I am trying to make baklava for a holiday party tomorrow night. But the phyllo dough is rancid and Trader Joe’s is closed and Fresh and Easy is lame and somehow I find myself eating cold pork and parsnip hash out of a tupperware with my bare fingers at 9:40 pm in lieu of making a decision, utterly unsure of what the next move is. Drive to the grocery store that’s close, run the risk they don’t have what I need, drive to a further one, and then stay up past midnight making baklava? Devise some other amazing recipe that uses a crap-ton of chopped nuts but doesn’t come off suspiciously like a poor kock-off of baklava? Throw the nuts in a plastic bag and into the fridge and make something that takes half and hour like shortbread?
All of these are perfectly reasonable options. My trouble is that every moment lately seems like a last moment. In my head it’s like this: in two weeks I’ll be in India, and in three months I’ll be in France, and I don’t really know when I’m ever coming back, so whatever I do right now, it has to be exactly the right thing because this is probably my LAST CHANCE. I mean, for a while. But still, people, it seems dire.
And life seems dire period these days. I’ve been trying to come up with something to say since last Friday. I had planned to put up a post about caramel sauce for the holidays, and then I turned on the radio and heard about the shooting in Newtown. Since then, no words have seemed to cover what needs to be said. So I’ve stayed silent. But it doesn’t seem right to let heart ache and the seeming senselessness of tragedy put you in a corner. Isn’t the grace of life found in the ability to move through the shifting sands of change? It seems like a rough and losing game trying to deny impermanence and find solid ground to stand on. So here I am. I’ve nothing particular to say other than this: I can feel the sands shifting. Here’s a wry smile for all of us standing on uneven ground. This is life. Have a hug.