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Untamed: Stop Pleasing, Start Living / Where the Crawdads Sing / Reasons to Stay Alive

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Glennon Doyle

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“It did not fear any god the people constructed from marble and stone. It thrived on demoralizing the frightened prayers of the weak that clung to sanctuary walls. Its intoxication found in the terror, the superstition, and worship that fed its merciless existence. The night sky provided the nocturnal shelter where it walked freely. The festivals of the changing seasons, reminding the mere mortals their time upon its fields were short. Brief in comparison to the thousands of years that it casually passed. It ruled the Earth, long before the human animals learned to conquer shelter and formulate abstract thoughts. In the cave paintings of the most primitive, they feared to paint its imagery on stone.”

HatredPossessionGhostsDemonsSuperstitionFairiesElvesMisanthropyMisanthropic
Book:Storms In the Distant North
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“Lottie's cake is last. This one is layered three deep, impressive for a moist, snacking-style cake, which normally couldn't be stacked. The bottom layers are bound together by a thick cream cheese icing, while the top is coated with a thick streusel crumble held in place by a circle of decorative piping. "It's a layered blueberry buckle," Lottie says, looking at Betsy hopefully. "Now that is another unconventional choice from you," Betsy says, eyeing the streusel topping, an odd choice for a layer cake. A buckle is a humble sort of cake--- old-fashioned in its simplicity--- that she hasn't seen around in years. Nowadays most prefer a thick layer of icing, buttercream they can decorate, or the scraped edge of a naked cake. Something meant to impress on a table or in a photograph rather than just be eaten at a family dinner or on a picnic. Secretly it's kind of a relief to see such a normal person's cake given its due. "The decoration is lacking," Betsy tells her flatly, though the completely bare sides show an even sprinkling of blueberries, which is impressive. It can be difficult to keep berries from falling to the bottom of a cake, but these are evenly distributed throughout. The knife glides into the cake, which has a springy sort of give to it. She cleaves a slice away, leaving a small avalanche of streusel crumbs in its wake. The cake inside is plump and golden, studded with juicy blueberries. Betsy can tell before she even takes a bite that it has been cooked to perfection. The flavors hit her tongue and bring on a wave of nostalgia so strong that she has to steady herself against the table. It is heavenly, the sweet and sour of the blueberries wrapped in the soft vanilla-y cake. She is instantly transported back in time, back to her childhood. It is unquestionably the best cake of the bunch, simple and satisfying, the kind that if you were to bake it at home would leave you wanting more, taking secret trips to the kitchen to cut another slice.”

CakeDessertBlueberriesHumble PieBuckle
Book:The Golden Spoon
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