I'm sitting on a couch in Oxnard, California with a ginger cat named Otis on my lap, and I'm being whispered.
Okay let me back up a little.
So, six months ago or so I wrote a book. It, to me, didn't seem like a very big book. In fact it seemed like just a collection of things that I like to eat that all had some kind of other meaning to me. Some of the recipes came from my family. Some of them came from my friends. A lot of them came from me. I think in my head I downplayed the whole thing. I don't think I realized when I was writing the book that I was putting so much into it, and when I finished it, it was as though all the stuffing got knocked out of me and I became completely deflated.
I don't know why, but after that I just couldn't write. I stopped cooking. I stopped trying. All the other things in my life became bigger, and slowly that raging fire of a foodie and a blogger and a writer with big ole dreams just drifted away.
I missed that side of me. I missed her a lot. I've spent a lot of time over the last 6 months eating frozen healthy choice meals, triple cream brie on crackers, and obsessing about how I never seem to be able to stay the weight I want to be (though I will concede the possibility of the triple cream brie having something to do with that).
I felt stuck. Uninspired, uncreative, undone. I needed a jolt. I needed perspective. Something to get me back on the right path. I needed Dana.
Dana writes Whisks and Words, and she is exceptional. We've known each other a long time, having gone to the same college, but we haven't really known each other for more than a year or two. Food writing connected us together and I'm grateful for that. Dana recently moved to the West Coast and set up shop in Oxnard, California, which is a mere five hour drive from my place in the desert.
With a week away from the circus coming up, I knew I needed to not hang around the city being depressed while drinking nothing but vodka tonics. I needed to do something. I needed a kick in the butt. So I asked Dana if maybe I could come and say hi and visit her for a couple of days, thinking that perhaps we could just hang out and eat and cook and drink and that somehow by the osmosis of being around her I would start writing again.
So I showed up her house yesterday. I was greeted by a fresh batch of Chamomile Cupcakes with Honey frosting, an awesome snuggle-cat named Otis, a glass of red wine mixed with sparkling lemonade, and the declaration that she was going to "whisper" me.
There is nothing quite like sitting on another woman's couch with a seemingly endless supply of cocktails, catching up on life, talking about food and writing and careers and most importantly what we're going to eat. It's a wonderful wonderful thing.
I'm so utterly thrilled that I'm here. I'm so glad that I get to sit and hang out and wear a hoodie because it's not 110 degrees here. I love that this morning I woke up to Dana making Blueberry Muffins and then we went off to the farmers market to pick out what we wanted to have for lunch.
I love that I'm already feeling like my old self, feeling enchanted by the idea of writing, feeling thrilled that I'm near someone who shares a lot of the same sentiments that I do, feeling hungry. It's nice to be taken in, to be fed. It's like I'm being wrapped in this big snuggly blanket after spending six months freezing my ass off.
I'm being whispered. I can feel it.