We’ll Drink a Cup of Kindness Yet..
    I started the year by baking some chocolate chip cookies for the mail carrier, something I’ve never done before. It seemed like a small gesture that might make someone happy. When I put the cookies in my metal mailbox this morning, it was about three degrees above zero, so I’m hoping they won’t be a frozen pile of baked cookie dough when she finds them a few hours from now.
   Trying something new and different, even in small ways, seems like a good way to start a new year. Small steps seem especially important this year as we leave behind a year that stressed and strained us. Enduring the second year of a pandemic was wearing on all us –those in the medical field, working in schools, parenting kids in school, running small businesses, caregiving, operating local restaurants, and just getting through our day to day lives in a world that seemed crazy, complicated and confusing. Just before the new year started, I got a text from a friend saying that she was having trouble wishing people a “Happy New Year” this year as “it’s a time of such disquiet and uncertainty.” I see her point.
   So, before we go forward into the new year, happy or not, we can try and figure out what good can we draw out of 2021. I asked a few friends and relatives what they learned in the last year, thinking that question could draw out positive results. The responses varied. Some answers went right to the divided politics of our country that seeped into everything from professional football to vaccination recommendations. One friend was surprised to learn how disappointed she was that “good friends and good people were unwilling to wear a simple mask.” For her, the debate over masks was a sign of further disappointment in people who were “willing to follow a leader with no moral code.” Pointing to the severe division in our country, another friend continues to try to make a learning experience out of it. “I’m trying to learn to not let this awful time make me judgmental,” my friend Anne wrote to me. She explained that she’s attempting to look for the “how and why” to understand people’s thinking. “I cannot let politics and people turn me into a divisive, angry, spiteful wretch,” she added. Because Anne is the exact opposite of a spiteful wretch, it was telling that this is a real concern for her; that the politics of our time will turn us into judgmental oppositionists.
   Some of the lessons learned were more specific. My sister Ann learned how to download audiobooks and podcasts, a game changer for her. She also learned how to make a new cocktail, a Moscow Mule, another item on her to-do list for 2021. I wrote back to her requesting that a Cosmo be the cocktail she learns to make for 2022. Shortly after I sent that message, my daughter Molly sent Ann and me a photo of a “boxtail” of Cosmos that she had just received as a gift. “No need to learn this one,” she captioned her photo. An interesting bit of synchronicity to start of the new year.
Pam, a St. Johnsbury friend, learned how to navigate the on-line grocery shopping and curbside pick up system, as well as telemedicine appointments, which have both now become routine. Pam, and the rest of us, adjusted to Zoom meetings for appointments, family check-ins and all kinds of meetings. She said she learned to truly appreciate Zoom after being able to host a Zoom Celebration of Life for her husband Henry that allowed dear friends and family from Massachusetts, as well as local St. J friends, to gather easily to pay tribute to Henry and offer a toast together in his honor.
    A year that included a good deal of isolating and quarantining allowed for some philosophical reflection and introspection. My friend Anne (who will never be a wretch) found herself embracing her introverted side. “Who knew I even had one?” she wrote. I did not know that about her. It was a surprising lesson for me. Because she injured her shoulder in a fall in March, Anne also said she learned the truth about the it-takes-a-village concept as she relied on her neighbors along her Merry Island Road for all kinds of help, including twice daily walks for her pup Callie. Difficulties and challenges also led my friend Pam to rely on friends and ask for help, a new experience for her, as she often has been the one providing the help. She said the lesson she learned is that “friends and family are the true meaning of life.”
   Another friend, Martha, did some studying and reflecting on forgiveness. She listened to podcasts, and learned about how to ask for forgiveness, even if you aren’t sure what offense you made, but know a rift has been created that needs to be mended. It’s probably a podcast we should all listen to.
   Two friends, on different coasts, explained that 2021 taught them a bit about themselves. My friend Molly in California took the pandemic year to make significant changes and learned she could prioritize herself over her work. “I put myself first,” she wrote. Molly has worked from home for years now and explained that instead of beginning her day by settling in to work she now first exercises, gets some fresh air, has breakfast and enjoys “a delish cup of Barry’s Irish tea.” It seems her body and soul have been changed by this lesson. On this coast, in the NEK, my friend Hilary retired in 2021, and said she learned the value of her own worth. After having her identity closely tied to her work life, and struggled a bit to find her way after no longer working, she said the past year as taught her the value of who she is, not connected to a job, but simply as herself.
   So many good lessons from a year that challenged us and changed us. We are inevitably more resilient as we begin a new year a look ahead to what we can pull out of 2022. Now that collectively we’ve mastered on-line meal-ordering and making Moscow Mules, let’s look ahead to a new year of knowing our worth, seeking forgiveness, and maybe a Cosmo or two. Cheers!

 
     Recently a couple of friends have entrusted me with beautiful plants: a really lush fern, a cool jade plant and few others including a cyclamen that I’m really struggling to keep alive. I say they’ve “entrusted” these plants to me, though they actually gave them to me, but I’m sure when they gifted them to me, they were trusting that I would keep them alive. My track record with plants is not great. In the past I have routinely killed two hanging baskets of fuchsia every summer, a first one and then the replacement one. My record is consistent enough that my florist friend Linda, from Riff’s Greenhouse, should have cut me off at some point. And possibly added me to some kind of “Do Not Sell To” list shared by area greenhouses.
   I was given a small Christmas cactus about 10 years ago, and kept it in my office at work. A few years into the cactus’ sad, barely-watered life in my office, a co-worker appeared one day for a “plant intervention,” she said, and took the cactus. She returned it two years later. It was huge, in a planter about four times the size of the original pot, and looking like the Christmas cactuses. I envy in other people’s homes. When I asked what her tricks were to getting the plant to flourish so well, she said, “Abby, I watered it once a week.”
   Motivated by the newly returned, flourishing cactus, now the biggest plant I’ve ever owned, I decided to take on another plant or two. So along with the Christmas cactus (which is still blooming now) I purchased a small ivy plant, knowing that they are fairly indestructible. And it’s doing fine! I also got a small palm-like plant that continues to grow and amaze me.
   Gaining confidence in my plant-growing skills, I accepted the recent offers from these two friends, and now have two windowsills full of plants and along with a cool plant stand made from a sturdy tree branch, with cross sections of tree for shelves, that’s loaded with plants as well. I like having the greenery as part of my home, and enjoy the routine of watering, weekly for some, twice weekly for others, and figuring out which plants like what amount of sunlight and from which direction. (I’m struggling with the cyclamen – leaves are turning yellow, any advice?)
   Although I’ve come to enjoy my watering routine, I did consider getting some of those “self-watering bulbs” if things didn’t go well. I’ve seen them in catalogues for years. They are usually blown glass bulbs with long stems that you fill up with water and then stick the stem into the dirt of a potted plant, and somehow the water releases at a steady rate or “when needed,” as one catalogue described. Some of the bulbs come in different colors now and some are even shaped like birds or mushrooms. Recently I saw a flamingo-shaped bulbed and wondered if it would damage the plant to add food coloring to the water to make the flamingo pink.
   The idea of being able to continually hydrate a plant made me think about what nurtures us, and if we absorb it continually. I often ask patients I meet through my work what is it that brings them joy, or peace, or comfort. Sometimes they answer right away. “My grandchildren are my joy.” “I find great peace in walking in the woods.” “Spending time in prayer is comforting to me,” or more likely, “when I am with my family (or my spouse, or my cat) I am at peace.” Sometimes they struggle with the question, which is telling as well.
   I’ve never directly asked anyone, “What feeds you? What nurtures you?” but it seems that what nurtures us, and feeds our hearts and souls, is just as important as what brings us joy, peace, and comfort. What is it that really sustains us? Maybe it’s a combination of things – meaningful work, caring for family and friends, pursuing adventures and challenges, working for justice, building our faith and spiritual practices. My guess would be that it’s also what makes us laugh out loud, what makes us laugh really hard, unable to stop, tears rolling down our cheeks. And we likely don’t do enough of that. I’m not sure I remember the last time that happened to me. That’s telling as well.
   I’ve opted not to get the continuous-hydrating systems for my plants, because I’ve enjoyed the challenge of figuring how much water they need and when, which are nourished by sunshine and which prefer shade. I’ve learned that my flourishing fern responds to having water sprayed on its leaves. So, there’s something to figuring out what works best for each plant rather than adopting a system for all of them. It’s likely the same with us. And as we lean into a new year, perhaps it’s a good time to think about what feeds us, what the best way for us to say hydrated and nurtured. And if I can figure it out for myself, maybe I’ll try to figure it out for a hanging fuchsia plant this summer.