gotten oven my initial laziness, I feel glad and grateful whenever I hit the pavement. That said, I also harbor no illusions about being an athlete. I’m clumsy and not light on my feet. But that’s why jogging is so great. You can just do it your way. Any way that happens to be.

Every day I confront a pressing moral dilemma. The good and evil parts of my personality are fighting it out, and I’m really not sure which side is going to win. My predicament involves fresh strawberries, a friendly church, and potential jail time. 

Joyce Carol Oates said that “getting a first draft finished is like pushing a peanut with your nose across a very dirty floor.” What a great analogy. My first cookbook draft and whatever masterpiece Joyce Carol Oates was referring to may not have much in common, but I can relate to her sentiment. Lately I’ve been getting a mouth full of dust bunnies on my quest to push the peanut. I write every day. I cook almost every day. But every day I wonder if the things I’m creating are good enough. I guess that’s all a part of the process.

You know that thing where as soon as you schedule a haircut, your hair starts to look extra luxurious? It’s just one good hair day after another, right up until your appointment, and you start to question the impulse that brought you to the salon in the first place. I’m having that problem with New York City. 

My former colleague/current friend Merritt emailed me with a snippet from her dream life the other day. Not her dreamy and beautiful existence in San Francisco but an actual dream.  Apparently, in her dreams, my current morning routine involves at least ten minutes of combing my eyebrows with a rusty old dime. Yes. That sounds about right. 

Do you remember the first time you tasted biscotti? Do you remember what ran through your mind? Perhaps it was something along the lines of, “This stupid cookie stick is stale. Rude.” That was my first reaction. But then again, I was just a kid. I didn’t know that biscotti are supposed to be hard. I didn’t know anything about drinking coffee. And I didn’t know that the singular of biscotti is biscotto. I’ve come a long way.

I recently fell asleep at the movies. I think I've entered a new stage of life. The I’m-perfectly-rested-but-now-I’m-old-so-if-I get-too-comfortable-I’m-going-to-pass-out stage. Strange. I didn’t feel the transition. 

The other day my husband looked at my Instagram feed and told me that everything looked brown. Don’t I know it? The winter is darn long. Tan. What do you expect? Now is the time for chocolate, caramel, coffee etc. Brown flavors. Delicious flavors but monochromatic nonetheless. While I’ll always be a big fan of chocolate, right about now I'm really missing all the other colors of the rainbow.

Remember peaches? Think back on blueberries. Can we talk about rhubarb? I know I should really be getting into winter-loving citrus. I’m working on a kumquat recipe as we speak. We’ll get to citrus. But right now I just want to think about summer cherries.