Hello.

This is yawande comalefe from New York Times cooking, and I'm sitting on a blanket with Melissa clark, and we're having a picnic using recipes that feature some of our favorite summer produce. Yawande, what'd you bring? So this is a cucumber agua fresca. It's made with fresh cucumbers, ginger, and lime. How did you get it so green? I kept the cucumber skins on and pureed the entire thing.

Ah ha.

It's really easy to put together, and it's something that you can do in advance. Oh me like Neil diamond. We had a Neil diamond album at home, and I spent some time when I was five or six thinking that it was Jack on the COVID of that album, that he had this whole other life. I grew up. My father left Acme, and I rarely saw the taishas. Mark, the eldest son, and I found each other again as adults. Hes a few years older than I am, and when I graduated from college, and got my first job. He was already living in the city, married with a child. In 2001, I was let go from my job at a soap opera magazine. Yes, and the next day he called up to my apartment and told me to come downstairs. He drove me to Stu Leonards in his convertible and bought me a refrigerator full of groceries and gave me a summer job doing data entry at Acme for $500 a week, which allowed me to start writing freelance articles, which allowed me to eventually end up here doing this.Mark and I stayed in warm touch. Then several years ago, I texted him to ask if we could get together. Mark responded immediately and said that actually he had been about to reach out to which is that its a bad question, that the thing not happening to you is never one of the options. It happened. It will never not have happened. Maybe, actually, there was something I could learn from Jack, that after all your attempts at healing, when you finally realize that you are forever changed, you can allow yourself to embrace your trauma. You survive what happened to you, then you survive your survival, and then the gift you're given is that you fall in love with your whole life, inextricable from the bad thing that happened to you. This is my world, Jack said. There was no mistaking his expression. This time he was happy. Before I end this, I want to say one more thing. The second time I gave birth, I was at a different hospital at Cedars Sinai, and I had a mercifully good experience. As I was writing this article, I used the bathroom at a restaurant and the soap in the restroom there was the same brand that Cedars Sinai used.I don't know its name, but I can identify it by scent. I've encountered it a few times since I had my second son. When I smell the soap, my system floods with the neural surprise that I felt on that day. Whatever it is, that's the opposite of trauma. That not everything is a fait accompli. That there are new experiences out there for me to have. That one day I could smell this smell enough times so that it would replace that other smell. And the terrible things that happened to me. That terrible day would recede, eclipsed by the wonderful and regular things that have happened to me since then. That that day would restore itself to a its size. Just another 24 hours. Like all the other days, some of them good and some of them bad. I wanted to tell you that I still have some hope that it could happen.

me like Neil diamond. We had a Neil diamond album at home, and I spent some time when I was five or six thinking that it was Jack on the COVID of that album, that he had this whole other life. I grew up. My father left Acme, and I rarely saw the taishas. Mark, the eldest son, and I found each other again as adults. Hes a few years older than I am, and when I graduated from college, and got my first job. He was already living in the city, married with a child. In 2001, I was let go from my job at a soap opera magazine. Yes, and the next day he called up to my apartment and told me to come downstairs. He drove me to Stu Leonards in his convertible and bought me a refrigerator full of groceries and gave me a summer job doing data entry at Acme for $500 a week, which allowed me to start writing freelance articles, which allowed me to eventually end up here doing this.

Mark and I stayed in warm touch. Then several years ago, I texted him to ask if we could get together. Mark responded immediately and said that actually he had been about to reach out to which is that its a bad question, that the thing not happening to you is never one of the options. It happened. It will never not have happened. Maybe, actually, there was something I could learn from Jack, that after all your attempts at healing, when you finally realize that you are forever changed, you can allow yourself to embrace your trauma. You survive what happened to you, then you survive your survival, and then the gift you're given is that you fall in love with your whole life, inextricable from the bad thing that happened to you. This is my world, Jack said. There was no mistaking his expression. This time he was happy. Before I end this, I want to say one more thing. The second time I gave birth, I was at a different hospital at Cedars Sinai, and I had a mercifully good experience. As I was writing this article, I used the bathroom at a restaurant and the soap in the restroom there was the same brand that Cedars Sinai used.I don't know its name, but I can identify it by scent. I've encountered it a few times since I had my second son. When I smell the soap, my system floods with the neural surprise that I felt on that day. Whatever it is, that's the opposite of trauma. That not everything is a fait accompli. That there are new experiences out there for me to have. That one day I could smell this smell enough times so that it would replace that other smell. And the terrible things that happened to me. That terrible day would recede, eclipsed by the wonderful and regular things that have happened to me since then. That that day would restore itself to a its size. Just another 24 hours. Like all the other days, some of them good and some of them bad. I wanted to tell you that I still have some hope that it could happen.

which is that its a bad question, that the thing not happening to you is never one of the options. It happened. It will never not have happened. Maybe, actually, there was something I could learn from Jack, that after all your attempts at healing, when you finally realize that you are forever changed, you can allow yourself to embrace your trauma. You survive what happened to you, then you survive your survival, and then the gift you're given is that you fall in love with your whole life, inextricable from the bad thing that happened to you. This is my world, Jack said. There was no mistaking his expression. This time he was happy. Before I end this, I want to say one more thing. The second time I gave birth, I was at a different hospital at Cedars Sinai, and I had a mercifully good experience. As I was writing this article, I used the bathroom at a restaurant and the soap in the restroom there was the same brand that Cedars Sinai used.

I don't know its name, but I can identify it by scent. I've encountered it a few times since I had my second son. When I smell the soap, my system floods with the neural surprise that I felt on that day. Whatever it is, that's the opposite of trauma. That not everything is a fait accompli. That there are new experiences out there for me to have. That one day I could smell this smell enough times so that it would replace that other smell. And the terrible things that happened to me. That terrible day would recede, eclipsed by the wonderful and regular things that have happened to me since then. That that day would restore itself to a its size. Just another 24 hours. Like all the other days, some of them good and some of them bad. I wanted to tell you that I still have some hope that it could happen.