Tag: gratitude

Gratitude Challenge Day 15 & 16: Music and Food

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Last night, with every intention of writing my Day 15 blog post, I fell asleep early and hard due to some pretty hardcore gummies–10mg of melatonin and some magnesium. WHOA! Don’t be making plans after that heavy-hitting dose! So, as penance, I’m going to have to write a two-fer on probably some of my most favorite things–things that bring me tremendous joy and fill me with gratitude. Let’s start with music and then segue into food. You with me? Ready? Let’s go!

I think I have a low-grade, constant struggle with mild depression. There’s any number of really good reasons for that *waves arms around wildly*. Genetics, probably first and foremost. But living on planet earth is no easy feat if you have two working brain cells and a heart and that’s on the days when children aren’t being shot or thrown in cages. Suicide rates among veterans and queer kids alone are enough to shake a person to their core. This living thing is HARD. (Okay, Bec, get to the gratitude part. I’m working on it. Gimme a second.)

On really hard days, I listen to Bach. If it ain’t Baroque, don’t fix it. Amirite? This particular playlist is one of my favorites: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zHXX9J_n5E

I like to read about artists and what influences their work. I know literature professors of mine would say “let the work speak for itself,” but since I am an artist and a writer, I know my art isn’t separate from me. It is me. In that spirit, I like to learn. Johann Sebastian Bach was orphaned at the age of 10. He lost several of his children before they turned one. He had every reason to be sad, bitter, lost. And yet, we have this most gorgeous, joyful music for centuries. I feel like there’s this kinship with him in that yes I can have a broken heart and still cry for joy, too. And do. A lot. On his deathbed, he’s attributed as having these as his last words: “Don’t cry for me, for I go where music was born.” The best, most succinct apologia for heaven I’ve ever read.

On a biological level, by listening to music you enjoy you can decrease your heart rate, blood pressure, and cortisol levels while increasing seratonin and endorphins, your body’s own feel-good drugs. In a world that hurts every day, it’s critical to have all the possible tools in your toolbelt. Music is one of mine.

The other is cooking good food for those I love. I enjoy experiencing new flavors and experimenting with recipes. But what fills my heart is cooking or baking something that makes someone close their eyes and get a serene look on their face for just a moment. It’s a way to say I love you, we’re in this together, here, have a moment of joy. I’m grateful for meals shared. Conversation over a well-spun pizza crust or a roast dinner can be so vibrant and fun and rich. Time with people at table is the essence of what is good. And I’m also grateful to live in a place where we grow amazing food and share. It’s no wonder some of my favorite books and films are about the experience of cooking, eating, sharing meals. MFK Fisher’s The Gastronomical Me, the film Babette’s Feast, the Spanish mini-series The Cook of Castamar, Like Water for Chocolate (either the film or the novel), Chocolat (I preferred the novel to the film). The kitchen dance Bryan and I used to do when preparing meals for each other and friends still makes me smile. I’m grateful for all of it, even a simple omelette when nothing else will do.

Gratitude Challenge Day 1: Comfort

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[It’s November 1st, and I’m going to challenge myself to write every day for the 30 days of gratitude prompts. I hope you’ll join along and maybe share some of yours.]

When I was little and we lived in Cleveland, Ohio, winters were incredibly cold and snowy. “Lake effect” is something we heard a lot. On Sabbath mornings, my mama would dress me in cute dresses and wool tights to keep me warm. Wool and my skin aren’t friends and I discovered that at a tender age. When I was eight or nine, my Auntie Lila would help prepare me baths that would sooth my skin. Under stress, and one’s parents divorcing certainly qualifies, my body reacts and often it’s my skin that takes the brunt of things. I joke with folks a lot that “I’m not built for hard living” or that I’m a “delicate flower.” Truth is, I’m tougher than I let on and more so than I would prefer having to be, but such is life. So, I clothe myself in cotton and surround myself with soft things. I’m careful with detergents and soaps as they can aggravate things too.

Right now, as I type this, I’m in a pair of Bryan’s plaid fleece pants and a cotton waffle-weave shirt. I have three blankets I’m cuddled under–one is an afghan Bryan’s mom crocheted years ago and the other two are the softest, snuggliest blankets I’ve ever owned. One is from my first cousin, Melissa, who gave it to me just before Bryan died, knowing the necessity of soft comfort while dealing with brutal pain. The other is from another first cousin, Jonell, who made me a warm fuzzy blanket that can convert into a pillow. I feel loved and hugged every time I use them.

This external comfort is so meaningful to me because it goes from the outside in just like the stress and anxiety comes from the inside to the outside of my body in uncomfortable ways. They’re connected for me in visceral ways. I am physically comforted and in that process become emotionally and spiritually comforted, too. I am grateful for this softness. Much can be hard, scratchy, and irritating in life. Those measures to mitigate it, especially when given in love, make it far better.

Full

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You know that feeling after a good meal where you’re full, but just right full? Not uncomfortable, not regretting all of your life choices and sad you took that extra serving. Not that kind of full. Bryan often told the story of his Norwegian housemate, Rolfe, a non-traditional WSU student who had worked in the oil fields a lifetime before coming to college. According to Bryan, Rolfe would say at the end of a good meal, “I am replete.”

This month I got to travel to Fort Wayne, Indiana, to visit my bestie, her husband, and her two beagles, Doug and Travis. We got to go on adventures, relax, play pool, watch the Great British Baking show, and eat and drink marvelous things. And I got abundant puppy snuggles. It was such a nice change of scenery and a restful experience to be with a person who loves me no matter what.

Despite the travel hiccups on the return trip, it was also wonderful to come home. My first meal back was half a burrito from Tacqueria Mi Pueblito (albanil, duh!) and an Alaskan Amber walking around my house in the all-together doing laundry–elemental, grounding. This whole week has been full of most excellent moments.

Friday, I got to visit with friends who have also returned from travels, for them France and Portugal. We got to catch up on our respective adventures while enjoying a delightful pasta dinner. During the day Saturday, I wandered around Walla Walla, basking in all its autumnal glory. Last night we all caught up with more friends around a fire pit. Chili and cornbread and salad and Bright’s caramel corn–a warm, convivial evening with people who make me smile.

The weekend isn’t over yet. There’s still a pot of potato corn chowder to be made at some point. Hopefully a visit with my uncle and a walk with a dear friend will be added to today’s itinerary as well. It is possible to be aware of the troubles of the world, be heartbroken by war atrocities, floods, fires, and disaster at every turn and also be full-hearted over the simple joys of good food, friends, and a life of deliberate connection.

Rolfe, I too am replete.

Corn’s On!

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My mom’s cousin, Janice, told me this great story. I hope I can do it justice and get the details close enough to accurate…

Years ago, my great Grandma Cloe, my mom’s paternal grandmother, lived on a farm in southwestern Washington. As the story goes, her husband, Bill, and a neighbor friend were headed out to go deer hunting. Upon leaving he said, “Now, Cloe, hold off on butchering those steer until we get back. It’s too much for you and I want to help with that.” Legend has it that Grandma Cloe had a stubborn streak (I have NO IDEA where I get mine. ;o) ) and told her oldest boys once Grandpa Bill left with his buddy, “let’s get those steer butchered and the meat canned up before he even gets back from his trip,” a real I’ll show him maneuever. Deep into that laborious process, Grandpa Bill and his buddy came back just a few hours later from their hunting trip. Lo-and-behold, they had bagged their deer right away. The beef processing suddenly turned into beef and venison processing with a double workload and a need to hurry. In the midst of all of this, someone came in from the field and shouted “Corn’s on!” Anyone who knows, when it’s time to pick, it is TIME TO PICK. Suffice it to say, they worked non-stop to process not just the beef, not just the venison, but now the corn, too.

I tell this story often. If you’ve heard it from me more than once, sorry not sorry. It’s just relatable humanity and I have felt that same thing, often due to my own stubbornness, to find myself in the midst of overwhelm with the equivalent of “corn’s on!” being shouted from the wings. Bryan and I would joke about this sometimes. April and September felt like that in our home due to what was also happening at work and in the garden.

Earlier this week, my boss’s husband brought in giant bags of corn. I took one home and finally, yesterday evening, processed all of it–shucking on the back patio, blanching, putting it into cold water, slicing and scraping from the cob, and then bagging up for the freezer. I appreciate the generations who have done this before me and who have taught me. I am grateful for the practicality of having stores for later. I am thankful for the lesson in delayed gratification–I do the hard work now so I can enjoy later. I’m also really glad for the applicable metaphor I see in many areas of my life. Building this life now prepares me for the life I want in the future.