"A Single Garment of Destiny"

Reflections on MLK, Jr. Day

Photo by Dick DeMarsico for the New York World-Telegram and the Sun, as shared by the Gracie Mansion Conservancy.  Dr. King, right near here before Gracie Mansion, after meeting with then Mayor Wagner on July 30, 1964.

Continuing with the notion of legacies that I was considering in my last post, on this day, a friend posted a link to Dr. King's Letter From a Birmingham Jail - a revealing legacy that great leader left for us of not only his message, but also his methodology.  The Letter reads in a manner reminiscent of a very condensed "Confessions," by St. Augustine in its persuasive purpose and highly logical arguments.  Very clear and cogent, geared toward its audience with religious references that they presumably would have found compelling and that were designed to convince them of the credibility and moral authority of the author.  Quite artful.  

180 degrees from credibility and moral authority, also on this day the Trump Administration apparently issued its "1776 Commission Report," lambasted by historians as a total distortion of history - right in line with the general character of this Administration - and downright offensive released on this national holiday.  Not at all unexpected for his occupant of the Oval Office.

His predecessor, President Obama, set a very different legacy for MLK, Jr.'s Birthday: the Obama family publicized it as a day of service.  Fitting, for the first African-American President, but also very much in line with their family's general character and actions - looking for ways to better American lives.

My friend's legacy that she will be leaving to me is rereading the Letter From a Birmingham Jail each year on this holiday - a tradition I plan to adopt; I found the practice meaningful when I did it this year.  Embarrassingly, I am not sure I had ever read the Letter in its entirety before; there are parts I did recognize, though.  It was helpful to remind myself of why we celebrate his birthday, to engage in some self reflection and assessment about what I am doing to advance the cause of social justice.  Also embarrassingly, I don't think I have ever actually engaged in any service activities on this holiday.  This year, COVID was an issue; in past years, well, I just needed the mental respite from work - lame.  But I do believe in the ideals of the day.  If COVID has taught us anything, we truly are all woven together in a "single garment of destiny" - despair creates ripple effects.

So what have I done in the past to advance the cause of justice?  Not as much as I should have.  When I was in third grade, my first interest in the power of law came about from a phase of reading biographies written for children.  "Ten Great American Women," or some title along those lines (I have never been able to find the book since - I think it was a Scholastic Press publication), made me incensed when I learned that women were not always able to vote; Phyllis Wheatley and Harriet Tubman were among the women profiled, and that taught me about the plight of African Americans.  So one might have thought that after law school, I would have chosen a social justice career; I did just the opposite.  In fact, I pretty consciously rebuffed some mild advances of a still dear friend because that is the career he chose; I felt the need to be financially secure, to take care of my family, to be sure everyone had a financial safety net.  I don't know why I came to feel that insecurity - maybe it was my days at a certain exam admissions public school on the Upper Eastside - but I felt it.  And it has stayed with me.  To the detriment of my commitment to social justice.  Those efforts got relegated to work "extracurriculars."  I have always been active in affinity groups at each of the firms at which I've been associated, but, alas, that is mostly all I have to point to.

My most rewarding one, though, and the contribution for which I would like to be remembered if the proverbial bus came for me tomorrow, was helping two lovely young women from the South Bronx polish their college essays.  And I was quite pleased with how I approached it - they each wrote their own essays; I merely contributed constructive criticism - I felt very strongly about not crossing any lines into even approaching joint authorship.  Ideas and themes and words and tone were all them; I just helped them to express themselves more clearly.  And both won Gates Foundation Scholarships.  One was admitted to Boston University.  The other went to Columbia.  Both from single parent families, both the first in their families to attend college.  Today, I believe both are practicing attorneys.  In my dream, fully balanced world, turning that into a business would be one of the legs of my economic stool (estate planning law would be another leg, some combination of entrepreneurial pursuits combining garden consulting and lifestyle products, all tied to this here blog, would be the third leg).  I would need to work with the privileged to supplement my work with the underprivileged.  I think I could do it - I have a pretty good track record.  One day....

So after reading the Letter today, and reflecting on my rather dismal record, my Monday night Postcards to Voters Zoom group that I was planning to scale back on beginning this week, I decided instead to proceed with - it is small, but it is something.  And it turned out to be an effort for Georgia - we flipped Georgia (!) - so Georgia has been key, and it was Dr. King's home state, so it turned out to be the right small project for the day.

 

My hand accentuated get out the vote postcards with simplified stylized peach drawing.

[Edited January 24, 2021.]

Legacy Building

Trees seem a perfectly lovely legacy to leave.

 

Ephraim Maple in Autumn.

Mid-January in the year after a Presidential election during a lame duck term is inevitably a time of review and introspection for the outgoing Administration, a time when spinning begins in earnest to establish the narrative on accomplishments to be recorded for history.  Apparently, the Orange Turd's aides are furious that his legacy will be a seditious siege, that all of their "work" will be overshadowed.  Five days before Inauguration Day, another facet of the Orange Turd's distinctive legacy is that he stands alone as the only occupant of the Oval Office who has lost the popular vote twice and the only one who has been impeached twice.  Well deserved legacy, at that.

The most fitting legacies are perhaps the ones that are not designed or intentional, that are simply the result of the essence of the individual.  My high school friend Luke died unexpectedly a few years back.  Everyone remembers him as a connector, a networker before "networking" became a thing and before we were all told we should be doing it to advance our careers.  He just knew lots of people and liked introducing them to each other from disparate parts of his life.  I thought about him this past Christmas Day, when another high school mate to whom he had introduced me put out an open call on Facebook for a bundt cake recipe that she could make with her little girl, and I pulled out and sent her Luke's recipe for "Abigail's Apple Cake" - Abigail being the mother of Luke's friend whose name I never got, a cake so yummy that it has been made repeatedly at the Mothership over the years and is a favorite of Papa Rooster's, a recipe so beloved that I have carried it on an index card for years in my wallet.  And now, through his connecting people, our friend Colleen's little girl Hannah will have it too - it will pass into another generation of bakers.  That's not a bad legacy to leave.

 

Abigail’s apple cake, from dearly departed Luke H.

For my part, The Project I undertook over the last couple of years was part forward looking - an investment in and leap of faith into the future - but also part legacy building, an attempt to extend Mother Hen's and Papa Rooster's time on the earth and mark on the world, to leave living testaments to their loving, good, industrious, resilient natures.  It still makes me sad that The Project did not succeed.  I will need to figure out a different way to leave my legacy, and by definition, Mother Hen's and Papa Rooster's legacies.

I suppose the little maples still living, now dormant, in the tree wells here in Yorkville that I put in last year, when I was itching for outdoor activity to counter the quarantine mandate, qualify as one of my legacies.  A little bit of positivity and beautification and greening, a bit of growth and community comraderie.  The maples might live on after me, after Mother Hen and Papa Rooster - though there's nothing that connects the maples back to them, that sheds positive light on them.  But then, isn't that the very essence of the Buddhist way - our time here is fleeting, our presence is meant to be ethereal.  So maybe the plaque less, nameless maples in the sidewalk tree wells are exactly what are meant to be left behind.

Here are some recent updates in the life of one of the two surviving legacy maples - the second largest of the original seedlings.  Let's call it "Ephraim" - the Biblical second son, middle name of my first love from high school, who was, yes, a second son (I have a penchant for second sons).  Hmm - and before I even knew it, my tendency to anthropomorphize defeated what few Buddhist teachings manage to stick.  Oh well.

October - breaking up the compacted soil.

A little too much communal love.  A well-intentioned neighbor tried to attach a stake for support, but the twist tie became embedded as the branch grew. I cut it free.

Mid-October, mulched with some of the load retrieved from Green-Wood Cemetery. 

November - Putting in tulip bulbs retrieved from the Park Avenue median beds.

Tulip bulb, ready to be planted.

Ephraim Maple with chipped Christmas tree mulch.

Ephraim Maple with abandoned Christmas tree friend.

For more photos of Ephraim Maple, scroll back to July.

[Edited January 16, 2021.]

Do Over Fresh Start

The first week of 2021 didn't go quite as we hoped or expected.

Thanksgiving cranberry sauce in a new January role.

To state the obvious, 2020 was not a good year.  2021 is supposed to be our fresh new hope.  People pointed out, and of course in our rational moments we already knew, that just because the calendar page flips and the last digit of the year changes doesn't mean all the bad stuff from last year goes away.  And so it was borne out in the first full week by the unthinkable treachery.

In the marking of the passage of time, the end of one year and beginning of another is really only an arbitrary selection of a specific moment that happens to be widely recognized so as to have become a matter of convention.  So what mystical significance or power could possibly be imbued in that second after midnight January 1st?  None.

Now, that could be a disappointing or devastating realization for some people - that nothing has changed, that the dark clouds from the prior period still loom over 2021.  But not for me, because there was always a chance at a new fresh start soon afterward - Lunar New Year, which, in my Vietnamese upbringing, meant the one based on the Chinese calendar (due to the long history of Chinese influence on the Vietnamese), and that one traditionally follows on the heels of the Julian new year, generally lagging by a couple of weeks, though in some years by more than a month.  So if something goes awry in the early part of the Julian year, it's easy enough to switch mindset and chalk it up to the fact that it is still the end of the lunar year.  It's all just a matter of perspective - and for that, having access to different cultural traditions is mighty handy. 

Didn't manage to get out December holiday cards?  There's still time before the Lunar New Year.  Resolutions already caput?  There's still a chance to rededicate yourself to them when Lunar New Year rolls around. So the early part of January, that tail end of the year in the lunar calendar, it remains that period when all the kinks can be worked out, the bad juju from the prior year can all be chalked up to that.  It's the buffer zone, the rehearsal period, so to speak.

The leftover odds and ends lingering from last year can still sort themselves out, and maybe transform themselves into something more positive... The Trump-incited siege of the Capitol can turn into a wake-up call for renewed protection of the democratic process, perhaps a soul searching within the Republican Party that will lead to a cleaving from the extremist, racist, bigoted, deluded wingnuts within its ranks; we did all know that Inauguration Day isn't until January 20th anyway... The cranberry sauce from a pre-Thanksgiving Zoom call dinner with colleagues can transform from an accompaniment to a grilled turkey burger to become a sweet counterpoint to brie encoated in chia seeds on grain crackers with walnuts - a marginally acceptably healthy lunch or snack... The trunk of the long-dead tricolor peach tree, stripped of its branches seasons upon seasons ago, can join with spent Christmas trees and be transformed during Mulchfest into mulch for the street trees.

Lone surviving tree pit planting of mine on 81st street - a little post-Mulchfest mulching. 

There remains the possibility of transformation, hope, renewal, a fresh start yet.

[Edited January 12, 2021.]

ARTEL Blogging

Meta blogging by blogging on the process of blogging.

Visiting blue jay - he was initially at the far end of the terrace, with another blue jay friend who flew off earlier.  I maintained my distance so as not to scare him off, and he came ever closer; he had no fear.  Little snippets of life, caught while breaking from work - a snippet that does not rise to the level of a separate post or theme; so it seems fitting here, as this whole blog is about shoehorning life where it can fit - and so with this image.

Abbreviate, return to edit later = ARTEL.  That is what I have taken to doing.  No, it's not a particularly professional approach.  And probably only possible because I have no followers, for editing on the fly post-publication seems a surefire way to lose credibility - seems wrong for a reader to read a post and then come back to find it inexplicably changed.  Hmm ...

Having now thought that through, it seems the way to address that, to an extent, beyond indicating that there is "more to come," is to at the very least disclose when a post was last edited.  Then, anyone returning after having already read an earlier version will be alerted that it may have changed.  And the policy of disclosure may discourage me from posting too prematurely, before taking the time to edit, or, more accurately, from making last minute posts to hit an imaginary due date to keep apace of a certain frequency of posts.  Although, even when I deliberate and compose, my process seems to be that I re-read the post on the site (where it somehow always looks different), and then I tweak because I catch something or think of a better word choice.  Ah well, so it goes; there will be edit notes on everything. 

Quantity versus quality.  I would rather be known for quality, hands down, of course.  So there needs to be a better compromise - slower pace, fewer posts, better posts up front that don't require post-publication edits because they will have undergone editing pre-publication, as should have been the process all along.  

Perhaps I should aim for a blog publication schedule of no greater frequency than twice a week?  But how to address current events in a timely manner?  Maybe those should be the exception?  After all, my most prolific year was 2019 - 67 posts; so 104 posts in 2021 seems plenty ambitious, and leaves more than enough room to express all I should want.  Really, can I even contrive of enough quality content for so many posts?  Just because I feel like I am brimming with ideas at this point at the outset of the new year does not mean this pace is sustainable.  Well, I do have a backlog of articles in my inbox that seemed like great launch pads for posts when I read them (or their headlines), but I don't know how far into the well I will want to draw.  We shall see.  Twice per week on Mondays and Fridays could be aspirationally doable, given my current schedule.  Shall we settle on that for the time being?  Let's do.  We'll try it out, see how it goes...

So back to the ARTEL method - putting down, and out, abbreviated posts (bullet posting, if you will) seemed a good way to not lose a thought, to sort of fulfill the content output floor for a running blog in a semi-timely fashion, in the face of time constraints and other demands.  And then, since it's really just been for me, to return later when time blocks are more available to polish it up and edit - in case any third party down the line ever gets a hold of this.  It all seemed workable and acceptable, given the audience of one.  But the goal is to expand that audience, so perhaps some changes to that ad hoc approach are in order?

I don't know; I mean, this whole blog is about trying to balance competing demands and making time and other compromises.  ARTEL is the quintessential example of that, no?  Can we make allowances from standard, more professional blogging if the blog is all about how difficult it is to manage it all - when the whole point is we're all just trying to do our best to keep all the balls in the air?  My process is what it is, imperfect at best - by necessity a rolling target.  Can we accept disclosure of incompleteness and post-publication edits as the middle ground?  Hopefully so.  Because it's how it's gotta be.

Now cognizant of the process, I am already adjusting to drafting in advance of the planned publication date so that there is time to allow a draft post to sit and marinate, be tried on for size.  So maybe ARTEL can mostly happen behind the scenes and pre-publication, and YOU, imaginary blog readers, will never even see it happen.  Ah, goals!

Insurrection

Americans, including me, were assaulted yesterday via the siege of the Capitol by domestic terrorists incited by the occupant of the Oval Office.

Comfort items - dark chocolate almond and sea salt Bark Thins and NF's warm plaid throw - to watch and counter the upsetting news of January 6, 2021.

It feels obligatory to acknowledge yesterday's unprecedented mob insurrection and siege of the Capitol and Congress, my Congress, our Congress, incited by Donald J. Trump, whom I have never since January 20, 2017 referred to by the title "President" - because while his election may have been legal, I never considered him to represent me.  We in New York City knew his true nature from the outset, and outright rejected and denounced him.  We knew yesterday could be a possibility, so we decried him loudly, which should have been a warning to others.

Apparently half the country nonetheless refuses to listen, still.

I witnessed it on television, while I was supposed to be working.  We had awakened to projections overnight for one of Georgia's Senate races - the Reverend Raphael Warnok won his special election; Jon Ossoff's was too close to call.  (They were the subjects of my postcard get out the vote efforts for weeks and weeks; that's been one of my few extracurricular activities during this strange COVID period.  Helpfully, my group met remotely on Mondays, one of my off days.) So in between work emails and reviewing documents, I turned on the news or scanned the papers or social media online to see if anyone would call the Ossoff race.  And, separately, what was supposed to be the relatively routine, ceremonial Congressional certification of the Electoral College votes to confirm Joe Biden as the next President was also in progress.

And then, sometime after 2 PM, everything changed, and the rioters breached the Capitol.  At first it just made me sad that there were so many gullible, deluded people so far removed from reality.  And then they moved beyond the lobby and it was clear they would advance by force and intimidation into the chambers, and that made me so, so, so angry - the sense of entitlement of those wretches. 

So all productivity went down the drain.  I gave in to social media and television for the balance of the day.  And I decided that I would chalk those hours up to sick time - because it made me ill to watch.  But I gave myself license to do it, to get the news, to process, to communicate with my friends.  

New year, self care.  Balance.  Sure, work; but bear witness to history too.

[Edited January 8, 2021.]

When Time Is Money, Literally

Vacation days left on the table. 

Photo from my last real vacation, back in September 2019.  It is the Grand Prismatic Spring in Yellowstone National Park.

I checked in to "One Frugal Girl," the FIRE blog I follow, and caught her post on money mistakes.  I added a comment (either not yet posted, or not, and never to be, posted - I rather suspect she may be leery of my comments given that this one that I submitted was never posted; oh well, whatev) on one of my money mistakes from the past year: closing out on December 31st with unused vacation days.

It is a quandary.  BigLaw offers four weeks a year, generally, and three personal days, on a full-time schedule - so plenty of days, but plenty of work; so how are we supposed to take all of that vacation?  Back in the old days at The Firm, it was possible to carry over twenty vacation days into a new year, which just meant keeping watch and taking a random day here or there to continue accruing (vacation accrual stops after hitting the cap of twenty days).  

Years ago, I inadvertently lost track and stopped accruing without being aware - for perhaps a couple of weeks, the equivalent of nearly one full day.  I kicked myself and vowed not to let that happen again, and recruited my assistant to nudge me when I was getting close.  I never intended to bank vacation days (on leaving The Firm, those unused days get paid out - so they do have monetary value) - I love to travel and take "me time"; it was just hard to find convenient periods to schedule time away from the Orifice.  In spite of myself, the mission became not leaving time (slash money) on the table.  I was successful for a while, still taking a single day off or using a few hours of vacation here or there if I was short billables; it was pretty easy and an effective way to stay below the cap.

But a couple of years ago, as The Firm restructured in advance of relocating, and downsized the secretarial pool, the policy changed.  I can only guess that a lot of the staff that took the exit package had also accrued a lot of unused vacation time, and The Firm suddenly found itself paying out some large vacation day balances.  So for attorneys, maybe staff too, the policy became that only ten vacation days could be carried over.  Meaning that in that particular year, I suddenly had to schedule six weeks of vacation.  I failed; I think I left a week on the table, and personal days.  That I remember means I still feel regret about that, haven't quite forgiven myself.  I have since begun each year carrying over a balance of the maximum ten vacation days.

And in 2020, with quarantine and all of the mad rush of client work in anticipation of tax law changes, it was just more difficult to schedule - but there were possible pockets; I just didn't seize on them.  With my reduced schedule, I had the pressure to keep up the hours - hit 100 percent, or close to it, for my reduced target.  I did that, but at the expense of my earned time off.  So for last year, it was six days, which is the equivalent of a full paycheck.  Two weeks of earned vacation that I did not use, and all three of my personal days - yikes; one and a half paychecks.  That's not small beans.  On the other hand, I earned both prorated bonuses in full, which might have been jeopardized had I not hit my hours target.  I suppose both of those put together were worth more in dollars.  The thing is, I fully anticipated the issue, and tried to avoid the predicament.  At one point I had a week off scheduled, then deferred it because a client project got active and the junior associate had scheduled overlapping vacation (after I had already been approved for the time off), and there would have been no coverage if we both had gone out.  I could have pulled rank and asked her to defer her vacation, but I didn't.  And there just was no time afterward to reschedule - we just kept sprinting toward year end.  I mentioned it in passing to the partner whose client matter had become active, and she suggested doing as she was doing - defer until January.  Thanks - very helpful when my days expire at the end of December.  

And I did need the time off.  I feel ragged, physically.  And psychologically.  And knowing I couldn't take my earned days, it felt like working and not getting paid for it - hardly engenders enthusiasm.  

(Not that it is anywhere remotely comparable, but with all the racial tension of last year and the proposals for reparations of descendants of the enslaved, it offered perspective into unpaid work - it really is a wonder African Americans survived it all; the physical fortitude and mental fortitude is more than I am sure I could ever fully appreciate.)

Overly loyal, overly responsible was I.  That was a regret from earlier in my career too - I could have jumped long ago and did not (I literally told a headhunter in 2004, "I feel like I would be abandoning the ship when I should be helping everyone to bail out water"); I didn't even have time to do proper research to evaluate the opportunity back then.  Who knows where my life might have gone had I had a four day work week earlier in my career.  Ah well.  Sliding Doors.

That phenomenon of working and not getting paid has also manifested itself in the disregard of some of my bosses of my reduced schedule.  Frustrating, to say the least.  Sure, the clients pay the big bucks for us to be always available, but there is a full stable of other attorneys to support the partners...  Leads me to believe it is just not workable - my desire to have more time for myself, on the one hand, and this particular position at this particular Firm, on the other.  I already sense that I am being edged out.  Time to reposition.

Until then, my vow is to start the work year off by prioritizing myself first.  I have given too much of myself already, paid too high a price.  Time to stop the vicious cycle.  

The thing is, a former colleague pointed out to me years ago that four weeks off is really only one week per quarter, which isn't all that much time away.  The key is to schedule it in advance, set it in stone, alert colleagues and clients to it, and work - and make everyone else work - around it.  That shouldn't be so hard, right?  I deserve it; I need to have the confidence to assert myself to claim it is all.

And so today I overrode my deferential instincts, "took up space," and imposed upon the head partner's own overdue vacation (she opened the door by emailing me, although she asked not to be emailed back about work so that she could enjoy her vacation - this wasn't really work, not client work, anyway) to submit my request, and scheduled two of those carryover vacation days (Inauguration Day and Tet Eve).  Yay me!  Goal for this year: No days left on the table. 

Festive Foods, Now Featured

Review of some notable meals and dishes still cherished, even if not previously featured.

Ombre apple pie inspired by New York Times recipe, except with apple slices arranged in circular - rather than horizontal - pattern, prepared for Thanksgiving.  Next year, if repeated, I would dip one side of each slice in a cinnamon sugar rather than sprinkling the sugar at the end to avoid obscuring the color of the peels in order to enhance the ombre effect. 

I often grab images of the dishes I am lucky enough to enjoy or proud to have produced, but then don't find the time to edit them for Instagram or to write a blog post in which to feature them (even with my "abbreviate, return to edit later" - my "ARTEL" method, let's call it - which happens each time a post is tagged as "compromised").  Such are the rhythms of a modern life.

But with the segue provided by the last post on lucky New Year foods, now seems a good time to revisit those fondly remembered dishes that might otherwise get lost to time.  They are mostly from Thanksgiving...

Mother Hen's roast Thanksgiving chicken stuffed with glutinous rice with ham, Chinese sausage, shiitake mushrooms, onions, chestnuts.  This chicken deserves its own blog post.

Our blessedly laden Thanksgiving table (dishes listed starting from upper right, zigzagging to left): Salad of kale with apples, Craisins, walnuts; mashed cauliflower and potatoes (prepared by yours truly and voted best side dish by the sibs); air fried Brussels sprouts with pomegranate seeds; roasted root vegetables; mushroom gravy; Mother Hen's Thanksgiving stuffed roast chicken; corn and peppers salad; sauteed green beans; ombre apple pie; pumpkin pie in chocolate walnut crust; crab asparagus egg drop soup. 

Pumpkin pie in chocolate walnut crust.  Next year, fewer walnuts and more cocoa and some flour; this year's crust was a little greasy from all the walnuts with butter.

One of everything savory (other than the soup).

Slice of pumpkin pie.  The combination of pumpkin and chocolate is lovely. 

And from Election Day weekend this past Fall (cannot now recall why we were back at the Mothership - perhaps just to restock)...

Bowl of Mother Hen's bun bung - packed for transport and reheated chez moi.

And the first outdoor dining meal, from the second week of October.  Sissy and I were more wary than most New Yorkers of COVID outdoor signing.  We scoped out a spot that had seating far from the sidewalk's meandering pedestrians, on a side street, and ate lunch in late afternoon when no one else was seated near.  It happened to be a Greek restaurant - Yia Yia's.  I had grilled veggies on a pita with a side salad and lemon potatoes.  It was soooo good - not to have to cook for myself, to have restaurant food quickly after preparation and at the right temperature, to sit outdoors for dining.  I miss it so.

Grilled veggies on pita, with Greek salad and lemon potatoes.

It is also a reminder of how very fortunate I have been in these most difficult of times.  And to share of my better fortunes.  I had planned to include food pantries in my year-end charitable contributions, but then work went through to close to 9pm on New Year's Eve, and I hadn't even eaten, and then I found a movie on PBS's "Masterpiece" series - "The Chaperone" based, apparently very loosely, on a pivotal time in the life of Louise Brooks - that was perfect to mentally unwind from the workday, and year, and before I knew it, midnight came around and I had managed only one charitable donation.  And upon review, I may even have missed all of my regular mid-year alma mater donations... shaking my head.  With the year now newly opening, I may just shift to something I have considered for a while - regular monthly recurring donations.  The solicitations seem to indicate that the organizations appreciate the regularity and predictability of smaller donations spread across the year, and it would allow me to avoid the end of year rush, so win-win!

[Last edited January 4, 2020.]

Fresh New Run in 2021

Out with a rather trying 2020, in with a hopefully more cooperative 2021.

After 2020, trying to give 2021 a leg up on being a good year...

Pork, beans, greens on golden polenta for good luck in the new year.

Grapes and oranges for more good luck in 2021.

 

... Some good luck foods seem to be in order for 2021’s first dinner, just to be safe:

Alas, I had no black eyed peas in the pantry, but plenty of other beans, so I made do with the white beans I had that most resemble the black eyed peas - though they lack the eye that are supposed to ward off the evil eye, but still expand for abundance and plenty.  I did consider running out for black eyed peas, but, well, we are in the middle of a COVID spike - that fact is real and scientifically and quantitatively proven (and indisputable by rational people) - taking the risk of unnecessary exposure to a disease in support of a superstitious dish was just not rational.  And the white beans have been sitting for some time and needed to be used, and part of this year's goals is to actually consume what I have - avoid waste when so many are wanting, utilize in the present because tomorrow is not assured.  

The bok choy greens symbolize money.  

The char siu pork, gifted by Sissy, was, admittedly, a break from my predominant vegetarianism (sixth anniversary of that decision!) - now I can't invoke the social exceptions clause to my vegetarianism, because we are in a COVID spike and I had New Year's Eve and New Year's Day by myself; instead, I will need to invoke the special circumstances clause (used for cultural food experiences while traveling, or to experience the specialty at a restaurant), and declare the overriding necessity of ushering in good fortune for 2021 to balance out 2020's derailment - but that pork is for forward momentum, as, reportedly, pigs only root forward.  

And the bed of polenta - well, traditionally hopping John is served with cornbread, which looks like gold for wealth, but it's really just the cornmeal we're after, right? Liquid gold will do.  And during the evening time crunch, polenta is easier to prepare and requires fewer ingredients.  So polenta it was.  (Actually, what I forgot to do was add quinoa - my favorite new way of preparing polenta so that it is heftier and more nutritious is by replacing some of the cornmeal with quinoa; still delish!)

And last night I rang in the new year with grapes (in Spain and Mexico, twelve eaten for each stroke leading to midnight bring luck for the full year) and mandarin oranges (round for continuing luck, and resembling coins for prosperity).

Thusly armed, maybe there's a chance 2021 will be a bit less of a dumpster fire than last year.  Granted, there is absolutely no scientific or imperical evidence for any of this.  And is this the time to peddle in non-factual ritual?  Perhaps not, but I know these to be superstitions, and eating these will do no harm to me or anyone else.  Engaging these food charms won't in any way change my intention to get those two COVID shots as soon as my turn comes up - that's the real life assessment to be made and imperative to follow, and I am absolutely on board for that.  Balance - and knowing the difference between fiction and reality.

Happy, healthy, meaningful, and successful new year to all!

[Last edited January 2, 2021.]