Yes, I am cooking a lot. Too much. It's almost compulsory, this time of year, isn't it? It's a heady mix of habit, tradition, and hiraeth. Oh woe, lachrymose me, with my ineffable emotions, nostalgia, and sentimentality.
It's warm in the kitchen, and blustery outside. I count my blessings, but cannot quell the murmur in my heart that wishes family were nearer, and time moved more gently. Maybe all of these pots and pans, spices and nourishment are a recipe to conjure comfort, summon solace.
With Infinity More Monkeys, a picture a day.