Pancakes–My Surprise Practice

I’ve been making pancakes. Every day. Nearly every day.

I went to a support group yesterday for cancer patient caregivers. The facilitator asked us what we do to take care of ourselves in the midst of all the caregiving, and I was happy to gloat about the fact that I am training for a triathlon (despite the fact that I don’t have one picked out yet–so far, I’m just doing the training). And while this is true, another answer, which would have been equally true (and much more humble), is that I make pancakes.

I make lemon zest pancakes, chia seed pancakes, cranberry pancakes, sweet potato pancakes, pancakes with different shapes, big fluffy pancakes, thin-battered crepe-like pancakes… I’ve become a pancakaholic.

But its okay. With all the challenges that the Universe has been handing me in the last few months, cooking and baking–specifically, pancaking–have become a life raft for me.

Its something magnificently mundane for me to focus on. Its an activity that I can do with my full capacity of mindfulness. It engulfs me and for the short period of time in which I find myself with the simplicities of measuring, mixing, adding small creativities, ladling into the frying pan, and waiting for the perfect time to flip,

my mind is not befuddled with anything else.

I just… make. And consider only the pancakes that are before me.


(And then I smother them in apple sauce and eat them up.)

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