It’s been six years since my last post here; five or so since I was published. COVID brought everything to a halt including my public writing. It ignited a fear in me which at first was loud. I, like most, was afraid for my life and the lives of my family. As the months wore on, that fear became a quiet simmer that I suppose remains a part of me to this day. What have I got to say that could be of any relevance in a world so battered and abused? A world already so noisy? A world where our attention span is short, our ability to sit still long enough to read at length a dying art?

I don’t want to blame the pandemic and honestly I hate even writing its’ dreadful name. The fact is the world may look different today then it was back then, but I doubt the heart of the human experience has changed. I believe at our very core we still long for a good story which tells a relatable experience. To my mind, there is little more relatable than a tale of food – a good meal or a lack thereof. Even a time when our favorite meal brought us out of a funk, or quieted a disagreement at the table, or a time when a food made us sick or we were made to go without. Taste memories can open the door to a shared experience; can bring us to gather at the table.

Six years and so much has changed for me personally. I became a pastry chef overseeing a staff of eight or so bakers at a bakery/cafe. This is the same local establishment where I began as a barista when my three children were small. They’ve since grown into young adults making their own way in this world that is not always kind but offers an abundance of joy as well. It is a daily prayer from me that my husband and I have done enough to show them how necessary it is to find that joy.

Most recently my father passed away and it feels as if I am now part of a club of those who’ve experienced the loss of a parent. And how life changing, perhaps even life affirming that is. I’m sure I’ll have more to say on this in a later post. For now, the experience is a bit too raw.

Just after the new year, it’ll be two years since I got diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. This has also not quite settled with me where I feel I can reflect and impart lessons learned. I am in it. In the center of the fire with it. I don’t like it and although I’ve always considered myself a quick study when it comes to blessings and gratitude, I’m taking my time with this drastic life change. Sorting through all the pieces of it. What to keep? What to toss? When I’m not at work, I’m in my chair, looking out the window. I observe seasons of birds, squirrels and bunnies coming and going in my backyard. I’ve been told by my therapist that this is depression. I feel it’s grace. A bit of kindness that I somehow muster to offer myself these days. This disease has forced me to sit still. It has grounded my plane. For what? I am still unsure.

All this sitting still leaves me precious little time to cook and bake in my own kitchen and to continue to self learn. I miss that. But, the fact that I’m writing to you now means a change is coming. I’ve recently pulled out a few old food magazines: Saveur, Bon Appetit. Over the years, I had kept the holiday issues which is an annual joy for me to look them over this time each year. How far we’ve come in giving voice to those once relegated to the outer margins of our society. How far we’ve yet to go. I’ve amassed quite a cookbook collection featuring a culinary tour of the world I hope to experience for myself one day. For now reading and learning about the people and places across oceans will have to do. I thought maybe I would share what I’m learning here. Maybe we could begin a conversation and just maybe this writing will bring us to the table together someday.