Not sure what to say this week, the only thing really on my mind besides writing a cookbook is that my good friend died on Thursday. She was 35 and had been battling cancer for a bit and was supposed to get better but she didn’t. Her death was shocking and sudden. I saw her last Saturday, sat on her stoop in Brooklyn with her Mom and boyfriend, talking about her plans to move to Seattle. Five days later I got the call that she was gone.
Her memorial was on Sunday at Barcade in Brooklyn, a bar owned by her ex-husband and her good friends. I was planning to say some words, and sat at 88 Orchard coffee shop downstairs Sunday morning listening to The Chills by Peter Bjorn and John over and over, looking over photos and thousands of emails; we’d been inseparable work buddies for nearly four years and at least fifty of her emails end with “anyways, suck it”. But nothing seemed to make sense for me to say – either too personal, or not personal enough, or too funny, or not funny enough — or too Buddhist; I kept reading the Heart Sutra over and over, which I had first been introduced to by Brad Warner in his book Hardcore Zen in 2003, a period that marked the beginning of my relationship with Anne.

Anne was damn funny, wicked, cool, sexy and crazy. Anne was a girl, a tough lady, a troublemaker, a huge heart, and equally good at doing whiskey shots as yoga asanas. She was gorgeous and fashionable. She had Uggs way before they were stupid. On our many hours in a car together, traipsing over the tri-state area in a rented Prius for work, our conversation careened from talking about boys, to office drama, to religion and philosophy, to what was Paris Hilton wearing in US Weekly. I finished my coffee and decided that nothing I could say could express my loss or my gratitude at having known her.

I walked outside and picked up the 3 quarts of pickles I’d ordered for her memorial from The Pickle Guys on Essex. One of the pickle guys (who I’d told why I was getting the pickles) said he was sorry. I walked off to the Doughnut Plant on Grand Street to pick up the six dozen doughnuts we’d ordered – Anne’s favorites, and we had to have them there. On my way out, waiting for Trey to pick me up and head to Barcade, someone told me to have fun at my doughnut party. I smiled and thought, yeah, I guess this memorial is a doughnut party.
Listen to: THE CHILLS by Peter Bjorn and John
The Heart Sutra
Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva,
when deeply practicing prajna-paramita,
clearly saw that the five skandas are all empty,
and was saved from all suffering and distress.
Sariputra,
form is no different to emptiness,
emptiness no different to form.
That which is form is emptiness,
that which is emptiness, form.
Sensations, perceptions, impressions, and consciousness
are also like this.
Sariputra,
all things and phenomena are marked by emptiness;
they are neither appearing nor disappearing,
neither impure nor pure,
neither increasing nor decreasing.
Therefore, in emptiness,
no forms, no sensations, perceptions, impressions, or consciousness;
no eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind;
no sights, sounds, odors, tastes, objects of touch, objects of mind;
no realm of sight up to no realm of consciousness;
no ignorance and no end of ignorance,
up to no aging and death,
and no end of aging and death
no suffering, accumulation, cessation, or path;
no wisdom and no attainment.
With nothing to attain,
bodhisattvas
rely on prajna-paramita,
and their minds are without hindrance.
They are without hindrance,
and thus without fear.
Far apart from all confused dreams,
they dwell in nirvana.
All buddhas of the past, present and future
rely on prajna-paramita,
and attain anuttara-samyak-sambodhi.
Therefore, know that prajna-paramita
is the great transcendent mantra,
the great bright mantra,
the supreme mantra,
the unequalled balanced mantra,
that can eliminate all suffering,
and is real, not false.
So proclaim the prajna-paramita mantra,
proclaim the mantra that says:
gate, gate,
paragate,
parasamgate,
bodhi, svaha!
The Heart Sutra of Prajna.