Nostalgia tickled my brain, as memories of studying around a plate of oatmeal cinnamon cookies assaulted me. Suddenly, my hands were doing their own thing and I was pulling down the oats and cinnamon from the shelf,Kitchen Therapy,With all due respect to art therapy, drama therapy, hydrotherapy, and play therapy, I’d like to add my original brand of therapy to the list: kitchen therapy.
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With all due respect to art therapy drama therapy hydrotherapy and play therapy I’d like to add my original brand of therapy to the list: kitchen therapy.
This declaration is based on personal experience. One day I was feeling down restless and in a general mode of grumpiness for no good reason. Well “Stop being a grump!” protests were certainly no help but my rumbling stomach was. I needed to eat something and fast if I didn’t want to get even grumpier but the refrigerator wasn’t inspiring that day. A half of a tomato or unflavored yogurt didn’t appeal to me. I tried the cabinets which were begging for a refill. Five cornflakes and the crumbs in the bag sans milk didn’t make the grade and neither did the whole wheat crackers.
I spotted raw oats and then my eyes instinctively locked with the cinnamon. Nostalgia tickled my brain as memories of studying around a plate of oatmeal cinnamon cookies assaulted me. Suddenly my hands were doing their own thing and I was pulling down the oats and cinnamon from the shelf. I checked the fridge and luckily it didn’t disappoint this time. There was some whole wheat flour and a few eggs.
I began measuring pouring and cracking eggs and ten minutes later the oven was emitting mouthwatering aromas. Just for fun I left the house walked a bit down the block and then walked back in to enjoy the delicious smells that somehow hit hardest when you first walk in. What a satisfying trip! The house smelled like nature cinnamon and all good things.
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