Letter to my kids: what matters?

Greetings from the kitchen (my lair :)), For so many days, and years, I felt that I was strapped in here, trapped in here. Moving endlessly among refrigerator, oven and sink. Musing darkly that the best epitaph I could now hope for would be, "She made tasty dinners." Or, more darkly, "She cleaned a mean dish." Sure, I made the choice to spend countless hours thinking about, planning and preparing the elaborate meals we shared. No one asked me to, and many told me repeatedly I was wasting my time. Was I? I often wondered. Because, as you know, I love wonderful food. I love thinking and reading about it. I love learning about other cultures and people through eating what they eat. I love making food and sharing it with folks. I love savoring it. I realized somewhat belatedly that I experience preparing and offering food as a meditation and a communication. It is a demonstration of soulfulness, love and caring. And I believe deeply in the tremendous power and hope that breaking bread together reflects. Now, you've shown me the truth of that, the rightness. I hear you say that you've made some of our varied dishes for friends and colleagues. How they all loved the food, even went on to try the recipes on their own and share it with folks of different backgrounds. I listen to you tell how you brought food to a contentious meeting of young contemporaries to help ease a sense of connection and how you used cooking as an extended metaphor when writing about peace building. I watch you at gatherings where you not only try new foods and cuisines, but you also eagerly dive in. You ask questions and you appreciate. I see how you travel to other parts of the world and enjoy local cuisines and love to try new restaurants and foods you've never tasted or even heard of before. I see you building bridges through food--and nothing could make me happier, or more proud. So, did it matter that I spent all of that time and made all of that effort cooking? Perhaps not. In some ways, nothing matters. You could have turned out just as amazingly, regardless. But, paradoxically, in some ways, everything matters. Including what I made for dinner back in January 1995 and August 2008. It's all connected, like we are. And, for me, sharing wonderful, thoughtfully prepared food facilitates and feeds that. Thank you for contributing your hearts to that cause--better than any award or degree or bauble any of us could ever obtain. Bon appétit! Love, Mom