I have been nursing my hurting clan and thus I haven't written for the Heart of Home in a few days. They have needed me and I heed that call. Mostly, I cook. Food has long been the cornerstone of any comfort here in this clan. I roast whole chickens and mushrooms in red wine vinegar. I bake pumpkins drizzled in maple syrup. I bake cakes and soak them in fire whiskey, sprinkle them with powder sugar. I bake apple pies and potatoes with apples, in a glaze of brown sugar and bacon fat. This is how I mellow the pain, by piling the plates high. Stone ground wheat bread lightly toasted with butter, a little vanilla cake on the sideboard.
This is coping. This is peace. Feeding people is love.
And gods above, I love to love.
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