In the bleak midwinter

A Tom and Jerry is a traditional American Christmas cocktail, invented about 200 years ago by British writer Pierce Egan. It’s akin to hot eggnog, the perfect adult beverage in the bleak midwinter.

It’s tricky; I’ve made the batter at home, but it’s never as good as that from Schwabls in my home town of Buffalo, NY. Either way, it isn’t for the faint of heart; one will loosen up your singing voice; two will undermine your ability to walk home.

My own woodstove, Tom and Jerrys, mince pie, and my bathtub and bidet are among the things from home that I miss right now. I miss my daily hike up Beech Hill, my dog and my husband. I’m in Albany, NY for the foreseeable future, and it’s dark and snowy. In the bleak midwinter, indeed.

You never outgrow worrying about your kids

My trip out west was organized to get me to Rochester, NY for my goddaughter’s wedding. Before that I swung east to alter my grandsons’ suits and my granddaughter’s dress. I assumed I could use 9-year-old Grace’s sewing tools. Unfortunately, kids her age are not organized. I spent as much time sorting as I did stitching.

My daughter Mary, who makes Rowan Branch brush soap for me, bounced between being an attentive bridesmaid and gulping acetaminophen. On her way home, she pulled off the Thruway and called an ambulance. That week, she had a stent placed and emergency gallbladder surgery. Oh, and she had pneumonia, too.

“I really couldn’t tell if I was sick or just imagining it,” she said.

Even hypochondriacs get sick, I retorted. It’s good to laugh with multiple incisions in your belly.

And Laura

Many of you know my daughter Laura, who is my IT and marketing person. As Mary was discharged from St. Peter’s Hospital, Laura was admitted. She’s suffering from preeclampsia and is there for the duration of her pregnancy.

“Your mother was making Laura work in the hospital yesterday!” I overheard. That’s right, and I intend to keep doing it. Once you’re stabilized, a hospital is a very boring place.

I never thought I’d be doing the daily preschool run again. Little boys are such obsessives. Just as my son and I talked bridges, Josh and I talk cars. He’s still a little shaky on his directions, so I’m also teaching him port and starboard as we drive.

And my husband

Even I know that, unlike kids, adults don’t get feverish on a whim. It turns out my husband also has pneumonia, which is spiking here, in Canada, and in Great Britain. That’s a great reminder to wash hands your regularly as we enter flu season.

 And all manner of things shall be well

Mary gets her stent out on December 17. Toodles is scheduled to arrive on December 9, which they figure is sufficiently baked to avoid a long NICU stay. Doug is feeling better. The newlyweds seem appropriately blissful, and my granddaughter and I are slowly excavating her bedroom.

I’m not telling you this to worry you; it’s just to explain my distraction over the past few weeks. In my never-to-be-published book, 100 Best Things About Having Cancer, I mention that I no longer sweat the small things—and almost everything is a small thing. My family is getting great care, both in this large (and excellent) city hospital and back home in rural Maine. In the Bleak Midwinter is a song about the hopefulness of this season, and that’s how I’m feeling.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025:

• Canyon Color for the Painter, Sedona, AZ, March 10-14, 2025
• Advanced Plein Air Painting, Rockport, ME, July 7-11, 2025.
• Sea and Sky at Acadia National Park, August 3-8, 2025.
• Find Your Authentic Voice in Plein Air, Berkshires, MA, August 11-15, 2025.
• Immersive In-Person Fall Workshop, Rockport, ME, October 6-10, 2025.