In From the Kitchen, I share thoughts or stories surrounding food I cook and savour.
Twenty-twenty-three does not feel like a new year anymore. To me there are only weeks and weeks of winter during which I push through my projects. I’m trying out screenwriting. More poems. Last Christmas, my brother gave me this Wordsmithery game.
It sits on my writing desk now, assisting in instances of page fright (I find this term more accurate than writer’s block). That is how the word “sobriquet” found its way into a poetry draft.
Then, a day after Valentine’s, my husband presented me with this thoughtful cuteness:
He wishes they’re made of something more durable than paper, but I love how just like my book, they need protection from elements.
I gained weight and with illnesses going around, I am reminded to eat healthier. Nothing new there. A few weeks ago, I attempted a roasted pepper and tomato soup. So much labour for something that turned out to be simple, but it tasted nice. I froze portions to make the hard work worthwhile; even if I liked the taste I can’t see myself eating it every day.
Gone are my twenties when I could be alert and productive even with four hours of sleep and poor food choices. These days, the link between healthy habits and a prolific creative life is much more pronounced. More and more, I read books and articles that have to do with heart rate and cholesterol, metabolism and sleep hygiene. Am I lucky that my bad habits have been kind for a decade plus change? Or has my sturdiness made me miss out on developing real discipline?
Leah Ranada 