What your favorite Christmas cookie says about you

This post originally appeared on this blog eight years ago, but I think it’s clever enough to serve again on a seasonally appropriate platter. Enjoy!

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It’s the time of year flour, sugar and butter manufacturers live for: Christmas cookie baking season. Bakers across the country (and the world) celebrate the season by assembling different combinations of these three ingredients (plus an assortment of others) to tempt the rest of us into gaining Christmas pounds so we can resolve to lose them in January.

Your favorite Christmas cookie can reveal your personality, but before we look deep into your psyche, a definition is in order: Christmas cookies may have chocolate chips, but chocolate chip cookies are not Christmas cookies! As I have ranted in the past, Christmas cookies are special, once-a-year ordeals. They use special ingredients — like crushed candy canes or chocolate extract or dried cranberries or apricot jam. Or they come in special shapes — like spritz cookies or gingerbread men. Or they require complicated assembly, like sandwich cookies or red-hot-nosed reindeer cookies or those tedious twisted candy canes made of vanilla and red-colored sugar cookie dough. Or they have special toppings like powdered sugar or frosting or crushed nuts.

Chocolate chip cookies are for every day – they’re not for Christmas!

So with that in mind, what’s the one Christmas cookie you never pass up when the cookie plate comes your way? The one you pray to see when the neighbors gift you a batch? The one kind you’d make if you had enough discipline to bake only one batch this season?

I Like To Help: Sugar Cookies

These sugar cookies have mini M&Ms (because they need help).

When I worked at Target long ago, my name tag (and everyone else’s) read “My Name is [insert first name here] & I Like To Help.” I was imbued with the servant heart I don’t possess, but if sugar cookies are your favorite, helpfulness probably comes naturally to you. Sugar cookies are the Mr. Rogers of the holiday neighborhood: Everyone likes them because they have no offensive qualities like nuts, foreign spices or messy powdered sugar. They offer sweetness and light time after time.

 

Look At Me: Spritz Cookies

Sylvester Stallone probably likes spritz cookies. Making them, too.

Your favorite Leo probably likes spritz cookies. The ingredients are plain vanilla (with a dash of almond flavoring), but their presentation is anything but. Sometimes food coloring is added to the dough, it’s tortured by being squeezed through a press and decorated with sprinkles. If you like spritz cookies, you’re popular, you work hard to distinguish yourself from others and you’re probably physically attractive. You’re the king of the jungle, and anyone who doesn’t believe that gets mauled and eaten.

 

 

Second Thoughts: Snowballs

Nutty on the inside, sweet on the outside.

These cookies go by a half-dozen different names: Mexican Wedding Cakes, Russian (or Polish) Tea Cakes, Butter Pecan Cookies, Snowballs, Crescents, Pecan Sandies or one of the five million names that come up when you enter the recipe into Google. Also known as Those Buttery Cookies With the Powdered Sugar that Make Such A Mess on My Sweater. Despite the coating, they’re distinctive because the dough has relatively little sugar. If snowballs are your favorite, you eat fudge when you want sugar; you eat snowballs when you want Christmas cookies. You think deep thoughts and might be considered eccentric or even radical. At your best, you’re a genius, at your worst, you’re schizophrenic (what name are you going by today?). You probably hate sugar cookies and when you do actually bake, you don’t like to share.

Hey, Man, Don’t Get Crazy on Me: Gingerbread

Everything about gingerbread says tradition. It’s been around for a thousand years in various incarnations; in contemporary times, it’s a handy building block: Think gingerbread men and gingerbread houses. If gingerbread is your favorite, you like a good rut, a good boss and good political party. Family and friends are important to you. Without people like you, the world is an anarchy of white chocolate bark, chocolate sprinkles and whole cloves.

Just Wanna Have Fun: Peanut Blossoms

The No. 1 favorite cookie by many measures, peanut blossoms marry cookies with candy (and Hershey’s Kisses is forever grateful). And who can deny the appeal of peanut butter? If peanut blossoms are your favorite, you’re dazzlingly multitalented, uninhibited and enthusiastic. Haters call you hyperactive. What do they know? They probably like gingerbread.

 

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery: White Chocolate Cranberry Cookies or Macaroons

White chocolate cranberry cookies differentiate themselves from chocolate chip cookies with seasonally appropriate coloring that coordinates with Santa’s suit. And the crazy coconut of macaroons reflect his beard. If one of these types of cookies are your favorite, you’re courageous, possibly heroic, and entrepreneurial (how else could you deliver toys to two billion children every Christmas Eve?). At your worst, you’re a megalomaniac running an elf sweatshop in a country without income taxes.

Mr. Spock’s Favorite: Biscotti

Biscotti is both the bane and the savior of the holiday baker: It’s a pain in the arse to bake it twice, but once done, crisp biscotti lasts until the 12 days of Christmas are a faint memory. “Moist” and “soft” are insulting to biscotti. If you like biscotti best, you’re wise, ethical and humorless. Be honest: The only reason you even profess to like Christmas cookies is because they’re an excuse to drink coffee.

What’s In A Name: Snickerdoodle

Without the cinnamon coating and a name that’s as fun to say as boondoggle and dingus, snickerdoodles wouldn’t even qualify as Christmas cookies. If snickerdoodles are your favorite, you’re peace-loving and unpretentious, but whatever you do, don’t bring these to the Christmas cookie exchange: Your lack of flash will get the stink eye from the woman whose favorite cookie is in our final category.

Everything but a pageant sash: Cookie contest cookies and anything with pretzels

Photo by Six Sisters’ Stuff

Who needs flour, sugar and butter when there are so many other ingredients in the world?  If your favorite Christmas cookie is the one you’ve never seen before it appears on a plate from your familial gourmand, you’re creative and you know it, clap your hands. You are a romantic, possibly tortured and probably competitive. Aesthetics are important to you. And you probably play a mean game of Scrabble.

Daily newspapers across the Midwest hold Christmas cookie contests every year to inspire bakers to try new things, but that’s just a cover: Reporters like free cookies and Christmas cookie contests are a lot more delicious than lutefisk tasting contests. I devour the annual recipes with amused curiosity. Who has time for 16-step recipes and where can you find ground chipotlé pepper (don’t neglect the accent)? But these are my favorite cookies. Really, who can resist cookies with names that include chai latte, salted caramel and spiced something-r-other. In the past, my sister has taunted me on Pinterest with pins of elaborate cookies she thinks I should make in preparation for our family gathering, but this one she sent sounds divine despite the multi-step recipe: Chubby Hubby Buckeye Peanut Butter Truffles. Because it has peanut butter. And crushed pretzels.

I am an artiste.

How about you?

Travel Tuesday: Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center

Springtime in central Texas means bluebonnets in bloom literally everywhere. Not simply gardens or boulevards but ditches and cracks in the sidewalks, too.

The bluebonnet is the state flower of Texas. Back in the ’70s, Lady Bird Johnson encouraged the planting of native plants along Texas highways in a highway beautification effort. Like cherry blossoms in Washington, D.C., or tulips in southern Wisconsin, bluebonnet blooms are a common sight in the springtime.

Though they can be seen everywhere, one of the best places to take in bluebonnets is at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center just south of Austin, Texas. My Beloved and I enjoyed an outing with my parents there two weeks ago.

My Beloved and I, in a field of flowers.

In a pandemic, the center is a great way to enjoy the outdoors and some natural beauty. Displays, gardens, playgrounds, water features, walking paths and picnic areas fill the center’s nearly 300 acres. There’s a well-stocked gift shop, too. We spent nearly two hours there and could have lingered longer.

Dad and I in a full-color pose.

Photo opportunities abound. Because entrance is limited, it’s easy to get pictures without a bunch of strangers in the background.

The center offers miles of walking paths.

Bluebonnet is a name given to any number of purple-flowered species of the genus Lupinus predominantly found in the southwestern United States. The name is derived from the shape of the petals on the flower resembling a pioneer woman’s bonnet. My father, who has planted an active wildflower garden in his yard in central Minnesota, said the Texas flowers looked like smaller versions of lupine flowers.

The center was founded in 1982 when founders Lady Bird Johnson, a former first lady, and actress Helen Hayes established the National Wildflower Research Center. The University of Texas at Austin uses native plants to restore and create sustainable, beautiful landscapes. Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush flowers were in bloom when we were there. I imagine other varieties of wildflowers are in bloom throughout the season.

Lovebirds can be observed, too.

The Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center is at 4801 La Crosse Ave., Austin. In the COVID-19 era, reservations are required in order to limit attendance and prevent crowds. Tickets are $12 for adults, $10 for seniors 65+, $10 for military and $6 for youth ages 5-17.

When you come to a fork in the road, take it

An enterprising rock sculptor is at work on the walking paths around my Texas residence.

I described this interesting two-foot-tall rock formation to my mother, and she explained, “That’s an inuksuk!”

Well, you learn something new every day.

And then my dad chimed in, and he said, “It’s a cairn.”

Why, yes, it’s that, too.

An inuksuk is a manmade stone landmark, or cairn, for use by the Inuit and other peoples of the Arctic region of North America. A cairn is a man-made pile or stack of stones; the word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic.

Inuksuit (plural for inuksuk) and cairns are often used to mark boundaries or paths.

The creator here in my housing development is not some kid playing with rocks. Well, he might be a kid, but he understands the meaning behind the formations because they are built in forks in the road, as if to draw attention to the traveler’s choice.

When I brought my Beloved down the path on another day, I found another, smaller inuksuk near the first one I found.

On another path, I found an enormous formation built on a stone wall, at sort of a T in the path.

I rarely meet anyone on these paths. It’s odd to think someone took a few minutes or more to find and balance the rocks, and yet I see them only in my own isolation. It is a strange but special communion.

These works of art or navigation are a bit ephemeral. A few days after I brought my Beloved down the first path, the smaller inuksuk was just a pile of rubble. All evidence of its existence was gone (except my photo).

Speaking of ephemeral, how about a beautiful sunrise. I snapped this picture off my deck. If I were a better photographer, I would have a picture of the sunrise behind an inuksuk (alas, I am not that photographer). Given the deep freeze most of America is experiencing (even here, in Texas!), I think a warm picture of the sun might be the balm we all need.

“Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don’t struggle against, we are in harmony with reality.”

~ Pema Chodron, American Tibetan Buddhist

71 ways to welcome winter

My mother’s least favorite season is winter. The season is long where she lives in north Central Minnesota, it’s gray and the closest she can get to gardening is perusing seed catalogs.

So when I made a list last year of ways to savor summer, she kept asking me for ways to savor winter. Summer was easy for her to savor; winter much more challenging. I made that summer list to recognize what a strange year 2020 had been already by May. I didn’t want summer to slip through my fingers like spring had. So I came up with 108 ways to savor the season, one suggestion for each day between Memorial Day weekend and Labor Day.

Mom and I sat down together and brainstormed such a winter list. A similar list for winter would require more than 108 ideas for some places (I’m looking at you, Minnesota, ye land of eternal winter) and a lot different ideas for other places (what do you have to say for yourself, Texas?). It’s not a one-size-fits-all solution to the pandemic blues we’re all enduring, but it’s a start.

Welcome Winter

Sights of Winter

1. Watch the snow fall through the window.
2. Look for the waves in the snowdrifts.
3. See sundogs around the sun.
4. Appreciate daylight.
5. Look for a cardinal.
6. Appreciate the blooms of a Christmas cactus.
7. Look for glittering snow.
8. Gaze at the Wolf Moon (January full moon).
9. Watch Northern Lights.
10. Buy a poinsettia.
11. Enjoy (or make) an ice sculpture.
12. Pick out a winter constellation.

Doings of Winter

1. Watch a fire in the hearth.
2. Take a twilight walk.
3. Snuggle up with a cozy blanket.
4. Shovel a snow-covered walk.
5. Feel your nose hairs freeze.
6. Finish a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.
7. Read a book.
8. Throw a snowball.
9. Wear a hat and scarf.
10. Hang Christmas lights (if not on a tree, somewhere).
11. Go ice fishing.
12. Light a candle.
13. Watch a football game.
14. Have an indoor picnic.
15. Wear at least three layers.
16. Enjoy a Christmas movie.
17. Play a board game.
18. Take up (or practice) a hobby.
19. Take a sauna.
20. Make a scrapbook.
21. Wear a down jacket.
22. Plan a vacation.
23. Take a nap.
24. Watch a comedy.
25. Wear long underwear.
26. Enjoy a spa day (DIY or professional).
27. Knock icicles off the eaves.
28. Pay a visit to someone.
29. Host a party (even a little one, or a Zoom one).
30. Send a care package to someone who needs one.
31. Be charitable.
32. Enjoy a basketball game.
33. Visit a library or bookstore.
34. Hang a calendar for the new year.
35. Send holiday greeting cards.

Dad took this picture of Mom on the road outside their Minnesota home on January 2, a day when the snow dressed the trees in glorious crystal robes. Can’t you just hear the crunch of snow beneath Mom’s boots?

Sounds of Winter

1. Hear the crunch of snow beneath your boots.
2. Listen to the blizzard winds roar.
3. Listen to a choir (preferably Christmas carols).
4. Read The Night Before Christmas.

Flavors of Winter

1. Eat chili.
2. Catch a snowflake on your tongue.
3. Make potato soup.
4. Drink cocoa.
5. Eat a broiled grapefruit.
6. Make a batch of Christmas cookies.
7. Make lefse.
8. Enjoy a parsnip soup.
9. Prepare a Monte Christo sandwich.
10. Turn a frozen food into something delicious.
11. Eat squash.
12. Drink warm mulled wine.
13. Eat chicken noodle soup.
14. Drink champagne (maybe at midnight).
15. Make a hot toddy.
16. Drink a fancy coffee drink.

Scents of Winter

1. Smell the pine scent of a Christmas tree.
2. Bake gingersnaps.
3. Make an all-day batch of rice pudding (with lots of cinnamon and butter).
4. Make a winter bonfire.

Welcome winter, friends, or it may turn on you. Any ideas Mom and I might have missed? Please share in the comments.

Fall’s first day

A single crimson leaf stared at me last week while I was doing yoga on the patio, looming as it were. Oh, the grass is summer green and most of the leaves, too, but this one staked out its territory in a showy way.

It’s the Autumn Equinox today when the sun is exactly over the Earth’s equator as it moves from north to south. The first day of autumn is welcomed by some, but more me it only signals a slow slog into darkness and cold.

Autumn has some bright spots, though. Like the colorful leaves.

There’s soup and apples and big buttery squash. Football and the World Series. Crisp mornings and temperate evenings. Cozy sweaters and cute boots.

Here’s to autumn.

Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall …

~ Adelaide Crapsey

Keeping summer in my pocket for later

The subject of savoring summer has gotten me by, blogwise, for a whole season, so I’m not going to let it go easily.

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the last days of summer. Here’s how I spent them.

September 2: Play hopscotch.

My granddaughter and I played a game of hopscotch.

September 6:Wear shorts and sandals.

Though I accomplished this feat many days, my Beloved captured this image of me in shorts (you’ll have to trust me on the sandals) as we waited for our brunch at a lakeside bar, overlooking Lily Lake.

September 7: Watch (or listen to) a baseball game.

I was pleased to discover how easy it was to listen to the Twins on Sirius XM on my television (bluetooth is a modern luxury). The Twins won.

September 7: Attend a backyard barbecue.

With the baseball game playing in the background, I enjoyed a backyard barbecue of my own making on Labor Day. My parents were paying us a visit, so my Beloved grilled bratwurst on the grill. It was pleasant until the hornets took over. Later, my mother observed that it was appropriate; it wouldn’t be a picnic without an insect intrusion.

I considered Labor Day to be the day this summer to “take a day off.” I didn’t do anything but make coleslaw (and evade hornets). No official picture, but I crossed that and a number of other items off my list without a pic: Walk through rain puddles, read a book outdoors, sunbathe, chase a monarch butterfly, and pay attention to crickets. Documentation or no, I didn’t do everything I set out to do to savor summer. But I did a lot of things, including some activities I never would have accomplished without making the list (arrange a bouquet, buy meat from the source, enjoy sunflowers, to name a few). In this pandemic season, I managed to savor some of the best things about summer.

By Minnesota Transplant’s calendar, summer is kaput, but technically, it’s still summer until September 22.

Summer has currency.

“Summer is, in so many ways, a state of mind that we can carry within us as we head into the darker days ahead.”

So say California Psychics in my Capricorn Daily Focus.

I enjoyed corn on the cob yesterday. I did yoga on my puddle-bedecked patio this morning. I ate green tomatoes for breakfast. I picked a bushel of fresh tomatoes from my garden this afternoon. So even though I believe in my heart that it’s autumn, I’m still savoring summer so I can carry these sunshine-filled moments with me into the darker days ahead.

Grazing my way through summer

Digging deep into the Netflix queue, my Beloved and I stumbled on No Tomorrow, a dramedy about a straitjacketed warehouse worker who is introduced to all kinds of crazy new experiences by an end-of-days crackpot with a bucket list. His list reminded me a little of my own Summer 2020 bucket list. Only crackpots keep lists? Maybe so. I’ve crossed about half the things off the 108-item list, so I’m on track, even if it’s a crazy track.

June 24: Eat an ice cream cone.

Cattle & Cream is sweet little market in Cherry Valley, Illinois, near where my mother-in-law resides. The store includes a butcher shop and an ice cream shop, thus the clever name, a vivid reminder that ribeye and fudge ripple come from the same animal. The three of us enjoyed pistachio nut, chocolate and coconut almond bliss ice cream cones. These were single scoops! What a value!

June 25: Use coconut sunscreen

Speaking of coconut, I crossed an item off the Scents of Summer section of my list when my Beloved and I went boating, and I dug this bottle out the cuddy. Smelled just like summer.

June 25: Wear a ponytail and baseball cap.

On the same boat outing, I kept my hair out of my eyes with a summery hairstyle.

June 27: Go to a sidewalk sale.

One might think a sidewalk sale would be hard to find in a pandemic, but I believe they are probably safer to shop than an indoor venue. I found a salad spinner at the Pampered Chef vendor at this parking lot bazaar.

June 27: Shop a garage sale.

A few weeks later, I found another outdoor shopping opportunity at a yard sale down the street. It was advertised as a “pre-estate sale,” and the tables were stacked with everything, from gym clothes to headboards. I found several bunches of artificial flowers I couldn’t live without, including these beautiful white tulips that found a home in a new vase on my sofa table. When I mentioned my find to my mother-in-law, she tipped me off to an artificial flower cleaner. (Who knew such a thing existed? My mother-in-law, like my Beloved, is a Virgo, and Virgos know.)

July 12: Visit a farm.

I crossed two things off my list when we stopped at Lester’s Bison Farm, only 20 minutes north of our house. Boasting a buffalo herd established in 1973, the farm peddles bison meat in every form plus chicken, pheasant and pork raised at nearby farms.

July 12: Buy meat from the source.

We walked out with two big bags of meat, allowing us the opportunity to eat local: better for us, better for the community, better for the environment. Though I tend to eschew grass-fed beef, the bison steak we enjoyed a few days later was absolutely delicious.

July 22: Drink an iced coffee.

On the opposite extreme, I enjoyed a drink composed of international coffee beans from a global conglomerate one afternoon this past week. It was absolutely delicious, too.

July 23: Make cucumber salad.

When the box of produce this week from my Community Supported Agriculture farm included a sprig of dill, I sliced up a half dozen cucumbers from the garden to make a batch of quick pickled cucumber, a summery treat.

July 25: Make berry cobbler.

I whipped up a batch of triple-berry crisp for some special guests. Technically, because this has less flour, more oatmeal and no baking soda, it’s considered a crisp, but it was yummy in any case. Nothing helps endure a pandemic more than comfort food. Here’s to it!

Finding summer sweetness at home

A summer like no other, this summer is. Even in March, when the world went on lock-down and non-essential retail stores shuttered and Major League Baseball x-nayed spring training, I never imagined we would still be talking in July about sheltering in place and avoiding indoor restaurants and baseball games without stadium crowds.

Yet here we are. COVID-19 changes everything.

But I’m still trying to linger on summer’s joys no matter what happens in the world. Soon the nights will come earlier and the trees will lose their leaves. Gotta be mindful of the present moment because that’s all we have. Recently, I’ve been crossing things off my Summer 2020 list that I can enjoy within the safety of my own space.

June 21: Ride in a convertible (or open the sun roof).

On a trip to Starbucks one morning when we discovered we were out of coffee beans (oh, the problems in the First World), I opened the sunroof in the car and shook off the a.m. cobwebs in the summer breeze. By using the drive-through, I avoided the trip into the great unknown of unwashed humanity but still enjoyed the great outdoors.

July 7: Go for a run (even a short one).

On another glorious morning, I donned a beloved pair of Asics and a hat with a Nike message (and other appropriate garb) and ran around my little village. I used to run five miles at a time on the regular, but I more or less gave it up a couple of years ago when my poor feet couldn’t take the pounding anymore. Still, I jogged a mile and a half before I had to walk, so I’m still going to count myself among the folks who call themselves runners.

July 9: Eat fresh basil.

My Beloved’s garden has been (and will continue to be) a source of deliciousness. Even through we are committed to staying home, we have been eating like gourmands. I whipped up some kale-basil pesto (with walnuts instead of pine nuts), and I used it to top a freshly grilled mozzarella cheeseburger. Yum.

July 11: Make fried green tomatoes.

A few days later, the not-ready yet but plump looking tomatoes in the garden beckoned to me and persuaded me to turn them into fried green tomatoes to accompany bacon and eggs at brunch.

July 18: Eat a fresh peach.

While we’re dining well at home, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the “imperfect” peach I got on sale at a nearby farm market. It tasted perfect to me! Juicy like only a fresh peach can be. I threw in a few raspberries and some cinnamon-dusted plain yogurt, and boom, breakfast.

July 16: Watch rabbits play.

My yard continues to be a source of merriment, to me when I’m doing yoga on the patio and definitely to the family of rabbits whom I believe have a nest beneath our cargo trailer. Watching rabbits play was not on my original list, but since baby bunnies are a spring thing, teenaged bunnies are a summer one. I witnessed a trio of brothers (I’m guessing on the gender) chase each other around my yard when I was in savasana pose (yes, one is supposed to close one’s eyes in this restful pose, but the rabbits caught my eye nonetheless). Can you see him?

See him now?

This family is a little bit of redemption for me. Two years ago, there was a baby bunny massacre on my watch when we moved our RV into the driveway of the house we were renting at the time. The nest there was revealed, and baby bunnies hopped away in every direction. With gloved hands, I scrambled around to reassemble the nest, but a few hours later, I saw a satisfied-looking cat sitting beneath the camper. Not a good end for those baby bunnies. I felt terrible. But rabbits being rabbits, another family found refuge in our yard, and now they’re hopping around, probably planning their own families.

July 19: Admire lilies.

Admiring lilies wasn’t on my original list either, but I think I missed the peony season (I had hoped to celebrate the scents of summer by smelling a peony) so I needed an alternative. Suddenly, all the ditches around here are sporting the lovely orange lilies, and then this morning, I rediscovered the turk’s hat lilies in the garden on the side of the my house that were originally planted by the church ladies who volunteered here when my house was a church. These dramatic blossoms make an appearance every summer.

July 18: Attend a family reunion.

When you can’t go to the party, bring the party to you! We observed the Kulland family reunion this year on Zoom. I missed my cousin’s wife’s stellar homemade Chex Mix, but we caught up on some family news virtually from the comforts and security of our homes.

July 19: Hang sheets on a clothesline.

I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to cross this one off my list since we don’t have a clothesline at our house. But I talked my Beloved into making one between two of our pine trees, and I hung our sheets on it this morning. I haven’t yet inhaled the scent only fresh air can imbue on sheets, but I can’t wait to go to bed tonight. “Clean sheets night” is my favorite night of the week, and it’s going to be even better tonight!

If we’re going to be stuck at home, we might as well appreciate the simple pleasures.

Summer in the heart of the porcupine

Leave it to a Minnesota Transplant to savor even the prickly bits of summer. It’s a precious resource, this season, so one has to relish in every part.

Like swatting a mosquito. I did that for the first time Thursday morning when I was yoga-ing on the patio in the thick morning air. Missed him. And didn’t get a picture. (From my 108 Precious Days of Summer list, July 9: Slap a mosquito.)

June 25: Watch ants at work.

Summer is the season for insects, though. You won’t find anything but spiders in the dark corners of unused rooms in wintertime, but in summer, whoo-boy, the bugs are in paradise, and so are entomologists. Me? I’m not much of an insect lover. I’d prefer they leave me alone. The flyswatter and I get real familiar in summertime. But I spent a few moments while in a down-dog pose on the patio watching the ants work. We’ve got big black ones (like I pictured above) and little brown ones doing their ant thing out there. We get along fine as long as they steer clear of me in corpse pose.

This is what one who favors summer but has lived through long winters must do: find joy in even the less appealing parts. Like rain. Sure, gardeners love rain. But vain 50-somethings with limp hair like it less. Rainstorms have been passing by on the regular lately (which is why the mosquitoes have finally made an appearance).

July 9: Listen to a rainstorm and count the seconds between lightning and thunder. 

After my Beloved retired the other night, I skulked around the dark house with a flashlight checking on the operation of the new gutter system and listening to the rain on the roof of the garage (we have so much insulation in our roof of our house, you can hardly hear the rain drops, but out in the garage, it’s pandemonium). I tiptoed down to the basement to check for leaks and found none (whew!), and as I passed by the front door, I peered out into the darkness and counted the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. The lightning was ten miles away. My camera setting might trick you into believing this photo was taken during the day, but it was black out there, and water was falling in gallons from the sky. I didn’t venture into the wet, but the scene was quite lovely.

That’s how one endures life’s storms: find beauty in them. There’s a word for that: ceraunophilia, loving thunder and lighning and find them intensely beautiful.

July 2: Drink freshly made lemonade.

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

 

Mournful cooing speaks of summer

A mourning dove lives somewhere near my house or, more likely, more than one lives nearby.

I’ve heard this bird’s mournful cooing as I emerge from sleep in my bed in the morning, when I’m lingering outside in the afternoon, and when I’m harvesting cilantro in the back garden before dinner, so he lives nearby.

When I asked my Beloved about it, he said mourning doves are like rats with wings⁠—they’re common and pesky.

But the language of a mourning dove is quite beautiful, much better than a rat’s scratching, and so it made my list of ways to savor summer.

June 28: Listen to a mourning dove.

Getting a picture proved impossible. I followed his call last week and tracked him to somewhere around the elementary school across the street from my house. Amid the tweets of other birds, you can hear the mourning dove’s call, but you can’t see him.

Even without the flashy good looks of a blue jay or beautiful scenery, the mourning dove’s call calms me. Just the simple act of paying attention forces me to slow down, and savor.

Here’s to summer.