“All of these lines across my face, tell you the story of who I am, so many stories of where I have been and how I got to where I am. But these stories, don’t mean anything, when you got no one to tell them to, its true, I was made for you… ”
Brandi Carlile, The Story
It is a rare silent night around me. Typically I would hear cars speeding down the road, breaking all the laws or dogs barking in the distance and most often it is my neighbors above me stomping around in their apartment.
However, tonight the only sound is my music that plays in the background while I sit here clicking away on this computer, waiting for the pounds of fruit cake to finish baking.
The song by Brandi Carlile, ‘The Story’, is what is on. Something about this song triggers thoughts about my life and I find myself relating to it in an uncanny way. Because I want the words engraved in my head, I have it on repeat. I want to remember that the lines across my face do tell a story of who I am.
I had never thought about the lines on my face as a way to tell a story, I thought of those lines when I was feeling vain and shallow and always trying to find ways to get rid of them. However, after listening to this song over and over, I realized that the lines are about the journey I have been on and the journey I will continue to take.
This song title came up a few days ago while talking to someone about music. He was compiling a list of 100 songs which he likes/enjoys and which are worth mentioning for various reasons. He sent me the list and while going through it, the title caught my attention and since then I have listened to it way too many times. (Thank you SM, for sharing that list with me)
The song makes me wants to write my story, and I don’t meant the story of heartbreak or betrayal, but my story about who I am and who I want to be and how I got to where I am. However, considering the night is almost over and I am more focused on baking, I will write that story another time.
The fruit cake is now done, but I am not ready to turn the oven off and leave the warm cozy kitchen. I feel compelled to start another baking project.
The customer who placed the order for the fruit cakes, reminded me about something I had made using cardamom, and now I felt the necessity to try something with cardamom.
It is moments like this that I feel I need intervention to get myself out of the kitchen. Considering there is no one to talk me out of it, I might as well stay in the kitchen and whip up another cake.
I weigh, mix, whisk, sift, while in between trying to take notes of what I am doing. But my mind is still on the song.
The cake is now baked and after one taste I know, it is back to the drawing board for more tweaking with maybe less cardamom and more almonds and a way to figure out how to make sure it does not sink in the middle. I suppose all these adventures or misadventures in the kitchen is part of that story I will have to tell one day.