***
There is something inherently narcissistic about this isn’t there? A blog. It’s almost embarrassing in its presumption that anyone, anywhere, will care about anything I have to say, to share in this space. But here I am, and there you are.
I am shy, you see; an introvert. My body wants to be home pretty much all the time. So, naturally I’m very drawn to the sorts of things that allow me to create – to share – but to do so undercover. I can show myself as much or as little as I want to, and that feels pretty good. Honestly, I have always loved blogging, for lots of reasons both big and small. I enjoy it the same way I enjoy tennis and golf, both for the actual doing of the thing – I play both sports pretty well – but also for the peripheries.
I like the way a new can of tennis balls smells, and I like the sound the fuzzy green things make when they bounce their parabolas on the courts by my house. I can hear it whenever I open the window in my bathroom, and I just love it. I think my neighbors find it irritating, but the dull, irregular sounds are oddly comforting to me, in the same way the applause is during a golf game on TV. Sometimes I’ll set my TV to a golf tournament just to hear the delicious, subtle rattling of all those hands clapping together, filtered by my television’s sound system. It’s a very underappreciated sound, I think.
As for my blog here, yes, I can honestly say that I have loved it for each one of the ten years that it’s been alive. You see, here’s the thing: I love to write and to cook so much it hurts. And, I suppose the idea for this blog rode in on the back of that aching, my longing to be a part of the conversation surrounding food, even if just by way of this small, humble corner of the Net.
But I also love typing. Peripheries, see? I love photography, too. Food is a marvelous subject – it never complains or gets fidgety. I love styling it, making it look as beautiful and as delectably delicious as I possibly can. So good that you’ll want to lick your screen. But most of all, I like thinking of the best way – the most interesting one – to connect a small snapshot of my life to the recipe in a way that brings it all together.
The photos let you see it. The words help you feel it. The recipes let you taste it. It’s all connected, see? For me, this is a great joy. It’s the sound of a camera lens snapping into place in its contact; so satisfying. It’s the clicking that the keys on my new laptop computer make when I type really fast. This is almost as enjoyable a sound as golf clapping; it sounds so productive. It’s the screaming screech of my old oven’s timer sounding, letting me know that the cake-pie-muffins-scones-casserole-roasted chicken is ready. Ready for me, ready for you. We’re connected, too.
But mostly, it’s about the writing. That’s why I’ve so loved keeping this blog. The writing is where the stories live. The best part of a recipe sometimes isn’t so much the “what” of it, but rather, the “why.” Why a recipe exists and is loved and has been cherished and shared can be almost as delicious as the food itself, the understanding of it can. I love how this blog has given me something to write, a place for stories and delicious dreaming, for a full ten years now. It has given me a way to type without end; to write just as I please.
When I’m out in the world, talking to people face to face, this blog also gives me something to say, something really quite interesting, when people ask me what I like to do with my time. In turn, I’m sure it gives those people something to talk about as well. In a very Bonnie Rait sort of way, behind palms held up to their faces to block the sound of their gossipping, people talk. Oh, a food blogger! Frank, she’s one of those food bloggers. How very interesting. But what the hell does that even mean? Bless her heart.
I enjoy the You of it, too. It’s one of the aspects that draws me here, to you. Maybe most of all, the idea of you fascinates me. The simple thought that there could be someone out there at any given time, anywhere in the world, who might stumble across my words here and actually feel something because of them is simply intoxicating.
And I hope you do, I hope that so much.
But why does one do this sort of thing, blog? Maybe you’re wondering this; I know I did for a while, before deciding to take the plunge. I’ve come to a couple of firm conclusions on the matter, and others I’m sure will reveal themselves as we carry on.
***
They say whatever you put on the Internet is there forever. Words and images, ideas and secrets – locked up in a binary, virtual cage for all eternity. 0 – 1- 0 – 1 – 0 – 1. This gives me solace, actually. I like the notion of my memories being locked away. I don’t want to get to the end of this life and not remember; I’m a little afraid of that.
Unless something exceptional is written in the stars for today, I’m almost positive that I’d forget about it completely. So far, nothing about this day is particularly notable, and so away it will fall. Isn’t that a horrible thought? But writing can save it. This blog serves to stop the fall, saving whatever little bits I choose – the endangered happenings – from slipping through the cracks, from extinction. Stories are living things. Moving and shifting their shapes with each pass, each telling. It is only when they are captured in writing that they gain a sense of rock-solid permanence. Like a mosquito trapped in glassy amber drippings, a story in writing is a thing frozen in time.
But why is it that we remember the things we do? What makes a memory tacky; why do some fade away while others dislodge from their holding pens with the greatest of ease? Some we have to chisel loose and others get lost in time, irretrievable. Tragic in their vanquishing.
When you go back digging for them, shoveling life’s detritus aside, it’s the big memories you always find with least effort; the bones that remain. This is true for me at least, more often than not. The extraordinary moments, we keep; forming the skeleton of our remembering. But it’s the guts of it I’ve always been after here, and the marrow and the cells and the amoebas. It’s the little moments that give a life its vibrancy, its brilliance, and I think blogging helps capture that. To catch the fragile moments like fireflies in a jar, immortalizing them, is a worthy pursuit, I think.
So, I’ve set a trap, I guess you could say. I’ve set a trap because I don’t trust the chasms of my own mind to hold them for me, all of the little moments. I’m trying not to forget. To not be forgotten.
“A living diary,” I’ve seen them called; a catalog of all your mental meanderings. A blog can be whatever you want it to be, they say; everything and nothing at all. It can serve to help lose or find oneself, depending on execution and intent. Intensity + frequency + duration = fitness level. That’s what they teach you in physical education. A food blog can be your work, your business, your livelihood. It can make you famous and lots of money. Or not.
It can ruin you. But, it can save you, too.
And then there’s the food; the heart and soul of this thing. I’d imagine if you’re reading this right now, you’ve at least got some sort of interest in the culinary realm. We’re kindred spirits in that way. From the best recipes of a lifetime – the unforgettables – to the small, ordinary foods that actually flavor the majority of our lives, I’ve sought to honor it all here.
And so. Here’s to TEN; a lifetime and a blink of an eye, all at once. Today I’m going to start writing just a little bit louder, see what happens. It’s time, I think. Ready, set, jump. To start, I suppose I’ll pick a place and time not so long ago, rewinding the clock back only a handful of years.
That’s where the shallows are, and it’s easiest for me to wade in.
