Leaving this place is never easy. My kids never want to leave either. It’s a different kind of life here. It’s slower. It’s the kind of life I always had once Mama left the city and moved us here after Dad had died. We were so little. We didn’t really know anything else after a while. I can still smell the freshly made biscuits and baked goods filling up the house. The aroma of what once was sucks me in all the time. It makes me think more about what I want my children’s lives to look like. Things are changing so much in the world. This house changes the perspective on life and what it should look like. It’s a feeling. A knowing. It’s a soul thing. I am at peace here. We all are.
The children came barreling in with all kinds of forestry things they found walking home from the lake. The first thing they asked for as they came running in was chocolate chip cookies. The ones grandma always made. I know her recipe book is here somewhere. She told me she was going to write everything down. I sure hope she did. I went through each cabinet. Nothing. I know it’s here somewhere! And, sure enough there it was inside her favorite bar stone pan she used every day to bake in. Right beside it, her cast iron pan where she made the absolute best sourdough pizza in and her dutch oven for loaves of bread. There was a note, “Don’t forget to take the starter out and feed it”. I looked in the back of the fridge and sure enough there it was, a glass jar filled with her kitchen magic. She wanted us all so badly to keep the tradition going. No one ever did. It always seemed so complicated. I took the starter out and fed her, following the directions it didn’t seem all that hard. Now, I wait for her to rise. There’s a beauty to all of this that I never really caught on to when I was living at home. I remember her always saying, “Baking sourdough is the key to life. It’s all about waiting patiently to rise, taking the time to love and waiting for her to rise”. Or, something like that. Maybe that is what I am understanding now. She always told me, “You will understand when you are older”. She was right.
Within just a few hours I was ready to bake. The nostalgia in this moment right now brought tears to my eyes. I can picture her in the kitchen. Sometimes I’d even catch her humming while she was in there. She was always happiest when she was cooking something for us. She called it her “Love Language”. And, pretty much everything was cooked or baked from scratch and made out of love. I am not sure we all realized it back then. The time and effort it took. Now that I am older I understand what she meant by it being her love language. It has become mine as well. I understand a lot these days. It seems like life has a way of showing us the way, the light…the light that has followed me here.
I went outside with my afternoon cup of coffee fresh from the press. The cookies were done and the kids were all in awe. I heard rustling in the woods. To my surprise, a family of deers came and just sat there standing there staring at me. There goes that feeling again. The magic of it all. The feeling I get every time there’s a sign right in front of me. They didn’t move. They just stood there. They were waiting for me to understand. There was an exchange of energy and I knew she was on the other side of it. I heard her voice and they quickly ran together, in synchronicity, just like all of the thoughts running wildly through my mind. The “what if’s”. I stopped myself. It’s her light, the light that followed me here…
Vishnu appeared. I knew right there and then….my mind was made up…
Until next time…
Love & Light, Always!
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