Searching for something ...
I was 14 years old, home alone, and bored.
Pacing from my bedroom to the living room to the kitchen and back again, I opened and closed the kitchen cabinets, over and over, and over again.
I was searching for something. Something to eat? Something to do?
I didn't even know.
Round and round I went, until I found what I didn't know I was looking for: a tub of Quaker Oats oatmeal.
My mother was an occasional baker and her go-to cookie was the oatmeal raisin. I'd seen her make them, helped her make them, and I knew where to find the recipe: it's printed on the underside of the lid of every tub of oatmeal.
I would make cookies.
Sweet relief.
I gathered the ingredients, followed the instructions, and waited for the first batch to bake through—about twelve minutes.
To my surprise, baking the cookies lifted my spirits, erased the boredom, and filled the better part of my afternoon with something to do. When my mom and brothers and sisters came home we ate cookies together. And they were good. Really good. Just as good as Mom's.
And I was hooked.
Life changing.
I went from being bored (and to be honest, a little lonely), to feeling better, productive, interested, and happy.
It was the gathering of ingredients, measuring, and mixing that shifted things. I was focused on baking, no longer distracted by my boredom.
Dollops of dough and a baker's dozen. I was hooked.
Baking cookies helped me understand that it's the doing that makes the difference. That hobbies offer not only distraction, but reward, too. Maybe not always with baked goods or a finished product, but a shift ... in mood, progress, outlook, or skill.
The cookies became the start of a life-long pursuit of hobbies, passions, and pastimes. Of baking and hiking, sewing and stitching. Writing letters, cooking, and camping. Some experiences long-lasting efforts, others one-and-done.
I sometimes think my hobby is finding new hobbies.
And why not?
Writing letters helped me discover a love of writing.
I can stitch a popped button back on a shirt, and skate backwards on a frozen pond, and whip up a batch of bread and butter pickles.
And I can bake.
I make a pretty good apple pie, a decent Irish soda bread, and yes, a darn good oatmeal raisin cookie.
I made some this morning. Here's the recipe.
Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
(Adapted from the Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Cookies recipe. I don't add the cinnamon.)
Ingredients
Heat oven to 350°F. In a large bowl, beat butter and sugars on medium speed of electric mixer (or by hand) until creamy. Add eggs and vanilla; beat well.
In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and salt; add to butter and sugar mixture.
Add oats and raisins; mix well.
Drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown. Cool slightly on cookie sheet, remove to wire rack. Cool completely. Enjoy!
If there are any left over, store tightly covered.
I was 14 years old, home alone, and bored.
Pacing from my bedroom to the living room to the kitchen and back again, I opened and closed the kitchen cabinets, over and over, and over again.
I was searching for something. Something to eat? Something to do?
I didn't even know.
Round and round I went, until I found what I didn't know I was looking for: a tub of Quaker Oats oatmeal.
My mother was an occasional baker and her go-to cookie was the oatmeal raisin. I'd seen her make them, helped her make them, and I knew where to find the recipe: it's printed on the underside of the lid of every tub of oatmeal.
I would make cookies.
Sweet relief.
I gathered the ingredients, followed the instructions, and waited for the first batch to bake through—about twelve minutes.
To my surprise, baking the cookies lifted my spirits, erased the boredom, and filled the better part of my afternoon with something to do. When my mom and brothers and sisters came home we ate cookies together. And they were good. Really good. Just as good as Mom's.
And I was hooked.
Life changing.
I went from being bored (and to be honest, a little lonely), to feeling better, productive, interested, and happy.
It was the gathering of ingredients, measuring, and mixing that shifted things. I was focused on baking, no longer distracted by my boredom.
Dollops of dough and a baker's dozen. I was hooked.
Baking cookies helped me understand that it's the doing that makes the difference. That hobbies offer not only distraction, but reward, too. Maybe not always with baked goods or a finished product, but a shift ... in mood, progress, outlook, or skill.
The cookies became the start of a life-long pursuit of hobbies, passions, and pastimes. Of baking and hiking, sewing and stitching. Writing letters, cooking, and camping. Some experiences long-lasting efforts, others one-and-done.
I sometimes think my hobby is finding new hobbies.
And why not?
Writing letters helped me discover a love of writing.
I can stitch a popped button back on a shirt, and skate backwards on a frozen pond, and whip up a batch of bread and butter pickles.
And I can bake.
I make a pretty good apple pie, a decent Irish soda bread, and yes, a darn good oatmeal raisin cookie.
I made some this morning. Here's the recipe.
Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
(Adapted from the Quaker Oats Vanishing Oatmeal Cookies recipe. I don't add the cinnamon.)
Ingredients
- 1/2 cup (1 stick), plus 6 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
- 3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
- 1/2 cup granulated sugar
- 2 eggs
- 1 Teaspoon vanilla
- 1-1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt (optional)
- 3 cups oatmeal, uncooked (preferably not the quick cook)
- 1 cup raisins
Heat oven to 350°F. In a large bowl, beat butter and sugars on medium speed of electric mixer (or by hand) until creamy. Add eggs and vanilla; beat well.
In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and salt; add to butter and sugar mixture.
Add oats and raisins; mix well.
Drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown. Cool slightly on cookie sheet, remove to wire rack. Cool completely. Enjoy!
If there are any left over, store tightly covered.