The First Soup:

I was 11 years old when I made my first soup.  

It was a simple recipe from the American Girls Molly’s Cookbook. I was so excited. I clearly remember the love I felt cutting each vegetable and putting it into the pot. I took each step seriously. Looking back now, after a lot more experience,  I’m happy to say I don’t think it wasn’t a good soup recipe.

These days the cutting of vegetables doesn’t give me the same pleasure, because I make soups on a slightly bigger scale. I also don’t really do recipes anymore, I create synchronistically, which is far more satisfying.

First Lesson From The Soup Man:

I was 16 years old, visiting New York City for the first time on a school trip with my Counselor, Ms. D, who was also a psychic, and my friend Rosemary (what a great name). We went to the Soup Kitchen International soup shop on West 55th street made famous as Seinfeld’s “Soup Nazi”: “No soup for you!”

Rosemary

I waited in that long New York City lunch-rush line, and for the life of me I couldn’t find the signs for the soup flavors. When it was my turn, I walked up to the counter and innocently asked the Soup Man what soups he had. He immediately yelled, “next!” It broke my heart a little, and I stepped aside. I finally found the signs describing the flavors, and I waited my turn again.                

Once that initial pain in my heart came up when he said “next”, like I was just a foolish teenager from the valley of LA on a School Thespians trip,  I immediately felt a real sense of appreciation for what he had done. I liked his boundary, it was an impactful moment of growth for me. Once I got serious about soup, 15 years later, I understood even better, why he reacted that way. It’s a work that’s easily taken for granted.

I speak positively of the Soup Man, in relation to a set of experiences that taught me about boundaries, and the positive effect it has on the integrity of soups and life. I feel like I know how he felt. He’s the OG Soup Man!

I’m one to be very serious about what goes in the pot, more than anything, in regards to where I’m sourcing my vegetables.

The First Sorceress Hats:

Cafe Mimosa in Topanga,  is where I first started selling soups, thanks to the wonderful owner Claire who supports locals, and has a heart of gold. One of my intentions for doing it came from the desire to make more friends, and I did. A couple years ago, I was sitting at the Cafe, very stressed, because I needed help getting to the next level. I had many people telling me the soups were the best, and I was trying so hard to get across to everyone the difference between large farm organic and small farm organic, and why it mattered to me, without being boring, and somehow having the proper promotional material, on a no more budget left to do it scenario. All the money went into the pot. I needed help.  It was an interesting sort of stress, because, while I felt horrible, I was also aware that the discomfort had put me into a heightened state of awareness, like I was leaning over the edge of a cliff.

My friend Joseph the tarot reader entered and sat down next to me. It had been about 10 years since I let someone else read tarot for me. I trusted in the synchronicity. I was delighted by the things he picked up on. He mentioned my Uncle, my Grandfather (my “Papa”), and what to do next.

One of my regrets was that I didn’t go visit my Papa before he transitioned, even though he lived a mere 20 minutes away in the Pacific Palisades, because having a Son, I was concerned with spending the gas money. Joseph told me my Papa was with me. I told him, “I know”.  Joseph also said, “Deceased elders want to see their lineage connect”. So I set off on a drive by myself, in spite of the gas money and 6 hour drive, to visit my Aunt in San Mateo. I hadn’t done anything like that for myself in many years. Being a Mother and Wife, my main focus was them, and their needs, not what I wanted to do. I just wanted to take a little trip, feel a different environment, and see my Aunts.

There was a black hat laying perfectly flat on the dresser of the guest room. I looked at that hat a lot, throughout the short visit. I could tell it was my Grandmother’s hat, who lives in LA. I could feel it in me, that I was supposed to wear that hat, it was the right timing. I didn’t have any hats, I wanted a hat for a long time, and that one was like a Sorceress hat.

I walked out of the house with it on my head, and kept wearing it almost every day. It was transforming. I just knew it was there to be the next phase in awakening this character. It was also the house where the Cambpells soup lithographs are.

A quick background on the pictures. My Papa had fine art on his walls, including my Uncle Judson Huss, and the Andy Warhol lithographs of Campbells Soup cans. We just never understood why anyone would put those cans on their walls. I did eat a lot of Campbells tomato soup when I was a kid. Then, later in life, I became absolutely, positively, without a doubt in my mind, very serious about creating the best, most healthful, organic soups imaginable. Those lithographs are at my Aunt’s house now. 

It’s funny to think about these things, because that soup can was dialed into my subconscious since I was a wee one. So were my Uncles paintings, which had a huge impact on how I create in all areas of my life. The way he authentically and intuitively portrayed creatures in the world was very real for me. 

The Red Hat: Last Christmas, I opened my Aunts gift. She sent me two hats made of wool! I was really impressed with how she found those hats in particular, and that she cared enough to understand how special that would be for me. I pulled out the red hat while we were on facetime. We were both uncertain. She made a strange look on her face, and my Mom tried to play it off like she thought it was pretty. It was a strange moment, because my Aunt didn’t realize it would be so red.

By the next day, I embraced the red redness, ended up loving it, wore it almost every single day, and everywhere I go someone loves the hat. There was so much power in it, and radiance. It flew off my head a few times. I danced in the rain in the middle of a random summer storm with it on. I’ve been stopped over and over just to talk about the hat. The hat was cut into shreds in front of me, piece by piece by piece, like shards of glass, which shortly after, led to my separation. He said, “you’re secretive, you’re just hiding behind this hat”, and some other things most of which were too hurtful and ridiculous to share. I bought a new one after that, but it wasn’t the same, just close enough. It reminded me of my first little heartbreak as a teenager, when I bought myself a red suede long jacket to celebrate my next phase in life. It’s also a little like the moment The Soup Man hurt my feelings, and I was into the next phase. A separation is much more complicated, frightening, and impactful, but I see these moments as the pivotal ones. 

To red hats, transformations, Campbells shitty red tomato soup, to my Uncles Incredible Art, my Papas awesome taste, my Grandmothers taste in hats, my Aunts hospitality, to Joseph who read my tarot and told me my soups were medicine, to Mimosa Cafe, to the end of a cycle when the hat was in pieces. And dancing with the new hat in the storm, thanks to Topanga Magic. And heart breaks that break the spells of the past and forward us into the next paradigm. May all beings be blessed, and free to express their heart and spirit in its whole, complete form.

There are more scenes like this, there’s more to share, there’s more to create. I left behind a sinking pirate ship, and I’m still shaking outside of the cold water, with the courage to get through battles and healing, I never saw coming. And I’m good at seeing things coming, so long as it’s day by day.