Where did December go? Have we really been fucking about with the decorating for this long already? This year, I made a pretty traditional Thanksgiving dinner for the family to try, and we chatted about my own tradition of putting up the tree after Thanksgiving dinner. I think the idea of Christmas decor out in November is a step NBF won't take with me. Love me for all my eccentricities and flaws...except pushing Christmas into November. I did go to the plant store that weekend, though, and bought a Christmas arrangement...so I could hide the gnomes in plain site. While I joke about NBF and the gnomes, it really comes down to some Americans decorate too fucking early. Sigh...I am some Americans. Although when I showed him the video of my brother's house, I might have moved a little closer to Christmas quirky than completely out of my tinsel snorting mind. Once the Christmas decorations were pulled down from that attic, they sat for a bit. It felt like we were getting them down early enough but of course, everyone knows how December goes. The table cloth was changed to a beautiful red one from his grandmother, and the Christmas knick knacks slowly started showing up on the shelves and tables. NBF ended up hanging the lights outside while I did laundry (and any housework I could find that remotely needed doing) because this princess was not going out in -15C/5F to hang lights. We did some Christmas shopping. Well, I should say I did some Christmas shopping and then told NBF he could handle the rest to which he replied, "What rest??" (Although he did buy everyone a lottery Christmas advent calendar.) Don't tell him I forgot the "present to share" so I will be searching for one more small gift for the kids. Also, it never even occurred to me that the day you put Christmas presents under the tree would have to be discussed. My poor boys growing up got to see presents under the tree for a couple of weeks before Christmas. This weekend, we spent a little more time making it feel even more Christmas-ish at home. I wrapped presents and we bought our second annual Christmas ornaments. NBF hung my lighted dompaps in the apple tree. We even adopted a Christmas gnome with a lantern. Saturday, I thought it would be a great idea to try the lussekatter recipe I had seen pop up in my FB feed a few times. Lussekatter are traditional yeast rolls made for St. Lucia's day, December 13, in Scandinavia. My only beef with the buns ...before I made them...is that they have raisins pushed into the dough. That was an easy fix as I subbed in chocolate. Now, I am not sure if you understand the undertaking of a recipe with 1 kg of flour or not, but I for one did not. However, I was "fixin' ta learn". I began my adventure by underestimating the size of bowl necessary to accommodate Mt St Flour. Don't bother to ask me about the powdery cloud that you envision I would be hidden inside...we aren't going there. It was soon clear that my little hand mixer was absolutely NOT up for the task of mixing this dough, so I had to knead the dough by hand. Which, okay, people have done this for years. This isn't going to change the outcome of the buns if I am vigilant. However, I am convinced my foremothers did not knead dough in the land of the vikings where they couldn't get enough pressure on the dough because they couldn't reach the countertops well enough. Y'all I had to stand on a chair to knead the dough, and do you think I could get this done without being seen? Fuck no. Did I mention I am drinking cider on an empty stomach because I am baking pizza at the same time? Keep that in mind as it comes up later. All sorts of proud of myself for kneading this dough into submission for fifteen minutes, I take a peek at the recipe only to find out the next step is to knead in butter. FML. I am going to try to goad this mixer into stepping up its game. Bless its squeaky, squealing little heart, it did come through in the end with a lot of help from me squishing the butter into the dough. Of course the recipe said no need for room temperature butter because the mixing process would heat up the butter. LIES. FUCKING LIES. I FINALLY get the dough done and let it rest in its bowl for two hours. The recipe said to lay a towel over the bowl while the dough rose, so when I laid my towel over, I sighed with contentment. In the meantime, I make pizza dough and NBF is making the toppings and we are listening to music and life is good. Next thing I know I have a towel draped mushroom blossoming out of my mixing bowl. Apparently, it is time to shape the dough, but while I am trying to twist these dough sausages into complex dough-rigami contortions that have names like Christmas pig, boy, and the priest's hair, Tony has slipped off the bathroom. I still need to set the table, pull the burning pizza from the oven, cut said pizza, and get the second pizza in the oven. My mind went into full drunken, I am going to burn the house down panic. I went downstairs and got the kids to set the table and was really confused about why it was so funny. (Apparently, drunk panicked Nellie is a sight.) I continued my dough-scapades once I felt everyone else had the pizza under control. Now, the julegris, Christmas pig, is pretty easy, so I was feeling confident. I thought I was going to try the Tolvhullskringle, which I later found out translates to twelve hole pretzel. Jesus wept. When I couldn't even manage to google a video for explanation I was ready to give in, but BK1 found the video for me. Gee....thanks. This bun took four separate dough sausages linked and woven together into ...well, a fucking pretzel. I am going to need another cider just to figure this one out. All in all the buns actually turned out fairly well for a first attempt. I did decide two things. First, there will be no more drunken dough-ventures. Second, I need a stand mixer which NBF will fully support if I buy a lid...no sense of flour cloud adventure in that one. I am not going to say I agree but I do think I can save myself some clean up time, so maybe the lid will be okay. So here I sit on Sunday, laughing to myself about the buns and feeling wholly thankful for the happiness and peace I am finding in new, blended, and shared traditions. But silently thankful that fastelavnsboller don't come around until Easter!
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Anxiety and depression have been companions of mine for as long as I can remember. In the past as winter approached, my depression would start peeking in and seeing if it could settle in unnoticed. Some years it came bursting in like an excited toddler ready to show you a booger on their finger. Despite the fact that autumn is my favorite season, two of my grandparents died in November, so that can be all the opening depression needs to cozy into the couch beside me.
Anxiety on the other hand, always shows up unannounced and many times without an invitation of any sort. Unlike depression, anxiety served a purpose. It is rooted in preparing for the worst and a heightened sense of danger from years of living in abusive situations. That what if thinking is important when you grow up the way I did. Anxiety literally saved me many beatings, so it could be tolerated. The problem with anxiety is that it is like those neighbors you have over for a BBQ one time and they show up drunk with burnt cookies. You promise yourself never again, but they take that event as a vow of commitment to a lifetime full of togetherness and endless potlucks. Anxiety doesn't even knock most times, it just shoves its paw under the door like a nosy cat when you're in the bathroom. That "what if" thinking only heightens and grows until it concocts ridiculous scenarios for a person to overthink. Because it is certainly reasonable to think I am going to fail my driving test which means Tony will have to drive me around for another six months while I take classes and in the meantime he will grow weary of all the nonsense and one day I will ask him for a ride to have my hair done which is too expensive anyway and he will have had it and tell me I need to move out. I know, it's actually humorous typed out like that but somehow anxiety makes it all completely plausible. Through the years, I've had varying degrees of success in treatment and of course diagnosis after diagnosis for what is going on inside the slab of think meat in my head. The doctors landed on generalized anxiety disorder, seasonal affective disorder, and acute PTSD. I have never found a medication that reacts well with my body and the biggest reason is that they have all dulled my feelings. You would think that would be great right? But the thing is, while they dull the lows so they don't feel so low, the medication also tempers the highs, so that they don't shine as vibrantly. I have also never found a medication that doesn't impact my thinking and ability to problem solve. That is a deal breaker for me. I did find good success in cognitive behavior therapy and working through the traumas. I had to relearn a lot of self dialogue and learn to recognize skewed thinking. It was a lot of work, and I was working on my physical health at the same time. My first two years in Norway were probably the healthiest I have been in my adult life. I think for the first time in my life I was really focused on me and what I needed. Cue COVID, splash on a new relationship, smother it in an aunt with cancer, add a dollop of new shitty job, and place that death of your mother cherry on top. Oh yeah, and just for funsies...this is the 30 year anniversary of your son's death. Whatcha got Nellie?? Where is that positive thinking and walks by the water now? I tell y'all, just when I would think I was coming to grips with one thing, this shit sandwich sundae just kept piling higher. I wonder sometimes if people truly understand the debilitating effects of depression. It is common for suicidal thoughts to pervade my thinking. (Do not alert the authorities, I do not have a plan). It is fatalistic thinking that this might be the only way the agony will stop. Quite frankly there are times it is a shock to me to hear the thought tug at the edges of my thinking. The pain is physical as well. There are headaches, sore muscles, fatigue, and my period gets much more painful when I am depressed. Some days it is all I can do to comb my hair and brush my teeth. Monday starts a countdown of five days until I don't have to see anyone for two days. Forget taking joy in my job. I sleep worse than the mother of a newborn with diarrhea. If I'm not up cleaning up shit, I am laying there awake worried about the shit I'm going to find. Mind you, all of these things I have lived through before but now we are adding in a new home and new people to witness the depression and anxiety. Anxiety loves an audience and making an impression. For instance, you know what he'll never forget? How about uncontrollable sobbing after sex. For fucks sake anxiety, why?? The thoughts are like chihuahuas on crack yapping through a fence at people passing. This year, Depression brought in darkness I can't give words to and Anxiety closed the deal with "you haven't really made progress if you didn't see this coming...because you really should have. this is what happens to selfish girls, Nellie." Let's pause to breathe together, huh? Such big feelings. All that stuff was the easy stuff to say. My mom dying slapped me straight in the face with my aunt's coming death. I had thought that I was building a small anchor point of acceptance. Mind you I know there is no real way to prepare fully. I simply wanted a small piece of sanity and calm to hold when she did pass. A place to search for that will give me my bearings back. But it seems I have had all the success of someone trying to nail jello to a tree. I only had to reflect on how my mom's death impacted me to realize....boy am I in for a rough ride. I think a lot about how much of a hole will be left when she dies. She has been a light for the dark path and a voice of reason. I wouldn't be where I am without her influence in my life. Now all of the sudden at this age, I am supposed to learn to do this myself?? The months since her diagnosis have been a gift of time we didn't know we needed. I have been able to say many things I felt were unsaid and work on balancing my need to ask her every little thing with the knowledge that it will not be an option soon, so how can I deal with this myself? I still ask her questions, big and small. I never delete our chat history either. I have a log of our swapped photos and dark humor. When I found out my mom was most likely going to pass, I thought I had come to terms with how things would end. There had been health scares before, so I had had the opportunity to think through the what ifs. I knew there would not be a Hollywood reunion complete with apologies and healing. Ultimately, I touched down in what I thought was a safe place. Then she died, and I realized how utterly wrong I was about that safe place. Who on god's green earth did I think I was to have laid claim to "peace with my decision"? I had to swim like hell and fight the waves to find that tiny hold of mine that I knew was there. That acceptance and peace that I stockpiled. What the hell, Nellie? Yesterday, I was talking with AB about her latest prognosis, I tried to tell her all of this. How lost I was. And then she said, yeah, but you KNOW it's there. You can find your way. These troubles don't erase what you have built and who you have become. It is still there and you are still THAT person, Nellie. Even if you don't feel like a beacon of light, you have to know you are to those who can see from outside. And there it is. The things I can't say to myself. That nugget I can cling to and right the ship with. I can only hope someday to have her wisdom, and I desperately want my legacy to be one of purposeful love like hers. That is all I have to learn before she goes. There is no doubt I have some work to do and some tough times ahead, but I can find my way. I am so grateful she is there to remind me of these things, but for all we talk about, sometimes the silence is the biggest answer of all. The cancer is spreading and the treatment isn't viable anymore. She has another treatment option to weigh and while she doesn't mind to lose her hair, she really likes her beer. She'll let me know what she decides after she takes her class. But the silence...her granddaughter asked, "Is this going to be your last Christmas?" I never asked how she answered, and she never told me. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
April 2024
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