to celebrate international nurses appreciation day tomorrow (yes, virginia, there is such a day and god, i'm certain, doesn't even know why.), our usually sterile administration has tossed out its penchant for giving out cheap gewgaws most often made in china - a calculator that conks out after the third square root attempt, a spiny umbrella that folds down under the slightest of spring showers.
this year, they're giving us a rather decently published cookbook, the recipes of which are contributions by the nursing staff, the foolhardy ones, anyway. and since i work in a new york hospital, the variety of recipes is just mind boggling. no aspiring fictionist could even dare to dream the breadth, the diversity of cultures represented by the recipes.
a bibimba plate special from a korean icu nurse, the classic red snapper escaviche with holiday cornmeal breads on the side by this jamaican patient care tech, another take on mofongo, mashed plantains with pulled pork this time, from a puerto rican nurse assistant, and a garden variety vegetable spring roll from a filipina nurse supervisor.
since i don't - not can't - cook (for how can i? i have cut off my gas service since i moved in to this apartment.) it would seem that this giveaway would just be another addition to the ever unmanageable clutter in my closet of an apartment. but somehow, i have already grown fond of it. that quick.
this morning, instead of my wont to read the times with my breakfast, i ended up lost, poring over the cookbook for a good hour. or two. after making a seemly effort to detach myself from reading the cookbook, i was saddened at how banal my breakfast was of runny eggs and pale toast.
then i drifted to sleep with the memory of when mother first brought me to the big city of manila and how we made this required pilgrimage to divisoria, the heady market of mostly cheap textiles just south of the capital's chinatown. i was only five or six then and mother hauled me by my hand as she, a veritable crazed woman, navigated through the labyrinthine market. by the time she had bought a pair of mules, the ones with a silver bow, if i remember right, she realized she lost me.
half an hour later and with the help of two surprisingly courteous cops, mama found me playing hide and seek with the daughter of a stall owner among the hung batik sundresses. as soon as the cops left, mama tweaked my ears and glared at me as if to berate me why i had been enjoying myself so much among the women's dresses.
i don't know why i'm telling you this. except perhaps, to rue. no, that's too pompous. to grieve, perhaps? maybe, just to eat my heart out at how my life has this predilection, somehow, to mislay me among beautiful food and brightly colored dresses. both of which i feel i have not the prerogative to indulge.