The snow is still coming down. It shows no sign of abating. It swirls in speckled eddies high above the buildings, pelts sideways against my skin, tap tap taps quietly at our windows. Piles of snow are pushed up against the glass windowpanes. This is wet, slippery snow: the sort made of fat, heavy flakes, that sort that goes smoosh and swoosh under your feet, sending your boots sliding every which way.
Read moreVANILLA CAKE
I woke up early this morning. I took a run in the park, breathing in gulps of cold fresh air. Sweating it out feels extra good in winter weather; leaving the warm cocoon of my bed for a bracing chill is like conquering a battle.
Then there’s a hot shower waiting. Comfortable clothes – fleeced pants and a soft, oversized sweater – and a walk to get a big milky latte. I pick up some groceries. Back in my kitchen, I fire off a few work emails, feeling sharp and witty and organized.
Read moreSOURDOUGH BREAD
Stepping into the bakery, you're met with a gust of warm air. The parking lot is covered in ice and the snow is coming down fast and hard in heavy, wet flakes. In the twenty seconds it takes to sprint from your car to the building, you're pelted with icy droplets. You stamp the snow from your boots and shake the wetness from your hair.
Read moreSALTED TAHINI CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
It's cold everywhere. My car takes a solid 10 minutes to warm up, the vents blowing tepid air in my direction. My toes are cold. My ears are cold. I blow repeatedly on the tips of my fingers; my thin gray gloves are no match for the weather.
Read moreCHOCOLATE (TOFU) TART
When I was little, we spent our days wandering. You never know what you'll find on a farm: shiny mica-flecked rocks, squirmy crawfish angrily waving their pincers, a delicate robin's egg broken in two.
In the summer, we wade down into the stream that runs like a silver thread through the green fields of our property. We jump in, bare feet first, down by the clothesline where the stream is placid and the bank slopes gently. We tromp along, squishing our feet into muddy streambed, past the three ponds. Here the stream enters the forest. The air is cold and quiet, shaded by tall trees. There's a hushed feeling everywhere, like we're standing in a church out in the open. Occasionally we hear a bird call. The stream deepens. At some points, it eddies and swirls into rushing whirlpools.
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