Hey, y’all. It’s March (it has been March for a year) and I need a writing challenge. So this month I’m writing a 31-word blog post each day, about 31 things that are getting me through. Today’s is longer because of this introduction, but I’m hoping to spark some creativity with this format and shake myself out of my latest funk.
Here’s the first one: Trader Joe’s daffodils.
A shot of yellow on my kitchen counter—I can’t resist grabbing a bunch at $1.79 each. They remind me that not all luxuries are expensive, and brighter days are coming.
As a lover of Christmas (and twinkle lights), I have a soft spot for December. It usually feels both hectic and peaceful: holiday celebrations and travel prep and last-minute gifts alongside the hush of quiet evenings and diamond-bright, blue-sky mornings.
This year, of course, December feels different: I’m not packing for Texas, not finishing up a semester of full-time work, not going to Advent services or planning to sing carols in church on Christmas Eve. I am trying to wrap my head around a low-key, cozy, local Christmas. But I am still observing a few tiny rituals of the season, and I thought I’d share them with you. They include:
Stringing twinkle lights on a Christmas tree – I put mine up last weekend, well behind the pandemic-inspired holiday rush but with plenty of time to enjoy it before Christmas.
Pulling out a few cherished mementoes, like the metal mailbox with a little moose on it and the words “Merry Kiss Moose” in red letters. And the coat-hanger tree I’ve had since junior high, which still – miraculously – works, at least for now.
Listening to The Holiday soundtrack while I clean or cook or write. And watching the movie itself, which is a perennial fave.
Addressing Christmas cards and wondering whether I need to buy more stamps. (Related: texting friends to ask for snail-mail addresses.)
Pulling out my now-worn Advent book and flipping to my favorite essays.
Seeing those plush reindeer antlers and noses on cars around town, which always make me smile.
Revisiting Shepherds Abiding, a tale of Mitford at Christmastime that charms me and chokes me up every. single. year.
Searching out stocking stuffers (this time, for my guy).
Humming the carols I love, and pulling out a few favorite albums: Sarah McLachlan’s Wintersong, James Taylor’s At Christmas, the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack.
Pulling out the fleece-lined tights and handknit accessories.
Remembering Christmases past: red felt stockings on the mantel at Mimi’s, candles in the sanctuary at my parents’ church, the words of Luke 2 from Mom’s worn old Bible, Christmas-morning shenanigans with my nephews.
The first [daffodils] of the season are sprouting on my pocket-handkerchief sundeck—bursts of yellow on sappy stems. It seems almost wrong for them to be so yellow and so confident of the coming of spring. It is still winter. They are early. I am quite annoyed with them, which is perverse. […]
The pots on the sundeck are studded with strappy leaves, and stems topped with furled yellow buds, and, until I cut it a few minutes ago, there was this one arrogant or self-confident bloom ahead of all the rest, with its open-hearted, imprudent embrace of possibility. […]
Daffy daffodils. They open themselves in this way to light and sun and rain, exposing their innards, advertising their vulnerability with a splash of colour in the grey, shaded, pre-spring garden.
Spring is coming, the daffodils say. Hope springs eternal. And all that.
I am going to cut more of the furled yellow buds, put them in a vase, and watch them open in the warmth of my living room.
—Margaret Simons, Six Square Metres: Reflections from a Small Garden
I’ve been reading Simons’ wry, wonderful memoir about her tiny garden in the inner suburbs of Melbourne (kindly sent to me by the good folks at Scribe US). I don’t have any outdoor space for bulbs, but I’ve been filling my kitchen with Trader Joe’s daffodils lately, and her words were a perfect match for the cheery yellow blooms that are making my kitchen cart so happy right now.
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cakes, tea and dreams 