I write a lot for a living now, so I find that I don’t have much desire to blog anymore. I must be getting my fix.
However, I just had to share the photo below and the following sentiment:
Hello, version of the Gallete des Rois. (I halved the recipe found here - making sure to toast the coconut.) In celebration of Fat Tuesday, and in fulfillment of my somewhat-Louisiana-bread Husband’s request, I spent my Monday and Tuesday evenings trying to “get ‘er done.” Apparently, Husband tells me that it is pointless to even try once Ash Wednesday hits, and as I failed to make a proper King Cake last year, I felt obliged to really “do it up right.”
My sentiment to share: it was totally worth the effort, both for Husband and for myself.
A letter came in the mail the other day. It was from me. It was from me ten years ago.
Thanks to a thoughtful high school teacher who kept this thing from ruin off somewhere in a file cabinet in Tennessee, I got to glimpse myself at 18 years of age and what I thought I would want to tell myself at 28. My 28-year-old self (which is me now) thinks this is hilarious, and though I was way off the mark with my thoughts on marriage (didn’t want it back then, and adore and support it greatly now), not too much else was off. I was me then, and I am me now.