I grew up on a healthy diet of fantasy. As is fairly normal in childhood. From Disney movies to books with children going on adventures, to the stories that played in my mind. In my family, reading, and artistic endeavors, and imagination were encouraged. I took drawing lessons where I learned how to see objects for what they were and make them come alive in a different world, one of graphite and charcoal.
I cannot say for sure when I first tried cooking on my own. I grew up helping my mom in the kitchen. In a family of nine, peeling potatoes and watching the pot of soup was a part of the deal for us kids. I honestly do not know how people function without knowing how to cook for themselves. To me, it was as natural a part of growing up as learning how to drive or wash my own clothes.
Stories have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Memories of my mom reading to me are some of my most cherished. Being swept away to adventures that took form in my mind was, and is, my favorite form of magic. At five years old I came to the moment that is burned into my mind. Finally, I was to learn how to translate the black and white symbols into words. Slowly those symbols began to make sense, until I could read the stories I so loved.
My favorite coffee shop is moving. The moment I heard, my heart sunk. A part of the city I have come to call home will be changing. In the weeks that followed the news I asked myself why I, why any of us, become so attached to places. When it moves locations, it will have the same owner, probably the same baristas, and yet, a part of it will be gone.