Brunch Worthy Blueberry Flax MuffinsÂ
Several years ago we left Cape Cod (our home for years) for our empty nest adventure. We sold the sofa, kitchen table, and boxes of cookbooks. We recycled toys and jeans and an old PC. The open road was calling. And we listened.
The western sky hung big and blue above the high desert arroyos of New Mexico. It felt as deep and wide as an ocean. We thought this signaled home. But I missed the sea more than I ever could have guessed. So we moved to Los Angeles and tried on four different neighborhoods in as many years. I grew adept at packing and shedding. I luxuriated in each and every hour spent with my two grown sons. A gift, each shared coffee date. Movie night. Christmas dinner.
But the city of Los Angeles was never my home. Its entertainment culture felt as walled off to me as the coyote fences in Santa Fe. I felt invisible. And irrelevant. And undernourished. My restless feminine soul was starving.
And so I turned my gaze East again. It somehow felt right. And I found us a temporary nest, an antique barn studio in a post card worthy Connecticut village where I had lived as a child. There I painted. I listened to rivers curving through woods. I inhaled the fog. It smelled like pine. It was quiet here. And the slower pace was more to my liking.Â
But it is not by the sea. I cannot walk the flats at low tide. I have no place to hang sheets in the ocean breeze. Inevitably, the coast is calling. Like the long and winding road that tugged me West, and pulled me East, the tidal rhythms of living by the sea are infusing my dreams with the colors of ocean glass and bay side creeks. There is sand in my boots from our trip to San Diego and I cannot bring myself to shake it out. I've been looking up rentals in Ventura County. Searching cottages on the Gulf of Mexico. Collecting captures of the wild Maine coast. But dreams are not always affordable. Or logical. Or possible. I've lived long enough to understand that a vision board does not manifest a beach house. And wishing hard does not attract the object of desire. The Law of Nature is indifferent to our dreams.Â
Karina
The western sky hung big and blue above the high desert arroyos of New Mexico. It felt as deep and wide as an ocean. We thought this signaled home. But I missed the sea more than I ever could have guessed. So we moved to Los Angeles and tried on four different neighborhoods in as many years. I grew adept at packing and shedding. I luxuriated in each and every hour spent with my two grown sons. A gift, each shared coffee date. Movie night. Christmas dinner.
But the city of Los Angeles was never my home. Its entertainment culture felt as walled off to me as the coyote fences in Santa Fe. I felt invisible. And irrelevant. And undernourished. My restless feminine soul was starving.
And so I turned my gaze East again. It somehow felt right. And I found us a temporary nest, an antique barn studio in a post card worthy Connecticut village where I had lived as a child. There I painted. I listened to rivers curving through woods. I inhaled the fog. It smelled like pine. It was quiet here. And the slower pace was more to my liking.Â
But it is not by the sea. I cannot walk the flats at low tide. I have no place to hang sheets in the ocean breeze. Inevitably, the coast is calling. Like the long and winding road that tugged me West, and pulled me East, the tidal rhythms of living by the sea are infusing my dreams with the colors of ocean glass and bay side creeks. There is sand in my boots from our trip to San Diego and I cannot bring myself to shake it out. I've been looking up rentals in Ventura County. Searching cottages on the Gulf of Mexico. Collecting captures of the wild Maine coast. But dreams are not always affordable. Or logical. Or possible. I've lived long enough to understand that a vision board does not manifest a beach house. And wishing hard does not attract the object of desire. The Law of Nature is indifferent to our dreams.Â
So while I bake today, I ponder what lies ahead. If you are a fortune teller, adept at reading signs, speak now or forever hold your peace.
Karina
xo
