{"id":151588,"date":"2015-05-03T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2015-05-03T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gracious-khorana.45-76-20-142.plesk.page\/localmex12015x105x1earl-grey-waffles-whipped-honey-cream-3-yrs-of-local-milk-htmlx1\/"},"modified":"2023-06-26T17:11:30","modified_gmt":"2023-06-26T17:11:30","slug":"earl-grey-waffles-whipped-honey-cream-3-yrs-of-local-milk","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/localmilkblog.com\/2015\/05\/earl-grey-waffles-whipped-honey-cream-3-yrs-of-local-milk.html","title":{"rendered":"Earl Grey Waffles & Whipped Honey Cream + 3 yrs of Local Milk"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"chemex<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"chemex<\/a><\/p>\n

Three years came and went. And the truth is I was busy, lovesick, on the road, and didn\u2019t notice this year. April 12, that was the 3 year mark. I don\u2019t even know what country I was in. I know that I\u2019m currently in Portugal, and that I\u2019m hopping over to Croatia for five days after this and then on to Italy & France to teach\u00a0two more workshops before finally, finally running home. Home to breakfasts and weekdays and the gym and yoga and morning coffee and and and home to normal. Home to the romance of the ordinary & weekend waffles.<\/p>\n

This project, this blog, abides\u00a0as a constant, but my life continues to surprise me in its unfolding. And Earl Grey waffles, a personal favorite comfort food infused with a personal favorite comfort tea, seemed as good a recipe as any to both celebrate 3 years of this space and my current love affair with home, with home defined as being where the heart is. In my life, I\u2019ve taken everything as it comes, when it comes, never pretending at forevers. Okay, sometimes pretending at them but always aware of the precarious nature of pretending. I expected the landscape of my life to forever morph, seashore in the tide, time doing the eroding it\u2019s so adept at, taking and leaving bits and pieces of my world and self as it saw fit. And so it has. Until now.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"chemex<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

Something\u00a0curious\u00a0happened. That lovesick bit I mentioned above. Time, finally, didn\u2019t only take. It brought things back to me, little artifacts & pieces of myself so long lost I wondered if they\u2019d ever existed at all or if I\u2019d just imagined them. I found them again one afternoon in early February, and that unexpected event necessitated many things including briefly but very thoroughly losing my mind, much weeping, and then most finally changing my entire life and being happier than I\u2019ve ever been in some odd 32 years. I\u2019ve weighed the idea of writing about those changes here. There are myriad good reasons not to. But I\u2019ve reached the conclusion that this space is my home, and my experiences are all I know. In short, I don\u2019t think I\u2019ll ever be able to write again if I don\u2019t write about what\u2019s happening now.<\/p>\n

The short version is simply this: I, most unexpectedly and three weeks before leaving the country for 3 months (impeccable timing), fell in love with a man that is a\u00a0perfectly\u00a0impossible ball of contradictions, and I didn\u2019t know what home, love, or forever was until I met him. When I did finally see him\u2014I mean really see him\u2014I knew I\u2019d missed him my entire life. I knew. I knew in a fundamental way I\u2019ve never experienced in my life. People say these things for a reason. What they don\u2019t tell you is that \u201cjust knowing\u201d sometimes takes the form of going crazy trying to talk yourself out of it for a couple of weeks.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d recently started to average about 6 months a year on the road. Terminal after terminal, endless glass walls and escalators\u2014my blood ran electric in even the most mundane of travel scenarios.\u00a0I have an apothecary routine that can\u00a0be executed in an airport bathroom in five minutes that simulates all but the psychological effects of a hot shower & a\u00a0good night\u2019s sleep. I have life on the road down to a science,\u00a0but oftentimes I don\u2019t\u00a0know what time or day it is at all. Sometimes I even forget what season or hemisphere I\u2019m in, and\u00a0I never know how to greet people. Is it one kiss or two? Can I hug? Shake hands? Bow? I like bowing. Nomad. It\u2019s was my thing.\u00a0Was<\/em>\u00a0being the operative word.<\/p>\n

Though I\u2019m currently still on it, the road leaves me cold. The thrill is gone. Everything I see seems utterly useless without being able to share it. I never thought about that boring old adage \u201chome is where the heart is\u201d until my heart was somewhere else. Now\u00a0it makes too much awful sense. No wonder I felt so at home on the road; I carried my heart with me wherever I went. Now it\u2019s firmly situated elsewhere, and no matter how rich & alive the\u00a0countries\u00a0I wander to are, I\u2019m not whole.\u00a0I\u2019ve always prided myself on being present, now I flicker in and out like a ghost.<\/p>\n

My life previously was known. It was comfortable and easy. Familiar. Safe. I found myself more and more married to my work & travel. It had become my child, my life. There was a vein of discontent running through it all, to be sure, but I accepted it. We have to grow up, after all. These are the things we tell ourselves. I wrote impossible worlds at night to keep my blood\u00a0warm enough. I ran through my life in a manic, workaholic frenzy. It seemed alright. Productive. Responsible. Busy, busy, busy. I wasn\u2019t looking to change anything.<\/p>\n

Then, this past February, I walked into\u00a0a\u00a0coffee shop<\/a> back home in Chattanooga dressed, in my usual fashion, like a Jedi\u00a0or\u00a0Japanese grandmother depending on who you ask. I chatted with the owner<\/a> (a preternaturally friendly guy\u2026) and, the picture of grace, managed to hit myself in the face with a shopping bag whilst doing so due to my habit of wild gesticulation. We\u2019d talked a few times before. As I recall, I was always saying very attractive things like \u201cI just bought fancy sweatpants!\u201d or \u201cTalking to people makes me sweat profusely.\u201d \u00a0Oblivious, in a word. And not looking. That\u2019s when these things tend to happen, it would seem.<\/p>\n

We became friends, and I fell in love with that preternaturally friendly man. Instantly. I was toast. And I knew it. \u00a0So much so that I, in my infinite wisdom, immediately called a therapist, cried a lot,\u00a0and sent my closest friends spaghetti emojis to illustrate the state of my brain. I\u2019d work out to prime, vintage Katy Perry tracks until I almost\u00a0fainted\u00a0in attempts\u00a0to forget about him. It seemed impossible. And dangerous. Until about three weeks later when I decided, a week before leaving the country for three months (that awesome timing again), that the only impossible, dangerous thing was to not give us a chance. When I say forever now, there is no disillusioned girl in the back of my mind saying \u201cyou can\u2019t really know that\u201d. As it turns out, you can really know that. From a cellular level to a spiritual level, I know. It\u2019s a love I feel made for, designed for. A perfect fit. In all my life, I\u2019ve never felt this way. I\u2019m shocked this is even a way people can feel. I didn\u2019t even know this was a thing. So settled. So done. So homesick.<\/p>\n

Now I just want to go home\u00a0to Tennessee\u00a0and make waffles while he makes the coffee. He happens to be very good at that.<\/p>\n

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\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

\"earl<\/a><\/p>\n

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