I express my love with Pork

Last night I went and bought a 10 pound ham and took over the kitchen with a fit of frenzy. I prepared the ham in the tradition of my people, which involves pineapple slices and brown sugar.

Unsatisfied that ham alone is the full embodiment of comfort, I peeled, boiled and mashed potatoes with generous additions of butter, cream, salt and pepper.

I got some of those big foil roasting pans and prepared everything to take upstairs to Isaiah's grandmother. She was not home, which ulimately was a good thing as it gave the ham time to cool from third-degree-burn-straight-out-of-the-oven temperature to warm and ready to eat.

I heard the sound of people walking around which meant that someone was home.
When I got to the door, the next door neighbor saw me and just opened the door.

I walked into an apartment full of older women in flowered dresses all scuttling about. Isaiah's grandmother was not there, but one of the ladies helped me carry everything to the kitchen and then I departed. I hope that the ham goes to good use. I know it's hard to think of food when grieving, but I just hope that my love expressed through pork will warm their souls a bit.

Celebrating a Life/Losing Isaiah

Yesterday was K's birthday. We celebrated in grand style with a dinner of seafood namely our luxurious crustacean friend, mister Lobster. We then gathered with the lovely KL, DD and LMO for drinks. I feel very blessed to have K in my life and am
thankful that he was born and is alive and well. I could not have asked for
a better soul mate. I am truly blessed.

We were making our way back home, opening the apartment door when we ran into our friend Emma who lives one floor directly above us. She was on her way to the hospital. Her grandson Isaiah had been hit by a car and she informed us that he was unconscious. I could see the pain and distress in her eyes. I could sense the shock and I had a hard time taking in what she was saying. I tried to continue the acknowledgement/celebration of K's birthday, but I couldn't stop thinking about Isaiah.

We went about our evening trying not to think about Isaiah and finally went to bed.

This morning we woke to the sound of someone ringing our doorbell. K got up to answer it as I was still bleery-eyed and not yet ready to greet the morning. As soon as he opened the door, I could hear her cries "He's gone. He's gone" Everything else was muffled unintelligible echos swelling in the hallway. Konstantine returned to bed asking if I had heard and if I knew what she had said. I said I didn't think I wanted to know. He confirmed that I had heard correctly. He's gone.

Isaiah was 13 years old. He was a musician, a writer, a very special little man who
always addressed me by name and looked me in the eyes. He had kind eyes and a soul that glowed beyond his skin. There was something wise about him, an old soul. Isaiah had trouble walking due to being born with spina bifida. I'm not sure if this in part led to the tragic accident. I don't know all the details. I just know that he is gone and that his family now grieves. I find myself filled with overwhelming sadness to know that he died so young. He had many songs and stories to write that will go unwritten.

It is a tragedy like this that makes one really appreciate life and the loved ones we have. Every day could be our last and every moment is so important.

Isaiah, I am so sorry that you did not get to do everything you planned to do in this life. I hope that you are at peace. You will be missed.

I now find myself trying to decide what best food to cook for his family.
I know it's not exclusively a southern thing, but most of my upbringing being in the south, there is some automatic caserole instinct that kicks in and takes over. It is my knee jerk reaction to tragedy that I must turn the oven on. I must cook.