Kim Lowry is a writer, and an actor (actress–ah gender). Hasn’t gotten money through these passions/missions, her love or talent, and she questions the purpose and reality of that tremendous economic cog. The existence of moolah is a fine question when the illusion of that widespread designation of bargain binders is always lurking about; matter of fact or fool’s paradise? No answer. I digress. For the dollar bills she works as a savory cook, and a baker, for two small restaurants. She may be labeled a chef, as she is chief of what she creates and how it is carried out. But the word chef carries a hierarchical burden, so though it is sometimes a good fist to throw, a kind open hand is preferable. She cooks for money but loves what she may create. Her foods appear on a special stage. Acting and writing tread different settings; a theatre and a graduate degree, and with their tools she gets to illustrate and figure out, explain, then revise, her purpose of living. Good day, or eve, to anyone who chooses to read what I write. (oh, from the third person to the first person, tsk tsk tsk, Ha!)
maybestage 
Oh Kim, tell me a story please so I can relax then maybe fall asleep enfolded by lichen and stone and wind in the trees, a story about the woman on the bridge: with whom did she just have coffee, what is her favorite jam, will she ever resolve that deep regret; a story about the bridge and the masons who built it, about the stream under the bridge, where it starts, what and who–gazing, washing, lurking–it passes, and how it all ends.
The table is a stage, indeed. I have always enjoyed cooking (though I am no chef), more so the less creative the work became. Food, like theatre, is an experience for all the senses, and I have savored wandering in it’s possibilities.