Category Archives: Day To Day

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The Holidays-A Survival Guide

This year I did not struggle to provide for xmas. I saved all year, as I have in the past, and had a reserve of cash just for this. We made gifts for teachers. I made a decision about charity vs. products for adults in the family. I had enough money to get a few great things for my kids and loved ones. We have enough.  We are fed. We have a lovely home. We are free from concerns about meeting our most basic needs.

But it’s still the holidays, a hard time for many folks. I was a single mom for a while before I met my ex, and Christmas was rough some years. I’m going to leave out commentary here on what holidays are like when you’re in a loveless marriage. Enough of us have been there. If that’s you this year, please reach out. I have nothing but empathy for you.

This year, I kept my commitments low and my expectations right down there with them. Holidays have historically been catastrophically terrible for my mental health, and I am determined to put an end to that nonsense. So I did a few things to ensure my stability during  this weird and whacky time.

Here’s my list of kindness toward myself:

Relax about the house.

Really. It’ll be uncomfortable sometimes. It’s okay to be uncomfortable. Let it go once in a while, or for weeks, or until the last possible second.

Be okay throwing things out

When I found myself picking up a thing (especially an ornament or decoration) and wondering either 1) where does this go? I can’t figure out where this should go or 1) why do I have this? It’s ugly.- I gave myself permission to throw it out.

Turn down invitations

No, I don’t want to go to your holiday open house. No, I’m not going to make it to brunch. No, I don’t want company. Why? Because Netflix is why. This is not unique to the holiday season but at this time of the year it’s crucial that I stand firm in my position that there’s not one damn thing wrong with sitting on the couch in my pajamas when I could be doing x or x or y or bonding with my friends.

Stay the course when it comes to the budget

I like to say I’m anti consumer but the fact is that I love the holidays and the shopping that goes with it. I ADORE giving presents. I love that the holidays gives me an excuse to give people things I want them to have. I struggle with this contradiction in myself. I like to save a little all year and use only cash to get gifts. At the last minute, I tend to get to selling off a few of my things to make extra cash for the extra shopping that I am prone to do. But one thing I do not ever want to do again is use credit to finance Christmas gifts. I love that credit exists and I know plenty of people use it, use it well, and are happy with how it works. But it feels like a looming monster over my shoulder. This year, I’m working two jobs to pay off a debt I incurred when my mother died in New Mexico, and I gave myself the freedom of locking up all my credit cards. I’ve paid for each gift with the cash reserve I saved. I am struggling now that it’s close to christmas and there are SO. MANY. AWESOME. THINGS. I want to buy for people. But my best gift to my loved ones is my sanity, and my sanity depends in part on not feeling the crush of holiday debt.

Keep expectations low when it comes to kid bonding

Sure, kids love rituals. But kids also have a short attention span. What they remember isn’t the actual playing out of the ritual (which in our case often involves children wandering in and out of the room where the Special Movie is playing, leaving their homemade hot chocolate to cool untouched, listlessly hanging two ornaments on the tree, and then bolting for the yard because hello, it’s so nice outside)- kids remember that you made the effort.  Kids are weird. They do have expectations, and they do want things to be “just like last year” but when they’re 20, they just remember that you showed up. Which brings me to:

Just show up.

Just go. To work. To the kitchen. To the restaurant with the kids. To the couch with a cup of coffee. Just show up, and let the universe take care of the rest. What people remember is that you were there. What matters is that you showed up. Take a nap after. Drink some wine during. Just show up, and keep showing up, and pretty soon it’ll be January.

I’m going to make it. I’m not where I would like to be, emotionally, at the holidays. Not yet. But I am stronger than I was last year and I am a completely different person than I was the year before that.

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Now Playing

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release me,

knot by intricate knot

each click of each lock

a step toward liberty.

release me, 

that I might expand to fill

this universe of you.

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Kitchen Zen

Ed note, 9/2014: So, I was perusing my google drive today and came across this piece. Searching the blog, it appears that I’ve never posted it. Perhaps it was deleted in the mass-deletion event of 2013. I’m going to repost it here because I remember so well this day, how it felt to be in it. I am so looking forward to crisp fall weather and baking meditation.

Ed Note, 10/2013: As I was writing this piece, my daughter knocked on the door. She walked in, sniffed the air and said “something smells amazing-banana bread?” (it was two loaves of banana pumpkin.) Then she said “I bake all the time now! I don’t know why!”  I showed her this piece, and said “this is why.”


It’s the mindfully simple act of cooking that saves me from slipping into the abyss of seasonally triggered depression in the fall, I think. Finally I can throw-ok, wrestle-the windows open some days, rainforest-like mornings of Whippoorwills and train track repairs I hear off in the distance.

After the furious routine of our pre-dawn school frenzy, I stand in the kitchen bleary eyed, performing tasks by muscle memory: a zombie brought back to humanity by pumpkin spice syrup and caffeine. This is act is the opposite of mindful. This act is pure mindlessness, and sometimes I meditate on that fact alone. What is this mind body disconnect, which allows me to grind beans, measure grounds, boil water, remove a cup from the shelf, prepare the press, pour boiling water into a tube, perform the vacuum extraction in order to get coffee, flavor/sweeten coffee, milk the coffee, and clean up- all while planning the day’s kitchen tasks in the forefront of my mind?

It is this sort of half living/double living that I am working to avoid by practicing working meditation in my kitchen, yet a small, rebellious voice in my head sips my perfect cup of coffee and says “fudge that crap. CLEARLY all that advice was aimed at people who are crapty multi-taskers.”

In zen, part of the practice is working meditation. On the perfect days, I consider this work in the kitchen mine, often working in complete silence, arranging my bowls restaurant line-style  so as to work multiple projects at once.

I love my dishes so much, am so connected to this process, that practicing mindful cooking meditation is very difficult for a busy brain like mine. Each recipe contains a wealth of stories, each dish springs to life as my hand touches the surface. My things don’t match; we never registered for dishes, so everything I touch reminds me of someone. Even as I type I’m thinking Oh Kaile, I ate last night from that green flowered plate you gave me! My prep bowls, nothing special, remind me of my best friend because she’s right, you can’t find any thing better for small measures and eggs. I’ve long since lost the covers.

Now sometimes you won’t need this much orange juice in the bread, Mary Jane Cushman’s voice echoes inside my head as I mix ingredients for cranberry loaves for the freezer. Because the humidity sometimes makes this bread over moist. My eyes wander toward our bookshelf, scan the spines for the children’s book where the recipe lives. I wonder if my daughter can read us this book tonight.

Wait. Mindful. Back to my task.

Dabbing vanilla on my neck, I wish I had the page from that magazine where I learned to make apple pie from the essay that reminded me to always dab vanilla on my neck whenever I made one, just because it smells so good. It was the same torn out page I carried for years that reminds me, now, to put on my grandmother’s apron. Burying my hands in cut apples I’m back in a tiny trailer in North Carolina, alone and pregnant, clad in my grandmother’s apron, smelling sweetly of vanilla and cinnamon. Baking pies for my last Thanksgiving dinner as a single person, my last holiday as an unencumbered adult. By Christmas I would have a child.  Goddammit. By this Christmas, My child may have a child. Wait a minute Universe, can we chat a time out? She’s still just a baby, so.

It’s not working. I sift the apples through my fingers, I concentrate on the grit of brown sugar, try to BE the silt cinnamon and imagine that my daughter’s baby is born on its due date which is identical to the due date predicted for my daughter 18 years ago. As if on a separate track in my head I remind myself not to make out of town plans for Christmas even as I feel myself beginning to notice that the kitchen is 150 degrees and I have started breathing incredibly fast. Why are the fudgeING windows open when obviously the air conditioner needs to be on.

Maybe French onion soup. I hate onions; the mess, the aroma, all that slicing and peeling.  I can lose myself in the task of caramelizing onions and the payoff is arguably worth every cursed second. But a  burnt onion does not forgive you, and neither does a Christmas dinner table full of hungry family that’s been promised World Famous French Onion Soup.

The onions act almost as well as a tranquilizer for me. Here we go: sliced fall onions into my thrift store cast iron dutch oven to roast into a pitiful show of my labor, but sweet, so sweet. Back into a pan on the stove with red wine to reduce; I want them sweeter. This is where  sometimes the onions and their company calm me down even more, if you know what I mean.

In the meantime, I’m using every excuse to fire up my workhorse of a blender. My vita mix emulsifies spices and vegan beef flavored broth base with boiling water. I get lost in the pulse function. Back and forth between my reduction pan and the blender I go and by now, January is a million miles away because I’m sneaking spoonfuls of onions and sips of wine.

One day, will she call me for these recipes, like I did with my mother when I was ready to call a truce?

I did it again. fudge.

I get out the flour and consider making several loaves of bread.

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