281 Words of This and That
My mom had these two amazing abilities. One was ascertaining and remembering the favorite cookie of each person in our family, of our family friends, among the friends of her children, of her neighbors and acquaintances. It was remarkable. The second wonderful ability was baking. She was excellent at it. Since I grew up sitting across the counter from her in our kitchen, watching her bake successfully and disastrously on occasion (it happens to all of us), I knew how much of herself she put into creating food for others. She combined these two dear talents together and would bake the favorite cookies of each of her children at auspicious and trying moments, after making the team, or not making the play, or going through a breakup or just because. She did the same for friends, when they’d fought with a child, when the test came back suspicious, when a loved one passed. It was one of the many ways she demonstrated her thoughtfulness and extended comfort. As a child at Christmastime, I waited for my mom to bake my favorite cookies. They weren’t usually her first batch of holiday goodness. But when I saw that batch of thin, caramel-y and crunchy lace cookies on the counter cooling, I immediately felt loved and seen – and hungry. My mom can’t bake for me anymore because she passed 11 years ago. This weekend, feeling her absence so poignantly, and sorting through the perennial longing this time of year always brings me, I pulled out the recipe book she gave me 18 years ago when I got married. I turned to the butter-stained lace cookie recipe page. And I baked some comfort for me.
Reminder from the soul of truth: Rituals connect us back to who we are.
Takeaway: Losing love hurts. It aches (especially when the world around us is touting brightness and togetherness and cheer). And it presents an opportunity to find the magic in that lost love, to examine what particular magic that person, that love, brought into the world. And honor it.
Inspiring morsel
Grace can be something hard to come by. Grace for ourselves and grace for our enemies are particularly challenging. As I have been binge-listening to Unlocking Us (one of two soul-stirring podcasts Brené Brown has launched this year), I stumbled upon a way of coming toward more grace. It involves naming what it is we need grace for. Brené refers to it as the FFT – and if you need a dose of grace I recommend a listen.
Ingredients of note
Over the last year I’ve been working at accepting my inner knowing and how it speaks to me. One loud way it communicates is from dreamland. I would rather not admit this, but it’s come to my attention. In order to work truer on this endeavor, I have become more consistent about sharing and writing down my dreams. This is not easy. In the light of day, my inner stick-in-the-mud says, “That’s a waste of time, it’s just a dream. Move on.” Recalling my dreams causes my brain to hurt and sucks up a ton of focus. Still, I will dig deep and jot down what I see. Funny thing: now when I tell someone, usually my bemused husband, about my weird and ethereal dreams, they will often solidify. A message will become clear, an impulse exposed, a missing piece revealed from the crazy, the nearly un-expressable. I learn, I stop, I connect. Another funny thing: the remembering has become easier, the memory more effective at retrieval. And my heart, more open to see.
From my bookshelves
Do you have a mostly daily reader? Something you can open and close for a few minutes each day and easily skip ahead when you’ve forgotten for a few days? If not, may I recommend a book that found me whilst I was perusing the shelves at a Goodwill several years ago. This book has been a good companion.
I hope you come back for more. The next Thought Cookie will make its way to you Dec. 29. If you found some comfort here, share it with someone you love.