I find myself in unfamiliar territory:

It’s the first weekend in a month that I’m not planting anything, not pulling anything out  nor (the firm favorite since we signed the offer to purchase on a new house) planning our vegetable garden . The kitchen counters aren’t covered with buckets of separating whey and curd, the cheese thermometer’s  quietly resting in it’s plastic holder, the food dehydrator isn’t buzzing and the vacuum sealing machine has been boxed away after the morning’s grocery shop. My hands don’t have the faint odor of sterilizer, aren’t sticky with castor sugar and the heavy-bottom pot isn’t sickly sweet with rapidly boiling jam or chutney or preserve. In fact, the house is earily peaceful. Read more »

Be warned: this is a post under the catagory of “On craziness”.

Ive been struggling with something for a little over 2 years now and it may seem strange to some. On the other hand, it may not to others and for those of you who have not been aware of it until now, I warn: stop reading!

The predicament is this (there’s one cliché to follow): “it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul”.

So why then do I find myself unable to talk or converse with someone comfortably while looking them in the eyes? I often don’t know where else to look. The conversation begins, I feel comfortable, but then after about 2 minutes begin to feel as though I’m boring a ten kilometer hole down the other person’s head! People begin shifting uncomfortably, find renewed interest in the paint on the walls or their cigarette. Am I alone in this?