Yes, you may count me among the many bloggers renewing their commitment to posting with the turn of the calendar pages. Much as I try to avoid being like everyone else, sometimes I can’t avoid it.
The truth is, I have been blogging, I’ve just been doing it somewhere else as part of working with the amazing Jen Hofmann in her For Haven’s Sake program. I took the class twice, because it was just that good. Then I did her Inspired Organizing class, and I’m going to keep that blog going even now that the classes are over. I’m still pondering whether I want to bring any of those posts over here.
I sometimes think of this blog like a dear friend that I’ve neglected, and then it’s just so hard to come back, because what will I say after all this time that could possibly excuse such a long absence? I tend to personify inanimate things. Witness nicknames for the cell phones (Hathor and Freia), the spatulas (Junior and Flippy and Scarface) and the laptops (Scooter and Smasher) in our house.
But I’m going to reframe that notion of blog-as-friend. I would rather think of my blog as a cabin in the woods that I can visit whenever I want, and the cabin doesn’t feel neglected. It’s just waiting for me whenever I want to come back. It might take some time to wipe dust off the counters and restock the frig, but the cabin’s not going anywhere, it’s not resenting my absence, and it’s not suffering from neglect. It’s simply there, waiting. I like my reframe.
That said, what do I feel like doing now that I’m finally back visiting the cabin again? Making caramels. A friend’s experiments have been inspiring me for a while, and the gift of a sea salt sampler yesterday from Brian at Heather’s Heat and Flavor (thanks, Brian!) made me think the time might be right. I’m using Micheal Ruhlman’s Ratio guidelines and also making his chocolate ganache to go on top of the caramel. Chocolate, salt and caramel, that sounds good to me.
Today we’re also going to make my dad’s famous pork roast on a spit with garlic-beer baste. I’ve never made it myself before, so we’ll see if I can duplicate dad’s magic using the Farberware rotisserie that I scored at a local thrift store a few years back. As my father likes to say: no two foods mixed together make a poison, so I’m hoping for edible as a minimum standard for success.
With that, I’m off to my kitchen adventures. Thanks for stopping by my little cabin for a visit 
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Just to be super clear, dad only says the first part of that statement (no two foods mixed together make a poison). The second half of the sentence about aiming low is all me