My body knew the grief before my brain knew. Monday morning as I was spreading peach preserves on toast, I started tearing up. The jam reminded me of the orange marmalade my grandpa used to put on his toast and grandma’s homemade brown bread at their kitchen table in Niles, Illinois.

This post was originally sent as an email to subscribers on January 23, 2025.

Hello, friends! How is everyone doing? The state of the country… er, world?… has been bleak lately. What have you been doing to find peace?

I’ve never really liked New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s the unrealistic expectations that Troy and Gabriella from High School Musical imparted on me when I was 13, or maybe it’s the way they’re STILL trying to make those glasses work for the year 2025 when we all know the last one should have been in 2009 (when will they give it up?!). But I just don’t like the idea of spending too much money and staying up too late and drinking too much champagne in the name of an arbitrary, made up concept of time.