in the making...

I've said it before and of course about to say it again because it's crazy true...Cooking is my escape. As I mentioned a few days ago, I cried last week. Like a bunch. I was even concerned. It seems like the moment I figure out my quirks and kinks, enough to peacefully slip into a groove, I break down. The pieces don't fit. A cog is overly worn. The pressure becomes unbalanced and I crack a little bit more. I'm human and therefore I break. Nothing earth shattering here but it still manages to stop me in my tracks and try and remember how to put myself back together again.

I woke up to snow last Friday, and it was more than a dusting. No thing, cause I had to work so it didn't seem to matter much. However waking up to more snow on Saturday seemed extreme. Though it was cold and dark I was excited for a surprise distraction so my mind could shift it's focus.Ben had left at 3am to climb a couple of 14ners, so I knew I wouldn't see him until late that evening. Yes, I think he's crazy too.

I bundled up with a mismatch of items to set off for the store. The town was as quiet and beautiful as a post card. I sat in the car with my white hot chocolate completely mesmerized. I braved the cold an extra time to snap a picture of the serenity. As I took it all in I imagined what I wanted for my day. It was obvious. I wanted to create. I wanted to enjoy. I wanted to get back to basics.

I settled on making broccoli cheese soup and apple butter. The problem is I only own once crock pot so they'd have to take turns. I peeled, chopped, diced, stirred, canned, to my hearts content this weekend. I was flattered with complements. Pleased with success. Comforted with simple products that resulted in special memories. The endorphins were flowing. I even reworded a popular song, something to the tune of "Ain't no party like an apple butter party, cause and apple butter party don't stop...". I'm happy to report, I didn't cry this weekend. Not even once.