The Only Newsletter I Care About This Week
How to Love Your Grieving Friends
Spoiler: You do the heavy lifting
Pickled Onions.Â
On absolutely everything this summer.
Molly Baz, Cook This Book
INGREDIENTS
2 Red Onions, sliced in 1/8" rings
1 Cup White Vinegar
1 1/2 Cups of Water
1/2 Cup of Sugar
1 Tablespoon of Salt
INSTRUCTIONS
"In a small saucepan, heat 1 cup of white vinegar, 1 1/2 cups water, 1/2 cup sugar, and 1 Tablespoon salt over medium heat, stirring often to dissolve. Once the vinegar mixture comes to a simmer, remove from heat and immedaitely add the onions. Let cool to room temperature. The onions can be made up to several days in advance; they only get better with time."Â
Molly says that they only get better with time and man, they really do. This has been my condiment of choice all summer long. Jars and jars in my fridge until I run out and make them again. On grain bowls and on breakfast tacos and on burgers and with grilled shrimp and with my fingers, dropping them straight into my gullet for a little zingy treat.Â
Dealing with some tough health stuff over here. Not quite ready to really let it all hang out because things are still largely up in the air, but it feels false to share about anything else. Feels nearly impossible to imagine thinking about anything else.
Learning definitions to words like proprioception. And Basilar Invagination. And bursitis. And The Feldenkrais Method.
Sending links of ugly orthopedic shoes to friends with leading questions like "These are not so bad, right?" "These are actually kind of cute, right?" "Wait - I actually would totally wear these, right?"
Going to Road Runner and as you're paying for your new, very wide shoes, the sales guy (who has been largely unhelpful -- actually, very unhelpful and sort of rude, to be honest!) asks if you're training for a marathon. And you cheerfully quip "No, all of my joints and muscles are likely slowly degenerating, so I'm trying to get a jump on that with some new shoes." And you do feel weirdly better for being a little bit of an asshole. Maybe you are an enneagram 8 after all...
He says "Always good to stay healthy."
Starting the emotional labor of conversations with friends explaining the severity of it all. Gently seeping them into possible new normals. The kind of conversations you can't end on a positive note. The kind where it might not all "be okay" in the end. Where there might not be an end. They ask you questions that you don't really know the answer to yet. They ask you questions where the answer makes you want to cry. It hits you again like a wave that you are not alone, but you will be doing this alone. That the experience and emotions and pain is now yours to know and to articulate. And to carry.Â
Waking up and doing inventory on your body. Fatigue. Like, wow. The kind that cancels plans. Plans for dinner and plans you didn't even realize that you had for 40 years from now. Fatigue where you sit while you brush your teeth, thinking about all of the people who have it much worse. How do they do it? No, really. HOW do they do it? How aren't more people talking about this? This is not fair. This is not right. How can life be this relentless?
Knowing too much because you've seen and heard it before. But you never thought it would be you.
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Scary things. Unknown things. Future affecting things. Affecting everything things. Processing things.
Hope in the Lord. Hope in His plan. Texts from your brave sister that you print out and put on your fridge.
Gratitude anyway. An extra cookie before bed. And Bama Rush TikTok.
... My desire now is to make it okay. Make a joke. Clarify. Soothe.
Fighting that urge. Not sending this out for pity or for sympathy.
Sharing because it's real. And pairs well with pickled onions.
Sharing because nothing grows in a vacuum.