roasted chickpea, sweet potato + quinoa pilaf

My mother always said that a child’s Godparents are determined long before a baby is even born. The connection is already forged and put forth and the promise of a spiritual presence is pre-determined. I've always felt a deep connection with my own Godparents and like the idea that we've always belonged to each other. 

My Godfather, was always, always, immaculately dressed with a four piece suit and a fedora with a small feather tucked on the side. He looked like a movie star from the twenties. Perfectly groomed. Dapper. Distinguished. My Godmother was beautiful, with rippling black curls and big brown eyes and they were both devoted to our relationship. To making it special and strong. 

Even though they lived in a very urban setting on a very busy downtown street, they managed to create a beautiful backyard oasis filled with colorful flowers and sweet smelling potted herbs. Across the street was a mom and pop shop that sold comic books and candy and every time I’d visit, I dashed over with a two dollar bill in my hand for a bag of roast chicken potato chips and a pack of cherry- flavored Chiclets. 

They reserved a barrel of crayons and old paper placemats from their restaurant for impromptu art sessions and they'd always hang my drawings on their wall or fridge. We'd often feast on a lunch of braised beef and fluffy white rice and homemade pudding, and sip on little cartons of the sweetest imported orange nectar I’d ever tasted. And then we'd sit in their very formal living room adorned with antique Victorian-style furniture and long flowing drapes and have coffee and homemade almond biscuits. My cup was always filled with more milk of course but still, I felt a bit grown up about the whole process and for being included in what seemed like a very formal ritual. But perhaps my favorite part was being allowed to feed their pet canary, George. He was a bright yellow hue with flecks of orange and ginger and he had the tiniest beak I’d ever seen. I'd sit next to his cage and listen to him chirp happy little tunes that I swore mimicked many of my favorite childhood songs. Before I left, my Godfather would always take a big scoop of candy from a decorative bowl on his dining table and shove them in my pockets. “Thank you,” I’d mumble, with a mouthful of buttery, English toffee. He’d wink at me and put his finger to his mouth making a faint shushing sound.

Our little secret.

I only have happy memories of the time I spent with them and I love that I’ve carried these beautiful, real-life stories with me all these years. That they have become a huge part of the way I remember my childhood and ultimately, I think that’s what’s made the biggest impression on me. The practice of spending time with my loved ones from a very young age and being immersed in their every day life. The garden. George the canary. Coffee and biscuits. It’s all part of this chapter in my life that has become a compass for me. My Godparents are a part of my story and I am a part of theirs. It’s this beautiful map of connections and experiences and memories, some magnificent and others, rather ordinary, but still meaningful and important.

Still celebrated. 

Very recently, my  Godmother had her 91st birthday and I am so happy that she is still here with me, watching my own children grow. She has a maternal presence that can’t quite compare and I’ve always valued her advice and unwavering devotion. When we asked her to be Raphaelia's Godmother too, she wept. And so did I. Because the truth is, she's the very best Godmother and the very best person.

She belongs to us. And we belong to her.