For as long as I can remember, in time off stress and or deep loss, I have retreated to the kitchen, for sanctuary, sanity and safety. But for the last few months, there has been no inventing, no offering up my cakes as humble gifts for those I admire, love and cherish. I didn’t bake up a storm for our annual Christmas Eve Eve Party, as I have for previous years. There has been no finding peace in the process of kneading bread. There has been no solace in leafing through a favorite or new book filled with delightful sweet treats. I had planned to test simple dishes, and blog about how just because you a camping, it doesn’t mean you have to BBQ every night – but alas I couldn’t even manage that (and I wasn’t even in MY kitchen).
For the first time in my life, and for such a long time, the kitchen is the last place I have wanted to be. I honestly didn’t anticipate the profound and dramatic affect that loosing Nan was going to have on my life, in so many aspects. I can feel myself tearing up as I write the words, and it still seems so fresh and raw as it did only a short few months ago.
The weekend passed and brought some small change with it. I was forced into the kitchen to make some birthday cakes for some dear friends of ours.
Up until this point I had wondered if I had lost my Mojo, however I saw a fleeting glimpse of it for brief interludes over the weekend. Maybe I’m starting to hurt a little less every day and I’m sure baking will become the much missed therapy that it once was, but for now, I can muster a little strength to produce a few cakes and a new flavor Pav.
So, this is dedicated to those of you that have been supporting me, encouraging me and comforting me over the last few months. Your kind words and thoughts have not gone unnoticed and unappreciated, and will always be in my heart. Hopefully this is the start of getting a piece of me that I thought had been suddenly taken and forever lost, back, in some form or another.
And, thanks again