Holy wah, it’s dark out there. Literally. The official sunset this week is 5:01…but most afternoons feel more like 2:58. Sometimes I keep the lights on all day. A fire, too. I start puttering around the kitchen almost immediately after washing the lunch dishes, turning on the oven at 2 pm. Dinner is often on the table at 4. Bedtime is at 8:30, for the kids and the parents. We are moving slow, if at all. Night lasts a very long time these days.
Last week, a tiny package arrived in my mailbox—this palm-sized print by Rani Ban, from her shop-closing sale in September—and it made me remember something I often forget: the sun has not actually left and is, in fact, coming back. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
And then I remembered the speech I’ve been watching on a loop since it aired the week before. Even though my invitation to the 75th National Book Awards gala was somehow lost in the mail, I still got to experience the best part: Barbara Kingsolver’s lifetime achievement award acceptance speech, which you can watch HERE. I began crying at 7:49….and then just kept on through to the end.
“Truth and love have been struck down so many times in history before now. Truth, because it’s often inconvenient. And love? Because it’s vulnerable. But truth is like gravity and the sun behind the eclipse; it doesn’t matter what rules people make up, it’s still there. And love stays alive if you tend it. Our job is to remember what there is to love, the people and places that need us to bring them into the room, into the heart of the unacquainted stranger. Our job is to invent a better ending than the sorry one we were given.”
Barbara Kingsolver, we don’t deserve you.
I am a big believer in signs. (And if you’re rolling your eyes right now, like: yeah, but to you woo-woo types, isn’t everything a sign, and to you I say, I see what you’re getting at and also SO WHAT.)
I don’t care if it’s the bright red cardinal that lands in the tree outside your window, the meme that not one, not two, but three people texted you yesterday, the parking spot in the packed lot that opens up the moment your car turns down the aisle, the blood orange sunset that explodes in the west after nine straight days of greige, there are clues everywhere that beauty is your birthright, that the Universe is conspiring on your behalf, that goodness is right here. In fact, it never left; it has been waiting for you to notice this whole time. Here are a few signs I’ve stumbled across lately that point to the fact that it’s true.
Rosemary Brown Butter Rice Krispy Treats.
I could stop here, no? I mean, it should be enough to will yourself out of bed in the morning, knowing a confection such as this exists, yes? HANG ON THERE’S MORE. The Sunday before last, I went to a neighborhood gathering [through the woods, in a barn] where we made wreaths with foraged greens, rosehips and bittersweet hacked from Leelanau’s finest ditches. Leah made her signature toffee that she swears only works with the cheapest grocery-store milk chocolate, Sarah made a four-foot wreath for a winery’s tasting room and Marianne made a thermos of fancy-ass hot chocolate from Harrods. And then Adrienne, a vision in a white puffer vest, passed around a Tupperware filled with the party showstopper, manna from the sky, a veritable Turkish delight for lost souls: rosemary brown butter rice krispy treats. There’s a moment after my hand lifted one of these marshmallow pillows out of the tray that just sort of…isn’t. A tear in the atmosphere, a glitch in the space-time continuum, a few frames in a slipshod, home movie reel. I do not believe I was the only one.
Audible moans, a slight shudder that rippled through the group, a well-placed “FUCK!”; this was a series of collective, guttural reactions that bordered on sexual vulgarity. It was real and it was warranted; every single person who was there will tell you a modified version of the same thing. The next afternoon, I brought the treats up to a friend who wasn’t at the gathering and she said I was the second person from the party to tell her about them, that Andria, too, wouldn’t shut up about this recipe when they were volunteering together in their kids’ classroom. Leah DMd me a few days later when I posted a photo on Stories, afraid that she was building up the memory in her mind. You aren’t, I reassured her, having made a second batch by Thursday, just to make sure myself. They really are just as good as you remembered. Better, even.
Okay, but HOW? “It was stupid easy,” our prophet told us. “20 minutes to throw it all together. Just something I found online.” What she stumbled on in that seemingly aimless TikTok scroll, dear readers, was The Holiday Treat To Rule Them All.
Let it be known that it does not take much to turn grade-school bake sale fare into something you could proudly serve at book club, the neighborhood cookie exchange or your spouse’s holiday gathering, but will, in fact, give you the same endorphin rush I imagine Martha felt ringing that bell the day she took her own empire public. It’s the culinary trifecta of butter, fresh herbs and flaky sea salt, none of which will impress your kids. THAT IS NOT A MISTAKE. The real critics will notice and then you will have your moment in the sun.
This may become, I hope, a back-pocket recipe for you, as in: highly memorizable, easy-to-assemble, pantry-driven, a cheap hat trick of a treat that, if you introduce it once to your people, you’ll be expected to produce it at social gatherings for the rest of your days.
Rosemary Brown Butter Rice Krispy Treats
recipe courtesy of Rita Kokshanian Mashkova (@saturdaytable on IG)
2 sticks salted butter
2 sprigs rosemary
4 sprigs thyme, plus more for garnish
2 12-oz bags large marshmallows, plus 2 cups mini marshmallows
4 cups Rice Krispies
4 cups Corn Flakes
1 cup chopped pecans
flaked sea salt, for garnish
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, melt butter over medium heat. Once melted, add in herbs and continue cooking, stirring constantly, until it begins to foam. Keep stirring while butter begins to deepen in color, about four minutes.
Remove herbs, add in two full bags of mini marshmallows and stir constantly until melted. Turn off heat and add cereals and nuts. Stir to combine, making sure all cereal is coated with the melted marshmallow mix. Stir in additional 2 cups of mini marshmallows.
Press mixture evenly into a 9 x 13 pan lined with parchment paper. (Use a light touch—if pressed too hard into the pan, they lose their fluffy texture.) Garnish with additional thyme leaves and a generous sprinkling of sea salt. Once cool, cut into 16-24 squares and share, if you’re feeling generous. If not, there is not one soul on this green earth who would fault you.
Happy Light.
What is it that Ina says?* “If you can’t make your own serotonin, store-bought is just fine”? The darkness is going to hang around these parts for awhile, and while it won’t fix everything, please do yourself a favor and think about using a Happy Light. (Again, I am not trying to gloss over legitimate depression, seasonal or any variation thereof—this is the name of the actual product.) This light is not The Key, but one of the many tools—along with drinking my weight in water, exposing my face to fresh air, consuming the occasional vegetable, taking silly little walks, turning off my stupid pocket computer—that help me stay on the beam. Or get back on it quicker once I’ve fallen off. I have a friend who is unwavering in her commitment to the light, using it for 30 minutes daily from mid-October through mid-May. I’m not there yet—sometimes I can only remember once a week—but one of the really crazy side effects that happens to come with most good habits [and this one’s a real head-scratcher]: the more you do it, the better you feel.
*This is the part where I pledge my undying love to Ina Garten. She is incredibly funny, she knows nuclear code and her entire catalogue of recipes are accessible [readable, digestible, doable] to the common cook; this woman is an earth angel among us. Into food writing? Her memoir is friendly, conversational and generous in spirit—just plain lovely. (Yes, her parents were wretched to her, yes, she once [?!?] had a cocaine-fueled bake sesh and yes, she is very, very rich. Try not to hold any of that against her. If you’ve ever worked in a kitchen or performed customer service in a tourist town [bonus points if you’ve done both], you’ll find yourself laughing, gasping and shielding your eyes in solidarity.)
Inspirational Books.
I can sense another bout of eye rolling. I understand. Tiny books filled with lists might not be for you. For years, I also was too cool for poetry, mindfulness, impactful words letterpressed onto heavy card stock that I placed strategically around my home to lift, revive and inspire. I cannot tell you what it was that changed me. But I did change and I do believe that words have the power to make you feel safe and understood and lucky and determined and above everything else, not alone.
IT IS IN YOU!!!!
We may forget sometimes, but our ability to act & have impact is magical.
You are both a tool & a weapon with the ability to choose how to wield yourself in every situation. The continued act of existence is an ongoing manifestation of this power.
-Adam J. Kurtz, Things Are What You Make of Them: Life Advice for Creatives
Will self-help—sorry, personal development—books fix you? Naw, bro. None of them will. But also? Maybe don’t discount the power a list of really beautiful, really simple things has to make you remember really big, really important things about being a human. If you feel it, it is real. Sometimes it just takes a little reminder.
Holiday Decor.
Several years ago, I snagged a vintage wreath from my friend Kristin’s studio destash. More than 100 matchbooks individually wrapped in shiny, splashy wrapping paper and tied with ribbon curls (so 90s!), attached to a 12” wire frame, it is now one of my most prized holiday possessions, with a place of honor on the music desk of our piano. (She messaged me yesterday expressing her deep regret in letting it go, all these years later; it really is that funky and cool.) Earlier this week I brought a pile of Christmas books up from the basement and spent an afternoon leafing through the stacks. My favorite? The Gyo Fujikawa Night Before Christmas that was a gift from my dearest friend Lisa. I bought a set of 1971 Lefton holly berry cups—and coordinating cookie jar!—on Etsy 15 years ago, an attempt to recreate the holiday nostalgia of my childhood. (Yes, my grandmother did have the sleigh [where she kept her Christmas cards, natch] and the pickle tray. She also had not one but two jewel trees—a gilt-framed felt piece covered with costume jewelry that hung on the wall and one conical tree that sat sparkling on the coffee table. Also the vintage bulbs my grandparents strung outside the house, those four-inch milk glass teardrops that were orange and blue and red and green? THAT IS THE ASSIGNMENT.)
Obviously, I’m not the only one who wants a Tacky Christmas™ this year. The lights on our tree are warm white, but when Chelsey posted a picture this week of her dining room table, set with angel chimes and beeswax candles atop a handwoven runner and multicolored lights strung around her slider door, I felt an unloosening in my chest. The girls and I watched this Frog and Toad reel six times in a row yesterday. What I’m saying is: the older I get, the more holiday spirit I require: the more sentimental, the better. More color, more Andy Williams, more eggnog. Just MORE.
Petoskey Stones.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I needed to get some perspective, the dog needed a real run (apparently for a 100-lb poodle/Newfie/sheepdog mix, two 2-mile walks per day is not enough to vaporize the kinetic energy within) and we both needed to put our eyeballs on something beyond the faux wood paneling covering the four walls of our house. It was time for the beach.
A secret so well-kept even locals tend to forget: the greatest gift of living in Northern Michigan is one’s proximity to fresh water, how much of it there is and how quickly one can get to it, at a moment’s notice. We live less than two miles from the closest Lake Michigan public access (Good Harbor) and it’s so easy to get to, it’s silly we’re not there more. Charlie hopped into the back seat of my car, I grabbed my mittens and we drove in the direction of the Big Water. The parking lot was empty. I am not in the habit of listening to music while I’m at the beach—something about being present in the presence of something bigger than myself—but that day I needed music to supplement the mood I was in. I popped in my earbuds, put The Tortured Poets Department on repeat, watched my dog sprint his bones off and just walked. I also started looking for treasure.
It doesn’t matter how many times it happens, finding Petoskey stones never gets old. I have hundreds in my own collection and this summer, I began leaving them for guests upon check-in. Every time I find one, it feels like discovering a diamond. My heart lunges in my chest, I can’t believe my luck, that I can hold a 350 million-year-old miracle in my hand. I am very, very good at finding these little fossils and I can’t tell if it’s because I have the eye or because I am in the habit of telling myself I always find them. As in, speaking it into existence, when it comes to searching for Petoskey stones, really does work for me.
Maybe it’s why I need the other reminders in my life, too. Make something sweet for your friends. Read a few words by people who’ve been through it—and made it to the other side—and write them on a piece of paper over your desk. Put up another strand of lights, you’ll feel merrier. Before you know it, the sun will come back. That’s what it does.
Obviously after my post-election newsletter, it was imperative I re-watch Shawshank and as expected, it was infinitely better than every one of the 18 times I’d seen it before. I cannot stop thinking about the music and the movie and the entire storyline itself, so please excuse me if I continue to scatter references to this masterpiece in every newsletter I ever write. Also. Looking to add more art to your home that postures as biblical but really just serves a cinematic reference? You could stitch your own sampler. You could.
I cherish the time I get to read your posts! I reserve a quiet spot, cozy blanket and a warm cup of herbal tea and absorb your wonderful words and feelings! Thank you!
My current fall obsession is maple candied pecans - I bet they would be great in your recipe. Just made a maple pecan cheesecake for Sam's birthday that was so yum and I have been putting them on salads with dried cherries and feta. AND I once got a sunlamp through a prescription! xo