“Hot cross buns!  Hot cross buns!
One a penny, two a penny,
Hot cross buns!”

Where did that come from?? I am sure if I Googled it would tell me asap. But for this  compulsive overeater it comes from a past where a child  in school learned the little rhyme/song in music class repeatedly until it stuck like glue, especially the chorus!  But wait, there’s more.

I do have a memory like an elephant; one that never forgets. With the many files I hold in my memory bank from over my 58 years, my hard drive is packed, though at times my RAM is a little slow to move those files around but boys oh boys when they are found it’s like total recall.  Especially parts of those memories I held dear.

I can remember filing into music class in the cool cement basement of the Victoria Street School. The hard beige chairs lined row upon row,  and when they moved, they would make music of their own! There sat Mrs. Dill, playing the sweet notes at the piano while we held our hard covered music books and sang out the lyrics. ♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩ That repetition burned that song into my memory to be evoked in many ways. In simply seeing a picture or smell, I start singing that song.♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩

Fast forward a few years; 1992.

I can remember the Easter my Dad passed away. While in a haze of grief and total dysfunction, unable to concentrate on simple tasks, many relatives, coworkers & friends graciously dropped off food to help us during our mourning. The food that people brought during that time was limitless. A practice many used to do when a loved one passed on. Hot cross buns were plentiful during that time… ♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩ 

I then remembered my years baking

The brunches we had every Sunday when working at Keddy’s Motor Inn became my easel. I created piece after piece mastering my craft. For each special occasion, I would make all holiday favorites. Baking for brunches I was able to try different recipes for the guests. I remember getting the recipe from my Mother-in-Law. This so reminded me how my gift was practiced through trial and error and with much patience I was able to learn.  What an awesome job to have been blessed with, that gave me the freedom to bake what I wanted. I loved when I seen people coming back week after week to see what was being served. At Easter time, you guessed it;  ♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩ 

Last night…

In having an order for hot cross buns later in the week, and not having made them in a while, I asked Mom if she could test the recipe results for me, of which she gratefully accepted.

I knew I needed another to test them for me and I knew Matt in being very particular in his tastes, I knew they would never make it past his lips to try them.

Since not eating bread the past 23 months, I knew they would not pass mine either. “Not my Food! They are poison to me!”.

So last night, I mixed a batch up.
While mixing, panning and baking them, I was evoked with many memories and emotions.

While mixing the dough, I remembered watching my Mother and Grandmother bake. When  touching the dough and the soft sensation of mixing then forming the rolls, I was reminded how my grandmother used to give me a pieces of dough to form. I smiled. Every time I make bread or pan dough, this feeling comes over me. A feeling of love and gratefulness for the gift shown to me through them. A time when I feel very connected to the love shown to me. This gift is one I had made a living with and learned so much. I was able to perfect my skill to be the best I could be. I am in no way perfect but being the best I can be is a continual progression.

At one point in my life,  none of what I did felt good enough. I was into comparing far to much which always ended me up on the wrong end. Those “gold stars” from an old memory from grade two, cemented how I’d never measure up. Amazing how old ideas can get warped and misconstrued to the point of affecting our lives.

When I began to smell the hot cross buns baking and when bagging them up, the smell evoked memories too. I remembered the smells from my childhood. I remembered a home where the smells of baked goods were present. A memory of happy times. A moment of peace in a chaotic life where the focus was different. It is no wonder I find baking for the most part, relaxing.

I then  remembered when I ate those hot cross buns…. and ate…and ate. Not to mention the butter lathered onto them… or was that a roll on my butter?  For a split second in remembering that memory as I smelled them, I remembered the taste. Immediately it evaporated to thoughts of how eating them as I had, and how I couldn’t stop. I remembered how my weight packed on. That fleeting memory of desire and taste vacated to a reality of how that my eating it nearly killed me. “Not my Food! They are poison to me!”. ♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩ 

Now how does the past of compulsive overeater have anything to do with hot cross buns?

You see, I AM a compulsive overeater. That is a fact. I believe I was born that way. I have an allergy of craving that when certain foods touch my lips, I am like a drug addict that must have more. That coupled with a compulsive mind, makes me an addict. I am NOT a normal eater nor ever will be. So many years in not knowing how to react to things around me and wanting to avoid my feelings and any pain I experience, I resorted to my feel good; food. That allergy kicked in and I was off to the races. There was nothing I could do to stop myself. NOTHING.  Even my ventures in restriction of diet land only lasted for short times and then once having one bite, thinking moderation was key… I could not do it. Once again I was into it. I was hopeless.   I was powerless. I was powerless over food. Powerless to stop eating hot cross buns.

As a compulsive overeater, I finally now am able to feel what I am feeling and let it pass. I dont need to wallow in those feelings, I can recognize what they are and let them pass on. Today I am grateful I have a program of recovery that shows me a way to live.  Freedom from that insanity of constantly thinking on my alcoholic foods; those hot cross buns. A way of living where I can feel those feelings and then let them pass. Today I can bake Hot Cross buns and they do not call to me. I can remember my past and be grateful for every single part of it and be OK.

♫♩  Hot cross buns, ♫♩  hot cross buns… ♫♩  One a penny two a penny…♫♩ Hot cross buns… ♫♩