My favorite things

The kitchen is covered in a fine layer of flour and sparkling sugar. The scents of cinnamon, cocoa and vanilla hang in the air. It's the week before Christmas and I've been baking.

This is one of my favorite times of year. I get to stay up late and sip a little brandy or port (ok, sometimes it's bourbon), listening to my favorite music - on headphones so I don't wake up the girls. Over the course of the week I make batch after batch of cookies:

-Fig and walnut biscotti
-Lemon rosemary shortbread
-Pecan crescents
-Drunken fruit and nut bars
-Chai spice balls
-Cappuccino shortbread
-Mexican chocolate balls
-Spritz

The list grows and changes each year.

The purpose of baking all of these cookies is not to eat them myself - in fact I rarely eat cookies while I'm baking them. No, these are to give away to friends and family. Part of the fun during my week of baking is the time I spend poring over recipes after putting the kids to bed. I dig through cookbooks and web recipes, I find notes I've scrawled onto scraps of paper. I make my preliminary list of what I will bake. I try to create a balance - some cookies have fruit, others have nuts or strong spices, and there is always chocolate.

After the list is complete and I've made sure I have all of the supplies I will need, I am ready to bake. I love the stillness of the house as I move through my kitchen, creaming butter, adding sugar, flour, cinnamon, and cocoa. I love shaping the cookies. Each one is a little different. To me, they are beautiful.

While I do love to bake alone, I also make time to share the fun with my girls. I save the spritz cookies for an evening when we can bake together. They love to sprinkle the formed cookies with sparkly sugar and non-pareils. They help me tint the dough green and red to punch out mini Christmas trees and flowers. Often when I bake with them, we make sugar cookies that they can decorate with sticky icing. Those never make it into the gift bags - my girls have no qualms about eating the cookies when they are done baking.

Baking all of the cookies is a big part of the fun, but cookie delivery time is just as wonderful. First, I have to pack up all of the cookies into bags or takeout boxes - it's quite an assembly. Everyone's package gets labeled. Some of the deliveries I do solo but what I most enjoy is to pack the girls into the car and drive around town, looking at holiday light displays and stopping in to visit with friends. We probably stay at each house for only 15 minutes or so before heading back out into the cold to our next stop. Sharing something as simple as a gift of cookies and good cheer with our friends - this is truly one of my favorite things. No fancy presents needed.

And, if you are wondering, these may have been my favorite cookies this year - a new recipe for me - Cappuccino Sails from Judy Rosenberg's cookbook. They are a coffee-laced shortbread cookie dunked first in very dark chocolate and then coated with toasted almonds. Yum.

Power. What's the point?

Power. It's a complicated thing. In my work, I have power in what I think of as small ways. I have access to money and I've built relationships across the campus where I work. I try to use this particular power to do good by our students. On some days, being able to wield this power is very rewarding but oftentimes just having the power and desire to help is not enough.

Today it was rewarding. I was able to help a student with an emergency scholarship so that she won't have to worry about how she will be able to pay the rest her bill. I like this student. She's smart and she's got that spark that comes from being a quick study in new situations. She will be a leader someday. In fact, I'm sure she is already. I was psyched to feel like I was investing in her future and our collective future.

On other days, having the power to help just frustrates the hell out of you. Last semester I got a call from someone in the college where I work. She told me that she knew of a student who was living out of her car because she didn't have the money to repair it and she lived too far away to make the drive back and forth every day without the fear that she would get stuck somewhere. The staff person who called me explained that the student was very private and had a difficult time reaching out for help.

Well, here was a problem I could fix. I immediately sprang into action. I called my colleague in residence life to see if we could find the student a room. I called my colleague in financial aid to see if we could get her a little more money. I was able to find some scholarship money in one of our funds to supplement the additional aid. Everything was in place, the student just had to call and ask for help.

I waited. She didn't call. It was finals time. I couldn't even imagine the stress of living in a car while trying to study for finals. Days went by. I called the staff person who originally told me about this student. I asked if she'd seen her. She told me that she tried to convince the student to ask for help but that she had decided to "tough it out." I told the staff person that I'd hold onto our plans and set the funds aside for the student and whenever she was ready, all she had to do was call. She never did.

I was so perplexed. I realized how invested I'd become in helping this student whom I'd never even met. I thought I could make everything better for her. I knew who to call. I had a little bit of scholarship money. It could all work out exactly as I planned. I really didn't expect to have this offer of help ignored.

It was an interesting lesson for me. I thought I had the perfect fix. I didn't count on it not working for the student. I realized that it's not enough to have a little power if those you want to help don't want any part of your assistance. I haven't learned not to get too invested in the students but I am trying to understand them better. My way is not always their way and I am not always right. Like most so-called adults, I think I have all of the answers but I don't. All I have is a little bit of power and the desire to help.

March is the bitterest month

The month of March hits me like an errant wave. It buckles my knees, knocking me down. It threatens to roll me under, sucking out my breath. Each year I find myself struggling against the undertow to get to my feet again. 

At least February, despite the ferocity of the cold and threats of blizzard, is the shortest month. You can hold your breath and soon you are on the other side, shaking your head to clear it and holding out hope for the warmth of spring. But instead you find yourself in March, with its 31 long day, some of which are tauntingly warm – maybe even a balmy 55 degrees. But then, to make sure you don’t get too comfortable in your longing for spring, the following day will be sure to drench you in freezing rain, or pile another 6 inches of snow on the tired-looking and dirty snow dunes that still flank all of the roads and driveways.

To be sure, this winter has been especially harsh, making March an even more miserable slog. Our bodies are weary from holding them rigid while we walk through the blowing winds, trying not to fall on the ever-present ice that lines the walkways. Complexions are pale from the want of sunshine; foreheads seem permanently creased in concentration. Even our eyes have adjusted to the dreary palette of white, gray and brown that marks winter. Once March arrives, we are longing for bright colors and gaiety. 

We long for something to lift our spirits so we begin to plan. My daughters scour the landscape for signs of spring – a patch of dingy grass, the first snowdrop or crocus. My gardening friends have been scrutinizing seed catalogs, comparing the brightly colored photos of various varieties of produce. For myself, I begin to plan our summer trips – a long weekend at the Cape, a camping trip in New Hampshire, maybe a week on the Rhode Island coast. We don’t have to travel far. We just need a change of scenery, some time by the ocean or in the mountains. 

When I start to plan these trips, my spirits finally allow themselves to lift. I begin to imagine a time when the sun actually warms my body, when I don’t have to shrug into a heavy coat and sensible shoes. My toes wiggle in anticipation of digging into soft sand and putting on flip flops. For me, the visions of summer vacation ground me and help me manage to get through another long day in March.