I get so tired of this world sometimes.

The ignorance, the arrogance, and the eager cruelty on parade into our eyes and brains (whether in caution or praise) gets to be way too much after a while.

Earlier this week was Passover. We didn’t do a Seder this year because timing and activity didn’t work out in our favor. Instead, Emily made chicken satay for dinner. I sat on the porch typing away at this piece after having scrolled through far too much nonsense. That’s one reason this blog post is so late- I simply haven’t had the bandwidth after coming back from Philadelphia.

I finished a small glass of grog (because rum is alright for Passover and I had rice lager waiting to be paired with dinner) and I chatted with a dear friend about the logistics of making Sephardic matzo for a change- as opposed to the hard, cracker-like Ashkenazi matzah I’ve had my entire life.

I wore white linen, watched the light change on Mount Tabor as the sun went down, and I’m listened to Ladino music as I wrote (but Zac Brown Band’s tribute to Jimmy Buffett, “Pirates and Parrots,” is still in my head.)

I spent the day in the sun. Here’s what I have to say about it all.

I took a late walk through Mount Tabor Park the other day and made a mental note to come back for a little urban foraging. The weather has encouraged some of the evergreens in the park to sprout their tips comparatively early, studding their canopies of serge green with tiny pops of lime.

When it comes to harvesting from trees, we often think of nuts or fruit- the means trees intended to spread their seeds around. It’s only for certain trees, even less for evergreens, we think about their leaves.

When they first sprout, the needles of many evergreens are bright, soft, and flavorful. Douglas Fir tips, for example, taste like strong rosemary and lemon which makes them an excellent culinary herb. Spruce tips, on the other hand, are acerbic and very piney which makes them a classic addition to beers and ales where they can play off similarly powerful hops.

I have yet to justify getting a proper “foraging pouch” for myself, so a knotted handkerchief on my belt did the trick as a tucked my walking stick into my belt and helped myself to the low-hanging sprigs. Several people looked curious as they walk their dogs past, but no one said anything. We all have our own problems- right now, mine is how to separate the spruce from the fir tips I’m gathering in one bag.

I spent a full hour walking up and down the park, even though I know that (for some reason) only the trees near the base are sprouting. The sun is warm, though. The air is cool, and I need a no-pressure reminder that I Am Alive. This Is Real. It is Here and it is Good.

A stop home to drop off my bounty, shower, change into the white linen summer outfit I scored at Goodwill (literally the only way I can ever afford Tommy Bahama) and nap with the cat. Cleo is also Real and Here and Good- even if she can be a bit of a brat when it comes to letting Daddy get up from snuggle time. Now the vibe (and the night) are requiring rum, so another walk down to examine my options.

The bottle I was hoping for- Just Rum’s “Uncle Phil’s Cut” White- was not in stock, though they had my second choice of Plantation 5. I mulled over whether I should wait till I could drive somewhere for the Just Rum, if I really needed the booze (no I didn’t, I was trying to save money, but I liked my nightcaps.)

Then I saw a larger bottle nearby- Platations blended overproof offering. Only available by the liter. The tasting notes mentioned all my favorite things, and it was just a bit more than I had intended to spend. It was a full liter rather than a fifth though, and I’ve never been one to shoot or pound good liquor. I’m not a “shooter” in general.

(I’m not kidding. I don’t do OR buy that crap. If I pour you something, shoot it at your own risk unless don’t need all those teeth and ribs. Better to just take your time and enjoy it.)

The tasting notes given seemed like they combined the flavors of my favorite rum with some of the wood, smoke, and depth I love in my whiskeys. I mulled it over a bit… then bit and brought it home.

The rum doesn’t really mix well. Even in simple cocktails, whatever else is in the glass just seems to make the liquor taste muddy. Even the basic lime and brown sugar of a grog or bitters of a sling. It stand on its own, it drinks best on its own- though fine with a bit of ice. It is very much Itself- no set dressing required.

I needed all these things. I needed the walk, the greenery, the cat, the snuggles, the linen, the rum, the appreciation of small good things. The moments of peace and unassailable joy in a culture that would love to make sure I always have a reason to be miserable.

It shouldn’t need special effort or special distraction to understand any of this. The idea of a gratitude practice is to keep you grounded in these casual gifts of being alive. Depending on who you are though, gratitude is a double-edged sword. Anxiety and Depression have a knack of poisoning gratitude for me sometimes.

“It’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“Awww… that’s nice privilege you’ve got there.”
“You are so fucking lucky, you don’t deserve any of this.”
“Don’t you know there’s worse shit happening in the world? Don’t you care? How dare you be happy wasting your time and money on silly things like cats, sunshine, trees, and enjoying good rum?!”

Telling your own brain to quit being stupid is about as useful as telling someone with Depression to “just cheer up.” You can’t make your brain listen- so I’m learning to ambush it with joy.

“You know you have shit to be doing right now, right? You shouldn’t be wasting…”
“Ok, I hear you but real quick- that breeze feels nice doesn’t it?”
“Yeah it does, but…”
“Aren’t those trees pretty too? It smells so nice out here…”
“Mmm… yeah it does. But remember that one guy who was shitty to you and…”
“Awww… Cleo is snuggling into my arm. I bet that purr of hers could take down a wall.”
“Yes she is a sweet little Boopus… but are you sure you’re doing right by her? I mean you…”
“Taste this.”
“…sigh. Screw it all.”
”THERE we go.”

There will always be plenty of reasons to distrust joy and happiness when you can find little glimmers of it. Half of them are lying, half are exaggerating.

Always do your best to ambush yourself with joy however you can.

Stay Classy,