2011

Becoming Visible

May 23, 2011

“I would be safer if I was not so visible.” – Marianne Williamson

26763657_48558D8u_c A few years ago a blogger I admired put up a post closing down her blog. I remember that she wrote that “the kitchen was bare.” I can relate to that. I feel like the things I have felt comfortable writing about are all used up and the cupboards are bare.

For the past week or so I have toyed with closing down for a little while while I sort things out. I am in the midst of doing some shapeshifting. Even now as I type I feel raw and quiet about the things that are coming up. I have touched on them before when I began telling you about the stories that I wanted to write and when I claimed the title of talespinner, but when I got to the edge of that place that felt dangerous and real, I froze up and stopped writing.

There is still a place in me that is scared to go there.

More than anything, I want to be real. More than anything I want to write things here that connect us through space. The stories that are asking to be told are strange and wonderful, but I hesitate at their edges and worry that they will be too weird, too whimsical or too much – much as I worry sometimes that if I let go I will be those things – so I put down the pen.

But my delight at images like this one and the eclectic collection I am amassing on Pinterest show just how whimsical and strange and sacred my writing could be and I realize that I am only fooling myself. I am who I am. Forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get up the courage to show you.

(I don’t know who to give credit for this image. The Pinterest link hits a dead end. If you know, please let me know and I will give credit where credit is due.)

food, Musings

What a Difference a Fly Makes

May 15, 2011

“You were created to travel lightly on this planet, with the same sense of joy that little children have.” – Marianne Williamson

My first job was working as a costumed historical interpreter. In normal terms, I was a pioneer. I can’t believe it now, but they hired me when I was 13. I baked on wood stoves, cleaned pieces of the collection and interacted with the public all while wearing dress, petticoat and bonnet. (Yes, I was very cute!)

One day I was making oatmeal cookies with raisins in them and talking to visitors about Ontario in the 1870s. A teen-aged boy pointed at the batter I was stirring and said that a fly had just flown into the bowl. Rather than stick around to see my reaction, he followed his parents back out of the door and likely promptly forgot all about me.

I, on the other hand have never forgotten him. No matter how many times I stirred and checked that dough, I never found the fly. While I am certain now that he was just messing with me, my 13 year-old self was thoroughly grossed out at the prospect of eating fly. I eventually baked the cookies (not wanting to waste the ingredients or to explain to my boss why I hadn’t made them) and cut them into halves to share with the visiting public.

The story for most people would have ended there, apart from a laugh with their friends about serving fly cookies to people. Not me. Instead, 23 years later, I have yet to enjoy a thing with raisins in it ever again. Raisins bear a shockingly close resemblance and texture to what I imagine a fly might taste and feel like. One passing comment from a stranger coupled with the stress it caused changed something deep inside of me that I have never gotten back.

But where else are there flies in my operating system? Where else have small, seemingly innocent exchanges altered me so profoundly? If you are canoeing across a lake, the slightest nudge in either direction will change where you land on the other side. Which nudges got me here? How can I filter out new ones coming in? And how can I release the ones that don’t make any sense to hold onto at all? I really wish I knew.

food, Musings

When in doubt, add lemon.

May 8, 2011

“No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.” – Laurie Colwin

Today was hard. Things around here have not been easy – uncertainty is the backing track of my days right now – but up until today I was holding it together. Then I caught the last twenty minutes of ‘Hope Floats’ while I ate my lunch and like a good cliche, ended up on the couch in tears.

Alone, unsure, unhappy, I sat afterward wondering what to do next. Staring off into space was the most useful thing I could make myself do. You can know everything about how to feel better, but when you are in the middle of feeling sad, it’s so much easier to let yourself wallow.

So what was a girl to do? For some reason the only thing I could think of doing was baking. (This is very unlike me.) And lemon loaf, for some reason, was the thing I wanted most. As soon as I started zesting the first lemon, I could feel myself shaking free of the funk. The smell of the zest, and sting of the juice on my fingers, the alchemy of combining and the strict rules of the recipe pulled my focus from my navel to the task at hand.

Lemons, it seems, are the answers to the question of what to do when you can’t do anything. Sharp, bright, needy and vibrant, they force energy in where energy isn’t. So that’s what I think I will do from now on: when in doubt, add lemon.

Would you like to come over for fresh lemon loaf and a cup of tea? They are both still warm.

(photo by Leslie of A Creative Mint)

Older Posts

Newer Posts

Becoming Visible

“I would be safer if I was not so visible.” – Marianne Williamson

What a Difference a Fly Makes

“You were created to travel lightly on this planet, with the same sense of joy that little children have.” – Marianne Williamson

When in doubt, add lemon.

“No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.” – Laurie Colwin

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