Last month, I finished my new book, How To Bake A Perfect Life, and sent it off to my editor and agent, who are both speedy readers. By the time I polished up a couple of talks for a conference and returned home, they had turned it around, and I plunged into revisions. There’s a fairly tight schedule here (the book is out December 28), complicated by the fact that I’m traveling for nearly all of June, and we had to get everything done before I leave.
Over the past week, I’ve noticed that I’m indulging in all things wordless. I walk around my neighborhood and spy catkins hanging from an aspen tree. They’re backlit by morning sunshine, making all the tiny hairs glow. The sight seems incredible, extraordinary, and I shoot twelve pictures of them with my phone, first with the regular camera, then with a funny little app called Hipstamatic, which has brought me no end of delight. Bemused, I wander on, my brain quiet.
A few days later, the sun is out, spring is finally arriving after the long, cold winter, and I gorge on bedding plants at the local Lowe’s, which have “distressed” plants for .50, and I buy everything pink. Dianthus and dahlias and snapdragons. For hours I plant in wordlessness, soaking in the sunlight, drinking in the endless, minute variation on this single color, pale to dark to vivid. The smells of earth and lavender fill my empty heart. [Read more…]