Tragedy, Time, and Coming Out the Other Side; Condolence Cupcakes

On Wednesday morning, our dear friend Tom was called with the terrible news that his son had died in his sleep. The first thing he did was call Phil, and Phil accompanied him to break the news to Jeanie and bring her home from work. Yesterday morning around 6.15, I drove Phil and Tom to the airport: zero degrees and whiteout, so much snow in the air, but the little plane took them up to Anchorage to catch the big plane down to Seattle, where they are now, taking care of things.

Needless to say, it's a huge loss and shock: a new spin on the world around which we all change our plans. Saving graces: both Tom and Jeanie had had upbeat phone conversations with Luke the night before, and knew he was in good spirits. And I don't know if this is a saving grace or not, but my read is that this actually happened a long time ago, that the way Tom and Jeanie have been living their life for some time already reflects it as fact. Which means, in a way, that he's still here. We all sense that.  Tom and Phil down in WA are meeting hordes of people who loved Luke, who were touched by his generous spirit. I've barely gotten to see Jeanie since they left, there's been such an overflow of support from all the many other people in this community who love Tom and Jeanie.

Tom is so glad to have Phil with him--and isn't it a compliment to Phil that he's the first person Tom thought of to call. Encomia of Phil are pouring in from all quarters at the moment, and I hope he hears them, and recognizes how appreciated he is by so many.

I haven't slept since we heard the news, but I think I will tonight. I watched it snow all day and all night yesterday, as I immersed myself in work and reading, and trying to write something...into this morning...

 Our "bunny fence" isn't worth much with the snow up above it. I shoveled.

I confess that the nonlinearity of timing this exhibited--my certainty that it happened long ago--sent me into a tailspin: if "a" doesn't follow "b," then it won't make any difference if I don't take my meds, or eat, or sleep, and do take pills I shouldn't take... Going nowhere good. But by some other incredible serendipity, the phone rang first thing this morning, and it was the Naturopath's office, about something else. They got me to come in, to get my chemistry set right again, talked me down from paranoia about time being all out of order...So grateful both to my ND himself and to his wonderful office manager. I didn't want it to be all about me. And now, although I don't feel great, I'm ok, and although I'm still puzzled about the time thing, I'm not totally freaked out. I still don't understand, but I'm more likely to be able to be there to support Phil now.

I made a simple dinner for all of us on Wednesday night, the day the news hit. Short notice and busy day, and I wanted to make something sweet to finish with. In this situation, the temptation is to make something overwhelmingly sugary that I wouldn't dream of eating myself, and I did make a batch of Phil's energy bars, which are protein powder, nuts, craisins, oats in a matrix of peanut butter and honey boiled together, partly to be journey food for them. But I decided I also wanted to serve something raw, light, delicious, beautiful, and gentle.
So I made these "Condolence Cupcakes:" they're inspired by Shannonmarie's Lemon Rawtess Cupcakes, although I made them mini and didn't put pretty frosting and piping on top.

3/4 cup cashews
3/4 cup unsweetened dried shredded coconut
pinch salt
zest of one lemon
Blend all these until fine.
Add:
1/3 cup date paste or finely chopped dates
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Whisk in until well incorporated.
I ground the nuts with the "S" blade of the Cuisinart, but then, for incorporating the dates, I used the little "dough" blade, the plastic "S" shaped one that isn't sharp, to keep the texture fluffy. When it can be formed into a dough, fill the mini cupcake cups with little hollowed-out "cakes," reserving some 'dough' to top them.
For the filling, I used some frosting leftover from our Anniversary Carrot Cake (recipe is there).

Just a little blob of frosting in the hollowed-out cashew-coco-lemon 'dough' (like in the picture above), and then cover it with some reserved 'dough.'

It made about fifteen. And they were so well appreciated! Apparently some of them are in WA with Phil and Tom.
The lemon symbolizes the sadness, wrapped up in sweetness.

Today the snow finally stopped, and when I went downtown my copy of the Georgia Review, featuring a poem by a good friend from the program, no less, had finally arrived. I'd never seen the sky stippled white, gray and blue in quite this way before and had to stop to try and capture it, even though I could feel the marrow of my jaw freezing. Things are looking up.

Maxine Kumin on Anne Sexton; In Praise of Pills; This Week's Herbal

With my holiday goodies-making well underway and now that my camera is found, I'm feeling an absolute logjam of food-related posts building up.

So I'd better slide in something non-food-related while it's on my mind.

At our poetry group on Tuesday, we listened to an audio recording of the poet Maxine Kumin, who continues to be lucid, potent, trenchant and poetic, now well into her eighties. She talked about herself, inevitably, but the focus of the talk was her friendship with Anne Sexton, which lasted from the late '50's until Sexton's suicide in 1974. As might be expected, it was some very inspiring and also very poignant listening. Meeting as we were to support one another in our poetry practice, we listened with delight to Kumin's description of the intense intimacy with which they workshopped one another's poems. The fact that they would workshop over the phone and thus receive aural impressions of the poem long before they saw it laid out on the page (which, Kumin said, was wonderful ear-training) was intriguing to all of us as a way to add another dimension to our appreciation and critical faculties.

I felt a little wistful for a time and place in which the big poetry world was so much smaller than it is now. I'm not saying they had it easy at all, especially with the gender bias they still encountered. Kumin received a rejection note from an editor saying he'd have loved to publish her poem, but he had published a woman writer last month and had to wait a few months before he could do so again!!! But the fact that it was a smaller world creates the impression (illusion?) that entry to it might have been easier then.

Kumin's freshness was most inspiring: she said a couple times that she almost felt like she had to apologize for the fact that she was still writing and publishing new poetry, "dinosaur" as she was.

Her words about Sexton's suicide were both difficult and important for me to hear, since I have some experience with both sides of that coin. I've had a best friend commit suicide, and have narrowly missed it myself. I was glad for Kumin that she didn't experience the intense guilt that most friends of suicides experience: she explained that she'd rescued Sexton from several previous attempts, and had been warned by her in no uncertain terms that next time she wouldn't see it coming. But, as she said, here almost forty years later she's still writing it out. It's something you never get over.

She lamented the state of medication at those times and, when speaking of Sylvia Plath (who killed herself in 1963, aged only 31, and with whom they had interacted a little at the Boston Poetry Society), lamented her short life, her genius and how little time she'd had. "Think of what she'd have been able to do if she'd just had the right pills," she said.

That got me. It's probably obvious from my earlier mentions about pills that I have some resistance toward them, and I spent years avoiding them. It's also true that lately I've been having some compliance issues around my own pill program, and the results have not been pretty. It's easy to feel paranoid about 'what they're doing to you,' and to want to be 'yourself,' unmediated, unmedicated. And then it's annoying when your treatment team chorus at you that your behavior is a symptom of your disorder... But finally, these last few days, with another increase in dosage and a little consistency, I'm feeling evened out and actually more like 'myself,' even if it takes this intervention. I'm still not sleeping much, though.

Kumin's "pills" comment came from her position of deep friendship with Sexton. I sometimes feel I have to protect people I'm close to from myself, or even avoid getting too close, to spare them that potential heartache. But Kumin's words actually might have persuaded me that just taking the pills might be the best way to 'protect' the people I care about. I just need to remember this for the times when I don't care anymore if I'm nice to be around or not (or if I'm around at all)...

Speaking of sleep, my hops tincture/syrup seems to be working like a charm for several people around here--a bunch of people having trouble sleeping got their gift early! As I mentioned, I can't use it because it's not compatible with my brain chemistry.

I realized that the herbal project I had been planning was a non-adrenally-impacting "pick-me-up," when what I really needed was to calm the heck down.

So, very very simply, I made an infusion of chamomile and lavender flowers.

They're so beautiful--I find them calming even to look at.

That's about a tablespoon and a half of each, in a quart of hot (not boiling) water. I added it to my regular morning brew of Rhodiola powder and Gynostemma leaves. (The Rhodiola seems to help with anxiety, and the Gynostemma is a great all-round tonic herb, and delicious.)

 But you'll need a strainer for this--the Rhodiola and Gynostemma behave themselves and settle to the bottom (roots and leaves) but the Lavender and Chamomile float up top (flowers).

I hope you're having a lovely weekend, enjoying the quiet of midwinter, preparing holiday goodies if that's your thing.