Coming back to this space, to write and share has proven much more difficult than I imagined. I seem to let something, anything, steal my time away from here. It could be in deference to my current reality (houseful of wild children) but I think it's something more. More like that my imperfect perfectionist in me is constantly overcritical in an almost paralyzing way. My images are never quite right, my words don't exactly flow, my recipes probably not the most creative. I know I could do better, yet instead of fueling my desire to improve, these feelings leave me deflated and rather indifferent. Nonsense, you might say, or at least I hope you'd say, because surely it should be. I often lose sight of the value of the process, of the natural progression that inches me closer to my goals each time I cook, write, and photograph. But I'm going to simply disregard it all and just share as much as I can all the recipes and photos that have accumulated in my computer. And I'm sure things will turn out imperfectly perfect.