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W

ith all due respect to art therapy drama therapy hydrotherapy and play therapy I’d like to add my original brand of therapy to the list: kitchen therapy.

This declaration is based on personal experience. One day I was feeling down restless and in a general mode of grumpiness for no good reason. Well “Stop being a grump!” protests were certainly no help but my rumbling stomach was. I needed to eat something and fast if I didn’t want to get even grumpier but the refrigerator wasn’t inspiring that day. A half of a tomato or unflavored yogurt didn’t appeal to me. I tried the cabinets which were begging for a refill. Five cornflakes and the crumbs in the bag sans milk didn’t make the grade and neither did the whole wheat crackers.

I spotted raw oats and then my eyes instinctively locked with the cinnamon. Nostalgia tickled my brain as memories of studying around a plate of oatmeal cinnamon cookies assaulted me. Suddenly my hands were doing their own thing and I was pulling down the oats and cinnamon from the shelf. I checked the fridge and luckily it didn’t disappoint this time. There was some whole wheat flour and a few eggs.

I began measuring pouring and cracking eggs and ten minutes later the oven was emitting mouthwatering aromas. Just for fun I left the house walked a bit down the block and then walked back in to enjoy the delicious smells that somehow hit hardest when you first walk in. What a satisfying trip! The house smelled like nature cinnamon and all good things.