Ginger Kick

Of late, while everyone else’s lives become gentrified, mine seems to have become gingerfied. Not only in the way you die your hair ginger or spice up your life by taking risks--although I’ve done both of those as well--I’m talking about being surrounded by all things ginger. It all started with a simple but standout martini at Jade Bar by the name of Ginger Fig. (It ended that night after three.) All of a sudden, it was as if I’d opened my eyes to ginger for the first time. This isn’t true of course, being a fan of homemade carrot ginger soup, having been on a spice tour in Zanzibar, and so on, but it was different this time. It meant more. I needed it. From then on, every drink I ordered had to have ginger in it, dressings, soups, juices, anything for ginger – I was an addict. Then it exploded beyond the spice, beyond the root. Next thing I know, I’m going to Prague with Jeff and Virginia, known by friends as Ginger. While there, we see the Dancing House, a building designed by Frank Gehry that was originally named Fred and Ginger, as it resembles the dancing couple. Most recently, Fred and Ginger was one of the couples themes in my studio photography class. What could it all mean, I ask? What is the lesson to be learned from ginger? And why ginger exactly? Am I fated to marry someone named Roger? Well, your guess is as good as mine. Although the secrets of ginger have yet to reveal themselves, I’m keeping my eyes wide open to each and every sign. Maybe they’re leading me somewhere good. Meanwhile, the journey’s half the fun!