Gluten-Free Chocolate Cupcakes

Cupcakes for the In Crowd…

Gluten-free cupcakes are hot. Or should I say, HAWT. Tack on vegan status, too, and you’ve got a trend worthy of the most BoHo WeHo GoGo. So I’m reprising this chocolate cupcake recipe to tempt you into baking this week. These little beauties remind me of Devil’s Food Cake. Dark, moist and chocolatey.

So grab your inner Domestic Goddess by the hand and stir up some trouble.

But before we get to (what happens to be my favorite) chocolate cupcake recipe from the archives, I want to share something. Maybe it’s the new moon just around the corner in early June, that cyclic siren pulling us toward wholeness, to embracing our shadow, urging us to let go, shed the outworn for the sake of authenticity. Or maybe it’s the fresh start of a new summer season, possessing me with cravings for leafy walks and the scent of lavender with its clean as a cloud fragrance, conjuring flashes of new beginnings.

Whatever it is, I surrender to it.

I came across these Polaroids during our recent move to Texas.

I won’t tell you how many years have passed since these images were taken. How many moons have waxed and waned. Let’s just say my sons and I are warm weather babies, born into sunlit heat and generous greenery, the open window sounds of summer, our lullabies.

Looking back across the seasons feels dreamlike. I float through it. And all too soon realize I cannot grasp anything. I cannot hold on to the past. My hands are empty. And that’s okay. Though a secret piece of me sometimes aches for that once clear definition my mothering role carved out for me. My days are fluid now. And soft. And I’ve been thinking.

After a certain age you get, well. Tired.

Tired of squeezing your self into one-size-fits-normal. Tired of accommodating expectations. Weary of scanning your body through a Madison Avenue filter. Exhausted pretending you even care about Top 40 pop, manicures, or fashion trends (it’s obvious, you don’t). I am increasingly irritated by this ancient automatic reflex to fit in, find the perfect hair color, be nice. That nice woman. The one the neighbors like.
It sneaks in slowly on tiny paws, this anarchy.

This wildness.

It starts in dreams and keeps you awake at night with its low throated hum. You can feel it growing, toothy and buzzing inside you, like some fractal shattering cracked spiral candy. Like flinging honey and bee stings into thunder. Inescapable. A rush. A roaring undertow- this need for life. A life lived true.

Karina
xox

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