Newsletter Archive, You can eat Irish Soda Bread in April and prepare stew in the spring

Dear Reader,

Here is what I know right now: I baked Irish Soda Bread last week and, although we’re past St. Patrick’s Day, I don’t think it’s ever too late to make an Irish Soda Bread. I secretly hope that you’ll get in the kitchen and bake this sometime soon. To make Irish Soda Bread, one need not be Irish or even a baker for that matter. A desire to cook or bake comes from just that, a desire. As of late, my desire to write has been lacking, but here I am so I’ll imagine the flame is still lit. 

For almost 25 years cooking has helped me process my feelings and emotions without the use of words. I’ve tasted every emotion I’ve ever felt and sometimes I think that’s for the best. Food and I have been a constant support to one another, from taste healing to creatively making a meal and memorializing a moment in time. It’s been 11 weeks since my last newsletter and I’ve almost wholly abandoned daily journaling too. But starting anything (again) is a matter of taking action, no matter how shitty the outcome might be. Why is it so hard to start when we know we should? How do we navigate change, pain and loss but still manage to show up? 

We make a choice to begin …

Over the last 2 months I’ve been working through my own history of worthiness and the ways I was taught love. My aunt and uncle have been helping me recover from surgery when I have felt as though I have nothing to give in return. Well, nothing but a loaf of Irish Soda Bread. It’s been a lot to process that I am deserving of love even when I’m feeling less than.

In under one year I have given up my apartment and, for the first time in my life, I am not currently working. I’m in discomfort and I don’t have functional use of my arm to perform many daily living tasks or physical yoga which has been the sanity in maintaining my mind/body relationship and the feelings I have toward my body. I’m mourning the loss of my life as I once knew it. I’m having the same daily conversations with my father who has dementia and I am mourning who he was to and for me. I worry about my mother’s health and my brother Thomas’ illness. I cannot be with them right now and this is a struggle. I’m not sleeping. I’m in perimenopause. I’m upside down. But now that I can at least cook, sparingly, I know that there is always a meal to make and a way to connect and show love - even when I feel confused and as though I’ve lost the shape of my life.

So, will you bake an Irish Soda Bread in April? Or a stew in the sunset of a chilly Spring? What can you do for yourself right now that says I love you? Can you reshape something inside of you? I couldn’t have gotten here without my aunt, a bag of flour, butter and a library card. My hope is that this helps you take a step, any step, towards participating in your life again. I do believe that all great love stories start in the kitchen.

And while this may read sad, I’m actually doing ok. Today the sunlight kissed my face and I walked under blue skies, greeted by local crossing guards who were happy to see me out of my sling. I talked to my friend on the phone, and we chatted about meeting in Oaxaca. I actually wrote this. I got puppy kisses when I returned home. My aunt asked about my day. For better or worse, we will always move forward. Things always have to move and change.

With love,
Tina