The day I broke my ankle I was on my way to Crema: June 20th, Father's Day was especially lovely. We were walking. As a single parent my kids celebrate both Father and Mother's Days with me. After sharing a meal we were on our way to dessert. Visions of cakes and a generous selection of Sonny's premium ice cream danced in our heads. There is something so right about dark, dense layers of chocolate cake held together and sealed with chocolate ganache. Some of us like the ice cream on the side, barely touching the cake, forming a pool around the slab as it melts. My personal preference is ice cream on top, so it soaks into the cake as it melts. Carefully moving the ball of frozen cream, eggs and sugar to the peak of the cake slab, I wait until it is soft enough to spread. It melts evenly, more or less, and is absorbed, and consumed slowly. After each bite there is a pause to notice the explosion of flavors, textures, temperatures. Five of six bites is enough for the moment. And, as I pack the remaining portion "to go" I bring my attention completely to the present moment. It is more than enough: sitting in the late afternoon sunlight, across from the man-boy who loves me. I relax, sensing the underlying value and truth of being. This experience is enough, we have enough, I am enough. It seems so obvious and easy in this kind of situation, but I am not always aware of my incredible privilege without comparing situations. Lucky me, I broke my ankle and discovered I am still enough. In pain, frustration, and limited mobility, I am still surrounded by sunshine, flowers, and
the people who love me.
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