Chocolate Breakfast Shake/Lunch Sando

 

9/7/2026

Chocolate Breakfast Shake/Lunch Sando

I don't usually do this, but I want to share the ingredients of the shake you see pictured above:

2 tbsps  Dutch-process cocoa powder

1  Banana

2 tbsps  Sunflower seed butter

2 tbsps  Flax meal

2 cups  Spinach

2 cups  Milk

2  Dates

2 cups  Frozen cherries

Look how healthy this shake is!!! But you know the first thing Keshav said to me upon seeing that this was his breakfast? He said, "Couldn't you have made something that is a different color than this?" I don't know what other color a chocolate shake can be other than brown. Leave it to my husband to look at a chocolate shake and see a glass of poo. 

But he drank it. 

I had him pick up the frozen cherries yesterday when he was at the store. As per usual, he checked in with me before getting them to make sure they were the right item. After asking some questions to assure myself that there were no pits, I let him know he picked the right ones. 

Sometimes Keshav will take lunch to work, and for this reason I try to have some healthy options in the freezer for him to grab and go. The usual suspects are homemade chicken taquitos, and homemade breaded chicken tenders that are baked, not fried! But on this day he actually asked that I make him a sandwich, which I did. It looked like this:

There was turkey, cheese, spinach, and avocado in the sandwich, all tucked between slices of whole grain bread. I felt good knowing that he would have a nutritious lunch to enjoy at work, thinking of the sandwiches my mother used to pack for me when I was a kid. I am not sure they were that nutritious, having been made with processed white bread and processed meats and cheeses. I don't think any of us knew that whole grain bread even existed back then--to me white bread was just "bread", end of story. 

Despite this lack of nutrition, I somehow grew to the height of 6'1", so maybe there were "other things" in my childhood foods that spurred growth. I would rather not think about it. Today, I am less concerned with growth and more concerned with health--for both of us. Sometimes that looks like a glass of poo--so sue me for caring.

*

I am writing this post on Sunday the 12th of September, the day after the 25th Anniversary of 9/11. There are a lot of thoughts and feelings moving through me today as I finish my mobility exercises and have my own breakfast. Keshav has left for work, and I will soon go to the Farmer's Market to see if they have outside flank steak for a dinner I am making tonight for myself and our friend Avani. 

While eating breakfast, I watched a video of Brandi Carlisle performing at Red Rock, and during her encores she surprised the audience with an appearance by Alanis Morrisette. The crowd went nuts, naturally. As I watched the four songs in the video, I marveled that I am alive to see this, even if I was not there in person. After the Carlisle/Morrisette duets, Brandi closed the show with a lovely lullaby that had tears streaming down my face, and I just felt glad to be alive, goddammit. 

I remember 25 years ago when the planes hit the Twin Towers. I was here in California working at a catering company, and like most people, I thought the first plane was some tragic accident. But the second plane, and the collapse of the buildings a short time afterwards, convince me and everyone else that something else had happened. Yesterday, I could not avoid reminders of that day in my socials, and I am not sure I wanted to avoid them. I have often thought about the people who were trapped in the buildings, and how they may have initially thought they would be rescued. I imagine that moment when their assessment changed, when they accepted that they would not be seeing another day, that they were experiencing the last moments of their lives. 

Anyone who is aware they are living their last moments is in some ways fortunate to be doing so, depending on how that awareness comes about, I suppose. I don't think any of us hope to just have our life snuffed out in an instant, without any preparation or final farewells. But I also don't think we want to be in a position where we know the end is happening that day, and there is nothing we can do about it. 

Is there an ideal way to die?

*

I think a lot about dying, but that is because I also think a lot about living. I like living, most of the time. I don't mind when I am frustrated or angry or sad. I think, for me, life is most unsatisfying when I feel disconnected from others, when I feel that I am not a part of the life I am moving through. Strangely, I do not feel this when watching a video of a show that I did not attend, because in the moment when I am feeling moved by the music, my brain "thinks" it is there in the audience. I feel connected to the experience. 

At 64, I have already lived a longer life than many. I have lived longer than those who died of AIDS in the 80's, 90's, and beyond, and I have lived longer than those who died on 9/11. I have lived 25 years longer than those who died that day, and there are times when I can feel both the weight and the lightness that comes with that recognition. 

Last night, when Keshav got home from work, I hugged him and told him "This is always the best part of my day", and I meant it. I love my alone time, especially when I am trying to clean and I don't have to step around anyone. But I love more having him come home at night, maybe making him a personal pizza (meat-lovers or pesto chicken!) and hearing him shower as I ready myself to read in bed. 

I love having a husband, and I love that it is him. I love watching my hands make his breakfast and clean up the dishes afterwards, because I marvel that they can do this. I remember my mother's hand after she died, and accepting that, after 86 years, they would not be making sandwiches or washing dishes anymore. Perhaps this is what the Buddha meant when he said that enlightenment is available in everyday tasks? 

Yesterday I cried tears for those we lost on 9/11, for the powerlessness they must have felt, if they had any awareness of what happened before their deaths. I think about how I am starting my day in much the same way they did, eating breakfast, kissing a loved one goodbye for the day, and assuming that I have much, much more time to do those things over and over again. I am grateful to be here, even when it feels boring or maddening, because it is better than not being here. My hands are infinitely more interesting when they are able to make a sandwich than when they are not moving at all. Perhaps this is the greatest gift of age: gratitude. 

But it has to be chosen. Will I choose it tomorrow?