The Introvert in Winter

I accidentally took this picture of myself the other morning. I was trying to take pictures of winter foliage, but must have hit the reverse button on my camera.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend. A two-and-a-half hour lunch in which we gossiped, discussed the difficulties of raising one's 80-year-old parents, and agreed that it's always important to carry your needlework with you (needlepoint in her case, knitting in mine) at all times, because you never know when a meeting's going to get boring.

Afterwards, I popped over to see some friends at the nonprofit I volunteer at three or four times a month. The staff consists of two women I adore, one of whom is my age, but single and dating and always has interesting updates on her love life. So, yes, more gossip.

That doesn't sound very introverted, does it--two-hour lunches and popping in on friends after for another hit of talk? Well, of course I was exhausted aftewards--that's the real test of an introvert, isn't it? And I was engaged in what I called Introvert Winter Survival Strategy. When the days look like this:

then it's time to get out and about. I find that one good day of socializing inoculates me against the winter blues for at least two days afterward.

***

I am in a cooking mood. Now, I cook every day, whether I'm in the mood to or not. But when the prospect of chopping an onion strikes me as fun and a little exciting, that's when I know it's about to get interesting in the kitchen. Conversely, when I can't stand even thinking about mincing a garlic clove, then it's time to make a big pot of hearty soup that will carry us through several days. Or else order a pizza.

But right now I'm in a mood. I always love to cook this time of year, and now that I have a new oven AND a new chef's knife (a very scary 8" Wusthuf that I got for Christmas), why, I'm practically Julia Child.

In fact, I'm reading a book about Julia Child right now, called Provence 1970 by Luke Barr. It's about a moment in time when a group of some of the most exciting American cooks and food writers (Child, M.F.K. Fisher, James Beard, Richard Olney) gathered together in an informal culinary summit. It's lots of fun.

I'm also reading a book I got Jack for Christmas called Twelve Recipes by Cal Peternell, a chef at Chez Panisse. Peternell got the idea for the book after realizing his eldest son was about to head off for college and didn't know how to cook the basics. I really got the book for both Jack and me, since I'm not always sure I know how to cook the basics. The recipes are wonderful, and for the first time in my life I can fry an egg with confidence.

This morning I spent thirty minutes in front of my S.A.D. lamp. That also helps keep the winter blues away. What do you do (those of you experiencing winter--I know some of you are in the throes of summer!) to make this time of year not only bearable, but downright enjoyable?

Happy New Year! Happy New Oven!

So I got a new oven the week before Christmas, which was perhaps the closest thing to a Christmas miracle I've ever experienced.

My old oven--my old, cruddy, much-hated oven--started giving up the ghost in mid-December. The oven itself still worked, but its computerized control panel was slowly losing its way. Instead of turning a dial to set the temperature, you hit numbers on the panel, and one by one the numbers had stopped working, until I was down to 3, 4, 7 and 0.

You can do a lot with a 3, 4, 7 and 0. You can set your oven temperature to 347, which is practically 350, or 374, or 400 or 430. That covers a lot of territory. But every day the threat loomed larger--what if we lost the 3? All would be lost. And Christmas was coming! What if we lost the 3 on Christmas Eve? No Christmas pudding! No Christmas roast beast!

Why not just get a new panel put in? Because the panel for this particular model is no longer made. At some point, somebody at GE realized what a horrible little oven it was and stopped making replacement parts. Can't blame them, really.

Okay, so why not run down to Home Depot and buy a new oven? 1) The old oven was a 27" oven. If I was going to get a new oven, it wasn't going to be a tiny 27" job, and 2) to put in a new, reasonably sized oven, we would need to reconfigure the oven space. Which would mean a carpenter and an electrician and a gas man. Which would mean finding a contractor. Two weeks before Christmas.

Enter the Wood Nymph. Yep, that's his name, and carpentry and contracting is his game. He came over, looked around, said "We can make this happen, and we can make it happen before Christmas." He quoted an entirely reasonable price. He recommended we buy our oven at a local dealer that he liked instead of a big box store. When the local dealer told us he couldn't get the oven we liked to us before December 22nd, the Wood Nymph laughed, made a phone call, and our oven was delivered on the 18th.

Not only that, but the WN's crews--the carpenters, the electricians, the gas guys--all showed up when they said they would. The oven was delivered on time, and the installation crew arrived about fifteen minutes later.

As I said, pretty close to a Christmas miracle.

And what joy to have a new oven! It is a 30" oven, which seems huge to me. I roasted a whole turkey for the first time in seven years, and it was delicious. I baked cookies on standard size cookie sheets. I baked multiple items on multiple racks. I put rolls in the warming drawer and they stayed warm.

It wasn't convenient, of course, to put in a new oven the week before Christmas, or to have work crews in the kitchen the week before that, but doing things this way was almost like ripping off a band-aid--better to be quick and decisive about it. Who knows how long it would have taken us to decide what to do if we'd had a choice about it.

***

New Year's resolutions? Stand up straighter and stretch more (though not always at the same time).

Will gave me a lovely notebook for Christmas, and I'm going to try to use it as a daybook, where I record what we ate for dinner, and maybe one or two things about the day (worked on a quilt, walked the dog, etc.). I did this once many years ago, keeping up the practice for a couple of months. It was neat to have a record of the small things that don't merit a journal entry and are easily forgotten. We'll see how I do this year.

Here are the things I want to focus on this year: dailiness and showing up. Sometimes when I think about the time that may or may not be left to me--let's say thirty years, bar accident or illness--I get a panicky feeling. That's hardly any time at all! But if I take it one day at a time, paying attention to the day at hand, why, it's practically an eternity.

***

The quote the Wood Nymph gave us included new countertops and backsplashes, a project we'll get started on in the next couple of weeks. What's you advice on the best sort of (reasonably priced) countertop? We're having a hard time deciding, and I'd love some input!

A Pause in Advent #3

  

 I'm joining Angela and a gaggle of other fine folks for a Pause in Advent. 

 

By accident I have stumbled on a wonderful book for my Advent reading: C.S. Lewis: A Life by Alister McGrath. I've read one other Lewis biography and have read and re-read Surprised by Joy, so I was excited to discover this relatively new look at Lewis's life. I find him to be a hugely sympathetic figure, in part because he's one of those Christians who stays ever-mindful of his own wretchedness, and I find that comforting.

I'm a wretch; are you? I'm prideful, ambitious, judgmental. I hold a grudge. I am in many ways a thoroughly crappy human being. Those of you who know me in person might think I'm being hard on myself, but I'm not. I have my good moments, and I have good manners, and I do genuinely like and love a lot of people, which probably makes them think more highly of me than they should.

Here's a quote from the book that had me nodding: "One of the major themes of Till We Have Faces (1956)--arguably the most profound piece of fiction written by Lewis--is the difficulty of coming to know ourselves as we really are, and the deep pain that such knowledge ultimately involves."

 

It's a horrible thing to really look at yourself--to look beyond the carefully constructed facade and the blue ribbons and the perfectly organized pantry, the shiny resume, the A+ report card. I try not to do it very often. But something has happened in the last six months. I am finding myself completely unimpressive, and while it's kind of a bummer, I also recognize it as a good thing.

God comes to us in the form of a baby born to a poor woman. God comes to us in the most deeply humble way one can imagine. I think to appreciate such a god, we have to also appreciate our own humble state, our own poverty. If you worship power and status, you're not going to worship a god who seems to have no interest in who has the most toys or guns or money.

But if you understand that your poverty is no different from that of the tax collector or the prostitute or the leper, then you might be happy for the birth of a savior who finds you--wretched, messed up you--worthy of redemption.

A Pause in Advent: 2

 

 I'm joining Angela and a gaggle of other fine folks for a Pause in Advent.

I'm having trouble coming up with something to write about this week. There are all sorts of things that I could write that would sound good--inspirational sorts of things, spiritual tidbits. But for some reason I don't have it in me.

Do you ever get tired of words? I don't often get tired of reading words, but I get tired of hearing them. Right now I'm very tired of opinions. I'm tired of people telling me how I should feel in in the face of Ferguson and the Eric Garner non-indictment. You know how I feel? Sad. I feel really, really sad. And tired.

We talk, talk, talk. We talk past each other and over each other. I'm tired of talk. Talk doesn't change anything unless the talk is between two or three people who are willing to be generous listeners.

I heard a story on NPR tonight about a group of people, black and white, who have been gathering regularly in Ferguson, MO, ever since August to talk about what they can do to make things better. I like their kind of talk. They seem like they're trying to be truthful and open-minded. They seem like they've learned to trust each other enough to tell the truth about their experiences.

That's the kind of talk we need. We need talk that builds relationships. We need talk that builds trust. If there is no trust, there is no love, and if there is no love, there is no change.

What does this have to do with Advent? I'm not sure. Except that maybe one thing we need to keep talking about is the fact that God is with us, and if God is with us, all things are possible. Even peace. Even love.

Those people who meet in Ferguson to talk about how to make things better? They close their meetings with a prayer. I believe God is with them, and that change will begin with them.

Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.
 

First Sunday in Advent: My Poverty

I have joined Angela and others in a Pause in Advent. Check out Angela's site for a list of other bloggers participating in this annual event.

"Advent isn’t a holiday party. It doesn’t pressure us to conjure up a hopeful face, ring bells, and dismiss the foulest realities we face. Advent isn’t about our best world, it’s about our worst world."

                      --Christina Cleveland (for her full post on Advent, go here)

Last year, I didn't start writing about my poverty until the third week in Advent. This year I have a cold, so I'm going to write about my poverty right off the bat.

First, I should say that as colds go, this isn't a bad one, just a very congestive one. Still, I'm missing church on the first Sunday in Advent, and that's a bummer. I was looking forward to going to the all-congregation "Let's Get Ready for Advent" meeting at 9:45 and to the service afterward. Instead, I'm sitting on my couch with a box of Kleenex and a cup of peppermint tea, blowing my nose every three minutes.

And I'm sort of laughing at myself, too. A couple of weeks ago I was thinking that maybe this year would be different. I'm more organized this year. I've already baked eight dozen Christmas cookies and popped them in the deep freeze. I've already come up with a satisfying list of presents for the boys and sent it to the Man, who will do the ordering and shopping. So maybe, just maybe, I'd end up enjoying Advent this year, really get into it.

This year, I'd be all about the light.

And then I got this cold--it showed up Thursday night, interrupting my plans for a productive weekend of sewing, cleaning and yardwork--and thought, nope, nothing's changed. I get a cold or some kind of bug every Thanksgiving. I thought this year might be different because I'm much more diligent about washing my hands whenever I come home from the library or shopping, and besides, I had a bug in October. Shouldn't I get a pass until the new year?

Nope. No pass. And I suspect that whatever I do, however organized I am, the next few weeks leading up to Christmas will be a slog. Maybe I'm wrong. But it doesn't pay to get optimistic this time of year, not for me at least.

So you can imagine that I found the quote above helpful. Advent is a time when we watch for the light--but the light isn't here yet. It's a dark time of year. It's easy to lose hope. This has been a dark autumn for a lot of people I know--unexpected, terrible deaths, cancer, broken relationships. The fact is, it's a dark world.

In her post on Advent, Christina Cleveland goes on to write, 

"So, this Advent season, let’s engage and lament darkness as we seek the Light. In doing so, we participate in the ancient longing of the coming Messiah, a longing that began when the earth was still formless and empty, persevered in the hearts of Anna and Simeon, and continues today."

Having a cold isn't a big deal, but it's been a useful reminder that when we put our energy into making a perfect weekend, holiday, Christmas season--a perfect anything--our energy is misdirected. The darkness is too big. Advent is a time to remember just how dark things are and little we can do to change that. We don't have it in us. 

But the Light does.

A Little Gift I Gave Myself

The notes I took last year after the Christmas madness was over

I have a Christmas notebook. It looks like this:

It is the best thing I've ever done for myself, other than marry the Man. In it, I write down what we gave our various relatives for Christmas and what they gave us (so we can write our thank you notes). During the year, I keep notes on gift ideas or the boys and the Man. Given that I can forget a great idea in the time it takes me to get from the shower down to my desk, there's no way that in December I'll remember that inspired thought I had in May.

Today I had the brilliant idea to write down where I've hidden the gifts I've already bought. I have spent more than one Christmas eve tearing through the attic and my study closet looking for stuff I know I bought but can't for the life of me find.

As I write this, I'm printing out calendar pages for November and December. This year I will conquer Christmas. I will stay ahead of it. I will create space--mental, emotional--to observe Advent and not give up by the second week of December because I feel overwhelmed by everything I have to do.

Right now my big plans include:

1. Start making Christmas cookies next week. Freeze them, don't eat them.

2. Have gifts for relatives mailed by first week of December at the very latest.

3. Take annual Christmas card photo of Travis over Thanksgiving weekend and off to the printer the following week. Cards out by the week of the 8th.

4. Have all my gifts bought and wrapped by the 15th.

Can I do it? Well, I've got my notebook to remind me what supplies I need and don't need. I've got my calendar pages ready to be filled in with deadlines and chores. I have many years of Christmas misery to spur me on. Stay posted. I'll post my official calendars soon.

I'm Back

The quilt I'm working on--almost finished after two years!

Whew! Did not mean to be gone so long. Hello! How are you?

I'm fine. Sorry to see October go, especially since I feel like I missed most of it. The first two weeks were busy-busy--writing deadlines, school visits, volunteer work, the works. Then, two weeks ago, I got hit by a lovely bug, the sort that lingers and leaves you feeling totally fatigued. I got done what had to be done, and then I napped.

Finally, starting last Friday, I started feeling better. I feel mostly okay now. The idea of writing a blog post, for instance, doesn't leave me sprawled across the couch, hand over my eyes, wailing, "I can't! I just can't!"

So here I am.

Latest news: Will turned 12 on Friday. That's rather hard to believe. As 12-year-old boys go, I think he's pretty typical, which is to say, a delightful pain in the butt. He's very funny, but also tries too hard to be funny, so that you finally have to send him out of the room because he's driving you crazy. It's clear that he's about to have a big growth spurt (his feet are already enormous), but he's still shorter than I am. Yet that doesn't stop him from coming up to me and asking, "How's the air down there?" It was funny the first eighty times. He still lets me put my arm around him at church, and he kisses me goodnight every night. Hope that never stops.

Jack is joining the swim team! He texted me on Friday to ask if he could get a physical this weekend because he was starting practice on Monday. The Man and I were a bit concerned, given that Jack really isn't much of a swimmer. He had a couple weeks of lessons when he was 9 or so, but that's it, and he's never been on a team before or shown any interest before last week.

As it turns outs, the swim team at Our Fine Upper School is open to everyone--and apparently that means everyone. One of Jack's friends told me this weekend that last year a kid joined who couldn't swim a stroke. So Jack should be fine. The fact is, he's tall and thin and might make a great swimmer. Me, I'm just happy he's getting more involved at school and getting some exercise.

And as long as we're in the business of doing new things around here ... The Man signed up to help with our new church's Christmas market. Did I tell you we've started to go to a new church? I think we've finally found the place for us, Mr. Southern Baptist and Ms. Cradle Episcopalian. It's a Methodist church with a big-but-not-too-big congregation and a very active youth program. I hadn't planned on switching churches, but the little Lutheran church down the road we'd been going to didn't have much going on for teens and tweens, and as a sixth grader, it was time for Will to get active in youth group.

So I came up with a great idea--Will could go to youth group at another church with his best friend Gavin. Of course, I'd have to check out the church first myself, though I'd heard good things about it from Gav's mom, my good friend Sarah. I hadn't planned on us switching churches as part of the deal, but Reader, I fell in love. Beautiful church, friendly people, big enough so you could slip out after the end of the service without making small talk (important to us introverted types), small enough not to feel like just a face in the crowd.

And most importantly, the pastor rocked. She kept preaching on stuff I'd been thinking about, and she kept making sense. So I got the Man to go, and he liked it, too, so we've been going every week. And last week, when the need for volunteers at the annual Christmas market was announced, the Man leaned over and whispered, "I think I'm going to do that."

Reader, I married him.

Well, I married him twenty years ago, but still. The Man is even more introverted than I am, so I'm very proud of him for getting involved. And for showing up at church every week. That's what we're up to these days: showing up--to swim, to make silly jokes, to help out.

Me, I'm showing up to reclaim my house from a month of total neglect. To plan for the holidays now so I can actually enjoy them when they roll around. To sit with a friend whose going through a hard time.

And I hope I'll be showing up here a little more. Stay tuned!