Sometimes you find wisdom when you are not looking for it or expecting it. Today, I went to the Symetry Hair Design to have this hideous gray washed out of my hair. I got there a little early and waited for Saamra.  Shortly thereafter she flies in the door very shaken and upset.  She was in slight fender bender due to black ice.  She appeared uninjured, but shaken none-the-less. We replayed the events and soon we were laughing and she began to relax.

I sat in the chair and the color went on and we chatted.  More color went on, and we chatted a bit more.  (Told you it was hideous) The timer went off and away to the sink we went. That’s when it happened.

Saamra has shared the most delightful homemade toffee I have had in a long while.  She was washing the color treatment out of my hair and discussing cooking and baking and the conversation turned to making family recipes….her mother’s family recipes.

“Stir it with love.  Fold the ingredients thoughtfully, slowly and with love.”

“THAT,” Saamra said, “is how my cooking began to taste like my mother’s.”   She described making this Curry dish with rice and how slowly and lovingly she folded the rice into the Curry. And I got it.  I began to replay the afternoons with my grandmother preparing simple pasta dishes. Grating the cheese. Snapping green beans.  Soaking the beans in the bathtub. I relived my mother’s kitchen making pizza on Saturday nights and Mass.

Post-Christmas gets to me every year. I get sad that all the hullabaloo and excitement ends so abruptly.  The good will and kindness seems to fade.  I needed that reminder so I thank you Saamra for sharing that with me.

Later in the afternoon, Chip and I were running errands and stopped at a local diner for lunch. I may be wrong, but I think diners are an East Coast thing.  Good, hot comfort food.  Chip and I are enjoying a lovely Buffalo Chicken Wrap when I see this little boy out of the corner of my eye. He is on his knees over a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.  He is totally into it and the pure enjoyment is written all over his face.  I remembered being like that as a kid.  On the way out of the diner, I stopped and told the family how much I enjoyed watching him eat that spaghetti.  “As an Italian,” I said, “it warmed my heart”.  We chatted a bit with this family and off we went.

Wow, two experiences in one day. Open your mind and you’ll be surprised when and where you will find a little wisdom.

(…and my hair looks wonderful to boot!)