"What's Cookin'?"

I have just received the 'hottest' text message of my entire life.

It came from the chef at the Lamu Island guest lodge I visited back in August with my buddy Ron. Remember the fish I raved so much about that Ron called me a "snapper whore?" Well, the chef, who henceforth shall be referred to as "Homey," is the guy who's responsible. (Not for me being a snapper whore, just for preparing all the great food.)

Anyhoo, after praising his fresh, simply elegant cuisine each day, I left Homey a nice tip and and my hearty thanks as we departed. His gracious response included a request for my business card. Homey said he traveled to Nairobi frequently, and being an inveterate networker, I slipped him the card and jokingly invited him to make me some coconut battered-red snapper next time he hit town.

So why was I shocked when he actually called about a week later? First of all, I hate to admit it, but it's pitifully rare for me to hear a male voice on my cellphone. When I do hear one, I go into automatic business mode. Homey's deep, Swahili-inflected tones threw me so much, it was a rather awkward and incredibly brief conversation. He asked if I had made it home safely, and I said yes. I think I asked him how were things on Lamu, and he said fine. Silence ensued, and he quickly rang off. Afterwards, I felt guilty for being so reserved and hesitant, because I had given him my card, after all.

So the next time Homey called, I was more friendly. It was still a short conversation, but I could tell he was encouraged by my response. So encouraged that he called a third time. But I didn't think too much about it. Frankly, I considered those occasional chats as PR for my next trip to Lamu.

Okay, by this point you're thinking, "Can this heifer PLEASE get to the point she raised at the beginning???" Okay, here it is, in the form of the text I just received from Homey:

"Hi Rachel. Long time since we communicated. Now I am in Nairobi. If there's anything u want to be cooked, I am available. Have a nice time."

Hmm, where to start??? "Yeah, Homey. I got something I need you to whip, pound and fricassee. Can you say 'shake and bake'?"

FYI, that's as crude as I intend to get, in case you were wondering. But I'm so flummoxed because Homey's timing is astounding! And it's not even about HIM, per se. Actually, I really don't even remember what he looked like, although I recall not being repulsed or anything. This is more about my life, and its ingredients. Lately, I've been having a hard time remembering what a baseline of contentedness feels like. Between the hot flashes and the sad flashbacks of late, I've been overly focused on what's wrong, or missing, or broken.

This time of year is a convenient opportunity to plop myself down in the "Twilight Zone Marathon" of general frustration, sadness and self-pity. But something else I read in the October "O" magazine the other day also flipped a switch. Life Coach Martha Beck brilliantly captured my current zeitgeist with her concept of the "Designated Issue." This "Lifetime Movie Drama of the Moment" is blamed for all your life's woes, when it's really just a flimsy cover for other significant ongoing turmoil.

For me, what this means is that as an (almost) 48 year old woman who seriously needs to not only feather a nest, but to actually build one in the first place, mourning my sister's passing is only the tip of my "Overall Life Issues Iceberg." I need to settle down somewhere, to commit to a place. I need to be more open and receptive to finding my life partner and committing to him, in whatever form he appears. On the other hand, I need to ensure I'm not a bag lady 20 years from now, whether I'm still alone or not. And I need to jealously guard my health and make wise choices about my diet, stress levels and overall physical fitness.

But as long as I stay focused on my "Designated Issue," I avoid these other critical challenges. I've been digesting that article ever since, and it really makes a lot of sense. I have to be more mindful and honest about my life and where I am mentally, physically and emotionally, instead of ducking for whatever convenient "cover" is available.

So....the journey of a 1,000 miles begins with the first step. Which would be responding to "Homey's" text message. But lest you think I plan to live up to Ron's fishy slut label, it ain't that kinda party. I'm just just gonna stir the pot a bit, to see what's cookin'.

Stay tuned.