“Can you spell that for me?”

“Sure” she replied. “It’s….amygdalohippocampectomy”

“Jeesh..that sounds awful”.

“Ya..that was my first brain surgery. They removed parts of my amygdala and hippocampus to help control the seizures and did a right temporal lobectomy. I also have a vagus nerve stimulator battery in my chest. (She pulled down the neck of her t-shirt, revealing the scar and the bump under the skin where the battery was implanted). It goes off every 5 minutes and lasts for 30 seconds. My second surgery involved drilling 14 holes into my skull and placing probes into my brain to help determine where the seizures are happening. That was fun. My first grand mal seizure was in 2003. I was sitting in the back seat of a truck when I had my first grand mal seizure. The next thing I remember I was screaming at a guy with a mask on thinking I was being date raped. I was being held down and he was saying, “It’s okay- I’m a medic. You’re in the hospital.”

March is Epilepsy Awareness Month and I have the privilege of being invited into this home where Trina, her husband, Chris and their 2 young children live. Many days she barely has the energy to unload the dishwasher. She often forgets where she placed household items and so buys duplicates. Well meaning friends and family also add to the clutter by giving them bags of clothes and toys. Grocery shopping, cooking, laundry and managing the home falls mainly on Chris’ shoulders. And just how many balls can one husband juggle? Overwhelmed barely describes how they’re feeling.

She reached out to Clutter Busters Home Organizing for help and together, we’re finding ways to tame the clutter and create a home that not only is inviting but functions well.

Her goals include:

• spending less time looking for things

• managing piles of laundry by reducing the amount of clothing

• learning new routines to help maintain order

• experiencing more peace

Trina recently texted me saying,

“Hi Sue, you really have no idea how much you are helping me here. This had been an overwhelming home of “stuff” before and you have helped my brain start to recognise things that are actually not needed and are garbage or donation worthy, even when you’re not here! Before you came along, I would just stand in the room and turn around in circles and walk out because I had no idea where to start. I used to be amazing at that stuff when I was younger, but since my brain surgery, I get easily overwhelmed and distracted so now that you’ve helped me learn to focus on certain things, I find myself doing it without any prompting. I can’t thank you enough. We’ll get there!”

Reading that text almost made me cry and I was again reminded of a quote from Frederick Buechner who said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet”.

Trina- You are a gem. And yes- we’re getting there!

In a world of tweets, texts and emojis, there sits at a desk in a modest one bedroom home, an 87 year old widow who mails out between 70-100 hand crafted greeting cards to vets, seniors and shut-ins EVERY MONTH. These gems are painstakingly cut and matted, some are painted or stamped and some are even embroidered with shimmery thread, and all include a hand-written note expressing her good wishes. She even sends out a monthly card to those who are over 100 years old because, well..they may not be around in a year!

That abruptly ended 4 years ago on March 18th. In Sonja’s house, in front of her washer and dryer, there is a trap door with 6 1/2 feet of steps leading down to the dirt floor of the crawl space. Sonja knew the door was open and was careful to avoid the hole. Reaching up to the shelf over the washer to retrieve her garden clippers, turned a little too quickly and into the hole she fell, breaking her neck in 2 places, as well as her spine, collarbone, ribs, big toe and puncturing one lung.

It was 2 1/2 weeks before she regained consciousness in London’s Trauma Centre. Here are her words.

“I vividly saw myself strapped to a bed frame and was frantic from discomfort. I remember hollering out, “God, what have I done so bad that you’ve thrown me into hell?” I honestly believed that’s where I was. Shortly after that, the hallucinations became less and visions gave me hope.

The most vivid vision stays with me even now. I only wish I was a painter so I could preserve and share it. I’m sitting in a meadow with my neck brace on and asking God to show me my angels. Suddenly, people of all ages, sizes, nationalities, and skin colours are beginning to surround me.

“These are your angels”, God said. They’re praying for you. Angels are not always heavenly beings…they are people right here on earth….friends and strangers”. I felt totally surrounded by love! Then I saw a beggar sitting in the corner of my vision and I asked, “God, even him?” God replied, “Help him and the blessing will be returned,” I took that to mean it isn’t up to me to judge others.

My doctor told me that I shouldn’t have survived the fall and even if I had survived, I should be paralysed. What a wake-up call! During my journey back to health, I kept being reminded that people were praying for me. When I became frustrated and felt like giving up, I would feel a warmth and calm come over me and God told me that it was because people were praying for me.

I’m here for 2 reasons. Your prayers achieved a miracle and there’s something I still need to do.”

Oh, I’d seen him alright, that guy standing at the front of St. Charles school gym, strumming his guitar, face lifted heavenward like he was seeing angels. But in that crowded gym packed with young people worshipping together, I certainly didn’t think he’d be the kind of guy who’d be interested in girls. He seemed more monk-ish. More apt to live a celibate life, head in his Bible, and way too serious for me.

But I later learned that he had, in fact, been covertly checking me out and had made a deal with God that if I showed up at his church, he’d take that as a sign and ask me out. And soon after, one Sunday morning, I showed up. The following day, I was sitting on one of the 200 buses running in Hamilton, Ontario and who gets on the same bus? You guessed it! He was heading downtown to buy a new jacket and would I like to join him?

The jacket purchased, he asked if I had time for a coffee and I assessed this man with his thin, 6 foot frame, looking as if he’d been built from angles rather than curves. Ah, but those lips, full and begging to be kissed!

“Sure” I agreed.

The following Wednesday, he asked if I’d like to go on a date with him along with our friends, Bob and Joanne.

Martin's Steak House.

50 years ago.

My parents didn’t think it would last. I was only 20 years old. He was 7 years older and had worked at 7 different jobs in 2 years. He’d done drugs. Wandered around Europe. Not financially stable. And worse- they’d read the cover story in Time Magazine about Jesus freaks and he was one of them.

“God help us”, they’d said.

And He did.

As two strong-willed first-borns, we’ve had our share of challenges. But we know that our healthy long-term relationship is not about avoiding all conflict but being committed to staying in the never ending cycle of harmony, disharmony and repair.

Our family motto: “Love Never Fails” is the goal. It may look like buttering his toast while it’s hot or about making sure the oil gets changed in the car. It’s about being each other’s scaffolding, when we feel like crumbling. But mostly, it’s about drawing upon the One who is Love and helps us do the next loving thing.

I can’t imagine life without this man.

I’ve stood in palaces and cathedrals, museums and mansions but today I realized something.

I love my kitchen best.

It’s the way the autumn sun hits the glass shelves shining through newly preserved jars of peaches and salsa. Or when its beams bounce off the row of knives lined up on the wall , illuminating them like so many little tin soldiers.

It’s the only place I can actually grow a real plant…for awhile at least!

I can understand why our ancestors worshipped the sun. Without it, Earth would be a frozen, drifting rock. Life as we know it would end. No more energy, food, warmth or light.

But then it dawns on me. The Light of the world stands beside me at the kitchen sink and warms my heart with Love. Three thousand years ago, the prophet Samuel described it perfectly:

“He is like the light of morning at sunrise on a cloudless morning, like the brightness after rain that brings grass from the earth.”

By the way…

If you’re in a dark place today, feeling anxious or fearful, a dose of sunshine is a good soul tonic. Step outside and go for a half hour walk. Breathe deeply. At the least, you’ll be getting a healthy dose of vitamin D. At the best, you’ll get to experience what the composer of one of my favourite Christmas carols wrote:

“Light and Life to all he brings. Risen with healing in his wings!”

Light and Life to all.

Yes.

All.

Though it’s officially autumn, here in Chatham, Ontario, we can still step outside and be embraced by a summer-like, sun-kissed hug, though a few of our maples have already shed their brilliant leaves. We actually swam a few times last week, both in Lake Huron and in the cold, spring-fed Lake Manitou. And though Tim Horton’s is featuring their pumpkin spice muffins, I’m still wearing sandals.

I thought about pulling out my fall decor today and puttering around the house, switching out the summer apple green pillows and throws for more layers of rust and gold but I just can’t. Not yet.

Sometimes, it’s good to rest in the “not yet” season of life.

“Have you received a diagnosis?”

“Not yet.”

“Did you get the job?”

“Not yet.”

“Did he call back?”

“Not yet.”

This “not yet” season is a time when we could easily choose to complain, and become hardened, or it can be a season when the most lovely of human qualities- patience, empathy, gentleness and self-control are developed. As we surrender to the “not yets”, we realize we’re not as in control of our lives as we think we are.

Perhaps this is the beginning of true humility.

By the way…

If you’d like to dive deeper, Jeff Manion presented a brilliant lecture at the Global Leadership Summit (average attendance 250,000 annually). It’s called, “The Land Between”, defined as the period between a past situation and a future one; a state of being in transit that is often filled with uncertainty and emotional challenge. Highly recommend!!

Share

I really can’t think of anything more boring to write about than pots and pans. I mean, the only people who actually get excited about them are professional chefs and I’m guessing that most of you reading this are older (ahem..more “mature”) people who prefer making reservations over casseroles or who purchase frozen dinners that heat up quickly in the microwave. My friend who designed new homes for our demographic confirmed this notion that home cooking is no longer on the front burner (pun intended). However, dining out gets expensive and cooking your own food not only saves money, but ensures that you know what you’re putting into your body.

But I get it. For many of you, the days of cooking for large family gatherings at Christmas or Thanksgiving are over. You’ve long since purged your kitchen of roasting pans, 10 litre stock pots, and oversize electric frying pans.

Unless…

You’re a foodie like me and find cooking a source of joy and and an outlet for culinary creativity. Then the quality of your pots and pans becomes a matter of the utmost importance. Why?

It’s no fun flipping an omelet in a non-stick pan that sticks.

Or maybe one Saturday morning, you decide to peel carrots and potatoes, dice celery and onions, chop chicken, stirring it together in a large pot, then walk away, anticipating chowing down on a bowl of autumn stew, only to come back an hour later to a scorched mess because your pot is thin and warped. Ugh!

So today, if you’re in the market to replace your pots and pans, (or if you have kids/ grandkids who ask you for advice), here’s a few tips to consider.

Buy the best you can afford. There’s a time to save and a time to splurge. Now’s the time to splurge. If you’re on a tight budget and have patience, sometimes you can pick up a great quality pot at a thrift store. It’s where I purchased my $300 All-Clad pot with a lifetime warranty for $5!

You generally need an 8-10 inch frying pan for 1-2 people for small tasks like eggs, and a 12-inch pan for 2-4 people or larger meals. Non -stick is key here but avoid Teflon which flakes and opt instead for ceramic coated ones. Rock and Paderno are good choices. You’ll also need a deep pot for cooking pasta or corn and a medium size for everything else. Pots made with 18/10 stainless steel are wonderful. They retain the heat and clean easily. Make sure the handles are riveted securely, and that the pot is balanced and easy to lift. I love my Le Creuset dutch oven for soups, stews and bread making, and my carbon steel wok for stir-frys. My daughter loves her black cast iron pan that moves from stove top to oven. I, personally, don’t like the maintenance. But think about what it is you actually cook and buy accordingly.

By the way…

St. Teresa of Avila, a Spanish mystic, once said, “God walks among the pots and pans”. What do you imagine she meant? I’d love to hear your comments. Let’s get a discussion going!

Many moons ago, usually on a Saturday afternoon in September, when the cool air nipped noses and the sun shone bright in autumn’s blue sky, we’d pile our 3 girls into the back of the Toyota hatchback and drive to the apple orchard in Carluke. Sara, the oldest could reach the branches, but sometimes, we’d have to lift Andrea and Christy, so their little fingers could reach up, taking hold of the heavy globes, giving their stems a gentle twist before placing them in their basket. It was fun discovering (and debating) which of the varieties were the best, the juiciest or the sweetest.

My love for those shiny, red spheres comes honestly. Dad loved apples and if he happened to see me munching on one, would innocently ask for a bite- just one bite, he’d promise. I’d roll my eyes, because the way he’d take ONE bite was to sink his teeth into the centre, then without removing his mouth, begin rotating the apple, his front teeth excavating the flesh till his mouth was completely stuffed, juice dribbling down his chin, before handing it back to me.

In those days, the main varieties were Macs, Delicious, Cortland, Spies and Granny Smith. Today, I can hardly keep up with the new breeds that appear in our supermarkets.

The legendary “Johnny Appleseed” would be amazed. Yes- there really was a Johnny Appleseed. However, his name was John Chapman (1774–1845), and contrary to popular myth, he didn’t wander barefoot across America randomly scattering apple seeds with a pot on his head. He was a nurseryman who planted his seeds methodically in orchards. John felt this was his “calling” and would share God’s love with all he met.

Anyways, history lesson aside, my favourite apples for snacking on are: Ambrosia, Gala, and Honeycrisp. When baking, I use Granny Smith which are tart and firm, holding up well in pies or crisps and mix them with Golden Delicious for sweetness.

Of course, I knew you’d want the recipe!

6-Ingredient Quick Apple Crisp

Ingredients

• 4–5 medium apples, peeled, cored, and sliced

• 1/2 cup brown sugar

• 1/2 cup old-fashioned oats

• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour

• 1/2 tsp. cinnamon

• 1/3 cup butter, cold and cubed

Instructions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease an 8x8-inch or similar small baking dish.

2. Prepare the apples:

   • Place the sliced apples in the dish. Sprinkle a little sugar on top if you like them sweeter.

3. Make the topping:

   • In a bowl, mix oats, flour, and brown sugar and cinnamon.

   • Add cold butter and use your fingers or a fork to blend until crumbly.

4. Assemble and bake:

   • Sprinkle the topping evenly over the apples.

   • Bake for 30–35 minutes, until the topping is golden and the apples are tender.

5. Serve warm with ice cream or enjoy as is.

   By the way…

   I never make just 1 apple crisp, but instead, multiply the recipe and make several up in 9” aluminum pie plates, covering them with foil and popping them into the freezer. It’s a quick, comforting dessert to have on hand that everyone enjoys. But bake for one hour covered and 10 minutes uncovered.

For years, I’ve heard the hackneyed phrase, “You’re a human being, not a human doing” and in my mind, I know the truth that we are loved, not because of what we achieve but because we are of intrinsic worth to God. Period.

But to know something in your head isn’t the same as experiencing it in your body. So for 3 weeks, I tried an experiment that was spurred by a favourite author, Kate Bowler, when she coined the phrase, “A summer of holy underachievement”. It was teeth-gritting hard and entirely out of my Protestant-work-ethic-comfort-zone. But what I learned over these past 3 weeks of intentional under-achieving has brought me so much joy!

This experiment took place at the darling cottage we have been renting for 6 years right next to Inverhuron Provincial Park. Over our 3 week stay, 19 guests have come through here, walking on perpetually sandy floors, with wet towels strewn everywhere and all sharing one very small bathroom. Oh- they didn’t come all at once, mind you, but in clusters, usually for 2-5 nights at a time. But here’s the amazing thing.

I hardly cooked for anyone.

It was a strange feeling. Family and friends would arrive, dumping their coolers on any horizontal surface and stocking the fridge with drinks, yogurt, incredibly juicy peaches, Ontario’s best corn on the cob, frozen hamburgers and chicken and lots of ice cream things on sticks. In the morning, whoever was up first, made the coffee. Most of the days were spent in my bathing suit with a book, soaking up the rays sitting in the low-slung Tommy Bahama beach chair then moving to the shade of the cabana when I got too hot. Beach chair, cabana, beach chair, cabana. The lake is shallow and crystal clear and most days, I swim not only for the exercise but for the sheer pleasure of feeling its silky waves lapping on my skin.

Back at the cottage, it was every man for himself but we usually ate meals together and everyone pitched in to clean up dishes. After dinner, we gathered on the beach along with other cottagers to watch the sunset over Lake Huron. The drone of a bagpiper is heard in the distance. It sounds like a woman wailing for her husband, lost at sea. It’s deep and hypnotic and stirs a sense of something eternal in my chest.

The days, then weeks bleed into one another.

Despite enjoying being surrounded by my favourite people, with no responsibilities and basking on the beach, I have to admit I sometimes cringed, watching everyone take over my kitchen, flipping burgers and tossing salads while I sat curled up on the couch, turning pages in my crime novel. But after a few days, something gradually, almost imperceptibly, began to shift.

It began while I was watching these cute little girls, maybe 7 or 8 years old, playing at the water’s edge and Jesus’ words came to mind:

“Unless you become like a little child, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”

For the next hour I watched as these children, uninhibited and totally oblivious to my presence, create a miniature city using only a plastic shovel and pail.

They saw potential in every rock or piece of driftwood, dead beetle or shell. They weren’t concerned about being best or having enough, or being productive. They weren’t checking off completed tasks on their to-do list.

And most notably, they weren’t posing for selfies.

So dear God, please…not childish but childlike.

Seeing ordinary things with fresh eyes.

Tender and trusting,

Dependent on a God who flung a thousand stars into space.

Amazed by clouds, ants, or a song I’ve heard a hundred times.

Curious, like a child continuously asking “why?”

And believing that even sand, and driftwood and rocks can become a city where you dwell.

They call themselves “The Golden Girls” and every time one of them has a birthday, they all gather together to celebrate. Some have faith, others were skeptics. They were country girls, they were city girls, married girls and single girls and their ages spanned 15 years.

So what is the glue that has held these women close for decades?

“We like each other” was the response.

Huh? That’s it?

So today, I’d simply like to talk about what makes a good friend. Author and researcher, Brene Brown says it best and uses the anacronym BRAVING to describe the elements of a trusting friendship..

It stands for: Boundaries, Reliability, Accountability, Vault, Integrity, Nonjudgment, and Generosity.

• Boundaries: Setting clear expectations about what is okay and not okay in a relationship.

• Reliability: Doing what you say you will do, consistently.

• Accountability: Taking ownership of mistakes and making amends.

• Vault: Keeping confidences and not sharing information that isn't yours to share.

• Integrity: Choosing courage over comfort and living by your values.

• Nonjudgment: Being able to ask for help and support without fear of judgment.

• Generosity: Assuming the best intentions in others.

Did the Golden Girls always like each other? Maybe- but I’m guessing there were times when they disagreed strongly, or feelings were hurt when a careless word was spoken, or perhaps when a confidence was broken.

But they hung in and did the hard work of showing up, ‘fessing up and showing up again.

And that, dear reader, is golden.

The average Canadian moves between 5-6 times during our lifetime and regardless of the reason, taking pictures off the walls and spending hours stuffing possessions into duct-taped boxes, hoping they’ll be intact when they arrive at our new home, is never fun.

So Bonnie hired me to help her with this task as she didn’t want to burden her out-of-town children or her aging, arthritic friends.

“This move will be my last, she told me between sobs. I’m so angry. Not angry at Larry, but angry at the disease that took him. He was my rock. He always looked after all the details. He handled all the money, looked after the sale of our homes, and hired the movers. Who will be my new friends? Where will I get my groceries? How often will the kids visit me? I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t know what to do.”

She reached out to me from her recliner and I just held her, silently praying for comfort.

The next day, I picked a small bouquet from our cutting garden and placed it on the end table where she sits and offered a suggestion.

“Try not to focus on all the boxes and bare walls. Instead when you feel afraid, take a couple of deep breaths and gaze at the bouquet. And remember that the Designer who created these summer flowers has a beautiful design for your new life, too. Hopefully, that will help.”

And it did.

By the way…

While fresh flowers purchased from a florist are a treat, you can create a lovely focal point for your table with what you have. A mason jar can hold dry grasses from the roadside. A single bloom floating in a soup bowl is also lovely. Sometimes, I go to our local florist and they give me stems of salal and leather fern for free. I plunk them into a piece of pottery I got from the thrift store. If I do purchase a bouquet from the grocery store, I often separate it, creating several smaller arrangements, placing them beside my bed or on the bathroom counter, multiplying the joy!

They finally realized the insanity of it all.

Two dear old souls rattling around in a 4 bedroom, 2 storey house with an in ground pool they never swim in, a living room they never sit in, and a state-of-the-art kitchen they rarely cook in.

Together, we are systematically removing everything that no longer serves their current season of life. Why? They plan on moving and are loathe to have their kids deal with it all. They want to make these decisions while they still can.

It is a LOT.

But there’s another reason why I still run my side hustle, “Clutter Busters Home Organizing.” Do we need the money? No. But this business helps fund my passion to bring justice to people in countries where law enforcers are often bribed, children are chained to beds to service unscrupulous clients and slaves are held against their will to make money for their captors. I doubt if I’ll ever go to India or Thailand or places where these injustices are happening but I can do something.

We’re having such a blast serving groups of people from 2 -8 in our backyard gazebo and our guests’ donations go directly to International Justice Mission.

So it’s a win/win!

Homes get cleaned out, packed up or organized.

Folks enjoy good food.

Bondages are broken.

God smiles.

It’s always thrilling for me to travel east on Highway #401 to Toronto, especially coming from the small city of Chatham where folks rarely honk their horn and rush hour is a rush “minute”. From as long as I can remember, the big city has promised a good time and Friday night was no exception. My husband, Andrew and I both have birthdays in the summer and as we prefer experiences over stuff, our kids gifted us with tickets to see James Taylor at the Budweiser Centre. I hadn’t been to a big concert in a long time and sitting among 15,000 people all swaying to the oldies was magical.

What brings such a throng to hear the 77 year old geezer sing? Nostalgia? For sure. The band? Absolutely! They were exceptional and included Lou Marini (who played with Blood, Sweat and Tears as well as the original Saturday Night Live band) and singer, Arnold McCuller who lent his vocals backing up Linda Ronstadt, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Ray Charles, Carly Simon, Stevie Wonder, Whitney Houston, Neil Diamond.

But the highlight for me came when Taylor recounted how his hit single “Fire and Rain” was the catalyst for Carole King’s song, “You’ve got a friend”.

I had no idea.

“Fire and Rain” was written in 1968 when Taylor was only 20 years old. He has said it was cathartic to write about his struggle with heroin and the loss to suicide of his girlfriend. One of the verses says,

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely nights when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I’d see you again.”

He played it for his friend, Carole King, who then wanted to comfort him and reassure him. So she penned her response to his pain in the song, “You’ve got a friend”. Both King's and Taylor's versions of the song became major hits, showcasing the power of their songwriting and friendship and selling millions of copies. Taylor jokingly remarked during the concert that when he first sang the song, he didn’t know he’d be singing it every night for the rest of his life!

Who wouldn’t want a friend like that? One who truly “gets you” and connects with you in a way that makes you feel loved. One who understands your love language and responds in kind, bringing comfort and understanding.

By the way…

One of my favourite books on the shelf is called, “The five love languages” by Dr. Gary Chapman. These love languages or ways of showing love include: words of affirmation, giving gifts, quality time, physical touch and affection, and acts of service. Ask your family and friends “which of these languages make you feel the most loved?” This question may bring surprising answers and lead to greater intimacy and connection with your people. Maybe your wife would prefer an act of service rather than the gift of flowers. Or your child may thrive on words of affirmation but squirm away from hugs. Or maybe your husband just wants to get away and spend some undistracted quality time with you.

Learning how your people love to be loved is a game changer!

What do you think of when you hear the word, “green”? Spider plants in hanging baskets, spinach, apples, grass, grapes, a forest, emeralds?

Or do you associate green with sea sickness, over-cooked brussel sprouts, mold. or your 1970’s avocado green fridge?

When decorating your home, green is a hard colour to get right. My husband’s office walls are deep, forest green making it feel cozy and intimate. A child’s bedroom painted a light, mint green can be enchanting. But painting your walls anything resembling bile can take you back to the place where you had your tonsils out.

The solution?

Plants, of course!

As my friend, Rebecca said, “You can never have too many plants!”

The window over my kitchen sink has a breath-taking view of our neighbour’s brick wall. When we first moved here, I hung a little cafe curtain, but within a week, it was covered with food stains and water marks. (I’m a very messy cook!). So instead, I installed glass shelves, added plants and voila! There’s now texture, colour and ready access to basil.

Confession time. Not all my plants are real. The life expectancy of anything with roots in a pot that is brought over the threshold of 52 Glengarry is less than a year at best. But the good news is that faux greenery has come a long way, and if you mix them with real plants, it’s hard to tell the difference. Cleaning them is a bit of a chore, but Cass from Clutter Bug says the solution is to “spank them”.

By the way…

If you enjoy dining al fresco and live near Chatham, ON, the Gazebo on Glengarry has reopened this summer. Come and enjoy a meal with your friends in our screened in gazebo, surrounded by the bubbling fountain, chirping birds and REAL plants! Finish off the evening sitting by the fire watching the stars appear. Your donation to International Justice Mission, a worthy organization that rescues girls from the sex trade and other injustices, will be receipted in full. You can call or text me at 519-401-3052 to book your reservation.

I remember my mom sitting at our kitchen table, filling out surveys sent by food companies. These companies were trying to determine what constituted the “perfect” cake mix, spaghetti sauce, or coffee. Then Howard Moscowitz, a psychophysicist and market researcher. was hired by Campbell’s and his findings turned the food industry on its ear and she never filled out another survey. He determined that there wasn’t one universal choice but rather there were many “perfect spaghetti sauces”. The assumption Campbell’s was making was that they simply needed to improve upon the Prego brand of their spaghetti sauce, which if you’re a child of the ‘60’s - ‘‘70’s, meant the thin, Italian, no lumps variety that sank to the bottom of your bowl of pasta. All the while, one-third of the population preferred chunky! So in 1980, they rebranded and gave options of plain, spicy and extra chunky, the sales soared!

The same phenomenon took place in the mustard industry when instead of only having the option of ketchup or mustard on your hotdog, you now could inquire, “Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?” Now you know I’m a senior!

And indeed, today when I checked my fridge, there sits a bottle of Dijon, a dollar store bottle of French’s, (for the grandkids who don’t know the difference), honey mustard, Keen’s hot mustard that cleans out your sinuses, and a grainy mustard (terrific on a ham sandwich) and dry mustard for mom’s mac ‘n cheese recipe. There are literally hundreds of kinds of mustard.

But ketchup? When French’s tried introducing “gourmet” ketchup, interestingly, people said it tasted “off” and preferred the ketchup of their childhood. Perhaps that’s because traditional ketchup hits all five basic taste sensations: sweet, sour, salty, umami, and bitter.

So what’s this got to do with hospitality? Sometimes simple is better.

When I began having people for dinner, I thought having a wide variety of food to choose from was a way to show I cared. By the time I finished fiddling with appetizers, then checking everyone’s steak to see how well done each one was, while making sure the shrimp weren’t turning to rubber, …well you can imagine- it was brutal!

When you're overwhelmed with choices—different cuisines, dietary considerations, recipes, presentation styles—it can lead to paralysis by analysis. You might spend so much time trying to plan the "perfect" meal that you either procrastinate, cancel, or host with stress rather than joy.

A perfectionist by nature, one of my greatest challenges is the need to curate a flawless dining experience instead of simply welcoming guests with what we have. It was way easier when we were on a tight budget. Back then, few of our friends and family had much and nobody expected anything gourmet. Meals together were frequent and spontaneous. A pot of soup, made the night before from whatever was leftover in the fridge, a loaf of bread, and a peach crisp from the freezer topped with vanilla ice cream was all we needed to connect.

Could it be that the high cost of groceries may drive us back to the basics and actually have a positive effect on our ability to connect?

It’s food for thought.