Hello and welcome to Small Business Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is November 27th and I encourage you to check out all the local craft shows and shops.
I enjoyed seeing friends' Facebook postings of family and food during the Thanksgiving holiday. Captured moments of smiling faces that say: "We are grateful for each other, and we love because we are family." I admired the tables decorated and dressed with beautiful foods. And I wondered, what is wrong with me?
Thursday morning, I got out of bed before everyone else, made coffee then slunk to my desk where I sheltered and settled into my mind. Aaaahhhhh....a few hours at my desk to do some writing work. I had a deadline (self-imposed) that I wanted to meet. I relished being at my desk, like a "holiday" from cooking. I adamantly did not want to cook this year.
I felt grateful for the free day to cocoon, but also a tiny bit jealous and a wee bit sad we had no local extended family with whom to gather. Memories of Thanksgivings past with a family friend surfaced. Wanting to give me a break, he would either buy a prepared meal from the Honey Baked Ham Company or pop Papa Murphy's pizzas in the oven. We feasted then feted, enjoying the rest of the weekend with movies, Black Friday shopping, and day trips to places like the Science Museum, the REI climbing wall, and Pine Tree Apple orchard. One year, we played Backgammon. The nostalgia for the briefcased game made me weepy.
This year, my husband cooked a cut of top round steak and homemade sweet potato fries. I savored this meal I did not have to prepare. After the dishes were cleared, I looked forward to a few more hours at my desk. Instead, my subconscious whispered, "Go outside."
For weeks, I have been promising myself to move more and get more exercise. The First Grader was looking for someone to play with. So we put on our snow pants, jackets, and boots, and went outside. The snow on the hill in our backyard was stubborn, resistant to our sleds. We opted for "an adventure." Thanks to the dry summer, the nooks and crannies behind our property were empty, perfect stomping grounds of frozen muck swamp bottom covered with snow. We visited both bridges spanning the neighbor's property, inspected the river, and noted the open spots of warm water burbling despite the cold. Tromping through the channels usually filled with river overflow, we explored a culvert and discovered a cache of dead leaves and a black mitten becoming one with the black soil. We hunched over animal tracks inspecting their shapes, discussing whose were whose. We pulled broken sticks from fallen trees and tap-tap-tapped the ice. I tapped until a crusty chunk gave way to a deep pit of mud that gladly swallowed two feet of my stick when I plunged it into its black mouth.
We returned to our backyard hill and resumed our sledding mission. It only took a few runs to pack down the crunchy snow into a smooth runway. Of the many things I want my children to remember when they are grown is that I was a mother who sled and hooted, "Woohoo!" all the way down the hill, her shrieks of delight reverberating through our little forest, rousing the crows and neighbors.
The First Grader, soaked through to his socks with snow, went in, but I stayed out. I returned my brother's phone call and walked the loop of my neighborhood as we talked. I called a family friend I hadn't spoken to in several years, keeping the promise I had made to myself that this would be the holiday when I finally made the call. Then I called my mother (even though we'd already video chatted) and talked some more, feeling grateful that I still had a mother who I could call to share my woes of perimenopause and stresses of parenting.
It was dusk when the WAKWIR* met me on his bike and walked home with me. We went inside and decided to play The Game of Life board game. I still felt the call of my desk, but the fresh air, the physical movement, and the time spent adventuring with my son, all told me to sit with the children and play the game. Be out of my head and be with my people.
The Fourth Grader was the banker (her first time). The First Grader could read his own cards. The WAKWIR was the accommodating, kind big brother who queued up his playlist for our listening pleasure.
While we played both game and music, I boiled hot dogs for dinner, and hubby deep fried the second batch of french fries. (Yes, we are considering an air fryer.)
And, suddenly, I understood why people put so much effort and flourish into holiday cooking. It is because they love. The food is love realized. When eaten, it is love consumed, warm and nourishing.
Sometimes - perhaps often - I consider cooking for my family as an obligation. But in the context of love, service pours forth effortlessly flowing and free. Once this realization clunked me on the head like a rolling pin, I threw together a chocolate chip cake (a family favorite) feeling immense gratitude for the secret ingredient I had overlooked.
After the game (the Fourth Grader won), kids and I shared the job of cleaning up the kitchen and, for once, it wasn't a haggle of who does what, how much, and how often. We just did the job and boogied in an impromptu Kitchen Dance Party. Then the Fourth Grader announced she was tired and ready to go to bed. The WAKWIR echoed the sentiment. I like to think they went to bed satisfied and satiated; that even though our table hadn't been laden with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberries, and pumpkin pie, they had filled up on the best food of all. Love.
On This Day
Historic Highlights (credits)
Happy Birthday to You!🎶
Remembering You
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