My kitchen, My life

I love to cook.

But why? Sometimes cooking can be the most mundane, frustrating, paint-by-numbers part of my day. Pull out the skillet, a couple of pork chops, broccoli and some pasta...wala! Dinner. Usually this happens when life just runs away with me and I am caught up in it. When the need to feed my family something, anything nutritious, gets tangled up in the swirling cloud of never ending "things to do" and the creativity and fun is sucked completely out of it.

And then when life has been completely flipped upside down and I'm in the middle of turmoil and strife; I head for the kitchen. There must be something there that centers me, grounds me, keeps me focused. I spent much of my afternoon in the kitchen yesterday, baking banana muffins (I don't even like them...so its not eating due to stress) and working at dinner. I chose to make a dinner that took time, even thought.

This struck me as odd when I was out for a walk with Bailey and dinner was bubbling away in the dutch oven. It was like I was putting everything I've got into that meal, feeding it to my family as a way of insulating them. Holding them close and keeping them safe from all the hurt pressing down on us.

My kitchen has always been a hub for me, the kids paperwork scattered about, Josh's pile of electronics, my datebook lurking in the corner, a few plants, food. The center of this and many other households. Now, as I look over my shoulder I see a little more, a place of clarity, of truth, a place where I can find solace in the face of adversity and hopefully pass a little on to those who mean the most to me, my family and friends.