Dear My Life Runs On Food’s loyal audience, this message short and sweet: Over the next few weeks, we’re moving into a new apartment, and there are other factors in my life demanding more attention over the next several months. My heart is heavy at life’s setbacks demanding I pause this project. However, I’m frequently on social media, especially on Instagram @SanuraJamila.
Dad always had a knack for influencing my senses. Once a babysitter’s sister smoked cigarettes while we were in a car. I loved the smell. Until I told Dad. Back then, no one knew about the dangers of second-hand smoke, but Dad (a former smoker, in which Mom beat the habit out from him) knew the smell was terrible, which led to his speech about the dangers of smoking cigarettes. It was the ultimate ‘do not smoke’ conversation. The following day, we rode in the back seat of the babysitter’s car. The sitter’s sister pulls out a cigarette to start puffing away. And, all of the sudden, my nose didn’t enjoy her smoke anymore. I rolled down the window. The sitter yelled at me to roll the window up, “…because the air conditioner is on!” In an attempt to filter the smoke from my nose, I used my hand to cover my nose, my head away from her and I buried my face into the car seat. The babysitter’s sister made jokes about my dislike for the smell of cigarettes as she continued to casually puff away. Thankfully, she didn’t light another one.
My office laughed at me, because I admitted there isn’t a bottle of ketchup in my refrigerator. It’s a condiment that isn’t hated or loved. Just a sweet bottle in every American kitchen, except for mine. The office conversation started, because I told them how ketchup packets were found ‘hidden’ in a kitchen drawer from a past delivery. My other half placed them there, and I knew to leave them alone. Packets of soy sauce, duck sauce, mustard, salt and pepper from previous delivery services are immediately thrown away, because we have better quality bottles in the pantry cabinet. It’s a better compromise, because a large bottle of unused ketchup sitting in the refrigerator is what I don’t want. Since, that office conversation, I’ve thought of buying ketchup, but mind changes when approaching the cash register.
Another season has come and gone. And, spring started with a flurry of snowflakes that gifted me a snow day from work. It was an opportunity to get ahead of work deadlines. Instead, I slept in late, made a late breakfast and an early dinner was served. Against a bright snowy day, during an early evening hour, I sat down to work pass sunset. The snow continued to fall as if winter decided to catch up from the lack of snow days in New York City this year. The second day of spring was a warm winter-type of day, in which purple crocuses bravely grew in patches of snow as fresh grass with daffodil and tulips leaves continue to grow from bulbs planted two seasons ago.
Happy Black History Month 2018. I’m using this opportunity of celebration as an opportunity to promote self care by reminding visitors about the importance of seeking professional medical assistance. Here’s my story:
One sunny summer day, I walked into my dentist office to complain about the pain of my shifting teeth and to make sure there wasn’t an underlying problem. I walked out with an autumnal schedule for a root canal and an appointment with a gum specialist who would later require surgery to be done in two phases. The dentist said I was a few months away from having one tooth swell with excruciating pain. It may sound like horrific news, but if I reframe my experience, I’m relieved to have caught these problems early, and lucky to have pretty good dental insurance to help pay for the work (I’m still broke).