Tonight I had the spectacular opportunity to be at home alone.  I found myself without an agenda and time to spare, so I cooked chicken curry and listened to music.  And I felt such peace.  There is little that I enjoy more than cooking.  It’s more than “cooking”.  It’s measuring spices and smelling them individually and then the the way they smell combined together; slicing the skin off a piece of ginger root and then grating it as the juices flow and the unique smell fills the space; chopping garlic and onions; stirring the spices into the cooked onion; hearing the sizzle of the cold coconut milk when it hits the hot pain.  Combine that with Frank Sinatra singing “Come Fly With Me” and “My Funny Valentine”, allowing me to hum along, and I have found the perfect place.  All that is good and perfect collides in my kitchen in those moments.