Comfort Food

Instead of the early night I had planned for myself yesterday, I ended up watching “The Village” and “Gattaca” back-to-back, resulting in a late night and me spending most of the morning in dream land. When I finally did drag myself out from under my lovely electric blanket, I decided that I need some kind of project. What did I settle on? Baking some delicious cupcakes; this is simple in itself, but you know that cupcakes are nothing without homemade frosting to go along with it. The result consisted of a pound of confectionary sugar, half a cup of Crisco, half a cup of butter, a teaspoon of vanilla and two table spoons of milk. Yes, it is butter cream frosting as you have never tasted it before. I’ve found that I enjoy food so much more when I’m the one who has taken the time to prepare it. It feels like art, not the science that some claim it to be. I’m convinced that you can bake emotions into your food—much like you paint your ideas or write your imaginings.
Just like my comfort food, I have comfort reading. If a day just seems to have it in for me, I’ll turn to books that have been my steady friends from childhood—books like “Mara, Daughter of the Nile,” the Anne series, or “Gone Away Lake” comfort me and seem to deliver an invisible hug, one that warms the heart. I’ve been trying to put my finger on just what it is about these books that is so endearing, and I think that it is the possibilities they present. Mara is a slave girl who has her life suddenly changed, a girl who is swept up into adventures and even love. I suppose it’s just what I want to happen to me on these days, so I’m living vicariously through her on the pages of this dog-eared book. For Anne, she is my kindred spirit. I take inspiration from how she takes charge of her life, how she decides the path it will take. Her spirit lends me courage, and so I read each book over and still over again. As for the last book, well, who wouldn’t want to find a hidden row of almost-abandoned houses with their best friend/cousin? I certainly would. You see? Each book present these possibilities to readers, these things that, though not always at all plausible for us, seem just right for the characters, and so we fall in love with them.
So, next time that you feel an urgent need to dig into the chips and chocolate, don’t forget to grab that old favorite paperback to go with it—you won’t be sorry for renewing the dusty friendship.
“No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.” ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Tea and Me

What’s more comforting than a cup of tea? I’ve grown up on tea; some of my earliest memories are of hounding my grandmother for a fresh pot of tea—at the time a small, plastic toy—each time I saw her with one. My love for the beverage has only grown through the years. Can you become actually addicted to it? I’m convinced of it. If I don’t have a cup in the morning, I find myself miserable and depressed. Morning just start better with the brew. On my worst days, I’ll sooth my soul with four or five cups, each a different kind. Variation shakes things up, while still keeping me in my comfort zone. A friend of mine gave me a lovely, juicy-orange tea mug with the popular saying “tea is liquid wisdom” on it. I tend to agree.
One of the most endearing things I find a character in a novel can do is sit down for a cup of tea. It’s a reoccurring theme that all tea-lovers can relate to. I think the scene where tea is involved that most sticks in my memory is in Rosamunde Pilcher’s “Coming Home.” Judith has just had, to put it lightly, a falling out with the man she loves, has decided that she must leave the place that has become her home, and—to top it all off—has a splitting headache. The solution offered to her by a helping hand? Let’s have a nice, steaming cup of tea. Of course, everything seems clearer after. Why not? Today I’ll leave you with a quote that I cherish as summing me up nicely in only a single sentence:
“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” ~C.S. Lewis

Reflections on the Moral of a Sunflower

I don’t know of any flower that looks quite as inherently jubilant as a sunflower. They’re full of vivacious colors—streaks of yellow, red, and fiery-orange are splashed across their petals. They seem so saturated with life and vigor. These brilliant buds of sunlight remind me of Anne Shirley’s query as to whether or not amethysts could be the souls of good violets. I say, why not? Emerson himself stated that, “the Earth laughs in flowers.”
Despite my inborn love of robust snowflakes brushing their icy hue across the sky, the pail hush of winter cannot always keep me from longing for the sun kissed face of a spry sunflower or the delicate, maidenly glow of a daisy. There is so much joy to be found in gazing upon a flower. How is it that a plant can seem so content in its surroundings when we, who have all of the creature comforts, cannot? Quite a puzzle, to say the least. Perhaps we could all learn a lesson from these flowers, trite as it may sound: grow where you are planted—that’s the usual phrase, isn’t it? I’d like to add a bit more to it, though: grow content where you are planted, but never forget where you are reaching—that is, for the sky. I’m afraid that I’m growing too sentimental, so I leave you only with the words of Wordsworth:
“Tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes!”