galpalactic:

me: *googles how to mash potatoes*

some food blogger: My childhood home was full of wind and light. On a brisk Autumn evening, it often felt as if the outside was in. My younger sister, my mother, our favourite cousin, our dog, our other dog, our dog’s sister, and I would sit on the floor in the living room for hours, lit only by the moon and candlelight

me: *scrolls for several minutes*

some food blogger: It was at that moment, with my tiny hands clasped tightly around a mason jar filled with fireflies, that I realised the true value of family. My dog and my dog’s sister came and sat quietly at my feet. We stared up at the sky together, and I felt truly connected to both the Earth at my feet and the ancestors who shared the blood that ran through them, for the first time realising that

me: *scrolls for several minutes*

some food blogger: and when we finally made it home, our cheeks flushed with laughter and cold, there were warm mashed potatoes waiting for us. I will always remember their fluffiness, perfectly mirroring the light feeling I carried with me for the entire next week. This is my favourite cousin’s recipe from that very day, modified slightly to not be fucking awful. Boil an potato and smush it up with fork and botter. NOT A RAW, Salt, pepepr. In it