NOVEMBER
Two off months, kitchen ghosts, foot tapping, falling back
Writing to you live from my yard - next to a fire I‘ve got going and a dye pot oozing warm sunny yellow - fresh turmeric - mirroring the poplar leaves and beech out our bedroom window and on the ground. This is what should be a “normal” Monday for me. A good one. Let it be captured here, in writing.
A lot of shame has surrounded me for not being able to write a September and October post, attend parties, be there for others, call people back, take a breather. I want there to be a concrete reason, but the words don’t come to mind. I just couldn’t. On the eve of Election Day, it feels irrelevant to even send this one out.
Ideas floated around, weeks flew by and I never carved out the time to write. I’ve read emails from people writing from their car, from the line at the DMV, on their commute, on vacation. Why couldn’t I? But then when looking back I think, was there even time? Was I even capable? I was not feeling myself - not paying attention to projects, exercise, staying present, taking care. I was in a cycle one can easily slip into and then have to try really really hard to climb their way back out. I am still on the climbing part.
I have spent much of my climb working with my hands, making lists, casting spells, making things I hadn’t yet tried, finishing projects and trying recipes from the past. Clocks fell back - a spell in itself. Let us fall - let us flutter safely to the earth, turn out the lights. Let us fall in, let us be caught by what makes us feel comfort. Let us get cozy and work with our hands, take the long way, tuck in early. Where there is so much unknown ahead, so much tension so much division and fear, let us fall back to what makes us feel most at home, most safe. When we can.
While reading Praisesong for The Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson, I was lucky enough to ask my grandmother some questions about her family, their traditions, recipes and cultivate my own connection to ancestors through food. The veil is thin, etc. Connection through the senses - taste and smell most notably - can take one back in an instant. Hearing about my ancestors through the lens of food allowed me to make more connections and hear new stories - ones I hadn’t heard before.
Lots of recipes came to mind - Oat Bread, Cranberry Ice, which we serve at Thanksgiving (another post) - lots of candies and cakes, special treats at family gatherings. We got to go through my grandmother’s old recipe boxes. I listened while she recognized handwriting, shared memories, remembered old friends.
Grandma told me about visiting her grandmothers and family picnics, how she loved country music and George Jones. She said she passed this gene on to me. We listened while we stitched that evening - “foot tapping music” she called it, and we both sang along.
Every month I put together a booklet of a few recipes - here’s the November edition. Aunt Glenna’s Oat Bread is in there.
EVERYTHING IS A SPELL —
+ VOTING
+ lighting a candle
+ planting bulbs
+ sending the email
+ starting again
+ bringing comfort to a friend
+ cleaning and clearing
RELEVANT ITEMS
+ I made dumplings earlier this week and tossed them in Hot + Sour Chile Oil from my Wok book - divine football snack
+ My new favorite carrot cake
// - my version - with turmeric cream cheese icing
+ …. How we doing out there?
+ orange collage - Mexican sunflower, finished poncho, sunset in October, Chandler with the first local carrots, Indian Paintbrush by the East River in CO
+ finished Trapp’s Christmas stocking this morning
