sunday biscuits


Sunday is for being soft.

Well, it is a new luxury for me.
If you’re not a brunch cook on the line, or a waiter at Cracker Barrel on a Sunday afternoon.

But for me, Sunday has become a way to reconcile with my week.
It softens the edges of my trials and toils.
I reflect on my week and I gain courage to take on another one.

Today, like most days, is a day I allow myself to live in a lot of grace for my mistakes,
and for my bad attitude,
my hectic mind racing back and forth, seemingly between to entirely different states.

Yes, this is a luxury.

I picked up a jar of homemade fig and strawberry jam from the farmer’s market.

So, I made Sunday biscuits.

As I pulled them out, I observed how much they had risen and inhaled deeply the browning butter sizzling under the crispy, brown bottom.

It’s the small things, really.

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I set out a couple of eggs on my board and thought they looked beautiful.

Today, is the day I feed myself.

After spending my weeks cooking for the general public, I also cook for the people I hold a little closer, and I try to treat them like jewels. Because our weeks and months grow long, and they are also fast. I like to give myself to these treasures. I like them to slow down for a minute and listen to them speak from their hearts.

Maybe something wine induced, and maybe the smell of tomatoes and fresh bread helps, too.

Someone recently called me a healer.
No, I do not claim to have magical powers, nor can I own up to that term every day.

Only the idea is that all of our words and actions carry their own weight.
The weight I choose to put on my words and actions are heavy.
We are all capable of being healers.

I try, anyways, to not tear down people’s worlds. I will maybe try to pry a board loose, but I also know that it’s a delicate action, to restructure. To bend and not break.

Sunday is for healing.
It is for dusting off tools.
The ones that I use to breathe deeply from my belly when I feel as though I’m carrying a cannonball.

They are the tools that allow me to keep going, to keep recognizing my own strength and maybe, allow me to show you your own.

I know you are afraid of what you don’t know or understand. It makes you feel weak and defenseless. But that’s not you.
Recognizing your strength.
Pushing forward.
Embracing the gravity that works against your body.

Letting ideas and motions flow through you. Permeable. Osmosis-like.

That is all we can do, some days.

Sit down.

Cut some butter into flour.

Watch them rise and sizzle and brown.

Soft butter. Warm jam.

Pour a cup of coffee.

And feed yourself.

what makes you strong.


I feel like I need to put some stuff out there, to get it out of my head and off my plate.

I don’t have too much room for jetsam and flotsam.

There are some things I’ve been learning that have been helpful in dealing with my day-to-day barrage of anger, confusion, love, greed and acceptance.

I call them tools.

I don’t actually own any real tools. The kind a typical dude should own. I have a hammer in my car. I don’t know why, but I like that it’s there.

These other tools I’m referring to are inside. They allow me to fix some things. They help me get stuff in order. I can adjust them like nuts and bolts and screws.

My first bit of help came from my sister-in-law, who is an endless fountain of simple wisdom, even if she denies it. She told me that the voices we listen to will always exist. It’s okay to notice them, but we don’t have to listen to them. Whether that’s a voice that says you aren’t good enough, or attractive enough or strong enough. You can acknowledge the fact that some external pressure is putting this on you, but you don’t have to let it eat you up. You get to choose what you want to listen to.

There is so much power in this, you see?

You can listen to people, but at the end of the day, your voice is the one that matters most. Move in that.

Move with your voice and let it take you to that place where you feel strong.

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Another thing.

I stumbled upon some words my friend Jodi shared. It was about about welcoming all things that might come your way, and letting go of any desire for change or security or survival. Then, open yourself to Love. Whether that love comes from God, or a stream, or whatever name you call it. Let that presence fill you up.

This has been hard for me. I tend to see my days as good or bad. I find myself in good and bad things all day long. So it wasn’t about that.

What this is teaching me, is that all of these things that enter in my world on a daily basis, are part of the healing process. And I will never know how long it will take me to get there. I’m not sure if it’s even about a final, polished product. A favorite writer of mine coined this phrase, “wounded healer”, and maybe that works for me right now. It’s not about the finish point. It’s about getting there. You will never see yourself as a finished product.

Getting a flat tire is a bummer.

Getting in the weeds when you’re cooking on the line, is stressful.

But, those sorts of things don’t define a bad day for me anymore.

Look at each day as an ellipsis into the next.

I guess I just want to say that you and the great things that live inside of you are important in all of this. For whoever reads this. Or for whoever just is.

You have something inside of you that flows like a spring.

Let us see that.