Tag Archives: Time

153: The Thrill In The Uexpected

2 Jun

Ever since I got here, I’ve experienced a series of unexpected joys. As I was very matter-of-factly walking towards the bus shuttle after exiting the airport, I chanced upon the first bus in line, which was relatively empty, that I decided to get home by. On approaching the bus, there she was sitting right in the front seat in direct sight – my first ever psychology teacher from back in the day. One really finds it difficult to sum up all the feelings that bubble and gurgle within you…a fine blend of shock, excitement, confusion, joy, thrill, all woven into a fabric of beautiful memories put together. We couldn’t believe our chance meeting – on a bus out of so many buses, at an airport of all places; and after what’s soon going to be 15 years. Of course this count was meant to highlight just how long it’s been, except it also reminds me just how long ago I finished my 10th board exams. It goes without saying that we spent the rest of the bus ride seated next to each other, sharing titbits from our life and experiences, and how the journey has been so far. To say that the ride was too short would fall short of how I felt; where’s that traffic jam when you really need it?!

In-keeping with this, and as if I hadn’t walked back in time enough, I passed my school during functional school hours yesterday for the first time since I’d left it. As I drove past it, I couldn’t resist the urge to get off the car and walk right in, to just perhaps see if I could meet the teachers I’d once spent every single day of my life with. And I did. I still cannot describe the feeling; perhaps the connections run so deep that they’ve remained embedded somewhere within me in a place that’s hard to access. Time really isn’t enough when you’re walking down memory lane. Sometimes words aren’t, either.

It’s a strange feeling, this. There’s always been an indefinable friction within me to go back to where I came from. Notwithstanding the trying times that they were, and not discounting the amazing things that were also happening back then, it really isn’t a road I like to walk down. Things change, people change, everything changes. Apart from this insecurity of not being remembered or being acknowledged like you perhaps once were, it’s this strange tug of war stepping back in time versus watching your memories from the safety of disconnected distance. As I walked away from these two episodes, it only reminded me that as the years pile up, so do our own thoughts and perceptions of the whats and hows. To say I didn’t take away so much from these experiences and in turn give so much to these experiences as well, would negate the actual power of reminiscence, time, and life itself.

17: Love Lives Here

17 Jan

17th January never meant anything to me, and neither is it a day I picked out of my calendar to remember specifically. 18th January is a birthday, and so on, but 17th January holds no birthdays, anniversaries, or notes in my mind’s “do not forget” folder. And I’ve been unaware of its significance for 19 years so far.

As the calendar shuffled to today, I still woke up to my regular routine, and continued on.

Today marks the 20th year.

17th January, 2017, marks two decades since our family began what would be the next phase of its journey. I remember 1997 in hazes, but in very distinct hazes. It was the year we arrived in Bangalore in the hope to settle, and call it home. Twenty years is a lot to comprehend, if you ask me.

I graduated ten years ago. I lost my father and grandfather ten years ago. I got my first job ten years ago. I handled my first client project ten years ago. I smoked my first cigarette ten years ago. I went to a club for the first time, ten years ago. We bought a new, first-hand fridge for ourselves, ten years ago. See? A decade, while vast, is easier to deal with, than the expanse that is a lifetime lived in twenty years.

A lot of my mind used the escape of repression. A lot of my heart is still raw. But a lot of the journey we began twenty years ago, and ever since, is where love came, and stayed. My memories of living started from there; my sense of direction, while largely dormant at that time, took its roots then; my concepts of love, loss, forgiveness, joy, anger, gratitude, and family, took shape then. My sense of self, in its entirety, germinated during that time.

The past twenty years have taught me more than a lifetime ever could. And that is because love lived where our journey took us, those many years back. Love lived in our room on the roof, in our togetherness in that loneliness, in our strength in our companionship, in our protection amidst our insecurities, in our faith in times of uncertainties, in our determination during our weaknesses. Love lived in our abilities to share, hold our ground, and in our unity. Love lived. Love lives here, even today. Love will always live.

Even when journeys take on new roads.

When love lives and encompasses everything around you, even the toughest roads you find yourself walking on, become smooth. The passage of time becomes a mere amalgamation of calendar dates, chunked into one. 17th January disappeared from my consciousness, just like the many thorns that softened and blossomed into the garden this journey’s path was adorned with.

Twenty years.

Thank you, dearest universe, for conspiring, and making it happen.

Thank you, Bangalore, for being home, in every sense of the word.

Thank you, to the many angels we’ve been blessed to cross paths with.

And thank you, darling time, for always being right. :)

Wasn’t It Just Yesterday?

15 Sep

The other day someone on FB posted a picture of Santa saying Christmas is just a two digit number of Sundays away. Not only is that astounding because woah the year is nearing its last quarter already, but because India’s festive season is almost here and wasn’t that like just yesterday? Don’t get me wrong, I love this time of the year the most – I’m a thoroughbred autumn baby and my stars and sun sign will vouch for the same. But astrologically and astronomically apart, this is that time of the year when an already alive India (in the context of festivals, because don’t we have something or the other almost every single day?!) really wakes up and we see her in her splendour. This is my most favourite season of the year as well – things do cool down quite a bit, literally and figuratively, and it’s almost like time changes gears very distinctly and infuses a very celebratory spirit into everything around it. There’s much ado and so much festiveness everywhere; it’s hard to not feel the jubilant contagion at all. But time really has decided to play a fast one on us this year especially, or so it feels to me. It seems like just yesterday when I was celebrating Navratri with my family and friends, just yesterday when Diwali sparkled her way through to our doors, just yesterday when we celebrated Bhai Dooj and the time that ushered in my departure from Bangalore. Oh time, you trickster.

This entire period is like that one bar of chocolate you’ve been saving up to savour at leisure…the anticipation of it ever so delightful and tingling, yet the disappearance of it equally saddening – almost like how Charlie rationing that one slab of chocolate he got for his birthday every year from Willy Wonka’s factory. Time, it is clear, is sweeping by us like a breeze we cannot control, just watch, and hopefully enjoy. Like everything I love, it is in their wait that lies my joy and excitement; for when they arrive, it is but mandatory that they will depart as well. But perhaps it’s best to stow away the sadness of time travelling at supersonic speeds and enjoy today for what it is. The South East nations already are celebrating mid-autumn I read, but while I can sense a change in seasons, it hasn’t happened here yet. October is hands down my favourite month and it isn’t too far away – both yay and woah!

Yesterday was a first when I published what seems to be a semblance of a health/workout tracker. I never thought I’d do something like this and haven’t really done anything like this before because I’m one who doesn’t really deliver in this arena – working out is something I love, but am just so undisciplined about. They say it all lies in the first step, and let me assure you, I’ve lost track of the number of first steps I’ve taken. It was more a whim of an upload on Instagram than really actually being serious about it. I guess my mind is occupied and obsessive about a lot already; my heart isn’t going to surrender watching what I eat that easily. It’s an emotional thing you know? I love food too much. Just. Too. Much.

Moving on to other realisations, it has occurred to me that despite claiming to be anti social, which I really can be, I’ve found the need for some sort of company. Back when I was working, all of us were by default surrounded by people. It was, well, human and normal. I don’t ever recollect socialising extra or being overtly friendly. The last time I had a job, it was just three of us sitting amidst each other, working. We had our space and we had each other. That was perfect…and now since I have just chairs and walls to keep me company, some weird sort of loneliness has begun creeping in…sometimes. Now that the house is more or less set up, I’ve found myself plugging my phone to the speakers first thing in the morning. Picking instrumental music or tracks with minimal words has been my go-to; comforting enough for company and silence. This has become a routine the past few days and one that I have lapped up like a parched piece of sponge. Back at work, I remember being plugged into music like this to not only keep me going at a productive pace but to also drown out unnecessary noises. Here I am, doing just the same. And chatting with you, dear reader. Socialisation done for the day, yeah?

Because today is Thursday and I’m feeling a tad nostalgic thanks to randomly scrolling by photographs on FB, I’ll follow TBT (Throw Back Thursday) tradition. Apparently I’ve done this on my records twice before over here and here, already.

Throwing back to random girly dates with S, though both she and I would shudder at the thought of calling our crazy meetings dates. Oh those times. Those random, random times.

Also throwing back to the times I used to bake. Olive focaccia was one of my favourite savoury bakes of all times; mostly because my kitchen smelt like heaven.

Also keeping up with TT (Thankful Thursdays), this small mercy/gift is something I’m grateful for.

Have a stupendously amazing Thursday. Best vibes to you, dear reader.

Old Memories, New Memories

1 Aug

July 2016 has been a month to remember; one that automatically gets filed under the precious memories folder in my memory catalogue. It was the month of testing my fears and surrendering to courage which helped alienate my fears in a large way quite effortlessly. It was also the month of travel, soul satisfaction and a sense of contentment that has been a while coming. A and I made a trip the mountains, which felt familiar and different in many ways – A is from the mountains, but we weren’t really visiting his home. It was a time ornate with discovering each other, our own selves, our country and the lessons only travelling with each other can bring out. That travelogue is still in the recesses of my mind and one I hope to put on paper sooner than later.

I also made a rather eleventh hour plan to visit Bangalore which wasn’t really on the cards till an opportunity made itself present. Therefore it’s been a conscious absence, this lack of blogging; what with one trip and another one a few days later. Visiting Bangalore was very agenda driven and I’m back with a sense of peace that I was hoping this trip would bestow me with. It is difficult to put into words this amalgamation of all things good and peaceful; this sense of calm and excitement, this merging of visiting old memories and making new ones. It’s one of those feelings that fall under the too good to be true sections.

Even though moving out was certain and kept aside for that someday most of us know is an eventuality, a lot of it seldom sinks in…because how can home stop being home, how can your own bed stop enveloping you like only your bed can, because how can that feeling of home ever change and become something else even if you leave it to create another home? Therefore typing the words going home makes me feel like I’m living in a parallel universe – because I am home and I am going home as well. I’m not too sure if the deeply connected fibres of this umbilical chord can ever be severed or even be made an alternative, if I was to be milder and less morbid.

Every time I go back home, there’s a rush of feelings waiting to embrace me…like the pages I’ve moved past, flip right back and settle…as if the old times never left. And yet there’s this newness which confronts these pages from the past; eventually settling in with an unspoken coexistence. The encounter can be confusing and confounding, slightly abrasive even, till the old and the new make room for each other and fit like pieces that needed completing.

Completeness. That’s what it is. And that’s when the realization of what home, growing up, coming back and seeking this feeling out really dawns upon me. This parallel universe business becomes less sci-fi and more telling of how we create semblances of the old in our new, consciously and unconsciously, till there are no parallel universes anymore.

My visit to Bangalore this time was bespoke with just this; where the lines drawn out by time became invisible and nonexistent, even.


It felt like I was back without having left in the first place.

And We’re Back Again

15 Jun

The past month has been a particularly stressful and demanding time on my mother and her sisters because it was discovered that my maternal grandmother was haemorrhaging (I never get this spelling right) in her brain. Needless to say, it required the coming together of my mother and her sisters to work hard and to work very fast. My grandmother lives in a city that isn’t very easy to access in emergencies; where a flight takes much longer than a train journey does. But their presence of mind, agile ability to gather themselves and their resources, and their timely action has helped my grandmother make it through. It hasn’t been an easy time for the family especially since we’re very strongly guided and held together by our mothers and aunts, who at this time were not only entirely consumed by this emergency but who were also living in a parallel reality…close but almost disconnected from us. They’ve taken turns to ensure their mother has been attended to on all fronts and it’s been nothing short of marvellous to see them hold fort in unison even here. My grandmother has now been shifted to live with one of her daughters who also lives in a more easily accessible city. She has come a long way and is slowly picking up the fragments of what was once her life, her capacities and her faculties. It turns out that neurosurgeries are far more trying and exacting than one imagines…not that we imagine stuff like this unless pushed against the wall, do we?

From learning how to feel again to mastering one’s grip to every small movement/action we perform without a millisecond’s thought is extremely challenging. It helps put a lot into perspective and once again, helps showcase just how much we take our senses, faculties and our body for granted. It’s astounding.

Once she had been shifted and was a little more stable, I decided to go pay her a visit and spend some time with her. Therefore I took the first chance to scoot and be with her, which is why I’ve been absent from my blog. The one thing I realized a while back was the illusion of time we are often trapped in, especially when it comes to special relationships. For the longest time I always believed that some relationships, and consequently the people I share those relationships with, were eternal and immortal. A lot of me still lives in that delusion. I believe that some people will always stay and that nothing or no one can touch those relationships or people. But that’s a fool’s paradise to live in, really. No one’s staying forever and no one is immortal. It makes the D word very real, very intimidating yet accepting…because that’s what the eventuality of it all is. What comes, goes.

And so I took the first flight out and left. Not many of us get second and third chances. Not many of us get moments or opportunities like these. And not many of us get to relive the many times we’ve passed by; the many files of unfinished business we leave incomplete; untouched. Have you looked at certain relationships and felt that way?

I now have arrived at that phase of life where the tables are very surely turning…where roles are getting reversed and where it’s time to take on more than one would want to…because don’t we all want to be children and not have a care in this world? Time with our grandparents is now like that last bar of chocolate you were storing and saving to relish…only you never know when it’s too late to have it. It’s harsh, but true.

The past few days were spent in the company of my grandmother, my mother who is there with her to help her, my aunt, my uncle and my cousins. It wasn’t meant to be a holiday and neither was it meant to be a getaway. But when you’re with family, it’s hard to not feel like you’re on vacation. We chatted, talked, laughed, cracked jokes, argued and fought as if on cue, ate and ate, reminisced, watched my wedding photographs, ate some more, took drives together, relished ice creams and mangoes, slept late, gossiped, smirked, prayed, shopped and just vegetated. I’ve no idea how time flew by but it usually does when you love doing what you’re doing. My visit to meet my grandmother was a surprise; she wasn’t told. Her look of disbelief and confusion all at once, is unforgettable. It’s lovely to surprise the ones you love. I couldn’t wait to run into her now very frail arms and bury my nose in her super soft smooshiness.

I watched her undergo physiotherapy and I watched her push herself. From not being able to sit, she slowly began sitting and sitting for longer periods of time. She made the effort to climb a flight of stairs and even get into the car (she loves drives and drives that result in ice cream). It’s extremely heartening for all of us; her children and grandchildren alike, to see her. She is our driving force. It hasn’t been easy, but nothing can combat the power of a family that stands together especially in crises.

Time is invaluable, our close relationships even more so given how they constitute our idea of time. Sometimes all it takes is the dropping of everything else and the refocusing of one’s priorities to really see what needs to be seen. At a time like this, I’m compelled to see all that I take for granted thanks to this delusional blanket I cloak myself in, and I’m startled.

Time Bubble

14 Jan

It was here and here that I wrote about this weird time warp sort of contraption that I’m floating in… you know the one where one day melts into the other till you realise you did something 2397 years ago but it felt like only yesterday… the one where you gasp and frown and exclaim at just where all that in-between time went? It’s still on, that contraption. Time has shifted in such a definitive sense, especially this past year, and I wonder if it takes such big events like these to put things into perspective? Like you realise your clock’s ticking because you do something significantly different from the usual that it makes you stop and manually peruse through all that’s been and happened. Sometimes I wonder if our lives have become so mundane that it takes something out of the ordinary to act as bookmarks to plot the junctures we’ve arrived at? Or are we just so oblivious and caught up in time’s haze that we imagine the world will continue as we desire it to? I think I do that a lot. I imagine that live my life as if the most precious people in my life will never change and will remain forever young, forever present and forever everything… like it’s all some sort of agreement that my ignorant subconscious has with this universe; that it’s all sorted, settled and well taken care of.

Today Alan Rickman died. To those like me who never remember names or aren’t good with them, he’s the actor who played Professor Severus Snape in the Harry Potter series, among many others. Not to sound morbid or anything, but people are dying. People closer to my world and its familiarities are constantly reminding me of this swift-footed thing we call Time. And with every such passing comes a harsh and unwanted prick that’s getting harder to brush aside or ignore. It’s not something we feel comfortable in bringing to the fore of our consciousness, forget it being something we like talking about. But it is this hard-hitting reality that is getting harder to dodge and be ignorant of. Of course, it’s not like these pricks are meant to be kept under a constant spotlight or to be something we obsess about over and above the joy of living the life we’re blessed to live.

I think they just act as those reminders we snooze as much as we can. I guess we get only a limited set of these necessary alarm clocks, as ghastly as those contraptions are, and there’s only so many times we can snooze them. Today was one of those days. While it’s scary and something so hard to confront, it’s a reminder of the obvious – that nothing really is forever; and that arriving at this fine line of letting go, accepting reality and living life to the fullest and with contentment, is mandatory, preferably sooner than later.

As for Snape, he was made for always.

May you rest in peace, sir.

Do You Do This?

14 Jan

As random as this is, and as coincidental as this is, I do indulge in this madness on a very regular basis; as you’re about to see.


Having this craze for things to be in a particular order and for symmetry and every other excuse I can find, it’s such a pleasure to chance upon this phenomenon, as I’d like to call it.

If that wasn’t enough, imagine my joy on finding these sequences.




While my sanity, and now my sleep, is a matter of question/debate, I must say that this craze turned habit is hard to give up.



And if you do dabble with this sort of craziness or thrill, do you do this as well?


You do, don’t you?

I knew we were on the same page.

But this craziness aside, it’s not just the love for symmetry and numbers in sequences that’s exciting. It’s the absolute coincidence of chancing upon this sort of stuff that makes it even more delightful and thrilling; for no reason whatsoever.

Ah well, small joys need no reasons or explanations, yes?


8 Jan

Sometimes it’s harder than I’ve allowed myself to experience newness before; yes, sometimes it really is very arduous – of the type that can even make you feel incapable and robbed of triumph, a breath of fresh air and achievement. Why, don’t we all sustain ourselves on a constant need to feel validated; of value to something, someone and most importantly, to our own selves and sense of purpose? It’s hard when the source of that constancy dwindles or hurriedly exchanges hands with the unfamiliar, untouched and inexperienced. It’s a blank slate all over again and sometimes, if you allow the trap to engulf you, it can feel debilitating to watch your efforts erase themselves by default right in front of your eyes. Just because you made a choice.

I never knew the weight of choices before or that they could exist in such depth. Yes, I was taught to be accountable for my decisions and so I’ve grown up to be. But here’s a new bag I see with my name tag on it; one that I assume is for me to carry; laden with the intensity of every choice I’ve made and am now making. Of course we all know that these bags are as heavy as we allow them to be for each of us…a weight we either yield to or one that we carry with a strength that makes it almost invisible. I haven’t really figured this bag out yet and perhaps Time will grant me my appointment to this class I’ve a lot to learn in.

We leave so much up to Time; almost with a sense of deep and sometimes desperate faith to smooth the rough edges out…like that much sought-after escape route to lead us into a space that’s lighter, brighter and more fragrant with belief, security and hope. Time – he makes no promises except to show up, and yet that’s all the comfort we need; in knowing that he’ll arrive even though he never stops or stays.

My bags are by my side and I have arrived somewhere, except that my feet are at a place they’ve never stepped into before. Time, why won’t you stay a while longer and show me the way?

The One About Time

6 Jan

Snug in whatever warmth I can collect inside my house but surrounded by the constant cacophony of bird conferences just outside, I’m enveloped in a sense of both comfort and newness all in one. It’s comfortable because this space I just called my house has begun feeling more and more like home than it did yesterday, the day before and the day before that as well, and so on. The gushing sound of water right into the sump coupled with the passing of a car’s woofers, from the hustle of kids playing outside before the sun rapidly makes his exit to the slinking of dusk’s tinkling arrival where birds hurry to settle into place and peacocks decide to give their neighbourly explorations a rest for the day, all make themselves fit into that package which spells the clocking of yet another day. The not so distant hum of an aircraft preparing to set hundreds of feet on the same ground it eases itself to land on disappears as soon as it arrives. And that same stillness shuffles her feet to make herself comfortable again. Come the arrival of Time dressed for a show he visits everyday, Evening and Night hold hands and prepare to enthral him yet again, like they do when he visits them everyday, exactly on time and in place – a daily routine with a new surprise every day. For today, my garden flowers have bloomed.

Tomorrow is a new leaf and an undiscovered opportunity, kept under wraps so we can sit back with Today and marvel at her sense of incomplete collectedness. Because there’s always room for more or less, whichever she chooses to employ in her services with Tomorrow.

There’s a reassurance that faith goes hand in hand with security and a love for strength that sometimes overpowers the pride of safety itself. Sometimes. And that Time has his way of walking by your side no matter how newness gleams on his ancient face every single day. Because he’s waiting for me to blossom and burst into peals of happy surprises and laughter when Tomorrow gears himself to hold my hand and guide me to wherever he’s planned I must go.



8 Jun

I oftentimes wonder why or how writing went from being so easy and spontaneous to an act that needed more than just an impulse. There are times when you know you need absolutely nothing to write and all those words flow out in a congruous whole as if you’d spent hours stringing them together in your head; except you never did. And there are times when you try and try and you’re left saving yet another draft. I haven’t tried. I haven’t fought myself to sit down and write. It was something new I was trying out with pretty much everything — to stop fighting and wanting to control everything. I’ve been successful at times, and that’s what has brought about some peace in knowing that sometimes it just doesn’t matter. Those words will flow when they will. But that didn’t have to necessarily imply my putting everything else to a stop just so I could write or read or do whatever I had planned on doing.

One of the things I’m growing to learn is the importance of time and how, while it continues to do its own thing in its own manner, it can never ever be rushed. It’s almost like that beautiful cake you’re eyeing rise in the oven…open the door midway and it wouldn’t be close to what we imagined or toiled for. Everything has its time and its place…its right to bloom just when it is ready to. Everything else can be so premature and bitter…or less valuable. So yes, time… I’m growing to let go of it. In a world filled with shoulds and musts and existential labels, it’s hard to close yourself off without branding yourself in ways you never intended to. You needn’t be a rebel, a castaway, a slowcoach just because your clock didn’t match up to the pace of somebody else’s.

With half the year over, I reflect back only to find reassurance in the fact that there is an insurmountable inner peace in the act of just letting go. Letting go to thrive, to feel, to understand…to just live. It’s overwhelming just how difficult and simple it really is.

And from nowhere, I find myself back here…because I know, like I said earlier, that my words will flow when they are ready to. They will speak and my silence will feel content. The year so far has been jam-packed with that sort of craziness that I’ve never experienced before – it’s been trying, testing, overwhelming, rewarding, exhilarating… I see a part of me I have never seen before… it’s taking me some time to familiarize myself with her… to understand her… and I like what I see.

I’m finding my peace in the catharsis of food and cooking all over again… it’s that kind of therapy which needs no words, no explanations… no taking… just giving. It gives me a sense of time, patience, love and peace like nothing else. So you can imagine the magic I’m surrounding myself with because who can ever have enough of magic? And when it tastes good, if I may say so, then really, why not?

I’ve been on a baking spree trying to concoct things I imagine in my head. Sometimes it turns out top notch and sometimes I ask myself what I was thinking! This year round, I decided on walking the icing route and baking mom a cake for her birthday because homemade chocolate birthday cakes are one of those things that make a birthday, in my honest opinion, complete. Tell me you haven’t felt as close to perfect with that large chunk of beautiful chocolate cake in your mouth only to be too satisfied to even speak? Admit it. There is nothing like a homemade chocolate cake to get you going and also make you feel masterchef-like. Of course it takes more than that, but a good chocolate cake speaks. So here’s what I put up. It was comforting, warm, dense, light, healthily unhealthy and felt like home. That’s all one ever needs. :)


Of course it’s also that time of the year when you let go of all your ladylike mannerisms and your appropriate, society-preferred prim properness to sink your teeth into the magic of what can only be a mango on a hot summer’s day. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can ever come close to spelling or feeling like summer than this gorgeous, gorgeous creation. Thank you, God. You’re more magical than I can fathom.


Here’s also why I never bothered to do much. Because when the weather is languorous and sort of rainy and pretty, it makes best sense to let go, put those feet up, preferably with a parent or a loved one, and just allow the aromas of freshly brewed coffee take over.


And bake olive bread to be had hot from the oven. And imagine for some time that your home has been ported to, let’s say, Italy, shall we?


Or when you’re feeling rather adventurous, do you go and bake a lemon pound cake and try your hand at icing. I’m not a fan of icing. But sometimes, you might want to hop over to the other side.


And if it’s not rainy and pretty, you speed things up with a cold coffee that reminds you of summers spent in the wait of that prized beverage right off the hands of your grandmum. Topped with crushed ice. And maybe ice cream. And accompanied by cold coffee moustaches.


And here’s one that literally took the cake! I do dream of getting that cookbook in place and hopefully I will drink as many cold coffees as it takes to get my ass moving on it. But in the mean time, I have to take a step back and marvel at this beauty which I can gorge on minus wondering which part of my butt it went to. No yolks, no oil, no butter, a fraction of the flour one would normally use — now isn’t that just the best thing ever? It’s like telling a person who gets fat quick (me) that they could eat all they want and never get fat. Woot! Except I may want to omit the “you’ll never get fat” bit when I speak to myself. Bite into your reality and cake, will you?




And then this. What stands between that marvelous poached egg and crisp toast? My teeth. And a million disastrous trials, of course. Next up, hollandaise, let’s touch baze!



So yes, I’m getting fat on some kitchen experiments and essentials. Because, that my friends, is where my inspiration’s rolling from. Except, I wish, the fat would stay away. Gosh darn it!