Author: Neal Saye

My weekly gratitude journal, of sorts.

1. So Robert and I LOVE our local Bull Street Library. We are there FAR more often than normal people. Recently we discovered the library has a little program called The Spice Club. (I’m so glad it isn’t The Fight Club.) They feature a different spice every month or so. And they give you a little history of the spice, two or three recipes, and the spice itself!

Our first spice upon “joining” was Galangal. Okay, I know, I had never heard of it either. It’s a kissing cousin of Ginger. The recipe we chose to make was a delicious salmon dish.

The second spice … Black Peppercorn. We made two of the recipes. First, South African Chocolate Pepper Cookies. Differently Yum!

Here you go …

The second recipe, Citrus Melon Caprese with Black Pepper.

It was a hit! We will make it again and again.

We just got the latest spice … Dill. Here’s the little package you get each time there’s a new spice.

I think I’ll run for President of the Spice Club! Will you vote for me?

2. Our sense of Smell. Spices have such incredible aromas! Make a dash into your kitchen and take a whiff of two or three.

3. Dahlias.

4. The beauty of wood.

5. This fifth Happy Bringer may be a tad demented.

As you may remember from my “Hello Anxiety” posts, I drive about an hour north of Savannah every other week to see my therapist … “Rubi.” (What?! You don’t remember that?)

His office is in a beautiful old house on one of Statesboro’s main streets. And there’s something about the physicality and energy of the place that often grabs my attention when Robert drops me off. (On second thought, maybe I’m just trying to get my labored breathing to calm down a bit before “the talk” and more Neal-revelations.)

Well, yesterday I walked up the steps onto the screened porch and saw this:

Lo and behold. The vine (Virginia Creeper? Surely not a poison something or other!) had somehow trickishly/roguishly made his (her? Virginia’s?) way up through the porch floorboards and onto the innocent ivory rocking chair. WHERE CLIENTS/PATIENTS ARE SILENTLY INVITED TO SIT BEFORE VENTURING INSIDE.

Well, I had left my Hazmat suit back in the closet in Savannah, so I said No to the Sit and hightailed it through the door of the Amityville house to the reception area, locking the door securely behind me.

But there is something eerily wondrous, even edgy beautiful, about the determined little vine, don’t you think?

May you have a weekend Peppered with Joy and Peace.