It was yesterday morning, on discovering an unsightly patch of eczema on my arm, clearly caused by my crutches, that I had a bit of a meltdown.
I didn't cry, but I kind of wailed, pathetically.
I mean, really?
I needed to bake. I've been so restrained since Christmas, and have in fact lost weight since turning my ankle. (I call it the Inertia Diet - so far it's working for me.)
But therapeutic baking was required so I whipped up some biscuits for tea.
Within minutes the smells of lemon, butter and vanilla soothed and comforted me. The pulse of the mixer, the twanging of the oven shelves as they warmed up, the expletives as the piping bag I was using split, the hilarity at watching husband continue regardless, pushing the biscuit dough through the piping knozzle with his thumb ... the baking zone is a happy place.
And then tea on the stoop, the stoop which knows me so very well at the moment, tea and homemade biscuits with my loved ones on the stoop.
It's handy to be a homebody when you're stuck spending a lot of time at home.