Anticipating the new year

The usual platitudes about the new year are familiar to us all: exercise more, eat less. We tailor them to our own lives: Choose the bicycle over the car, get up before the dog. Empty the compost before it overflows into a second and third bowl. Do more yoga, meditate, plant a bigger garden. Write letters.

I don’t make promises. But I love a new beginning and the hope it implies. Like the smell of new pencils at the start of a school year, the raw weather of January inspires me to look at where I have been, and begin to shape where I am going in a more deliberate and intentional way.

At our house, when we celebrate the New Year, along with good friends and celebratory toasts, we take time for reflection. What difficulties do we want to let go from last year? What hopes do we hold out for the year to come? We write these challenges and dreams on small slips of paper and burn them, releasing them to the heavens the way we blow on fuzzy dandelion seeds in spring, making wishes.

And then we turn back to the everyday, having visited the possible.

Good news

This morning I read two good-news articles in the paper. In a row.

I consider that a banner day.

Maybe it had something to do with opening up the local Gazette, instead of the nationally-focused Washington Post.
It’s not that the Post is a bad paper. It’s just bad news. More than once, I’ve put my subscription on hold because I just couldn’t take the depressing headlines any more.

Yesterday was particularly upsetting: a photo of Afghanis mourning the people jumbled in piles at their feet, people killed and injured in the most recent violence there, their brightly-colored clothes mixed with blood in a vivid, confusing pastiche of loss. There was also a story about Prince George’s County Executive Jack Johnson’s prison sentence, handed down for fiction-worthy greed: he infamously advised his wife to flush a $100,000 check and hide another $79,000 in cash in her bra, to avoid being caught taking nearly $1 million in bribes. I guess that could be considered good news: he got his due. But the echo of sad behavior is inescapable.

Of course, I could dig and find better headlines: “Cookies,” for example, the annual holiday recipe with the oh-so-tempting photos on the cover of the Food section. And the previous day’s piece on Jane Goodall was inspiring: at age 77 she says, “There is so much I have to do!” Since I turn 50 this month, I find this particularly inspiring.

But today’s Gazette took the prize. “Happy to see Santa” headlines a photo of a beaming little girl in Santa’s embrace. “Curfew proposal ends up on the shelf,” describing the County Council’s decision to table a teen curfew that, I feel, was an overreaction to gang violence and a curb on personal freedom. Good decision! And my favorite: “Pay raises proposed for county teachers.” Finally, a bright spot in this dismal economy.

Am I wrong to ignore bad news? I rationalize that my worrying will hardly help fix the tragedies that occur half a world away; even my activism, if I choose to rise up and take action through advocacy for any of a million good causes, would barely make a dent. Some people are built for international action, for fighting the forces of evil; I applaud their efforts. As for me, I believe I’m more suited for tending the home fires, making my own life and the lives around me feel more secure and fulfilling. I’m better at highlighting the good, rather than condemning the bad. I hope that’s not a cop-out. But I know my limits.

Maybe I’ll become one of those quirky newspaper readers who wind up in literary fiction: people who read the New York Times with a red pen, to circle any errors they find, or people who compile scrapbooks of themed articles. I could cut out all the bad news from the newspapers and leave the Swiss cheese of good news lying about the house to lift our spirits.

In fact, we already do this: our “Image of the Week” is posted on the frig, a changing tableau of inspiration. This week, the comic strip character, “Lio,” is shown with her snowman built of autumn leaves, turning the impending dark season into light-hearted fun. That’s my kind of news.

Savoring the home kitchen, wherever you are

Sitting in a high-rise, 2:30 p.m., the usual afternoon office slump
Brightened considerably this day by the best snack:
Apple pie from home.
Crust by Tyler,
Filling by Clara.
And as I enjoy this treat, I remember Ty prefers to use butter instead of shortening (a more processed food, he likes to keep things simple); and I remember that he learned, as he made this crust, that it’s best not to handle the dough too much or it will get tough (unlike bread, whose mantra is the more handling/kneading the better). I remember wondering with Clara how long to cook the apples so they wouldn’t be too crunchy or too mushy, and whether the variety we used would give us the consistency we wanted.
All in all, this pie strikes a good balance.
Even better, it brings me back to my kitchen, and my kids, in the middle of the work day.

This particular pie was a holiday pie, baked for the post-Thanksgiving gathering of friends we hosted last Friday. We don’t need a holiday to enjoy cooking together, of course, but we do tend to gather in the kitchen this time of year. There, working together, food becomes not just something tasty, but something that binds us together.

This year, the Thanksgiving Day feast at the Grandad’s house included a trifecta of pies—Katherine’s apple tart (beautifully layered, sophisticated, refined and oh, so flavorful, just bursting with tart appleness); Doug’s pecan (a southern classic from a southern boy, all gooey corn syrup and nuts); and my pumpkin (the usual pumpkin-y sweetness, this time topped with perfectly browned , cinnamon-dusted maple leaf-shaped pie crust cookies). There was also a locally raised, free range turkey from Anne and Giles presented, perfectly cooked and perfectly carved, and especially appreciated among those of us who choose vegetarian fare or “righteous” meat, raised sustainably and humanely. Thanks for that.

The post-Thanksgiving feast was full of kids in town for the holiday, all coming and going with various leftovers and fresh-made contributions, plus another bird roasted especially for this occasion (“righteous,” again) and two pies from our oven—apple and pumpkin-chocolate. Clara and Tyler also made the gravy together, leaning over their father’s recipe, stirring and tasting until it was, well, perfect.

It all comes back to me as I savor the apple pie in the office.

Thanksgiving all over again.