Must Have Mala

Another item I do not leave home without are my mala beads. Given to me by my yoga teacher as a gift while doing a 40 hour workshop at my studio, this 108 bead I necklace is always on my person. It reminds me to be preset, stay calm, that peace is always available to me, and to be patient. As in, I’ll count them with a mantra while waiting in line. That’s practical, immediate patience, not just more abstract “trust the process” patience. I once lent them to a woman sobbing on a plane. I counted them on line with my son at a museum. I pray on them during flight turbulence. I wear them on my wrist wrapped as a bracelet or as a necklace. They make me feel safe and aware during uncomfortable encounters. This particular one is a brown wood. It’s neutral and goes with anything, as does yogic philosophy. Essentially the mala beads remind me of how I want to conduct myself. They also remind me that I’m not merely an individual. That I’m part of something so much greater on a cosmic and collective level. I feel connected to anyone else I see wearing them. They evoke warmth in me when I think of my special spiritual community in New Jersey. I left this set at a store a few weeks ago. Not knowing if I’d see them again I took to Amazon and bought a bunch more in a variety of colors. I love layering them or wearing one on each wrist. I’ve wrapped them around an ankle too. They’re truly a comfort to me and hold me to a higher, more conscious standard of living. They represent a natural state of being, which is a healthy antidote to fashion. 

Listen to Beastie Boys - Pass the Mic

Healthy carrot cake

INGREDIENTS

• Dry Ingredients

• 2 cups packed super fine blanched almond flour (I use Bob's Red Mill)

• ½ cup coconut flour (do not pack)

• ½ cup unsweetened finely shredded coconut (I use Bob’s Red Mill)

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

• ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

• 1/2 teaspoon salt

• Wet ingredients

• 4 large eggs, at room temperature

• 3/4 cup pure maple syrup

• 1/3 cup drippy tahini

• 1/4 cup unsweetened almond milk

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• 1/3 cup melted and cooled coconut oil

• 3 cups shredded carrots (medium grate)

• Optional mix-ins:

• ½ cup raisins

• ½ cup chopped pecans or walnuts

• For the frosting:

• ½ cup salted butter, at room temperature (or sub vegan buttery stick)

• 8 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature (or sub dairy free cream cheese)

• 3 cups powdered sugar

• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

• 1 tablespoon unsweetened almond milk (any milk will work)

• For the topping:

• Extra pecans and shredded coconut

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line the bottom of three 6-inch round cake pans or two 8-inch round cake pans with parchment paper rounds. Spray parchment paper and sides of pan with nonstick cooking spray. YOU SHOULD USE PARCHMENT PAPER or the cake is likely to stick. Please do not forget.

2. In a large bowl, whisk the almond flour, coconut flour, unsweetened shredded coconut, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt together. Set aside.

3. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, pure maple syrup, tahini, almond milk, vanilla extract until smooth. Slowly whisk in the melted and cooled coconut oil until it’s well incorporated, the stir in the carrots. Note: It is important that your eggs are at room temperature otherwise the coconut oil with coagulate. The coconut oil should be melted but not HOT, but rather closer to room temp.

4. Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and mix with a wooden spoon until well combined. Stir in raisins and nuts, if using.

5. Divide batter evenly between pans and spread out with a spatula to smooth the tops. Bake for 22-32 minutes in the two 8-inch pans and 30-40 minutes for three 6-inch pans.

6. Cakes are done when a tester comes out clean or with just a few crumbs attached. Allow cake to cool completely before frosting or removing from the pans. The cake should be room temperature when you frost it. This is very important. Cakes can be made a day ahead if you’d like.

7. Make your frosting: In the bowl of an electric mixer, add the softened butter and cream cheese and whip on high until light and fluffy. Add powdered sugar, vanilla extract and milk and beat for 2-3 minutes more.

8. Now it’s time to frost the cake: place about 1 tablespoon down onto onto the cake stand and spread out. Invert cake onto the cake stand, add about ½ heaping cup frosting between each layer, repeat with each cake, then frost the top and sides of the cake with the remaining frosting. Decorate cake with pecans and shredded coconut on top. Once you are done frosting, place the cake to the fridge. Cake will stay good for 5-7 days in the fridge, and should be covered to ensure freshness. Serves 16.

Modeh Ani

There’s a Hebrew prayer in Judaism that we are supposed to say upon waking up each morning. I’ve been saying it with my kids for years on the drive to school. We say it in Hebrew then our own loose translation of it, which is , ”Thank you, Hashem, for this beautiful day”. If it’s raining, sunny, or has other obvious defining characteristics we insert that adjective too. It’s a lovely tradition I started many years ago en route to preschool with my oldest. The ride to school is fast, but even if we could sneak in a line or two about how the rain is beautiful because it helps things grow, then I’d feel it was the right way to start the day. After all, what is prayer without proper intention, and there’s no better lens of gratitude than the pure mind of a child.

I’ve been thinking about this particular prayer lately; are we thankful that we didn’t die overnight or are we thankful to have another day to be alive? There’s a huge difference between both meanings. Most Jews I know are consumed with death. The fear level among the physically healthy is sadly staggering. Pretty much everyone I know assumes they’ll get cancer at some point, it’s just a matter of time. We buy cemetery plots by the bulk, as if shopping for a party at Costco. The family I was raised in loves obsessing about illness and death. No group of people jumps at the chance to participate in a hospital vigil more. They set up shop, bringing food, knitting, and whatever else needed to hunker down in a hospital hallway. It’s unfortunately part of the  post Holocaust trickle down affect, where the threat of death literally lurked in every corner. Since most people I know are Ashkenazi Jews from Eastern Europe, they remain traumatized by many facets of the war even decades later. It’s a combination of learned behavior and unintegrated pain and fear that has never been excised from these families. Different time, different knowledge, different emotional skill set, different priorities; I understand. However, the residual grim negativity and neuroses remains very much a thing. I too used to be obsessed with my own mortality. I lived in fear for the day when I or a loved one would be yanked from this life. That stopped once I began inner healing and grew to become in love not just with my own life, but with the gift of life in general. Obsessing about death is the mind’s way of preparing us for it, though of course that’s never possible. If we envision it then maybe the impact will be less shocking. We will see it coming. We will be on top of the terrible situation. It’s a pretty funny yet macabre scenario when someone dies in my neighborhood, and actual fights break out over which yenta will be the reigning queen of the shiva house. It’s unreal. A person just lost their life, the family is in the throes of grief, and certain women race to the finish line to gain control of the shiva meal schedule. They are addicted to the accolades so the self righteous impulsivity takes over.  It’s essentially zero perspective and incredible self absorption, under the guise of help. But I digress. Well, not really. There’s always more than one way to look at things. Am I helping this grieving family for the right reasons and don’t need public recognition for it, or do I need some warped form of attention? Am I opening my eyes each morning in wonder and loving awareness of life, or am I relieved I outran the Angel of Death after I passed out watching Bravo? Like all things, prayer comes from a place of love or fear. It’s loving our wondrous eyes (our eyes!!) and being grateful to use them for another 24 hours, as opposed to being frightened they won’t work. And if we did survive the night, then what for? To just trudge through the same cycle as per usual, only to go to sleep with the same fears over and over until it’s really over? It’s not enough to be thankful to wake up. It must be that we understand the purpose of life. If we don’t the words kind of land nowhere. The point of prayer is to connect, and connection comes from a deep source within us before it can be felt outwards. God is smart; He knows you’re glad to be alive. I don’t think He gave us these prayers to test our manners like a school marm. I believe they were given to us to think about why we say them. What are words without meaning? Not much. What is a day without meaning, or an hour? Again, not much. It’s not being alive that counts. It’s what we do with that fact that matters. This isn’t a rah rah post about empowerment. Quite the opposite; it’s a post about the bliss that stems from humility. We have a job to do, and it’s not doing errands and making the meeting. It’s not even your professional human job. Yes, those things are important and essential for life. Our professions help us contribute to our families and to others, but we weren’t put here just to do them.  I’ve heard Buddhist monks say that we must be tapped into the dharma as well as know our social security number. Both matter. One just matters more. So it’s not the inaction of not dying overnight that matters. We didn’t escape death. Those things aren’t up to us. It’s the action of honoring the joy of life, of doing and being good, of helping everyone and harming no one, and of relieving pain and suffering however we can. The intentions we have for praying will only really have the right ripple effect if we fully grasp the enormity of what we’re saying. God doesn’t need your words; He needs your presence. It’s why He put you here. I’m grateful you opened your eyes today. Thank you for seeing me and reading this. I see you too.

The Dao of Frances Hausman

There’s a scene in Dirty Dancing, arguably the greatest movie of all time (I said arguably), in which Johnny cries out to Baby (real name Frances Hausman, but you knew that) that he’s so petrified of life and she’s not afraid of anything. Of course by “life” he meant he was too scared to stand up to that twerp Neil, who was infuriatingly insisting that the dance finale of the staff talent show be the pachanga. Baby tried to encourage him to fight for his vision and overcome his feelings of intimidation (you know this as well). Johnny burst forth with differentiating between him and her; he was poor, at the mercy of The Man, and afraid to lose his job. She was wealthy, privileged, didn’t have to fear being ejected from the Catskills, and was an inherently courageous girl “not afraid of anything”. “Me?? I’m afraid of EVERYTHING!”, she replied. It was an exchange of honesty that added new depth to their summer romance, as did changing in the car en route to the Sheldrake to perform the mambo. This all came to mind recently when a few women told me they look at me and see a women afraid of nothing. They were specifically talking about becoming a DJ, but also other major transitions I’ve made too. I was taken aback since prior to the DJ thing as well as those other major shifts, I felt like a young girl who was absolutely petrified of all of it. I was literally riddled with fear. I’m doing tons of shadow work that began years ago but majorly intensified this past summer. The realizations of things I need to look at keep coming in waves, some violent and some more subtle. But all contain the underlying common fear factor. I have been storing a large body of fear since childhood that I’m just now learning to manage. I am learning this with a book you all must order right now.  I’m serious. It’s medicine in print. There isn’t a human on earth who shouldn’t read Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach. Dana, I love you so much for telling me about this. Our culture teaches us to distract ourselves from anything unpleasant and to run from any negative feelings. The mind is on board with this since the function of the mind is to keep us safe. So it strategizes and we listen to protect ourselves from further pain. The mind might tell you to drink, pop a pill, work out, turn on the radio to drown out your thoughts, seek physical affection to soften the edge of hurt, turn on the TV, call a friend, or engage in an activity in which you excel. Some means of distraction are problematic and some are positive, but all are a means of avoiding pain in the moment. Friends, hugs, music, and going to the gym are great; just don’t use them to keep looking away from your deep reservoirs of icky stuff. The more we resist any form of hurt, the stronger the beast becomes. The more we try to stuff it down, the more we leave it alone to regenerate. This is why we can feel consumed and powerless when the wave of your personal pain body hits. It can be anger, sadness, frustration, self pity, fear etc. It hits without warning at unexpected or expected triggers. But here’s the thing, it’s hitting us to inform us that we need to direct our attention there. It’s not there to torture us. It’s there to lead us down the path to self healing. But first we must enter thorn covered gates of pain in order to open into the field of loveliness and warmth that resides within. There’s no way to skip the line. Sorry, Jews, I know how much you hate waiting on line. I’ll give you an example. The other day I was having a really good day. Then something happened and I was seized with terror. Bat to the knees, chest and head exploding terror. It was a very tough trigger and my entire system reacted as it always has. I was going to be in trouble. I was going to be punished. I felt hunted and victimized.  I was in a state of genuine fright. Fear is the great anticipation of pain, and I was being faced with a situation that was guaranteed to be painful. I was in my car at the time. My hand instinctively reached to turn on the radio, since that’s what it’s always done. My brain sent the message to my body to distract me to protect me. But this other part of me said, no, I’m going to feel this now. I imagined my little self staring at this Fear Thing. It was ME seeing IT, not the other way around. It’s like confronting a bully that will always inevitably begin to skulk away after it realizes it has far less power than previously thought. I saw the fear, fully knowing it had come to visit me in that moment. I neither identified with it nor pushed it away. I didn’t ignore it or sweep it under the rug with its ancestors. I allowed it to be there and guess what? It passed through me quite quickly. My day resumed normally, productively, and fairly well. That moment of fear didn’t throw it off course. I kept my composure throughout by holding myself with clarity and awareness as to what was occurring. Such is the nature of the human condition. We are electromagnetic fields of constantly changing energy. We will be visited by thousands of joys and sorrows, all of which will leave only to return and leave again. The only constant is us and that inner spaciousness that is our design. We know it’s there because that’s what allows for thoughts and feelings to fill it temporarily. Only that which was once empty can be filled. It’s knowing how to hold onto true self love during these crazy fluctuations that creates a much better quality of life. There’s peace in knowing we aren’t out of control and at the mercy of external forces. Running away from anything reinforces the notion that we are too weak to handle what it is we are trying to escape. It’s not true though. Thoughts aren’t the truth. Ironically, the great strength in self care and self healing comes from accessing this incredible ability to direct tremendous compassion inward. We have such an easier time giving compassion to others. It’s much harder to give it to ourselves. It’s something no one else can do for us, which is what makes it such a magical power. Through whatever seemingly awful feeling that’s overtaking us at the moment, the gentle goal must be to hold ourselves with tender love and compassion as it passes through our person. Imagine yourself as a three year old who is afraid/angry/sad/ashamed and comforting that child with this protective love no matter what it’s going through. This is done while fully acknowledging and seeing whatever monster has come to visit. Just as it came, it will eventually leave. What will remain will be your ability to love yourself unconditionally through all circumstances. I’m really oversimplifying this, but this is the key to accessing the Buddha nature within you. You have it. You really have it. It’s seeing ourselves with a wise, clear, loving heart and not running from anything that eventually enables us to act well despite the fears and shames. This is a lifetime of practice but trust me, it’s the key to a better life. As we heal on an individual level we then start to heal those around us, which then begins to heal the greater collective. That’s what is meant by love and compassion originating from within, and what it means when we hear we can only love others as well as we love ourselves. I had no idea what that meant until I read this book and started listening to the loving wisdom of Jack Kornfield (podcasts and you tube). These daily tools have been life altering. The world is already a different place to me, and I loved it before. As I’m learning to manage my fear by holding myself with unconditional love, I think back to how I began to shift my life several years ago while being consumed with terror. I did it because I had another set of fears that were stronger than feeling inadequate, small, and intimidated. That was the fear of regret. The fear of regret outweighed the fear of throwing myself into the unknown of a new identity and new life. That’s what I told those women who see me as this brave woman taking her life by force. It’s not that I wasn’t scared. It’s that I was able to find that part of me that refused to go down without trying. Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you are but you go forth anyway. Thank you, Fear, I see you. You can sit next to me. You’re less scary when I give you permission to visit. But soon I’m going to get up and live my life according to my truth. Thank you for redirecting me to the inner teacher of love. I couldn’t have gotten to her without you.

CHICKPEA SALAD WITH PESTO

Ingredients

• 2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, drained and well rinsed

• 1 cup finely diced bell peppers, assorted colors

• 1/2 cup thin sliced Persian cucumber (these are the small ones,) do not peel

• 1/2 cup small mozzarella pearls

• 1/2 cup halved or quartered cherry tomatoes, assorted colors

• 1/3 cup quartered small radishes

• 1/3 cup diced black olives

• 1/4 cup finely minced red onion

• fresh cracked black pepper

• pesto dressing (this will make more than you need, use the rest on pasta!)

• 2 large handfuls fresh basil leaves and part of the stems

• 1 small garlic clove, smashed and peel removed

• juice of 1/2 lemon

• a good grating of fresh Parmesan (as much or as little as you like)

• 1/4 cup olive oil, give or take

• salt to taste

• garnish

• 1/4 cup toasted pine nuts (toast in a little olive oil in a skillet for several minutes, stirring constantly until they turn nutty brown.)

• lemon wedges

Instructions

1. Put the drained, rinsed, and dried chickpeas in a large salad bowl along with the rest of the salad ingredients.

2. To make the pesto dressing, process the basil, garlic, and lemon briefly until it breaks down into a thick paste. Add the cheese and enough olive oil to make a loose pourable consistency. Add salt to taste, and more cheese, and/or lemon if you like.

3. Toss the salad with just enough pesto to thoroughly coat everything. Serve topped with the toasted pine nuts, a good grinding of fresh cracked pepper, and accompanied by a couple of lemon wedges.

Listen to Jill Scott-A Long Walk

Blaga’s Season Must Have

One of my top three warm weather must haves are sarongs in a variety of colors and patterns. As I continue down the boho chic style path (barefoot), which I’m loving, I have been showing my sarong collection some big hippie chic love. I say “collection” because I have been acquiring more lately on my travels. I have recently been fortunate enough to have traveled to several South American countries. These places have some wonderful fabrics in every color and pattern you can imagine. Batik, watercolor florals, elephants, embroidery, striped, you name it. Gone are the days where sarongs are only used on the beach. I have been also wearing mine as scarves for both head and neck, as a tube top knotted behind my back, as a halter dress, a strapless dress belted or not, as a chic outdoor blanket, a summer tablecloth, a shawl, and of course as a sexy skirt on the beach. Last week in Florida I wore my old embroidered white one slung low on my hips with an open linen button down shirt over my bikini top and mala bead necklace. It was an awesomely effortless and practical poolside look. I’d even wear a sarong as a regular skirt on a hot day. I love repurposing everything and I always have a sarong in my beach bag since they’re so versatile. I’ve also used them as pretty picnic blankets, which creates such a fresh summery vibe even if you’re spontaneously lunching in the middle of a city. Those of you with babies can use them as light blankets or to drape over the stroller to shield your pup from the sun. I bet most of you own at least one sarong; this summer season make extra use out of this always pretty and purposeful item.

Ruth Gans Mayer Dairy Apple Crumble

Ingredients:

2 lbs. granny smith apples, cored, peeled, and sliced

1/4 cup apple cider

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 cup flour

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp grated nutmeg

1/2 cup butter

Pinch of salt

Directions:

Heat oven to 350. In a 2 qt casserole, combine apples and cider.

Mix flour, sugar, cinnamon, salt, and nutmeg in a bowl.

Cut butter until crumbly. Spread sugar topping over apples and butter pieces on top.

Bake for 40-45 min.

Serve with ice cream or whipped cream.

I ❤️🗽🚕

 Culture blah blah blah.... Restaurants blah blah blah... Theater blah blah blah... Nope, this ain’t that kind of I ️love New York post.

New York is representing something very specific at this stage in my life. It represents possibility. I’m always reading about many facets of the human condition, from the psychological to the spiritual and whatever I can find in between. Whatever the school of thought, there is constant mention about how people shrink themselves by locking their lives into these sad, tiny containers that can only hold so much. We build set perimeters around our existences and foolishly label them lives. There is almost no end to what human beings can accomplish. If someone can twist their body into a crazy yoga pose, so can you. If someone can scale a mountain, so can you. You might not want to, I sure as hell don’t, but you mostly likely posses the ability. We are created with these untapped, vast capabilities we often never discover by designing these incredibly lacking 3D human experiences. Think about it; at any given moment we could be whining about the same dumb thing we were five years ago, while there’s a doctor volunteering in some godforsaken country. Or an impoverished child sharing her food with another hungry youth. We have an endless stream of choices that shapes our days. I have a friend who has literally been complaining about the same topic for 17 years. Nothing has changed. Things don’t change unless we change first.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what New York symbolizes regarding divorce. We live near the greatest city in the world. No other place has burst forth with as much passion, innovation, creativity, music, fashion, craziness, and variety. Anything and everything can and does happen here. This is true of being divorced as well; it’s a major opportunity to completely change course. Anything that did not serve you in your last chapter can be reworked. Refreshed. Rejuvenated. In this sense it’s a gift. As I’m meeting more divorced people, men and women, it strikes me how even though all these people claim to have gotten divorced because their former situation wasn’t working for them, half of them lapse into the same unconscious choices they made before. The chance at greatness is being squandered by the lure of familiarity disguised as safety. They broke free and started to run, only to give up before they hit their stride. I shouldn’t care but I do (I guess I shouldn’t care about a lot of things but I can’t help it). It’s so frustrating. I’m thinking , “I know you want better so go get it!!” What it boils down to is an utter lack of self awareness and vision. It takes time to learn the new you and unlearn the old. Lots of time and introspection. Patience. Kindness. Self love. Just because you made the step to get divorced, it doesn’t mean you have a new life. You only have a new life if you work your ass off to create one. Signing a piece of paper doesn’t guarantee you a brand new start. Not if you’re going to stop yourself before you had a chance to believe that you can have what you claim to want. The spiritual teachers warn us not to shrink the magnificent essence of what it means to be alive with stupid bullshit. If we remain truly tapped into the splendor of loving awareness that we are at all times, we don’t get bent out of shape about most 3D concerns. Traffic becomes irrelevant. The friend who slighted you doesn’t become a topic of conversation. Your need to be right evaporates. If we are conscious and aware then we make choices that better jive with that belief. If we think we are small we keep playing small, case closed. Who we date, what we eat, who our friends are, what we read, how we spend our free time. All of it is a direct reflection of what we believe we are. Belief that you’re a limited person will keep you stuck in that stale storyline. A Tony Robbins type of motivational speaker will deliver a similar message. So will a Mark Groves kind of therapist. The common denominator is that WE MUST STOP PLAYING SMALL. IT IS HALF A LIFE. YOU ARE WAAAAAYYYYY MORE THAN THAT SO DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO UNDERSTAND THAT. Why do people become so moved staring at the vastness of the ocean, a field of wildflowers, or a clear, starry night sky? Because it reminds us of possibility. Greatness. Openness. Depths we cannot see. Distances we think we will never travel. Why is the heart connected to the element of air? Because our capacity to love has zero bounds. None. No limits. Our bodies are finite so it’s hard to comprehend that what’s inside it is without shape. I get that; it sounds so unfamiliar to those of us used to everything being in set formation. Schedules, thoughts, meals, words, songs, everything seems to have a beginning and an end. True, that all does. But we don’t, which is why we’re so superior and so blessed. It hit me yesterday why right now I’m having such a love affair with this city, in addition to the obvious cool factor. It’s not that. I don’t care about trends or any of that nonsense. It’s because New York represents freedom of spirit. And life without that is a form of death. Living here and not taking advantage of all this place offers equates not living life to the fullest within your heart. What a shame; to be so fortunate to have this incredible opportunity and let it float away because you were too small to want bigger. Wanting gets you nothing but unfulfilled dreams. Dreams, People!!! Dreams are so major, they exist to become reality. We want that, right? Stop wanting and start backing up your own claims by creating for yourself. Don’t stop until you go to bed smiling every night. I’m not talking about easy. I’m talking about big. Once you tap into the enormity of who you are the difficulties of life have such less power over you. You can get divorced ten times and make the same shrinking moves each time, landing you not much further than where you began. There are times for baby steps and times for leaps. But if you never leap you’ll never live in accordance with your inherent design, which is sheer splendor , power, and magnitude. What a waste of a pre war rent controlled apartment.

Listen to Bebe Rexha- 2 Souls on Fire

Anna Sui, Remember Me?

Boy, do I recall how excited I was to buy this Anna Sui silk, billowy top. I acquired this 20 years ago. I had been a rabid fan of her designs for years, and even having a sock from one of your fashion idols is thrilling. I still love this shirt. The tan, red, and blue color scheme feels vintage to me, while the loose fit feels boho. Thank god I didn’t give this away in one of my bi annual frantic closet cleaning binges. A few years went by where I didn’t wear it but I never wanted to get rid of it. Now it’s a vintage Anna Sui piece. Always hold on to your designer stuff!! The blouse works tucked in or out I happen to like a blousy look, but it’s also nice accentuate the fact that you’re not pregnant. Hence the tight jeans. I love this hat, you’ve seen it before. I always get sad when the time to put away my fabulous winter hats arrives. But that means the straw ones that I’ve been collecting for decades. They need fresh air too. This is a good seasonally transitional look; fitted denim, a silk shirt in a warm color palette, and a wide brim hat to add some drama and depth. I’d wear this under my vintage fur vest you’ve seen dozens of times. It’s cool how even a subtle designer item can elevate an outfit.

Whole Matzoh Matzoh Balls

This recipe is perfect for Passover, but is special because of who it comes from. I have a very meaningful cookbook called the Holocaust Survivor Cookbook. It’s recipes compiled by living survivors or their relatives. This book is rich in Eastern European history and contains stories both heartbreaking and hopeful. To think of the millions of Jewish cooks and homes that were mercilessly destroyed by the Nazis makes me weep. But it’s books like these that keep the flames burning. It’s a direct connection to the love these Jewish mamas poured into feeding their families. Before giving us the recipes, the book tells us much about the survivors who made them. Wonderful tales, memories, and anecdotes, as well as photos from before and after the War, grace the pages of this most important compilation.

This particular recipe is from Ruth Gans Mayer and was submitted by her daughter. Ruth was a prisoner of the concentration camps for five years. Her mother took her place in the gas chambers. She lost her parents, siblings, a husband, and a child. I can’t even believe we live in a world where this happened. I have heard about gas chambers my entire life due to my own grandparents being survivors. I get chills every time. Those words are simply sickening. Ruth was from Germany and was a pharmacist there. She settled in Ohio after the War. She was a single mother to her only child, which was very rare in the 40’s. Her daughter generously shares her recipes in this precious book. Ruth still lives on. Each of us who cooks her food keeps her alive in our own small way. If you make these delicious, traditional matzoh balls, please think of Ruth, all she endured, and her will to persevere.

Ingredients:

6 pieces matzo broken in half

6 tablespoons unsalted parve margarine

1 medium onion, chopped

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

4 large eggs

8 tablespoons matzo meal

Directions:

Place matzo in a large bowl and cover with water. Heat the margarine in frying pan and cook onion until clear. Add salt and pepper. Drain matzo and press matzo against strainer to squeeze out all the water you can. Add drained matzo to pan (it will break in pieces). Cook about 5 minutes to heat through. Transfer to bowl and let cook for 15 minutes. Stir in eggs and a few tablespoons of matzo meal. Add more matzo meal as necessary to form mixture into balls. They should be thick enough to hold their shapes but not clumpy. Refrigerate for one hour. Drop the balls into 5-6 quarts salted boiling water. They will sink to the bottom and then rise while they cook. Turn down simmer, cover and let them cook for about 20-25 minutes. Using a slotted spoon remove and place them in hot chicken soup.

Makes about 15-16 balls.

Jacket Kept On

Starting from the time in high school when I used safety pins as hair barrettes, I’ve always loved “using things for other things”. That includes using outerwear as the outfit, be it a long jacket worn belted as a dress or a shorter one used as a top. This Elizabeth and James swing tuxedo jacket is soft in color but sexy in style. Keeping it on over a black lace bralette makes it a shirt. It’s a cool contrast between the obvious coverage of a blazer with the low neckline that exposes hints of black lace. This is a great going out to dinner look. I paired it with the leather Rag and Bone pants that I wear constantly. The leather has stretched out over my ass to the point where these pants are ridiculously comfortable. I recall being scared to buy them. I thought it would be a demeaning process trying to wrestle into them, they’d be too constricting etc. I seriously love them and they always make me feel good. They were a splurge but so worth it, considering how much airtime they get. This look would look great with heels or chic sneakers, which fortunately applies to many looks of today. I love how the lower neckline of the jacket can accommodate a funky statement necklace, which is needed to really take this ensemble into “fun night in the town”. Of course, if your bralette is of the crop top ilk (as opposed to a bra), you can always take off the jacket if you’re in the mood, on a dance floor, or simply taking advantage of the two weeks out of the month when you’re not bloated.

Bar Mitzvah Musings

 So my son’s bar mitzvah is around the corner. As of today we have a general idea of how we will be celebrating but nothing has been solidified. This is the opposite approach I had to my two daughters’ parties which had me turned into a total bat mitzvah Momzilla✡️. Not the crazy, bitchy, controlling kind. Just the kind who was way too excited because she had nothing else going on in her life and desperately needed a sense of purpose and creative outlet (run on sentence intended). My girls’ parties were magnificent affairs. Every detail was perfect and wrought with symbolism. The color schemes were carefully selected based on their personalities and the seasons in which the party took place. We had more menu tastings than Harry and Meghan ( I don’t buy that whole thing for a minute, btw. There’s no way Kate doesn’t despise her.) There were scripts mapping out the parties to the minute. The invitations had to be just so in order to set the mood of the party prior. As I’m writing this I feel a mixture of humorous self deprecation and embarrassment. Oh, I forgot the videos. If I do say so myself, my videos are kinda legendary amongst my peeps. But for my eldest daughter I cannot believe I made my guests sit through a FORTY FIVE MINUTE montage of her eating ice cream and taking a bath as a baby. I redeemed myself with the hilarious OTHER TWO VIDEOS though, and I still hear six years later that her “Call Me Maybe” Justin Bieber/ Selena Gomez video was the best they’ve ever seen🏻. For my second daughter, brace yourself, a choreographer was hired. I want to shoot myself rereading that. Bottom line, I had been craving a platform to finally get a chance to do my thing. I love decor. I love food and choosing menus. I love the details that make anything chic, fun, fabulous, and memorable. I love the perfect song choice. Aesthetics are a joyful endeavor for me. I’m very decisive and am lucky to work with a brilliant event planner. Andy is a dear friend and one of the funniest and most creative individuals out there. We have a blast together and are always on the same page. I once gave him a magazine article that reviewed a restaurant on the Lower East Side, and instructed him to, “make it look like this”. It was Dirty French btw. I wanted him to give the party the mood of the super chic, hot pink ceramic roosters that adorn the restaurant. He got me immediately. I’d never even been there, I just spotted the review in the New York Times magazine and tore out the page. He said to me two weeks ago at our first meeting for my son that he couldn’t believe how my approach is so vastly different from the first two. He basically told me I was an obsessed lunatic for the girls. I laughed and replied that I have a life now. I’m fulfilled creatively in so many areas and I’m endlessly grateful for that. All the sections of the blog that require creativity, innovation, originality, writing, and attention stretch me in ways I need. DJing feeds my soul. The excitement in putting the right songs together makes me giddy. I dance my butt off when I practice; dancing has always been a need as well. I go to a music school which puts me in a creative environment at least once a week, with people who live and breathe precision and beats. Through the blog I get to collaborate with other Creatives who speak the same language through different mediums. Finally having a means through which to routinely express my ideas has massively taken the edge off. It’s like oxygen deprivation for anyone to bottle up creativity. It erodes you as the frustration builds over the years. I had no place to put my voice, so you’re damn right the lining of the invitations mattered!!!! I look at that version of me, so well meaning and enthusiastic, and I want to hug her. She was so sweet in her extreme joy in being able to showcase her talents, albeit through her kids (an all too common mom move). My life is different today in that I have one. This upcoming party will be fantastic; that’s just how we roll here, we can’t help it. The video will be my best yet. The ideas we are discussing for food will be rad AF. The color scheme has been chosen and indeed reflects both the season and religious significance of my son’s name. The music better rock or else. The speeches will be witty, entertaining, and most importantly, short. But the attitude this time around is very “sure, whatever”.  It feels good to stay on top of the situation and not be consumed by it. It’s important, just not everything. I have other focuses. The results will be the same but with much less effort. How interesting; the unnecessary self imposed pressure is such a metaphor. We can achieve the same results, if not better ones, by putting things in perspective and being in cruise control a little. Over exertion is a false sense of security and control. It’s too much. It’s not beneficial. As I’m learning to release the grip on so many other things in my life, it’s gratifying to be cool about this too. Life is already beautiful and perfect. We can only realize that when we slow down and stop to see it. Deena, this one’s for you: “And now... let’s party!” 🕺🏽🏼🕺🏽🏼

Listen to Aerosmith- Kings and Queens

Best No Carb French Toast

What a treat it is to have guilt free French toast after decades of avoiding it. At most, I’d pick at some here and there, only to regret it later. Which sounds crazy and vain because it kind of is. But as a woman who has been watching her weight for awhile like most gals I know, it’s just part of the deal to think like that. A treat is really fine every so often, but it too often comes attached to feelings of guilt and self loathing after. Nothing terrible, just that general feeling where you cancel out any enjoyment you may have gotten from indulging in the first place. This whole thing is such a bummer, am I right?? Which is why this recipe is so exciting. I can eat delicious French toast while fully enjoying it due to zero guilt. I make it using this no carb, high fiber bread from Thin Slim Foods. I found this whole trolling on Instagram. Each slice has 45 calories, which is nothing, 7 grams of carbs and 7 grams of fiber. The fiber cancels out the carbs, netting zero. One slice also has 7 grams of protein and 0 sugar. SUCH. A. WIN.

For this recipe I use:

Two slices Thin Slim Foods bread

One egg beaten and mixed with a cup of unsweetened vanilla almond milk (your favorite milk will do)

Two tablespoons of Lily’s chocolate chips (optional)

Some mixed berries (I usually use raspberries and blackberries)

Choc Zero maple syrup. The syrup totally tastes like regular syrup.   

Directions:

Heat a frying pan with nonstick spray. I’ll add a couple of teaspoons of melted light coconut butter to add a slight buttery taste. Mix the egg and milk together well in a bowl. Soak both sides of each bread slice well in the mixture. Fry each side several minutes until golden brown. Sometimes I’ll sprinkle some cinnamon on the upside of the slice that’s browning. Plate the French toast, sprinkle the chocolate chips on top. They’ll get nice and melty. Drizzle syrup on top. I love to fork most of the bites with a berry. I don’t think I need to explain why this is so delicious! Healthy, guilt free breakfast has never looked or tasted better. It’s seriously about time; if I made one more egg white omelet I was going to lose my mind .

Soul Sisters

A piece of advice; when you know in your heart you have met your soul family, never ever let them go. These are the people that have traveled through time and space to find you. To heal you. To infuse your human bones with the absolute certainty that you are bursting with purpose, and that you need not feel like an alien anymore. Soul families speak to each other with no words. I’ve experienced this inexplicably deep understanding and recognition with each of the women I’m thinking of right now (and one man). This silent connection takes my breath away, the purity and sharp cleanliness of it. Three of the women I’m thinking of took one look at me and that was it, all before we ever exchanged words. One looked at me and the literal dam burst. I didn’t know her name but my tears informed me that names are just a surface detail sometimes. I was flooded with this overwhelming avalanche of being just so utterly known and felt. This doesn’t happen often, and I imagine to most people, never. Each of these humans came to me at very specific times and have enriched many dimensions of my life since then. Three of them I’ve met more recently. The other two I’ve known for a long time but didn’t know well until it was divinely timed that we enter each other’s lives in a more important way. To think that out of all the places on this massive planet we call home, all of us were put in the same radius of each other. Any one of us could have been anywhere but we were gently placed together for so many reasons. The spiritual community I’m a part of in my neighborhood is exceptional. It has given me an entirely new life, along with the creative community I’m now a part of too. A life I took to like a parched fish to fresh water. These are the women that see inside me. A few have told me it’s clear this isn’t my first rodeo. As in, I’ve lived past lives. I’ve always felt like a very old soul so this idea feels right to me. I don’t need tangible proof, I have proof on a different plane. The word “alienation” obviously comes from feeling like an alien. Before I knew such a word existed, I recall feeling like this as a kid. I’d stare out this huge window in my room onto this vast elevation of trees and feel confusingly adrift. What a relief it is to be exposed to vocabulary as an adult and be able to identify feelings you formerly lacked the ability to explain. This soul family has given me tremendous tools to heal, and I share all I’m learning with them too. What a beautiful thing it is to text a woman with a message of a spiritual teaching instead of nasty gossip. I’m no stranger to the latter, but I know which kind of text feels a whole lot kinder; to both myself and others. And how wonderful it is to have people to talk to about such things as visions, past lives, meditative practice, and truth, and not be looked at as a crazy hippie. They just get It because they think that way too. One member of this sisterhood is a very talented healer. She has x ray vision into the body and soul. I’ve had some astrology readings with her that have blown my mind. While I sat there quietly she mentioned things about me and my past that I’ve never told anyone. Literally no one. And she knew. She knew because we are connected on an unseen level. I feel so sad for people who believe we only exist in the sad, stale tedium of 3D. We are so much more than bored, stressed, agitated bodies waiting in line. I often write of the vastness and limitless nature of our souls. It’s when we claw our way out of 3D, whether we know it or not, that we encounter our soul family. We create an opening for them to finally find us and teach us what we were destined to learn. Soul family members hold no judgement. They just love, heal, and hold space for one another so that we can then go out and do that for others. I’ve written many times on this blog how strangers are always finding me and confiding in me. Last week I went out alone to watch a friend’s band perform. I sat by myself at a table watching this big group of friends hanging out at the venue. I love people watching so I was quite content just to be. Within minutes I was basically swarmed and enveloped by this group in such a nice way. This happens to me a lot so I wasn’t taken aback, and it’s just been a point of humorous amusement to me until recently. After immersing myself in intense inner healing, one member of my soul fam explained why. It’s too personal to share as I’m processing it all, but it made complete sense. I’ve been clearly picturing all we’ve discussed as if I’m watching a movie, which is really one of the objectives of meditation. To just observe as much as possible without getting sucked into the undercurrents of our story. One girl in the group at the club asked me my middle name. I told her it was a Jewish Hebrew name since I’m a super Jew. She said , “ I’m also a super Jew. My grandparents were holocaust survivors.” I said mine were too. She then said hers were Bielski Partisans, and I said so were mine. WHAT????? Do you have any idea what a small sub-sect of survivors are Bielski partisans? They were Polish resistance fighters who lived in the forest for years. The chances of me meeting a fellow granddaughter of this group of people, especially since survivors are rapidly dying, let alone in a live music club on Bleecker street in the Village of NYC, is as close to zero as possible. I was clearly meant to meet this girl. She stood hugging me and crying in the bathroom. There were certain events leading up to me being in that club that I can clearly chart. I was supposed to be somewhere else that night initially. Around this time I was going through another painful awakening, so I reached out to a couple members of my tribe. Each one offered me ways to soothe myself through this process, arming me with a clearer understanding of the bigger picture. When an interaction with someone feels medicinal, that’s probably a sign they’re a member of your soul family. You feel calm. A healing presence is a gift. Receive that gift and never take it for granted. The word “awareness” has been having a moment for awhile now. We can never have enough of it. We must be aware of it all; the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. It’s the awareness of the beautiful that makes this realistic experience so magical. These women are magic for me, and I am in awe of my connection to them. Think about the vibes you give off when you are truly in a state of awe and gratitude. You radiate good. You shine, even for just a moment until some jerk cuts you off in traffic. But the more moments we have like that, the power of them accumulates. You’ll find that you have more of those than annoying, infuriating ones. The spaces in between the lousy times grows. Awe multiplies when magic is shared. To quote Ram Dass again, we are all here to walk each other home. And I feel so guided that Source gave me these humans as walking partners. It just makes everything better. One thing I can tell you is that in order for your tribe to find you, you have to clear out a lot of old blockages, pain, and low vibrational stuff. We attract what we give off, that is Law. The lotus grows only from the mud. There is no prize before the intense training for the race. When you connect with who is meant for you, in the deepest sense, the work will be the best gift you have ever given yourself. Find yourself and you will find your people, I promise. They’re waiting for the real you to come say hello.

Feather Bed

What else do you title a post about an ensemble made of your favorite silk pajama top and feathered skirt? This outfit surprised me, in that I didn’t think it would look good together in actuality. I gave it a shot, mixing pieces in an unexpected way; this can either be a genius move or epic fail (both gross exaggerations of course. I’m neither Einstein nor the guy who made everyone panic about Y2K). But from a fashion perspective it is indeed very cool when you can completely rework and repurpose an item of clothing. It speaks to creativity, chutzpah, and individuality. This feathered DKNY skirt is def a statement piece. I feel it makes my ass look twice it’s normal size, but no one notices because there are feathers literally everywhere. The Rag and Bone silk pajama top is easily one of my favorite items in my entire closet. I always feel so good in it. I love the loose pajama top look over skinny jeans and motorcycle boots. The burgundy and navy top contrasted beautifully with the cream colored skirt here. There was something effortless about knotting the top to make the proportions work. I bought the large flower thing decades ago, during that Carrie Bradshaw flower craze. I’ve worn it never. Sticking it in my hair was a last minute playful (god, I hate that word when it’s applied to anything but puppies) move that looked cute. A guy I dated recently told me an outfit he liked on my Instagram was playful and I wanted to vomit. Anyhoo, I’d totally wear this look to a party, and add five points knowing it’d be the most unique look there🏻. Statement skirt, a tied silk top, complementary heels, optional señorita flower. Just don’t make the flower a fresh one, that somehow changes the mood to cringeworthy. I can’t explain it, just trust me. 

Listen to Genesis- Throwing it All Away