Here’s what I did last night:

1 pound pasta, any type. Sometimes we’re in the mood for linguini, sometimes penne, sometimes rotelle. All very different experiences.

2 orange bell peppers, sliced

1 container of organic baby spinach

1 large container of sliced baby bella mushrooms

1 can diced tomatoes, since the real deal is not yet in season

Garlic, lots, thinly sliced

Walnuts pieces, lightly toasted

2 TBSP EVOO

Salt and pepper to taste

Any type of Italian herbs — oregano, basil, a nice mixture. Whatever you prefer. Maybe even some herbs de Provence.

Some reserved pasta water

Grated romano cheese, for serving

Preparation:

Put the pasta water on, with a generous dose of salt. Meanwhile, heat EVOO in large saute pan. Toss in garlic and then, 30 seconds later, mushrooms (and any Italian type seasonings, if using). When the mushrooms have cooked down a bit, add peppers and tomatoes. When pasta water boils, toss pasta into pot. (Well, you don’t have to “toss,” but that makes it more fun.) Add spinach to saute pan. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

When pasta is al dente, drain and add to veggie mixture. If mixture looks too dry, add a little pasta water to loosen it up. Serve it up, and pass the cheese. We had this last night with a big salad of mixed greens topped with an EVOO and balsamic dressing.

The beauty of this dish is that you can change it up in oh, so many ways, especially as things come into season as we get later into spring and then into summer. Use zucchini instead of peppers, Vidalia onion instead of garlic, escarole instead of spinach, or snap peas, or all of it at once if you really want to go crazy. Substitute toasted pine nuts for the walnuts. Add fresh parsley or fresh basil at the end. Experiment. It’s almost impossible to screw this up. Oh, and mangia!

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I reluctantly went for a walk today, not because I wanted exercise but because I needed to get outside of my own head, and walking has a way of taking me to that particular interior destination. As I wandered through the neighborhood, the wind was whipping up, bending branches of the mighty oaks and pines and maples towering overhead, and for the briefest moment I felt as though the Spirit was blowing right through me.

By the time I returned home, I felt grateful, blessed, renewed. Suddenly my usual whininess seemed so small and unnecessary, and I marveled at what a short walk can do for the heart and soul and mind when the Spirit decides to make itself known.

I immediately sat down at my computer and noticed a friend’s request for prayers for her pregnant daughter, well past her due date and struggling with fear and a stalled labor. I had another message from a longtime acquaintance who shared feelings of guilt over her mother’s suicide many years before, and a third message from yet another friend who was on the threshold of what seemed like a devastating breakup.

As I responded to these emails, I felt an echo of that holy breeze that had buffeted me just a few moments before. I sent out a prayer-chain request for the pregnant friend. I emailed the grief-stricken friend with whatever words of comfort I could muster but then I reached out to another friend who has experienced suicide close to home and asked if she might have some words of wisdom to lift this person out of her darkness. Then I quickly sent a message of love and support to the friend feeling abandoned and afraid.

As I did all this—connecting people, sharing with people, asking for prayers, and offering sisterhood—I had the distinct feeling that something was changing in my life, that the wind that was physically swirling around me on my walk that morning was now figuratively swirling around me and trying to take me somewhere new, somewhere uncertain and maybe even scary.

With all this running through my head, I scrolled through some news stories and found a quote from Pope Francis’ homily earlier that same day:

“To speak plainly: The Holy Spirit annoys us…We want the Holy Spirit to sleep. We want to domesticate the Holy Spirit, and that just won’t do because he is God and he is that breeze that comes and goes, and you don’t know from where.”

Such wise words, and just when I needed to hear them. (The Spirit strikes again!) The Holy Spirit does annoy me on a pretty regular basis, what with all the goading me into things I don’t really want to do, pushing me to give up control and trust God, pulling me onto right paths with a subtle whisper or inconvenient shout or total spiritual smack down. But clearly the Spirit has been trying to get my attention lately.

Just this past weekend, as Bishop Howard Hubbard of Albany confirmed my son, Noah, I couldn’t help but think the homily directed at the confirmands—the one about letting the fire of the Holy Spirit set our hearts ablaze with a passion for God and for others—was meant for me as well.

Wind and fire—such powerful forces of nature, such powerful images of the Spirit. No wonder we are so often scared or annoyed by the Spirit. How can we withstand such a force? We can’t, at least not if we want to walk the path God has set before us.

I still haven’t figured out where the Spirit wants to take me. I think I’ll have to become a spiritual storm chaser and sit in the silent eye of the hurricane, waiting—with a little fear and trembling—to hear the whisper that signals the direction I’m meant to take.

“Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful…”

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Pretty powerful when your ex-boyfriend from high school and college takes the time to stop at your mom’s grave. I think he visits her more than I do, to be honest. In fact, I know he does. And all of this made me pause and think about the ways my mother touched people’s lives even though in her mind she was “just” a housewife and a mom. Being a mom was really all she ever wanted to be. And she told us that, especially on our birthdays, which were much more special to her than her own birthday or Mother’s Day. But as I think back on why my ex-boyfriend would still feel so close to my mom, I realize that she mothered lots of people, not just her own children. She was just that kind of person.

Fast forward to this weekend. My sister’s first boyfriend emailed both of us. (Yes, they still keep in touch. See note above.) He said that when he was at the cemetery putting flowers on his own mother’s grave (this is his first Mother’s Day without her), he stopped to put a single rose on our mother’s grave.

“I visit your mom’s grave when I go to my mom’s. You guys know how special she was to me,” he wrote.

Wow. That’s quite a legacy. We’re not talking about relatives who feel an obligation to visit a grave. We’re talking about ex-boyfriends going back decades. Those two emails were such gifts because they reminded me that my mother was not just the seemingly perfect woman I keep on a pedestal in my mind’s eye, but a truly special person who made a difference in so many lives, even when it seemed like she was doing nothing more than inviting a boyfriend to dinner or bringing a plate of brownies down to the basement for band practice. She was the real deal. Now that’s what Mother’s Day is about.

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I attribute some of this anti-Mother’s Day attitude to the fact that I don’t have a mother anymore and, therefore, don’t feel I should ever have to buy another Mother’s Day card. That’s not to say that I don’t love the grandmother and stepmother and mother-in-law who do eventually receive the most minimalist cards I can find. Just that I think anyone who no longer has a mother should be exempt from this holiday for all time.

But it’s actually deeper and bigger than just not having a mom who needs a card, although that seems deep enough to me. I hate these Hallmark holidays. (You may recall I also hate Valentine’s Day.) We celebrate Mother’s Day here at our house mainly for the kids. I think they feel like they should celebrate Mother’s Day for me, and so we go through those motions and sometimes throw in a trip to the circus (I’m not making that up), but, really, I don’t need cards or presents or fancy dinners out. In fact, I kind of prefer a quiet morning, a cup of coffee, time on my deck, and take-out Chinese or pizza. A very low-cost mom am I. The last thing I want is a $6 card. A handmade heart is always better.

So to everyone who’s expecting a Mother’s Day card from me (us) this weekend, please forgive me if it doesn’t arrive by Sunday. I have to admit that only yesterday did I remember that this holiday was approaching, and it’s anybody’s guess if the U.S. Post Office can pull off two-day delivery with just a first-class stamp. Just know that you are loved and honored every day, not just one day a year, and nothing anyone else can write or rhyme in a card covered in glitter and filled with battery-powered song can convey what you mean to me.

Now why doesn’t someone write a card like that?

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This is a wonderful book on so many levels. I’m already making a mental list of people I know who would love to read it. Get it for yourself, get it for a friend, get it for a woman you love just in time for Mother’s Day. (With express shipping you can still make it if you order it today.) Recipe for Joy is like sitting down to have a cup of coffee with a good friend. There is comforting, powerful, challenging, joyful sisterhood here.

I was fortunate to be able to ask the author, who’s been a food writer for almost 20 years, a few questions about her book and her life. Here’s how our email conversation played out (and don’t miss the great little book trailer at the end of our Q&A):

NSS: If you had to sum up in just one or two lines what you hope readers take away from your book, what would it be?

Robin: A sense of hope. Life is full of struggles but it’s full of joy, too. We all need to help each other on this journey. We need each other to make it through the dark times and to celebrate life’s high points.

NSS: Having written a book that includes a lot of my own moments of grief, I know how emotional this kind of book project can be. What was the writing of this book like for you? Was it hard to revisit those difficult times? Was it cathartic?

Robin: It was difficult and cathartic. I cried when I wrote about my parents’ deaths and some of the struggles of my childhood, like my mother’s alcoholism. It took me back to those times, forced me to relive the grief. But there was a therapeutic quality to putting it down on paper, too, so all of it didn’t just live in my head and in my heart. And since Recipe For Joy has been published, I’ve heard from others who’ve had similar experiences in loss and grief. It gives me great comfort to think my words might make someone feel less alone. Sometimes I think we believe there’s no one who has been through what we have, but in reality, there’s a whole community of people with similar experiences.

 NSS: What I love about this book is the element of surprise — from the personal details about your San Francisco life to the ways you allow yourself to be vulnerable before the reader as you face new and unexpected losses, changes, challenges, joys. I think it gives people hope and reminds them of their blessings, and at the same time it encourages them to be open to the whisper of the Spirit. What would you say to someone facing a difficult situation or tough choice in their life? How can faith and prayer get them to where they need to go?

Robin: In times of great pain and crisis, I think we sometimes feel like we can’t even pray, can’t form the words to ask God for help. When my father died, I could only manage the word “please.” Not even “please help me.” The key, I think, is just opening your heart to God. Don’t turn away, but turn toward him. And look around you, look for the people he’s put in your life to help you. When your own pain inside is too great, look outside yourself. Where can you help someone else? Something as small as giving a stranger a smile or putting an extra dollar in a tip jar can make the other person feel so much better. That will, in turn, make you feel better, even if just a smidge, too.

NSS: How did your step-children contribute to the book? How did they feel about being part of it?

Robin: I had Ben, Molly and Sarah read the proposal before I allowed it to be sent out. I did the same with the first draft. It started great conversations among us about things they remembered differently or even things they didn’t know at all. They have been enormously supportive.

NSS: How did you come up with the idea for structuring the book like a meal, and how did you choose the recipes that end each chapter?

Robin: As a food writer, I relate much of my life to food, so setting this up as a menu was a natural for me. But I also wanted to give the story a celebratory quality, despite the parts about struggle and loss. Food is something everyone relates to on some level — I don’t think it’s an accident that so many stories in the Bible include food.

The recipes are all dishes that my family enjoys. Some, like the baked goat cheese salad, are slightly fancier variations on everyday meals we shared together. Others, like the beef tenderloin, are dishes we enjoyed on holidays or at other family gatherings

NSS: Will you be doing any appearances or signings?

Robin: I’m doing a cooking class/book signing at Dorothy Lane Market in Dayton on June 23 and another at the North Market in Columbus on July 28. I list all of my appearances on my website: robincdavis.com.

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This past year I have felt a shift toward something deeper and bigger and more powerful than what I’ve done in all my years leading up to this point in my life. Not bigger in the usual way society sees it. I’m not a bestseller. I don’t have thousands of people leaving hundreds of comments on this blog every day. But bigger in a God-sense, because day after day I find my world expanding and my heart along with it, because misfits are about Love and about following Truth, no matter what the rest of the world thinks or says.

Being a misfit is really nothing new for me. I didn’t follow the crowd in high school. I didn’t follow the crowd as a twentysomething, and I’m certainly not going to follow the crowd at age 50. I’m a lifelong misfit, and I’ve always been okay with that, more than okay, but kind of quietly okay. Now, however, being a misfit seems like the most amazing opportunity in the world, and I want to advertise it. Why? Because being a misfit means we are not bound by anyone’s rules, only by Love, and I’m surrounded by a band of misfits here on NSS who feel the same way. We walk to the beat of our own drum or guitar or kazoo, and I love each and every one of you.

All of this has been crystalizing for me in a big way in recent months. I find myself wanting to reach out and out and out, to mentor a young writer, to hug a troubled friend, to commiserate with another mom, to seek wisdom from a mentor of my own. Gone is the need to compete or succeed (in worldly terms); in its place is the need to connect and collaborate. Just recently I was given an opportunity to take on a job that probably would have given me much more visibility and definitely would have given me some much-needed income, and I briefly considered climbing on board because how could I not? It made good business sense. But it didn’t make sense to my heart. It didn’t make sense deep down in my soul. Finally at 50 years old I know who I am and who I want to be, and I knew without question that this particular job wasn’t going to help me get there. Rather it would push me back in another direction, a more confining, tension-fraught, competitive direction. So I walked away from it because that’s what misfits do, because we know it’s not about how many blog hits or how many comments but about touching hearts deeply and honestly, even if it’s only one heart a day or one heart a week. Love isn’t a numbers game.

Jesus said people would recognize his followers by the way they loved each other, by the way they loved everyone. Not a few, not many, but all. That’s why the Gospel is so hard to live. That’s what makes true followers total misfits in the eyes of the world. It’s not an easy calling, but it’s a noble calling.

Pope Francis recently said that the Church needs to be a community that says “yes,” a “community of open doors.” Amen to that. Maybe he’s the Pope of the Misfits, which would be A-okay in my book.

I can think of nothing more I’d rather do at this point in my life than bring together people from all different walks of life — which we do on a very small scale here at Not Strictly Spiritual — and form a community of misfits that will change the world one person at a time. Who’s with me?

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Whenever I feel this way about this region in general and Albany in particular, all I have to do is point my car in any direction and drive for only 30 minutes — even less in some directions — and then stand back in awe. It happened just this week as I drove to Silver Bay for Noah’s Lab School retreat. I was driving up the Northway, singing along to my Austin music (it’s not just the physical city I miss), when suddenly I was startled (in a good way), as I always am, by the mountains all around me, by the lake appearing as if out of nowhere when I exited and started driving east, by wild turkeys running across the road and hawks circling overhead. And all that before I even stepped out of my car, which I did before I reached my destination, just to stand at a scenic overlook and snap a few photos.

Just last week, we had family in town and as we drove through Albany, a few of them mentioned how much they like the city. It caused me to pull back and look around. Sure, I’ve noted beautiful buildings that must have been spectacular during their hey-day. And the little cobblestone alleys here and there are glimpses into what could be if the city somehow went through a revival. When you’re here all the time, it’s easy to let the giant tangle of highways blocking the Hudson River also block your view of the whole. So my goal will be to start looking for the hidden gems within the city instead of only in the beautiful Adirondack and Catskill and Berkshire mountains that surround us.

Still, those mountain ranges sure to do make it easier. When I returned home from Silver Bay this week, I announced: “I don’t want to move from here. Ever.” It’s amazing what a little fresh air, sunshine and sweeping views of nature at its finest will do for your perspective.

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I’ll admit I was a little nervous going in. I figured a writing seminar was the last place most of these teens would want to be, especially when the beautiful weather and beautiful surroundings were calling to them from just outside our door. And, honestly, how could I compete with yoga class or archery?

But that was worry for nothing. Lab School kids are a breed apart, and even after two years of seeing it up close, sometimes I still forget that. Their style of learning, their close-knit community, their core team of teachers who go above and way beyond the call of duty make them especially receptive and respectful and open to whatever is put in front of them.

So my sessions were tons of fun, and every one was slightly different depending on the dynamics of that particular group. When I gave them a choice of topics and told them to pick one, write for ten minutes, and never let their hand stop moving, they did it willingly, some downright enthusiastically.

I was thrilled to see kids sprawled on the floor of the cabin, sitting on rockers on the front porch, leaning against a wall, and writing and writing and writing. At each of my four sessions, I actually felt bad telling them their time was up because all of them were still going. Of course, I didn’t know what they were writing. It could have been — as I told them they could do if they ran out of things to say — how much they wanted to be anywhere but in that seminar. But I trusted that most of them found a memory, a thought, a story, a description that captured their attention and poured out on the page.

A few kids told me they really liked the seminar; one stopped me in the dining room to thank me and tell me he wanted to be a sports writer. I figured that would be as good as it got. Then I went back to the cabin to prepare for my last session and found a couple of loose leaf pages filled with writing just sitting on a table. At first I wasn’t going to read it because it felt like prying, but then I figured, if a student left it, he or she probably didn’t care much if someone else read it. And I’m so glad I did.

It started out simple enough, a few thoughts about swimming jotted down on paper because it was required, but then about two-thirds down the page came the line — the “one true sentence” I asked them to try to write (based on something Ernest Hemingway wrote in “A Moveable Feast”). It was beautiful, I mean, really beautiful. I stopped and smiled and knew right then that this one scrap of paper was proof that the writing seminar was worth something and that this annual Lab School retreat is a great way to give kids a chance to try something they might never try otherwise, whether it’s writing or yoga or learning about Lyme disease or trying their hand at archery.

And you know what? These kids have inspired me to break out my own spiral notebook and start writing again just for the joy of it, with no destination in mind, no deadline to meet, no particular subject to cover. Thanks to them I have learned again that all I need to do is write one true thing, the truest sentence I know.

Thank you, Lab School. I am honored to be part of your amazing community.

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You were born with potential

You were born with goodness and trust

You were born with ideals and dreams

You were born with greatness

You were born with wings

You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.

You have wings

Learn to use them, and FLY.

~Rumi

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Our little project grew and grew. The girls made fleece blankets for the babies, they made beaded bracelets for the moms, they made posters and set up a collection playpen at various locations — Elsmere Elementary School, Tri-Village Nursery School, Twist and Flip gymnastics, and Historic St. Mary’s Church in Albany. And the donations came pouring it. On Monday we made 23 gift bags, complete with diapers, shampoo, wipes, outfits, bibs, onesies, socks, blankets, bracelets and more. And we have loads of donations that couldn’t even fit in the bags. It was amazing to see. 

Even if the girls can’t yet fully understand the depth of the struggles and poverty the teens moms face, they do understand that they have been able to make a difference, and that’s a pretty big deal. I’m hoping our girls will remember for years to come that if they put their minds to something and involve the community, they can, in fact, change the story for someone else.

Congratulations, Troop 1308, I am so proud to call myself your co-leader. And thank you to everyone who added to our collection. St. Mary’s in Albany will continue the collection through next weekend, so if you’re in the area and want to help, you’ll find our playpen set up there. And if you’d like to support Community Maternity Services directly, click HERE and find out what you can do. It’s a great organization, helping pregnant teens, teenage moms, and children slipping through the cracks of the foster system.

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