waiting with their light

I want to climb those hills

It has been a rough week, hasn’t it?

Are you feeling it too?

There have been bombs flinging nails and pellets into the backs and legs of people standing at the finish line of the marathon, cheering on people crazy and wonderful enough to have the endurance to continue on in spite of it all. There have been egregious acts in Congress. There have been massive explosions, lives lost and people burned. And those were just the events talked about on Twitter, in the United States.

I cried for an 8-year-old boy, who died after giving his father a hug. His sister lost her leg. His mother has unimaginable brain injuries. And then I remembered: how many 8-year-olds around the world died that day? As that kiddo wrote on a poster in his classroom: “No more hurting people. Peace.

If only we listened to the 8-year-olds more often.

I thought we could all use a little blue sky right now.

community garden

And we could probably use some silent time in the garden.

Last week, we were in Point Reyes, on the coast of northern California. Lu was asleep in the back seat, worn out after days of running in the sunlight. Danny ducked into a market to buy us coffees, chocolates, and ripe strawberries. Strawberries! In April! I sat with the car door open, the sun meeting my skin. And I saw this woman shuffle slowly to the bench underneath the garden sign. She sat there for 10 or 15 minutes, silent, sipping her tea and closing her eyes to feel the sun on her face.

I bet we could all use a little of that right now. It has been a rough week.

blue sky in the bay area

The week before was anything but rough for us. We were in the Bay Area, the three of us, driving through lush green fields under blue skies. I was scheduled to go down to San Francisco for some events at the IACP (International Association of Culinary Professionals), and to teach a baking class with Attune Foods. The weeks before that weekend, I had been working so hard to re-launch this site with its new design that I plain forgot to book my ticket. By the time I went to the last-minute low-fare site, the ticket was still over $500. I looked at Danny and said, “Hey, how about a road trip?”

So the three of us piled in the car, along with suitcases, the laptop so I could work, and our lovely camera to try to find the light in it all. It wasn’t hard to find the light in the Bay Area.

It had been a long winter here. I was sick for months, enduring another season of medical tests and perplexing questions. And then a burst eardrum with no hearing in my right ear. I tried to nuzzle through it, tried to find the softness in what felt like walking through a field of pointed sticks. Before we left, I could feel the start of healing.

After six days of being in blue-skied sunlight, the company of good friends, and calm, I felt restored.

picnic at Cowgirl Creamery

Of course, the food didn’t hurt. We had picnics in as many places as we could, to stay outdoors and soak up that vitamin D. When Lu woke up from that nap in Point Reyes, we walked to Cowgirl Creamery, one of my favorite places in the world, and shared the food you see above. Lu kept asking for Prosh-utti! (I love how she says prosciutto.) We told her that we ate Mt. Tam cheese on our third date together, which is how it became part of our wedding ceremony. To share some with her, in the place that it’s made, was such a joy.

So was the picnic we had on the sidewalk outside the Ferry Terminal building in San Francisco. We gathered friends we wanted most to see during the conference and walked to the ferry terminal, all of us marveling at the sunlight. At the opening to the building, we decided, spontaneously, on a picnic. “Everyone gather something good to eat. Go!” 15 minutes later, we sat on the sidewalk, dipping our knives into gooey cheese and smearing it onto gluten-free baguettes from Mariposa Bakery. Hands reached for briny green olives, crisp cornichons, sweet dried apricots, and sheep’s cheese. There was head cheese and spicy spreadable ‘nduja, followed by swigs of cold ginger brew. It was one of those moments that most makes me love food and the power it has to gather us. We all knew, in those moments, how lucky we were.

There were meals at the home of our dear friends, Anita and Cameron, who were kind enough to let us stay with them on three days’ notice. The first night, Danny cooked while Lu sat on the floor in the hallway, telling Anita animated stories. Later, at dinner, she sat on Cameron’s lap and shared all the stories of her school and pretend brothers and sisters. She giggled and giggled when our friend Michael pretended to be asleep on the couch and let her wake up him. She especially loved when he started singing all the songs from Bedknobs and Broomsticks for her. We sat around the table, eating the good roast beef, herbed brown lentils and roasted potatoes, and asparagus with preserved lemons that Danny cooked for us. (Lu could not believe she was in a place with asparagus growing out of the ground and a lemon tree waiting to be plucked. “Magic!” she kept saying. Magic.)

Lu at Zest

There was a visit to Zest Bakery, in San Carlos, which delighted Lu no end. We’ve met Charissa and Patrick before, but this time Lu really took to Patrick. “He’s a really funny man, Mama!” (Naming you funny is Lu’s highest compliment right now.) After my baking class, Patrick and our friends Tracy and Kim joined us for dinner. We wandered for awhile and ended up in a dinky Pakistani restaurant with plastic trays, flourescent lights, and tremendous food. Lu just shone and shone on Patrick. By the time we arrived at his bakery the next day, she insisted on going back to the kitchen before eating anything. “Some day, I’m going to be a baker like them,” she said, again and again.

They’re doing really wonderful work there. You should go.

We also had the good fortune of seeing our friend Kyra from Crave Bakeshop in Portland twice, once on the way down and the other on the way up. She makes great cupcakes, this girl. Danny crunched into one of her gluten-free cream puffs and said “That girl knows what the — she’s doing.” True.

On the way down, we ate lunch with Kyra, her lovely mom Jana, Laura Russell, and our new friend Leela, at Jade Teahouse. This place is a revelation: an Asian restaurant that almost completely gluten-free. (You just can’t have the sandwiches.) We shared a huge spread of food: tapioca dumplings, squash curry, vermicelli salad with pork. The gluten-free hamburger was glorious, especially because the beef had been marinated in lemongrass for 24 hours before being cooked. We lingered at a long table upstairs, all of us feeling safe with the food and happy to be together.

Also, there were macarons from Bouchon Bakery on this trip.

Lu running at the beach

Mostly, though, this wasn’t a trip about the food. Food fueled us and helped us slow into the gathering instead of rushing to the next place. Mostly, though, it was a trip about the three of us, under the blue sky, liberated from grey clouds and schedules. We stood on the beach at Santa Cruz and watched Lucy run into the waves. She ran, in complete freedom, giggling at the warm sun and cold water. In that moment, I felt entirely home.

Danny and I struggled a bit with this. We were so happy in the Bay Area. Sure, it’s vacation. Everyone feels better on vacation. But I responded so quickly and hugely to the sunlight, the open skies, the warmth. Over and over, we both wondered, and then started saying out loud, “Gosh, if we all do well in so much light, why are living near Seattle? Why are we making it so hard on ourselves?”

I don’t think we’re moving. When we did reach home, we felt so happy to be on Vashon again. We have a community here, a life we love. We are firmly grounded here, even when the ground is soggy. But oh, that blue sky.

looking at the lake

Lu loved it down there too. She made a new best friend in Tracy’s little guy, Cooper. They played in Dolores Park, shared hot chocolates (and lovely smiles), skipped down the street singing and holding hands, and shared ice cream cones later. Everywhere we went, she talked about Cooper.

But we’re also lucky. We have an adaptable kid on our hands, one who loves to sit in the back seat of the car reading as we head down the open road. By the time we hit this view, above a huge open lake outside Napa, she cried for one of the first times on the trip. “Can’t we stop driving and climb those high high hills? I want to walk up those high beautiful hills.”

Maybe, if we had stopped for the afternoon for a hike, instead of pushing north in the car, the next thing wouldn’t have happened.

We drove late into the night, long after Lu fell asleep, Danny and I taking turns driving north to Oregon. We turned on the music softly and talked and talked about the trip. I had such a visceral memory of all the car trips my family took from Claremont in Southern California to Seattle, up and down I-5, to visit my grandparents and back. I remember reading all of The Death of a President one trip, keeping the window open for the warm air to rush across my face and blow the pages. Suddenly, it hit me: I was no longer the kid in the back seat. I was the tired mama, driving the car toward a road-trip hotel.

We pulled into the parking lot of the hotel in Eugene, Oregon past 11:30 at night. We had already checked in, so we parked just below our room. We grabbed the sleeping kid, the iPad that needed charging, and the bag with my contacts. We didn’t need much. We were leaving in the morning. We locked the car and trudged up the stairs.

The next morning, early, Lu woke up singing. She also woke up hungry. Danny went down to the car to find her an apple. Except, when he returned, he said he couldn’t find the car.

Someone stole our car.

Someone stole our car with all our belongings.

Someone stole our laptop, on which we do all our work. Someone stole our camera with which we take all the photos for our site.

And the strawberries we had bought at the roadside stand in Napa, the ones that had been picked that morning.

Danny and I just stared at each other.

There was a split second where I could hear the screaming start up in my mind. And then I looked at Lu, dancing around the hotel room, unaware. Danny and I looked at each other. And then I said to her, “Hey Lu, guess what. It’s another adventure!”

We explained to her that someone had stolen our car. She listened, confused. When we told her what that meant, she started crying about the new car seat we had just bought for her. (Luckily, she had been cradling her most-loved stuffed animal in her arms when we carried her up the stairs, sleeping.) We held her and let her cry. And then I said, as she climbed on my lap, “You know, sweetie. We can always get more things. But we also have to remember that whoever the person is that stole our car? That person must have a very sad and hard life if he or she feels he has to steal a car for money. So let’s send out some love to that person.” We all put our hands on our hearts and opened our arms wide, throwing love toward the sky.

And that was it for her. She danced to the Music Man while we made dazed calls to the car insurance company and the police. She loved the police officer, who told us this has been happening often there, and we might never see our car again. He gave Lu a sticker, though. We waited for insurance to ask us our thousand questions before they rented a car for us. Lucy and I built forts out of all the blankets in the hotel room while we waited for Danny to return. He had to stop at a store to buy a new car seat, shoes for Lu, clothes for us all, some snacks. By the time we climbed in the enormously tall truck that had been the only vehicle available for rental on that lot, Lu clapped her hands in delight. Adventure!

And so we drove home.

time in the redwoods on the bridge

Since then has been this swirling emotion of exhaustion, gratitude, shock, and awe that it all happened. But more, our car being stolen —— even though it does mean a host of paperwork to fill out and genuine money worries for us —— seems so small in comparison to the suffering in Boston, in Texas, in Iraq, in so many homes across the world. I’ve started to write this piece and erased it so many times that I’m not sure why it’s here now. In the face of all this confusion and loss, all I knew how to do was write.

And just when I needed it, I read again this piece by Ruth Reichl after the Tsunami in 2011:

“There is no time, ever, in which a terrible disaster is not taking place somewhere on the planet. And thanks to modern technology, we know all about it almost immediately. As I see it, we have a moral responsibility to respond to those disasters in the best ways that we can. Write letters, send money, do whatever possible to alleviate pain, end suffering and make the world a more just place.

But in the face of ongoing disaster, it is also our moral responsibility to appreciate what we have. That is why cooking good food for the people that I love is so important to me; in a world filled with no, it is a big yes.

So eat a good breakfast. Be grateful for what you’ve got. Enjoy the sunshine while you’ve got it. Then go out and save the world.”

Enjoy the sunshine while you’ve got it.

Instead of thinking constantly about the shock of our car being stolen, my mind goes back to the redwood forests. We spent much of the road trip singing Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land,” as sung by Elizabeth Mitchell. Lu knows all the words, thanks to a preschool teacher. We sang “From California, to the New York Islands!” with great gusto as we drove past Mt. Shasta on the way down. As we walked into John Muir national park, Lu shouted, “Now we’re in the Redwood Forests!”

As soon as we walked to just before Cathedral Grove, we found this bridge. Lu requested some alone time. “May I have some privacy, by myself, please?” So we let her stand on the bridge, in the sunlight, to listen to the burbling stream below it. After snapping this photo, I walked into the silent place in the park, the place where they request no on talk so you can hear the way the forest might have sounded before humans started changing it. I stopped to read a sign that explained that men from around the world gathered in San Francisco in 1945 to form the United Nations. One of those days, every delegate came to John Muir woods, to stand together in silence in Cathedral Grove. I’m assuming it helped them to remember that there is something much larger, and more important, and more silent, than our individual borders and squabbles and losses. I stood in Cathedral Grove and craned my neck to see up up up toward the sky.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

That’s why I haven’t erased this piece yet. Why I’m about to hit publish, even though it feels small in the face of all else that is going on. Because, like the day-blind stars, waiting, I’m just trying to shine.

56 comments on “waiting with their light

  1. Pam

    Thanks, Shauna. See, I was upset with the post that only Celiacs should be allowed to be gluten-free! There are so many of us who also benefit from removing wheat from our systems and you have been a shining light; one to follow and trust. Until that post. I’m so sorry about your car and belongings. I’m so happy to feel the sunshine you included between each word you’ve written here. Yup, it’s been a rough week. And you do shine. Thanks for all you share with all of us!

    1. shauna

      Oh goodness, that was such a misunderstanding. On Facebook, I put up a piece, written by someone else, who suggested that the people who are trying to eat gluten-free only because it’s a fad are making it harder for those of us who have celiac (or any other valid medical reason for eating gluten) because others don’t take us as seriously. Somehow, people started commenting before even reading the piece, attacking me. I have never once said that only people with celiac should be allowed to be gluten-free. That’s clear in everything I write. So perhaps you could shift your memory of that, please?

      1. Pam

        Thanks for the reply. I just re-read the article and she says, “For those of you who swear off gluten not because you want to lose weight, but just because you think it will make you healthier: please stick with the whole wheat.” I’ve read so many books — even before Wheat Belly — that tell about wheat and auto-immune disease, diabetes, brain fog, autism — the best part for me is that I sleep at night instead of laying there thinking about sleep. The worst part for me is those who won’t listen — I’m not taken seriously — the naysayers who call it a “fad diet” because I want to be healthy for once. You DIDn’t say it, but the article did. Go ahead and delete these posts if you’d like; I know you’ve had a rough road to getting diagnosed — many doctors still deny that wheat can trigger anxiety, insulin surges, and skin problems. But it’s been proven! If anything I’d think having more people demand labeling and wheat-free, gluten-free choices would create suppliers with reasonable prices. A lot of us appreciate your diligence!

  2. Irvin

    I love this piece and I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you when you were down here. Just know that San Francisco will always be here for you, welcoming you with open arms!

  3. Pat Machin

    Great piece and so good to see so many things put into perspective. Thank you.

    Sorry about the car :-( That must have been awful a long way from home.

  4. Louise

    What a beautiful piece, Shauna. I wish I were a road trip away from those blue skies too, rather than an 11 hr flight and 8 time zones! It’s been a long, grey winter here and I was so grateful for the sun when it finally emerged this weekend. You’ve captured beautifully that feeling of closing your eyes with the sun on your face, and being grateful for just that moment.

  5. Anne

    Well, I know this is a small consolation, but if it makes you feel any better it’s usually cold and foggy in the Bay Area. Not that the warmth of spring (and early produce!) doesn’t make me miss it all the more, but at least you can remember that summer in San Francisco is not nearly as nice as summer in Seattle.

  6. Amy

    I was raised Catholic, a daily Rosary-saying, bedtime prayer saying, weekly Mass attending Catholic school attending girl, yet I’m conflicted about daily practice of my faith and haven’t attended Mass in many years. But I still pray, I always pray. I was discussing this with my Mom the other day, and almost at the same time we said to each other “when I pray, I thank God for everything I have, and everything I don’t have.”

    You never get more than you can handle. And perspective is a powerful tool in helping us all cope with the daily tragedies of life.

  7. Eliza B

    I went to a Quaker school from elementary school right up until the end of high school. Once a week we would have Quaker meeting. We would sit still for half an hour to an hour and we would reflect. When I was younger I think it meant less to me, but as I grew older, I learned to appreciate the silence and most importantly being in such a large group and being silent. I wish I could go to a Quaker meeting right now to reflect. Not just about Boston, but about Afghanistan and Iraq and Iran where there was a huge earthquake this week. The world is seeming overwhelmingly filled with violence and suffering right now. Peaceful silence with others would help to give me clarity, even if its only for half an hour.

  8. Margaret@KitchenFrau

    Thank you for your post Shauna, both the joyful parts and the sad parts. You make me think again to appreciate what I have and help put everything into perspective. Sorry you have to deal with all the hassle and loss related to having your car stolen. But thank you for the light.

  9. Sharon Ohmberger

    Still enjoying your blog through all its changes — food, light, the natural world, people are all things we enjoy here, too. This is a beautiful piece filled with hope. Good on you for giving this to the world. Best wishes to you and your family.

  10. Cynthia Ann

    I’m glad you hit publish — it’s a hard decision sometimes when we put so much of our personal inner thoughts out there. We could compare forever, but thieving and stealing is heartbreaking. There is so much more involved when personal treasures are taken from us. I’m so sorry for your “incident” — such a mild term for what happened.
    But, for me I’m glad you published for a variety of personal reasons — the main one is not feeling alone through loss when many in the rest of the world are suffering much more. We tend to minimize loss of ‘things’ — and try to keep it all in perspective, but in your world, right now it’s a loss worth a bit of grieving. I’ve lost a lot in the last few years, and then a diagnosis of RA. It’s been a challenge, but doable. Reading between the lines I see a lot of bravery in your actions. And that deserves credit too.
    I came across your site purely by happenstance. I knit and was looking for a sweater cardigan to make for my husband, in my search I came across The Knitting Pen blog and she had you listed — and as gluten free is a new part of my diet I found you.
    I have to say, a sense of calm and peace enveloped me as I read, despite, but perhaps because of your sharing of your mixed feelings about home (have been there) and loss, and Point Reyes too — I vacationed there with my sons and husband many years ago from here in Arizona — and they were saying, “Point where?“
    I apologize for the length here — seems you opened some doors for all of us.

  11. Katy @ Katy's Kitchen

    Wow, what a great way for Lu to learn a valuable lesson about life. Its amazing that you can keep a positive attitude after something so disappointing, I’m sure she will take that to heart. A beautiful post as always.

  12. Brittany

    I would have loved to run into your lovely family on your trip through the bay area; I read this post with mounting “i missed out!” feelings, and then of course, YOUR CAR. So sorry that happened to you. I’ve been reading your blog for some time now, back to a year or so ago when my boyfriend started talking guten intolerance (allergies to wheat, and EGGS! woe!). Truly though, I read for many reasons other than gluten issues. I read for the joy that shines through your words, and the stories of love, and the stories of your family. I read because it warms my heart. And sure, I also hope to see a sweet potato tater tot recipe some day ;)

  13. melissa

    This post overwhelms me. Thank you for putting some difficult things into words. I’m sorry about the hassle with your car. And I think the picture of Lucy on the bridge is just about the best thing I’ve seen all week, in ways I really can’t describe.

  14. Renee Dawson

    I’m new to your site and want to thank you for your writing and receipes! If you take another road trip south. I live near Ashland Oregon. You are welcome to stay at my place here instead of a motel! No car theives and a dog that loves kids! Please take it seriously, anytime„ it would be fun,and for me, a gift. Enjoy the day and thanks.

  15. Lynn

    Thank you for the wonderful reminder of a life well-lived! Even though we’ve not met you and yours are dear friends.

  16. heather

    Shauna, I have been reading this blog for ages although I do not follow a gluten-free lifestyle. Your writing always inspires me as does your love of food. You have this way of putting things into perspective. This post is one of your best: a poignant stop and smell the roses message despite the inconveniences that have thrown themselves into your path. It has been a tough week — mentally exhausting & challenging for those of us looking in as we grieve for those we never knew and as we try to understand things that seem so senseless. Such a disappointment about your car but you’re right — it’s just a thing. Each of us needs to heal ourselves in order to be the best we can be for those around us and to help others.

    Thank you for such an enjoyable read today.

  17. Elizabeth

    My car and all my belongs were stolen once, too. I did not react nearly as graciously as you. You are amazing — I’m soaking up your ambience from afar.

  18. Milon

    This is so beautiful, Shauna. Thank you for sharing it and for the reminder of all that is beautiful in our world, despite it all.

  19. Rachel

    I’ve lived in Seattle, I’ve lived on an Island (Guemes Island north of Anacortes), I was just in San Francisco, our car got stolen last year, I went to college in Eugene, my husband and my son are gluten-free… so many similarities, but we are all so different. If we only allowed the “worst-case-scenario” people to feel and experience loss, it would be asking us not to feel and not to experience pain. THAT wouldn’t be fair. There is always something/someone who is suffering more than I am, but I need to feel how I feel to work through it to the other side — to the sunshine, to be able to say, “Look! There is sunshine after rain!” Today I am grateful for a husband who returned after two weeks away working, a son who brushed my hair while I tried not to fall asleep, a daughter who brought three crazy teenage friends over, and a big bowl of homemade fried rice for dinner. Many blessings through your hardship.

  20. Amanda

    My friends and I joke about having “first world problems” all the time. True, having a broken cell phone or not being able to go out drinking because you need to pay rent or even having your car stolen (in your case) is not as tragic as what’s going on everywhere else. But, it’s a real problem for the person experiencing it, and thus should not be discounted as less real than the suffering of those in war zones or poverty stricken countries. Perhaps less immediate and smaller in scope, but no less real.
    Kudos in handling a very stressful situation calmly. I’m sure that Lucy will be shaped by experiences like this, and hopefully she will be able to hold on to her adventurous spirit rather than feeling like the world needs to be a place full of worry. When you are that young, you absorb whatever you see from your parents, and from everything I read you and Danny seem like great parents. :-)

    PS — I preordered the new cookbook, and now I’m just bouncing around waiting to get it! Eek!

  21. Dana

    Shauna, this piece is you saving the world one beautiful and heartfelt phrase at a time. I am a writer too, and a mom, and I’ve been horrified about the news this week but unable to find solace even in my own words, so thank you for sharing the light and blue sky and even the darkness of your family trip. The fact that you could quiet the screaming and tell your daughter to send out love to the thief who stole your car is so moving and inspiring. I hope to have half of that grace when the occasion inevitably arises. I love your blog and am grateful for the window you so generously offer into your family and your life.
    –Dana

  22. Maureen

    Oh dear, so sorry to hear about your car! How stressful. Take comfort in the fact that you were so extremely thoughtful and graceful in your response. I’m pretty sure my response would have just been an unfettered stream of expletives, lasting the entire trip home. (So it’s probably a good thing I don’t have a darling little one like you!) Anyway, beautiful essay, and again, sorry about your bad luck with the car. Hope you have some good luck soon to balance it out!

  23. Sally Chippendale

    Your posts always strike a chord with me. I used to look forward to the recipes but now its about your stories. After my husband and I put the kids to bed and we discussed the bombings and what feels like constant tragedy on the news these days he asked if I’d heard what the comedian Patton Oswalt had said “‘The good outnumber you, and we always will.” I have used this as a mantra I keep finding myself saying “the good will always outnumber the bad.” It is simple but keeps me from sinking and helps me to remain thankful in spite of all the darkness.

  24. marisa miller

    I hate the part about the car. All of it. But the beginning of the post when you talked about Mt.Tam made me smile since I splurged on a round of it yesterday for a stay-home date with my husband last night. Apparently it’s the love cheese!
    I hope it’s handled easily . When you tell the story in 20 years there will be five laughs and no tears. Life is like that light all the time. Sometimes it’s just easier to see the bright.

  25. hj

    Sometimes “small” feels more like invisible, inconsequential. But sometimes small means safety, warmth, and knowing those closest to you cherish you the way you cherish them. May you feel THAT kind of small, always.

  26. Sheila

    This post is the perfect answer to this past week. More people need to teach their children to have empathy and understanding for everyone, even people that do evil things. Hate and anger only send out ripples that injure even more people. Thank you for raising a child that has the tools to be resilient in the face of all the crap life can through at a person.

  27. Laura

    First of all I am sorry about your car and your computer. Your response to the theft is amazing, you are a better person than I.

    I live in Marin County, so I loved to read about your trip to Point Reyes, one of my favorite places, and Muir Woods. What a magical place.
    I am amazed at Lu, that she requested privacy to listen to the woods, pretty deep for her age.
    It is always great to read your pieces.
    Peace.

  28. Christine

    Your post was especially wonderful and thoughtful. Thanks for including the poem “The Peace of Wild Things.” It gave me pause to consider.

  29. Joy

    Shauna, I love this piece! It made me shed a tear or two, it made me want to read more, it also made me smile. It is balm for the weary and aching heart. It just about covers the gamut of experience and emotion in an ever-changing life, in an unpredictable world. You put it into perspective. What’s really great is that we can draw from our inner reserves and our light even after we first fall apart at the seams. It’s a choice-anger and fear or life. You transform this yucky experience into something graceful, loving, and joyful. That’s why I can relate to this, especially right now at this very moment when we know darn well there is suffering which we can’t imagine. I choose light too…I’m going to embrace this day ‚this life, these people like there is no tomorrow. Thank you for the inspiration!

  30. Carolyn

    What a gift you have for writing and expressing your thoughts and feelings about food and the world around us. Thank you so much for sharing the good and the bad — you are an inspiration !

  31. Donna Luke

    Shauna,thank you for the totally sweet comments about Zest Bakery! I am Patricks mom and just loved hearing Lu’s opinion of my son,of which I absolutely agree!

  32. Steve Atnip

    Didn’t have time to read all the comments. I hope someone recommended Bovine Bakery also in Pt Reyes AND Petaluma. Outrageous chocolate,chocolate,almond, sour cherry cookies. They always have a GF muffin also.

  33. Eva

    Dearest Shauna, as always, your words are a gift to each of us. Your perspective on the peaceful, the challenging, the simple joys–it is truly a treasure. I empathize with how you must be feeling: shock and sadness at having something you count on being stolen. Gratitude that it was only a possession. Overwhelming heaviness at the traumas happening around the world. Know, though, that your words and your vulnerability help us to stay grounded, healthy and present. This exercise of blogging your thoughts and feelings is a blessing to us.

  34. anne

    Thank you Shauna — so honest, real & to the point. Thank you for being who you are & putting that out into the world. Honesty & vulnerability are rare qualities — ones that the world needs much more of.
    Bless you for being able to find beauty & blessings in small things & large, supposedly good & bad.
    Much love to you & yours — as we all need always.

  35. Lisa

    I’ve been watching a goose protect her nest in a flood. What if the birds gave up? It is good that they do not despair as we do. Thanks for this post.

  36. John

    We’re so glad we got to see you guys! So sorry about the car. Still can’t believe they got the sauce! :) Keep on doing what you’re doing! XO