I have wanted to make biscuits for a long time.
As you might notice, my gluten-free ten months was about all I could last. And, honestly, II felt better not eating gluten and sugar, physically and mentally. But somewhere around the ten-month mark, I began feeling trapped in a food program and discipline that was restricting my life in more ways than I wanted.
Part of it is that I had other “restraints” on me, too. Inability to drive, much, was a big one. My world became too small and I rebelled. I had to, at least in my mind, for who I am, had to.
Am I better for the changes I have gotten into?
Probably not. And I will pay the piper.
As I said before. I am good at gaining weight and good at losing weight. Maintaining a good weight is my issue.
Part of it has to do with what my expectations were. Not only did I want to lose weight, get healthy, look better, feel better, but I think I wanted this aging thing to stop. I wanted the clock to go backward to the days when I could do a lot of monkey-business, without hurting myself.
But something about 3 months ago.
One morning, I looked in the mirror and saw a bag under my eye that I hadn’t noticed. It looked back at me and said, “Susan you are getting old, just face it.”
I hate it when my mind and the mirror talk to me like that. It is rude.
Even having lost weight, gotten pretty fit, and had people telling me how great I looked, it wasn’t enough. There is a haunting in your soul when you have lost and gained wright, repeatedly. Each time, I have said, this is it, I can’ do this forever.
And I haven’t.
And when I don’t achieve a “total” goal, I tend to see myself as a failure, instead of congratulating myself for how far I have come.
Freud, where are you. Carolin, please send Freud and a couch to Clover.
Oh, I got sick of eggs.
I love to bake. I enjoy cooking. I love hospitality. I love butter. I love looking at recipes and making up my own. I love the smell of a house that has something in the oven or crock pot.
Now, I just have to learn how to eat in moderation.
For those of you who have never had that issue, you are fortunate. Yep, I am creative, reasonably intelligent, (except when I am not), aware, and game for many things. But I have my issues. Food is one of them. Sometimes, the way I see myself, is another.
So, that was the confessional. I will sort things out. Or not. That is life, isn’t it? We keep hacking through the weeds of our mind and society and life. Homely, there are moments of clarity and seeing the forest through the eclairs.
So, don’t give up on me. I am just me.
So, I watched Tricia Yearwood’s Southern cooking show, the other day. She and her sister went to a restaurant in Nashville, where it was based on biscuits.
Yummy. Tricia and her sister went with the chef and made biscuits. That is when I remembered, “I want to make biscuits.”
So that is what I am doing this morning. I am making Angel biscuits, with yeast.
I love working with yeast. It is magic to me. Just like a great cup of tea and studying the insides of flowers … yeast is alive. I love living things.
It was easy Peary to get my ingredients together since my cupboards are well-organized. If maintaining a good weight was as easy as organizing my cupboards and pantry, I would be in good shape.
Currently the dough is on the screened porch. It has to be somewhere cool for two-hours.
And me? I have laundary in and am enjoying listening to the washing machine do its magic. The fire is good, candle is lit, and I am on my second coup of Earl Grey.
Maybe today will be the day where my next brainstorm of a road to take through this next passage of my life, will come. Maybe not. Until it does, I will simply live within the context of a simple life, sharing my writing, checking in on my family and looking up at the sky every morning when I take Winston out. One of these mornings, I will find my guiding light.
I know I will.
Sent from my iPad