The only thing more difficult, dangerous and painful than birth is rebirth.
It’s been a while since I said I was going to write about the things that make me happy, hasn’t it?
The truth is, I don’t know that anything has made me happy in a very, very long time. I’m just trying to survive right now, and it’s a struggle just to keep breathing. I don’t want to be breathing right now, because the pain in my heart and soul is so close to completely unbearable. I can’t even think of the last day I made it through that didn’t involve me crying wretchedly… maybe one day last November? Maybe. Not yesterday, anyway… I was picking a few things up at the Shoppers in the mall after work, lotion for my dry skin and a lottery ticket for that weird part of me that keeps hoping against the odds, when I overheard a young woman on her cellphone, telling her mum she missed her and loved her, and out came the tears, intruding on my obscurity, threatening the little bit of peace that comes from being unnoticeable. I fought inside like a wild animal, angrily pushing down those emotions. I bought my things and fled home. I cried for hours while my brain refused to shut up. Conversations I’ve had, ones that never happened… lots of song lyrics. Classic rock, like mum used to play on the 8-track in the Camaro when she’d take my sister and me on a drive. She used to love driving. She used to love just going, wherever. I think maybe she was running away, and I don’t know if she ever knew happiness, either, except maybe in watching the changing seasons flashing by the car windows as she paced the highways and back roads of northern Ontario.
I hope she’s happy now, if there’s anything of us that survives after death. I hope we can all be happy then. For now, I’m not exactly curating happiness. I’m curating breath. Air. The things that help me stop crying for a moment. That’s challenging in itself. I try to find things to take my mind off the sadness, but more often than not they only add to it. Karate was supposed to be a good thing for me, but that’s been ruined nine ways from Sunday… whatever. I’ll try breathing with something else, I guess. Is it my tears? Did I salt the earth with them, and now nothing can grow? Maybe I should just put down some concrete. Or a big piece of granite.
What makes you happy?
Anyone who knows me knows I love to cook. I talk about food, I take pictures of things I make and share those pictures with friends, and when I can, I share the food itself. Food is good. Food with friends is great.
My sister asked me to start posting recipes of the things I make over on Facebook… like me, she likes to read recipes, imagining what the dishes would taste like, the aroma, mouthfeel, all that good stuff. So, I did. It was a Martha Stewart recipe that I shared, for her Best Banana Bread. That is no misnomer, let me assure you. Moist, flavourful and oh, that lovely banana fragrance! I recommend that recipe to anyone… anyone, that is, who can eat gluten. Sorry, my sister. 😉
A friend then commented that I should write a food blog. Really? I said. A food blog? Everyone has a food blog, do we all really need another?
She said yes, it’s not about the recipes, it’s about your perspective.
Food is good. Sharing it is great. Sharing things I love with my friends is great. I decided, I’ll share those recipes with my friends, absolutely, but what I really need for myself is to blog about the things I love, which is more than food. Art. Music. Cats and dogs. Gardening. Books. And maybe even you. I’ll be sharing it all here, and I hope you enjoy my perspective.