One year. Twelve months, Fifty-two weeks, 365 days, 8,760 hours, give or take the few that need to be classified as “lost”...

It feels like I just started this little adventure and it’s been a thousand years all at the same time.

This Sunday, soupapolooza! is one. And like any proud mother whose offspring is reaching a milestone, I can’t help but think about how this thing I imagined is nothing like I imagined; that it has its own ideas independent of my expectations and I am powerless to do anything about it. That everything and nothing have happened all at the same time-- and that I’ve been living my life in the moments in between.

I didn’t know what would happen when I started cooking. I hoped I would learn how to dice and that I would understand a little more about what makes good, healthy food (I have). I hoped that other people might the enjoy stuff I created and join me for a few hours a week (they did). And I hoped I wouldn’t poison them (I haven’t). 

Here’s what I didn’t plan for in this year since I started making soup: