For Jack it was the beanstalk. For Charlie it was the chocolate factory. And Alice slipped from her real life into Wonderland by slugging down a bottle of she-didn’t-even-know-what and chasing it with cake. I’ve been privy to a multitude of misery lately, not necessarily my own (although I have a few bits, because who doesn’t), but that of people I know and love. Fanning out across the continent like a giant arch of ugly, this anguish is not mine yet reaches tentacles across the miles to squeeze me breathless, and there’s nothing I can do but try to get out of my own exploding head. Every drop of sad feels stolen from them, mindful that my own trickle of need should not engulf their ocean. After cycling and running and walking until my legs insisted I find another way, I turned to food – making food – crafting a few delicious and soothing morsels. A béchamel therapy stirred and stirred in mesmerizing slowness that became a pan full of whole wheat tetrazzini comfort. Baked cream cheese stuffed jalapenos to be eaten during a nice long douse of another drug – football. It seems ridiculous, but it’s all I can do, except to say I’m thinking of you. All of you.