by Sara Barry | Jan 7, 2015 | writing
I love the idea of a word of the year, though I often struggle to find one. Nobody is carving my word in stone. If it doesn’t work or no longer fits, I can change it or just let it go.
2015 is my year to open.
Open
I want to be open to possibilities and new ideas and experiences, to keep an open mind and not jump to the reasons why something won’t work.
I want to keep my eyes open to see the beauty around me, notice what is happening in my life, be present.
I want my heart open to joy and wonder.
I want to get back to yoga and open my body and inner channels that are stuck.
I want openness around me—open space, less clutter—and open space in my schedule to reflect and dream and play.
I want to be outside in open places under the broad sky. I want to remember to look up at that sky, to scurrying clouds playing hide and seek with the moon or settling of rose-gold behind the branches as daylight settles out.
And I want to be open to new ways to see this word in my life as I move through the year. It’s a new year, and I’m open to change.
Your openings
Think about openness in your own life. Where could you be more open? What would openness or openings look like for you? Freewrite about the word open or openness or openings.
Do you have a word of the year?
Did you choose your word, or did it choose you? Tell us about it.
by Sara Barry | Dec 30, 2014 | abundance, holidays, what I love
I think my favorite gift this Christmas season is wrapped up here. It isn’t for me or even from me. It’s from my big girl to her great-grandmother.
It’s a crudely sewn cardinal crafted of felt because as she told me earnestly, “Big Nana loves birds, and I think a cardinal is her favorite.”
Big Nana who taught me patiently to sew many, many years ago. Big Nana who sews so neatly you’d think a machine did it—front and back, inside and out. I can’t wait to see her open this little stuffed bird with it’s big, uneven, loving stitches.
We’ve had a flurry of projects here lately. Some were done before Christmas, but since we celebrate with my family closer to New Year’s, we had extra time to wrap up some of this gift making.
I didn’t direct any of it. I offered suggestions when asked and helped locate materials. I threaded needles and knotted the ends of seams. I spelled words and read recipes. And when I found myself frustrated by the frequent requests, I reminded myself that this is the spirit of Christmas, thinking of others, offering something you think they will love, giving of yourself.
So there’s been sewing—a penguin for her cousin because it’s her favorite animal and two pillows because my little girl wanted to get in on all this present making too and felt pillows are what she can do right now. We’ve made a book, molded and baked a clay ornament, braided fleece into a snake, and baked coffee bread.
Quietly one day, by herself, my big girl found one of the pearl beads leftover from her birthday party and a scrap of gold ribbon. She used a glue stick and some clear tape an made me a bracelet.
My bracelet makes me smile with the remembrance her excitement watching me open it. The coffee bread, a favorite family recipe, was received with enthusiasm. I don’t know how they the other gifts will be received. I do know they were made with love and thoughtfulness and care, and there was great joy in making and the giving.
May these simple gifts—the love and caring, thoughtfulness and joy—find you in the new year.
What was your favorite gift this year? What simple gifts do you cherish?
Follow up:
Not surprisingly, Big Nana loved her cardinal. She was impressed with the sewing. “You can teach her the overcast stitch next.” I remembered suddenly learning the overcast stitch myself, the word sticking with me. I don’t remember what I was sewing, but I remember sitting in my grandmother’s living room and carrying my project into the dining room so she could rethread my needle for me.
The other gifts were met with kind enthusiasm from the cousins. The kitty ornament my big girl made for her little sister was not met with such kindness. The little one pouted that she wanted a sewn cat, not a clay one. “I’m going to color on it,” she scowled. She hadn’t changed her tune by the time we put away the tree. One of the things I love about putting up the tree is telling the stories behind or different ornaments. This kitty in tea cup has a story to it.
by Sara Barry | Dec 23, 2014 | baking, holidays
I just had a cookie for breakfast. Second breakfast, and it had orange in it, so that counts right?
As we’ve been reading our Christmas stories, so many times there is an orange in the toe or the top of the stocking, something juicy and sweet and just right this time of year.
My kids often find an orange or a clementine in their stocking, and I remember my older daughter pulling hers out one year, “A real orange!” In the midst of toys and candy, she still noticed that orange.
We’ve been eating oranges lately. I picked up a few at the store to make those chocolate-orange cookies I had for breakfast and had to go back to pick up some more because my girls ate them in smiles for snack at school and dessert before I got to baking. I ate some too, and I wondered why I never buy oranges. It’s time for oranges now, that splash of color, burst of juice, vitamin C, and natural sweetness.
So go get some oranges, and if you don’t eat them all first, make these cookies. (You really only need the zest, so you can still eat that orange as long as you zest it first.)
Double Chocolate-Orange Cookies
Cookies
1 c. sugar
2/3 c. butter, softened
1 Tbsp. grated orange peel*
1 egg
1 1/2 c. flour
1/3 c. baking cocoa
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1 c. chocolate chips (bittersweet or semisweet)
Coating
1/3 c. sugar (or a little more as needed)
1 tsp. grated orange peel*
* The peel of one orange should work out just about right for both the cookies and the coating.
- Preheat oven to350º F.
- Mix 1/3 cup sugar and 1 tsp. grated orange peel. Set aside.
- Cream 1 cup sugar with the butter and 1 Tbsp. grated orange peel in a large bowl. Beat in the egg until well combined.
- Add your dry ingredients: flour, cocoa, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. (You can mix them together in a separate bowl if you like, but I’m lazy and never do.)
- Mix in the chocolate chips. (Go ahead and do this in the mixer. It doesn’t matter if the chips break up a little.)
- Shape dough into small balls balls. (Sometimes I do 1 1/2–inch balls, sometimes I go a little smaller if I want to stretch the batch or know the cookies will be out with lots of other cookie types.)
- Roll balls in sugar-orange coating mixture. If it looks like you will run out, just add a little more sugar and mix it up with the remaining coating. (If you end up with some extra, it’s yummy sprinkled on top of blueberry muffins.)
- Place coated balls on parchment-lined cookie sheets. Flatten to about 1/2-inch thickness with bottom of glass.
- Bake 9–11 minutes or until cookies appear set.
- Cool slightly before moving from cookie sheet. If you are eating them soon, serve with the pieces of the orange you zested to make the cookies.
by Sara Barry | Dec 16, 2014 | traditions, winter
My calendar is empty. I have no to do list.
I won’t be on a phone call with a group I meet with every other week or doing a training a client is offering.
I won’t be Christmas shopping or editing a chapter or paying bills.
And I won’t be online. Emails will wait. Facebook with chatter on without me.
On December 17, I’ll let the quiet settle around me. Settle within me.
I’ll take care of my girls. I’ll be with my family. I’ll be kind to myself. I might walk or read or write a letter. I might work on the needle-felted turtle I’m making for my niece, not because I need to get it done, but because the process is soothing. I’ll see what I’m moved to do.
I leave this day open every year. In the middle of all the bustle and festivities and end of the year wrap up, I make space.
I make space to remember and to sit with what ever emotions come. The emotions are hard, but that space, that quiet is beautiful.
You should try it.
Go ahead. Take a day. Let go of your “should do” list. Shut down the computer. Turn off your phone. Let things wait. Move slowly. Go outside. Soak up the sunshine no matter how weak or trace patterns in the stars. Breathe deep. Walk. Sit by the fire. Do what feels comfortable or comforting.
Let in quiet and stillness and peace.
by Sara Barry | Dec 10, 2014 | grief, holidays, parenting, reading, traditions, winter
They sorted through the bags looking for the tags, checking the numbers. This year they can read the numbers on our Advent calendar themselves.
22 . . . 19 . . . 18 . . .12 . . .9 . . . 11 . . . 8 . . . 6
“Six!”
Even before the book is out of the cloth bag, jolly with gingerbread men, they start exclaiming, the little one peering over the big one’s shoulder.
“Oh, I LOVE that book!”
“Me too! I luv it”
And then “Can we read it now?”
I sit on the couch and snuggle in on either side of me, a red head resting on one side, the a blond one on the other. I melt into that middle.
“On Christmas eve, many years ago,” I begin.
My big girl half shivers next to me, anticipating the rest of the story, and leans in a little closer. I smile and keep reading.
I heard the bell for many years, but then nothing. I worried that I’d never hear it again, that Christmas would be quiet and dim in our house.
Even though this month is still full of shadows, light has returned—the gentle glow of the Christmas tree, the warming light of the fire, the dancing excitement in my girls’ eyes.
They run around the house sometimes singing “Jingle Bells” and shaking the bracelets they made with tiny bells pipe cleaners. It’s a tinny sound, but in that enthusiasm, I can almost hear the richer, magical tones of that other bell.
When I’m done reading, we sit for a minute in the warmth and light and quiet before, I prompt them, “Time to get ready.”
The sky, and with it the room, has brightened. The bus will be here soon. In the bright kitchen, I stir oatmeal and call out to the girls to get dressed, but throughout the day there is that moment of peace and warm light and maybe a little magic.
Do you hear the bell at Christmas?
In the comments, share something that gives you comfort or joy this time of year.
