When You Don’t Know What to Say:

 A loving reminder to those who would comfort the grieving

Please don’t say “At least _________.” 

Please don’t look on the bright side of things, or try to find the silver lining for someone’s grief. While your heart is absolutely in the right place and your intentions are good—you are essentially denying their grief, trying to limit it; trying to push it down in to a manageable size. Don’t do that.

Grief is huge. And it’s going to be huge for quite a while, probably for much longer than you’re going to be comfortable with. And you have to let it. You have to sit next to a grieving someone you care about and just let it BE.

I know it’s hard. But you can do this. They need you to be able to do this. So hug them. Listen to them. Let them cry. Let them not cry, whatever. Tell stories, share memories, say the name of their loved one. This grief thing is going to take a while. It just does.

I'll say it again, the best advice I can give you is to go ahead and let them GRIEVE. Let it in. Weep. Mourn. Let them find comfort in Ritual, even if they need to invent one for themselves. Don’t shut off your feelings and don’t try to "make it better" and shut down theirs. 

Grieving takes time. Lots of it. Everyone is different-- don’t tell anyone that they need to “move on.” That’s probably just your blissful ignorance talking---you don’t know the hard truth that they know. They ARE moving through grief; tears and pain and sadness are a part of that process. 

Want something concrete to do? Stay hydrated. Seriously—when all else fails, go drink a glass of water.  Bring them water. Grief is dehydrating. It’s one tiny thing you can DO to make things better. 

And if it’s not “better”? Well, at least it didn’t make things worse. 

Some days, that is victory enough.

Let's Talk Turkey, Shall We?

 

You may have seen those reminders making their way around the internet the last two weeks or so; handy little charts that tell you that if your turkey is “X” pounds you need to get it out of the freezer and into the fridge “Y” number of days ahead of time so that it can sufficiently defrost before The Big Day. I never have to worry about all that X/Y math/science stuff, because I buy a fresh turkey and just keep it in the fridge to begin with, as our forefathers intended.

...Except for that one year when my house fridge was too crowded for a 20 lb. turkey and I had to use the small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge...

A twenty-pound turkey will pretty much max out the capacity of a small former-dorm-room-now-turned-garage-fridge—and by “max-out” I mean I had to remove all the interior shelves and stand the bird on his, or her, tail. It took a bit of wiggling and finessing but I managed to get the fresh, never frozen fowl into the mini fridge. I was all set for Thanksgiving morning, no need to cross reference the weight of the turkey with the days on the calendar. Easy peasy.

On Thanksgiving morning, I went out to the garage to get my fresh bird to begin the day’s preparations only to find a frosty 20 lb. bird in its place. I am told that the sight of me dragging a frozen turkey into the house has left an indelible mark in the memory of all those who witnessed it—well, that and the colorful language. 

Needless to say, dinner was a bit later that Thanksgiving. Fortunately, my good friend Betty had a helpful tip about tightly wrapping the (thawed) bird in foil and then setting your oven to “Cremate.” This technique cuts the 5 to 6-hour cooking time down to a more acceptable three hours. And if you distract your friends and family with emergency appetizers, preferably something very rich and filling ---

—I used a block of cream cheese, softened in the microwave on a plate. Pour on a small jar of cocktail sauce, top with small shrimp, and serve with a boatload of crackers. Serve with a few rounds cranberry martinis—they won’t mind too much that Thanksgiving Day Dinner has become Thanksgiving Night Dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tale of Two Trees

 Remember that time a couple of years ago I needed to plant a tree to shade my deck? Remember how pleased I was with the Very Large Tree I acquired for a Very Small Price? Remember how the nursery had to load it into the pickup with a forklift—a forklift!-- and I still didn’t consider the size of the hole I’d have to dig to accommodate it, nor the distance I’d have to drag the Very Large Tree to the Very Deep Hole? Remember?

Well, I’ve never forgotten it. Which is why I now buy trees in little gallon pots; very cute, very manageable, very little digging, no dragging.

Gallon pots are kind of small, though, so I planted my trees—short term—in larger, cylindrical pots until I can properly plant them—or--more accurately—first figure out where it is I want to plant them. Because sometimes, the sale is just too good to pass up. Besides, these very lovely Cypress trees—“Goldcrest”-- only grow to 10ft high. I can just leave them in these tall pots! No digging required! I’m a genius!

Fast forward a couple of years and I happen to pull the tag from the tall pot and read it. Yes, it’s a Cypress, yes, it’s a “Goldcrest”—but it turns out that it’s the type of Cypress Goldcrest that grows 10m high. M as in meters, not feet.

When I was in elementary school, the word on the street was that-- sooner or later-- the US of A would be adopting the metric system like the rest of the world, and we Third Graders had better learn it now so we’d be prepared. Turns out, the adoption of the metric system has turned out to be a much “later” thing than I was led to believe. Which is good—because I can’t say I’m that clear on just what’s what with metric. That being said—even I know that 10m > 10ft. 10m is much closer to 33ft than 10ft.  Note to future self: Take reading glasses to nursery, don’t just squint at the tag.

Time to dig a hole...

Alaska FAQ

 The following is a list of FAQ --frequently asked questions—I am asked about Alaska.

Q: Did you catch any fish?

A: Why does everybody ask that? No, but then again I did not go fishing. I was thinking I might want to try trout fishing, since according to everything I’ve been told, it’s more like “catching” than “fishing” but the lake was frozen over by the time I arrived.

Q: Did you go ice fishing?

A: No. While the lake was frozen over and the fishing shacks were clustered on the shore, apparently the ice wasn’t thick enough yet to deploy them. Which was kind of disappointing, I really think I’d like ice fishing. For at least 45 minutes. Long enough to check out the tiny fishing shacks and make re-decorating suggestions. “Perhaps the recliner, cocked at an angle to the big screen TV, would work better on the left side of the hole...”

Q: Did you see any Polar Bears?

A: No. I can only assume it’s because the ice wasn’t solid enough for them to deploy their fishing shacks either.

Q: Did you see Santa?

A: Yes! He asked about you. Not to violate Christmas HIPAA but he indicated you might want to work on a few upgrades to your behavior.

Santa! I know him!

Q: Did you see any Moose?

A: Yes! I saw a total of three, at different times/locations. THEY ARE HUGE. This is not hyperbole. They are oddly built, as though the prototype was drawn by a gift child who still struggled with proportions. While giraffes have super long necks to balance out their long legs, moose look like the (inverted) Corgis of the deer family. The first moose I saw had a coat so beautiful that I really want to pet it, to see if it would be a silky soft as it looked. I felt an awkward kinship with all the (foolish) Packwood tourist trying to move up close to an elk. I did not actually feel the Moose-- as I’m neither stupid nor suicidal--but oh boy, I WANTED to.

Q: Did you buy more donuts? And a follow up, what is the name of the business?

A: Yes--a dozen more. Because it’s Alaska and it’s important for survival reasons to stock up-- Jason’s Donuts is closed on Mondays and is often sold out by 10 a.m. on the days they are open. For example: They open at 8 a.m. on Sundays. We arrived in the parking lot at 8:03 a.m. One person was already leaving with donuts. Inside I counted nine more orders ahead of us. I mentally strung razor wire around the tray of bacon maple bars, and though unkind things about anyone in front of me who pointed in their direction. I spent $30 on a dozen assorted donuts and I’d do it again. Donuts pair well with caffeine and sunrises--and Alaska has a LOT of sky. It’s just math.

Sky Math

Jason's Donuts has now moved to an actual storefront location but how cool is this photo??

Alaska is Huge and Possibly Not

 I recently returned from Alaska and because I often refuse to believe that Time Management is an actual Thing, please accept this travelogue in place of your regularly scheduled content.

3:36 p.m. Arrived. Safe and sound. Flew Alaska Airlines because I figured they would know the way. Also thought they might be the only airline flying into Fairbanks. They did, and they aren’t. There. Saved you a google search. You’re welcome.

3:53 p.m. Have located baggage, secured my suitcase, and found my guide, all of that is less than 20 minutes. This is due more to the size of the airport—tiny—than to the efficacy of my actions.

4:00 p.m. No polar bears or moose in sight. It is still daylight. I feel I have been misled. There is some snow on the ground but it’s what I would call a “skiff.” I’m wondering if Alaska is mostly made up of hyperbole. The sun is shining and it’s 46*. I don’t know if this is due to the afore mentioned hyperbole, climate change, or if Mother Nature is simply trying to lull me into a false sense of security. I keep my parka on, just in case.

4:05 p.m. Still daylight. Just sayin’.

6:06 p.m. There. The sun (finally) set. I know, I watched it to make certain. They seem to have an abnormally amount of sky here, but I don’t see any mountains. We are having dinner at a Thai restaurant, in Alaska. As one does. There seems to also be a large number of Thai restaurants here. The curry at this restaurant—Lemongrass Thai-- is amazing. It does not have salmon in it.

3:00 a.m. Out searching for the Northern Lights. They remain elusive.

8:30 a.m. We have secured the Best Donuts in the World and are headed east to watch the sunrise. There is time to stop and secure caffeine as well, because the sunrise happens at a very civilized hour.

9:08 a.m. Sunrise. Frozen Tundra. Caffeine. A bacon covered maple bar the size of your daily allotment of calories. Snow is in the forecast, as is a trip to the North Pole. Still no moose or bear sightings but I am assured that I will see Santa, so I will reserve judgement as to the veracity of the Alaskan tales I have been told. 

Like the Biblical Thomas, I will be the judge of that with my own two eyes.

Santa's Address

The North Pole

Santa

The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button, Part 2

  New York is quieter, but still a city of contrasts. Some places—for example Jackson Heights, in Queens, near Elmhurst Hospital and the epicenter of the initial Covid outbreak in the spring of 2020—are carefully following the recommendations around social distancing protocols.

Little Italy—at least during the Feast of San Gennaro—didn’t seem to be aware that anything germy had been happening in the last 18 months. 

 

Streets and sidewalks were jammed with people—most of them not wearing masks; it was only inside bars and restaurants that Covid protocols were being observed. I’m neither Italian, nor Catholic, so I can only assume Mr. Gennaro was the patron saint of headstrong revelers and protects his followers accordingly.

Then again, if you live with a Ferris Wheel outside your bedroom window, it might be harder to keep protocols in perspective...

 

While in NYC, I had the opportunity to pat a lion, and see the “real” Winnie the Pooh; The New York Public Library’s “Treasures” exhibition puts over 250 rare objects from its collection on display, including the real Pooh and pals, a draft of the Declaration of Independence-- complete with cross-outs in Thomas Jefferson’s handwriting. Tickets are free, but you have to reserve them on-line and your visit has a timed entry. The treasures are well worth waiting your turn at the glass.

 

There was no line to pat the Lions.

The City that Now Hits the Snooze Button

 Recently, I returned from a trip to New York. Pre Covid, I would go twice a year to help my friend Philip (Hi Philip!) make the world a prettier place. We would work hard, play hard—and when I returned home it would take me a week to catch up on my sleep.

 

New York has been hard hit by the pandemic, and the changes are evident at street level. Blocks have been closed off during daylight hours so that families can have room to walk and play. Since people are hanging out outside more, neighborhood groups are beautifying the medians. Kids have chalked hopscotch grids on the sidewalk. It’s pretty cool.

 

The subways are much less crowded, most riders wear masks and social distance as much as is possible. While I was there, the City implemented a $50 fine to anyone not properly masked while in the system. But even before that, I observed that probably 97% of subway commuters complied with the requirement. Sidewalks are less crowded, but even so, more people are wearing masks than not. Having experienced Covid Hell in the early days, New Yorkers are clearly motivated to prevent a reoccurrence. 

It was rather disconcerting to be in the vicinity of the Empire State Building and not have the streets choked with tour buses and the sidewalks not teeming with people. Sidewalks and some street parking areas have now become alfresco cafes—most complete with seasonal plants and decorations. Some are super impressive to behold.

 

Most New Yorkers I observed had downloaded an official app that had both their ID and vaccine card on it. One manager came over to our table and offered to help me complete the process so I wouldn’t have to dig in my purse every time. Restaurants and bars are required to ask for proof of vaccination before allowing you inside seating—on pain of a $1,000 fine for the first violation, with escalating penalties and other enforcement actions for repeat offenders. 

New York ain’t playin’.