Months and months ago, I clicked on an ad from the Wisconsin Dairy Council. They wanted to know what I knew about cheese, see some photos I’d taken, and have me write an essay on a food memory that meant something to me. So I told them, I made an intense cheeseboard, I wrote about Sam.
Do you ever get these gut feelings? That just guide you towards what to do?
I had one of those gut feelings yesterday. Something was telling me I had to go to the humane society.
I’ve been wanting a dog for a long time. Leonard, that precious pup you’ve seen before, is not mine. He is The Boyfriend’s. I take care of him and watch him when The Boyfriend is working late, but when it comes down to it, Leonard is his, not mine, even though I love him dearly. When I bought this house I got it with the idea of a dog in mind – it’s got a huge fenced in backyard, the street isn’t busy with traffic, and there’s plenty of room to stretch out inside.
There have been numerous attempts at getting a pup – friends of friends who have puppies that need a good home (only to be taken when I’m en route to them), offers to take dogs I have no connection to, fruitless trips to the humane society and adoption centers. But it’s been six months and nothing worked out.
So, yesterday, when I got this stirring, I knew I had to listen to it.
My attempt at a new flavor of cupcakes fell flat. Literally. As did my first batch of chocolate coffee whoopie pies. And then my second go at cupcakes was just as bad as the first, maybe worse.
BUT! I didn’t cry. Normally, I would have. I would’ve gotten frustrated and annoyed and down on myself. Certain I was a failure and not really cut out to be in the kitchen, being a devoid of talent hack as these failed recipes so clearly implied. I’d be a puddle of self doubt and fallen cupcakes. Instead of doing those things, however, I took out the (very full) garbage, finished cleaning the kitchen, and took a shower.
Yesterday just wasn’t the day for new recipes. No matter how badly I wanted it to be. It wasn’t the day to take pretty pictures and write up poignant and moving prose. Yesterday was about trial and error (and a glass of rosé).
And today may not be a day for the kitchen either. Currently, my cupboards are empty and their contents are stacked precariously across my dining room table. The Boyfriend is attempting to reattach them to the wall, because, as it turns out, they were never properly hung to begin with.
A few weeks ago, after having my microwave hood installed above my stove (because that wasn’t attached either), I started noticing a crack along the tops of my cabinets. Then I noticed the crack growing bigger and bigger and traveling farther and farther. The weight of the new microwave, instead of the greasy old vent that had been there for who knows how many decades, was too much for the cabinets and began pulling them from the wall and ceiling. Add in the bulk of all my baking items, the various flours and sugars and canisters of sprinkles, and it was a recipe for disaster. I guess some recipes do work out, huh?
So I’m taking a break from the kitchen today, while that gets sorted. I didn’t feel like I could take a break from writing, though. I need to be here, even if I don’t come baring cupcakes. I’ve got to keep plugging along, being gentle and learning as I go. For instance, I know now how much liquid to add to my cupcakes and the difference between a regular drill and an impact driver, and I’m better off for both those things.