This winter, it has been harsh, yes?
Tragedies abroad, tragedies at home, severe weather, dogs and cats living together...
Well, maybe not dogs and cats living together. But the other stuff, yes. Collectively, the weather and the woe having been getting me down, more so than usual. I'm about ready to pack it in and head south. Or maybe I'll just crawl under my bed and hide until spring. I've been told some light therapy may help, and I have to admit I'm a little curious as to the cost of one of those lights that mimics the effects of the sun.
Bad attitudes abound in situations such as this, and the mind seeks relief along many avenues. A cloudless sky, a fine glass of beer, a good book can all do wonders for tired eyes and thin blood, as can good food. Tonics for the heart and soul, they are.
I found such a thing last week, in the form of cumin seeds. I have quite an abundance of them, the result of not understanding that four ounces of cumin seeds is a buttload of seeds by volume. They have been hanging around my kitchen for a long time, while I have been ruminating on ways to use them. Cumin is very tasty, and very easy to overdo. The opportunities to use cumin quickly are not often in my self-generated cuisine; if I were in Mexico or India the story would likely be different.
Now and again, inspiration strikes and memory returns upon itself. I had a hankering for cumin, a craving that wouldn't go away, and while not knowing exactly what I would make, I decided I would grind up some seeds just for the heck of it. In the grinder they went, whizzed them around, then took the lid off to pour the powder into a waiting jar. That is when the aroma hit me full force.
That was the smack in the face for which I had been waiting. Oh, sweet baby jay-zus, did it ever smell good!* In that instant with my nose in the jar as I inhaled deeply** I felt the blahs disappear, blown away on a wind of spicy-sweet rust. I started salivating a little, and my pulse quickened. I felt rejuvenated and calm, and like spring is just around the corner. Life was good, there in my humble kitchen.
What scent finds your bliss?
*Like tango music for the nose.
**When it comes to fresh spices, Bill Clinton I am not.