How cliché is it that I bake when I am emotionally insecure and feeling lonely? I’ve been doing it now for about the last year. Is it just plain nesting? Reassuring myself that I will, indeed, endure this life because I can concoct sweet sustenance from an amalgamation of common ingredients? Taking comfort in the fact that I will be able to draw people to me with my baked goods, thus assuaging my loneliness? Proving to myself that I am valid as a woman and potential wife because of my domestic prowess and ability to incarnate a venerable gender stereotype? Cue gagging noises, perhaps — but these thoughts cross my mind as I spoon and level off.

Casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, bread. Whatever the psychological reasoning, I make these things. And I feel better.

“But then the light, the lamp I held in my blistered hands — you the fuel, and me the fool for not noticing.” -Laura Veirs


2 responses to “Domesticity

  1. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Maybe you just like baking. I could be wrong, though. Perhaps I’d better taste your goods just to be sure.

  2. As I often say, just because it’s cliche, it doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’m not sure how that applies in this situation. The thought makes me hungry for baked goods, though.

    Anyway, KJ and I were out in the woods camping/hunting for 4 days. KJ would occasionally say something like, “Well, here we are.” I continually responded with, “There is no place we are / but maybe here.”

    I explained the reference, and we paused several times to ponder what it means. No conclusion. We don’t know. It’s permanently etched in my mind, though, and I like it.

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