Pure Summer Pasta

Ever since I recently ventured into the wide world of pediatrics, I became the rather unwilling recipient of a lengthy indoctrination process - the simple matter of being repeatedly invaded by every single bacteria or virus happily circulating through every single school or day care in existence. My co-workers assure me that this period of affliction is both inevitable and temporary, and that one day I will possess a mammoth immune system, the likes of which are currently unknown to mankind. Apparently, the immunity I developed while working at my previous hospital job is insignificant against all the childhood diseases that have been flourishing in the many years since my own age of sniffle-nosed innocence.

Two weeks ago, a simple stomach bug arrested me for a mere day. This week, I have developed something far more interesting - a virus which has completely incapacitated my vocal chords. I've had laryngitis before, a state usually marked only by a sudden, fleeting similarity in voice to a sultry jazz singer, but never before have I been utterly incapable of producing sound. I have stubbornly insisted on continuing to attend work thus far, performing my job with a series of - if I may say so myself - rather creative hand gestures that more or less seemed to make sense to my remarkably understanding patients. I should note here that I am distinctly uncomfortable with resting. In the past my definition of staying "home in bed sick" has really meant "staying at home while attempting to catch up on all the laundry, paperwork, and housecleaning in between fits of coughing." I recognize, though, that pushing myself when my immune system hollers for a brief restorative period in which to work their T-cell and B-cell magic is Unwise, and I thus may be forced to reform my behavior accordingly in the near future.

My college roomie, Lisa, aware of the national strike my vocal chords have staged, just sent me a text message advising me "your body needs to be silent to heal." I am instantly captivated by the power and wisdom of her words - never before have I thought of silence as a way to heal, the way I think about the 4 grams of vitamin C I just ingested, but the truth to her statement is powerful. So much of our daily life centers around noise that seeking out silence becomes a profoundly unique and helpful way to lead ourselves towards the meditative rest our bodies often crave unrequited.

Healing also asks for quiet, pure, refreshing foods: fresh herbs, earthy whole wheat pasta, the first truly ripe tomatoes of summer... Celebrating the warmth of the noontime sun, the soft glow of evening fireflies, the silence, the stillness of the moment...

Pure Summer Pasta

12 oz whole wheat spaghetti
3 T olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup packed fresh basil leaves, divided
2 T packed fresh oregano leaves, divided
4 large, ripe tomatoes, diced, keeping all the seeds and juices
1/2 cup vegetable broth

~ Cook the whole wheat spaghetti according to package directions.
~ In a large skillet over medium heat, saute the garlic, 1/8 cup basil, and 1 T oregano in the olive oil just for a few seconds, until fragrant.
~ Stir in the tomatoes, and simmer gently for a half an hour or so, until the tomatoes are very soft.
~ Add the broth, and return to a simmer. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
~ Stir in the whole wheat pasta and the remaining 1/8 cup basil and 1 T oregano. Toss gently just until heated through, re-season with salt and pepper, and serve warm!