We Provice Recipes

Come Together

My heart is often tugged in multiple directions. Yanked this way, and pulled that way. Like one long, drunken walk of contradiction. Opposing strategies, assumptions, and intentions collide and churn and grip my emotional little pump like a fist- far more often than I care to admit. For all kinds of reasons. If I was a believer in astrology I would now confess my Gemini imprint. Which allegedly explains my dual nature and divergent tendencies. I have always pursued two paths at once, and wrangled opposites like the celestial twins I supposedly embody. But the only current subscription card I carry is not to the stars above in any connect-the-dot sense, but to the Big Kahuna. The Mother of All. That's right.

Love.

That's why this past year was so tough, Babycakes. 

So much anti-love. So much devoted divisiveness. So much snide finger pointing and blame. So much snark and cynicism. So much collective denial. So much hurt and incredulity for anyone who has a heart. Or tenders a tendency to listen rather than rail. And this year's ending. Its post-hurricane holiday season bruised by glass-eyed shock and long, long heartache. Every mother in the world nested that cold pit of terror darkly inside her deepest, secret place. That place without words. The terror is clean and razor sharp. It beats, too, like a heart.

So I must write about it. In words that sting and stutter in their inadequacy.

I am tired of our culture of death. I am weary of our appetite for power and violence. I am numb from the depth of greed that poses as success.

I tell you this because I must. I have no choice, truth be told. I gotta talk about it. If you visit for the recipes only, or stop by for encouragement and celiac support, you may be raising an eyebrow right about now. You might prefer fun and perky chit chat. Not all this complicated feeling stuff. I know.

Recipes, inspiration and support- it's all here for you. My family and I knit our love of good food and gluten-free support for you. We have for seven years. And will continue to do so in the new year. 

But you should know- goddess status aside- I struggle with this stuff every day- just like you. I know you do, too, because you are here right now. Reading these words.

You care.

You love.

You worry.

You are tired of the superficial, the weak reasoning, the shrugging dull acceptance that this is the way it has to be. Because you know- like I do- it doesn't.

Love can win.

Light can penetrate the darkest hour. Denial can be pinched and prodded awake. Common sense values can be sexy. Golden Rule ethics are still hot. Still small voices can be excavated. And heard.

I am turning to the new year with hope for a better one. Where not one single child is riddled with bullets (is this really too much to hope for?). Where our political process is governed by doing the right thing- and not by money, and its corporate culture of greed. Where guns are not sexy. And our appetites are hungry for knowledge, art, culture and truth.

I know, I know. My Age of Aquarius hippie artist proclivities are showing.

And if I could? I would invite you all over for cocoa and muffins. I would make you a big bowl of mulligatawny and hand you my favorite spoon, and play some Yo Yo Ma and James Taylor on the HiFi. We could watch the deer outside the kitchen window as snowflakes spin their magic just before dark. The recipe I would make would be this new corn muffin recipe spiked with spicy green chiles and golden pumpkin.

A match made in heaven.

Or hatched by a Gemini goddess wrestling with light and dark.

You decide.