Gluten-Free Butternut Pecan Scones

Get sconed, Babycakes, with these fab gluten-free scones.

Let's get sconed. Butternut squash style. But let me warn you. I'm having an existential week. The kind of week where gushing about a gluten-free scone recipe just seems kind of silly. The kind of week where irony reigns supreme on her cold and shiny throne.

Yeah, I know. I could shrug it off and stuff it out of sight and soldier on. I could kick it to the back of my closet, behind the pile of ratty sneakers. I could swallow the pill of denial like a good girl and use words like tender and buttery and melt in your mouth scone goodness.

Who would know the difference?

But this morning I'm just not interested.

Fresh from the oven: warm gluten-free scones.

Because it's not the whole of who I am. The whole truth, you see, is messy. It's complicated. And it doesn't always neatly dovetail into a post about butternut squash or gluten-free scones. What I'm feeling is raw. And no doubt undercooked.

And I'm not even sure I understand it.

If I could describe it, I would tell you it is the acrid sensation of slipping backwards in time. Losing ground you worked so hard to get to. To claim as your own. The fragile foothold that doesn't come easy to a questioning, hyper-vigilant child. That elusive, cultivated center of pure confidence.

The belief in I am here.

The right to take up floorspace and wall space.

The right to carve out time for artistic self expression.

To spend money on materials, make mistakes, explore, discover.

Play.

To start over doing something new and unfamiliar.

The right to disappoint someone else.

To confuse them.

To place someone else's needs aside- instead of in front of your own.

So I ask you other Good Girls.

Why is it so dang hard?


Read more + get the recipe >>

Get sconed, Babycakes, with these fab gluten-free scones.

Let's get sconed. Butternut squash style. But let me warn you. I'm having an existential week. The kind of week where gushing about a gluten-free scone recipe just seems kind of silly. The kind of week where irony reigns supreme on her cold and shiny throne.

Yeah, I know. I could shrug it off and stuff it out of sight and soldier on. I could kick it to the back of my closet, behind the pile of ratty sneakers. I could swallow the pill of denial like a good girl and use words like tender and buttery and melt in your mouth scone goodness.

Who would know the difference?

But this morning I'm just not interested.

Fresh from the oven: warm gluten-free scones.

Because it's not the whole of who I am. The whole truth, you see, is messy. It's complicated. And it doesn't always neatly dovetail into a post about butternut squash or gluten-free scones. What I'm feeling is raw. And no doubt undercooked.

And I'm not even sure I understand it.

If I could describe it, I would tell you it is the acrid sensation of slipping backwards in time. Losing ground you worked so hard to get to. To claim as your own. The fragile foothold that doesn't come easy to a questioning, hyper-vigilant child. That elusive, cultivated center of pure confidence.

The belief in I am here.

The right to take up floorspace and wall space.

The right to carve out time for artistic self expression.

To spend money on materials, make mistakes, explore, discover.

Play.

To start over doing something new and unfamiliar.

The right to disappoint someone else.

To confuse them.

To place someone else's needs aside- instead of in front of your own.

So I ask you other Good Girls.

Why is it so dang hard?


Read more + get the recipe >>