December Newsletter: A Recipe a Practice, a Poem

Dear Friends,

It was not the outcome we hoped for. But we’re still here. And while we’re here, we need to take good care of ourselves and each other. We need to build our health and resilience. We need to come together in community. We’re in this together.

As part of my commitment to my community. I will be offering a free monthly writing class “Come Together: A Community Writing Practice,” the first Thursday of every month. This class will be open to both men and women. The first class is Thursday, December 5th, 5 PM PT to 6:30 PM PT.

Here is the registration link:

New eight-week rounds of Women’s Writing Circles begin in January: Zoom: Tuesday, January 14th, 4 PM PT to 5:30 PM PT, and in-person classes in my Bay Area home: Friday, January 17th, 10 AM to Noon. https://www.daynamacy.com/writing-circles for more info. If you are experiencing financial challenges, reach out!

Finally, in this spirit of self-care, I offer some gifts: A recipe, a practice, and a poem, with the hope that you never forget there is so much goodness and beauty in the world, that it is worth fighting for, and that you are not alone.

Love,

Dayna

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Recipe:

I love making soup, but especially these days. It’s comforting, and it nourishes me and all those around my table. This is my Matzoh Ball Soup recipe from my food and eating memoir, Ravenous: A Food Lover’s Journey from Obsession to Freedom.

Dayna’s Matzo Ball Soup

Serves 6-8

1 4-pound organic chicken, rinsed and giblets removed

6 cups chicken stock (you can use good store-bought broth or make your own, recipe below)

6 cups water

1 large onion cut into quarters 

1 4-inch-square piece kombu (optional)

2 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon kosher salt

3 large carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/4-inch-thick rounds (about 1-1/2 cups)

 2 celery stalks, diced (about 1 cup)

1/2 teaspoon turmeric

1 handful fresh dill, chopped

Kosher salt and cracked pepper to taste

Matzo balls:

2 eggs

2 tablespoons canola oil

2 tablespoons seltzer water or plain water

1 packet matzo ball mix (half a 5-ounce package)

NOTE: You can shorten this recipe by buying good quality chicken stock and using chicken meat from a rotisserie chicken. You can also make this soup vegetarian by skipping the chicken and using vegetarian stock.

Soup:

Place chicken in large stockpot with chicken stock, water, onion, kombu (if using), garlic cloves, and bay leaf. Bring to a simmer over high heat, skimming any scum that floats to the surface. Add 1 teaspoon kosher salt. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 2 hours.

Meanwhile, make matzoh balls. Whisk eggs well in small bowl. Whisk in oil and seltzer water and then stir in matzoh ball mix. Place in refrigerator until ready to use.

Remove chicken from pot an set aside to cool.

Strain stock and return to pot with carrots, celery and turmeric. Bring to a simmer over high heat.Reduce heat to medium low, cover, and cook 30 minutes until vegetables are tender.

Discard skin from chicken and remove meat from bones. Shred or chop meat, then add it back into pot. Add more salt and cracked pepper to taste. Raise heat to medium and bring soup back up to a gentle simmer. With wet hands, form matzo ball mix into smooth, compact balls 3/4-i inch in diameter (you should have about 10-12). Drop matzo balls into simmering broth.Cook until fluffed up, about another 20 minutes. Don’t let soup come to rolling boil or matzo balls will fall apart.

When done, serve in bowls and top with fresh dill. If not serving during Passover, feel free to add 1/2 pound of your favorite cooked pasta. Makes about 11 cups.

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Practice:

Reiki is a hands-on healing practice which originated in Japan. I stumbled into a Reiki training the beginning of this year, and had no idea how powerful and nurturing it would be. It has calmed down my nervous system and brought me into states of deep rest. When we operate from a place of greater calm and less reactivity, and we can make clearer decisions on how we choose to live our lives.

I have a daily practice but simply doing it when you remember is powerful. While you can receive treatment from a Reiki practitioner, much like massage, you can also do a self practice, which is described here:

Find a comfortable and quiet space to sit or lie down, with whatever support you need.

For four minutes (or less) at a time, gently place your hands on each of the following areas:

• Over your eyes

• On the sides of your face, in front of your ears to the jawline

• Back of head

• Upper chest / heart

• Lower ribs / solar plexus

• Belly / navel

• Lower abdomen/groin

There is nothing you need to do. You simply feel your hands on your body and you breathe. Your parasympathetic nervous system will take it from there.

This can be practiced for a total of 15 minutes, but you might feel deeper benefits if you do the entire half hour practice. That said, I have been surprised how often an hour has passed, or that one of the positions resonates with me more deeply on a particular day, so I might unexpectedly find myself with hands on my belly, or heart, or eyes for a much longer time. Follow your instincts.

You can practice this anytime of day—morning, afternoon, evening, or before bed. I typically practice in the late afternoon when I am already a bit sleepy. There is no right time, and there is no right way to practice. 

****

Poem:

I read this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye in one of my Women’s Writing Circles and we were all moved by its humanity. The poem describes how one small moment of kindness in an airport turned into a cookie party with everyone covered in powdered sugar. As Shihab Nye writes: "This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost." 

I promise you, it isn’t. We’re still here.

Gate A-4

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.” Well— one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there.

An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. “Help,” said the flight agent. “Talk to her . What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.”

I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly. “Shu-dow-a, shu-bid-uck, habibti? Stani schway, min fadlick, shu-bit-se-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the next day. I said, “No, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, who is picking you up? Let’s call him.”

We called her son, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her? This all took up two hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life, patting my knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies— little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts— from her bag and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single traveler declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo— we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.

Then the airline broke out free apple juice and two little girls from our flight ran around serving it and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend— by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that gate— once the crying of confusion stopped— seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.

This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.