After the election this month, I couldn’t see the point of writing a newsletter that provides no solutions, no optimism, no way forward. I still don’t have any of that to offer, but the day after, a friend sent me a short but powerful Wendell Berry poem called February 2, 1968. I'm passing it along to you, and hope you’ll find the same comfort that I did. It reminded me that in the midst of great trouble, there is value, even necessity, in performing the ordinary, mundane rites of life. In the same week, another friend texted me a photo from his home in San Francisco of a solitary peony in the process of opening. Both the photo and the poem unfolded in me like healing remedies for a fractured world. Of course there will be plenty of tears ahead, but I hope they'll be medicinal. I'll keep flying prayer flags on my porch and the embattled Ukraine flag at my front door. Instead of careless, shortcut food, I’ll pause the incessant flow of news and noise and focus on making a dish that takes time and attention, like a butternut squash galette. I'll caramelize the onions slowly, slowly and relish every step instead of slapping it together as I usually do. I’ll sow rye seed in my drab yard and wait for the happy shock of bright green Easter-basket grass in the gloom of winter. I’ll give in to despair many times, but I’ll buy peonies out of season and look for signs of rebirth in their big crystal-ball blooms. And I’ll send my tiny newsletters that say “I’m here, I’m here, I’m hoping” out into the ether. Maybe they’ll land somewhere, but even if they don’t, they'll keep me thinking of you.

 

I struggle to find original, creative gifts, but this KooKoo clock was an accidental discovery and, as it turned out, a reliable rave. You can put it on a mantel or hang it on the wall with its pendulum. It never fails to make people stop and smile when the little bird pops out to sing every hour. The songs don’t sound mechanical, so trust me, they’ll love it.

I’m trying to make my phone a joyful tool instead of a doom device: making playlists of music I love (Gnossienne No. 1 is otherworldly, outside this troubled time--sorry about the annoying ad at the beginning); watching bear cub videos; signing up for Duolingo math lessons because I never progressed beyond 6th grade arithmetic. I bought my new red plaid phone case because I think whenever it’s possible to add a little beauty to your life, you should say yes. The red plaid design reminds me of a kilt I bought in Scotland and passed on to my granddaughter, of vintage garlands and ropes of tinsel that stay up long after the holidays, and of friends with fireplaces.

Thermostat up, thermostat down, toss, turn, rinse, repeat. I struggle with insomnia, and since South Carolina refuses to legalize gummies, I swear by the simply perfect percale sheets from Quince. Always crisp and cool, they have a slightly rumpled, slept-in look that says Sunday mornings with coffee in bed and a real newspaper. Pink is my favorite, but blue-and- white gingham gets my vote, too.