Proposals, grief and fruitcake

I should not be blogging right now. I haven't the time, I should be working on my proposal, but I am procrastinating. I have an incredible talent for procrastinating when there is a deadline, and doing phenomenal amounts of other things instead-anything but the necessary task. I wait for my l1th hour brilliance to set in, then, I will go off running, and, well, you know the drill.

Life has been so off centre lately, although I have felt more like myself again. I am feeling a little more at peace with my partner gone, and I can say we have found some bit of rhythm. No more full time work is likely what has brought about this peace. I am still lonely, but I can easily, easily fill my time. I am getting ready for Christmas. Halloween came and went, and usually it is filled with more fun than it was this year-it felt like someone took away our usual zest for all things macabre, and replaced it with something a little bit hollow. It felt like the first holiday after the death of someone close, sadness, even though everything around you attempts normalcy and happiness. I had the kids party, but we kept it small and I did not feel like making all the treats I usually do. I fear, really fear Christmas will feel the same. The kids have nagged the trees and decor out, and I have begun to bake. Tradition, despite grief, holds strong in our home.

Fruitcakes. I love dark, fruit and nut laden cakes. Heavy with spices and rum or brandy. Not mounds of glacee, but things like figs, dates, apricots etc. Paneforte is my new treat of the season this year, I am dying to make it. I just put a dark cake in my fridge tonight, wrapped in rum soaked cheesecloth, in a month after patient dousing, it will be heavenly with some marzipan. I am also making a cranberry fruitcake, it sounds intriguing. I think what I love about these recipes is their age. These were popular in Victorian times, and I always connect with that period. Hell, I found a 16th century recipe for mincemeat, which I also adore (the newer meatless versions mind you). I intend to make cranberry mice tarts, that and empanadas, a good lot of wine, sherry etc., I will feel bloody festive. I recall the large crock in the cupboard of mincemeat as a child, I would eat bits out while it aged. I doubt Mom put any booze in, but it was delicious. Interesting that my siblings don't enjoy this particular dish at all.

Food is comfort. I take incredible comfort and pleasure in food, in traditions. I have had so little passion for food with Dave gone, it feels too sad to make some things that I know he enjoyed so immensely. The kids and I had a late supper after Josh's birthday tonight. i baked mussels, onion, garlic, tomatoes, beer, spices. Crusty bread, oh my. Joshie's party, Lego-rama at the girls gymnastics club, best birthday ever according to Josh. The kids roared in, I dropped a large load of cash on it all, and they had fun. In the midst of all that is going on, kids always find a way to be kids. Their resilience is admirable. As adults we are far, far less adaptable. Perhaps fruitcake is my way of adapting. The painstaking detail and time required provides me with some external focus that I am in control over. And the end result is one that can provide instant enjoyment and pleasure on many levels, the smell, taste, yes, obviously. But its the pleasant memories it reincarnates and the idea of it, of what fruitcake means to me that really motivates me. The fact that I can control and create a certain amount of perfection as often as I choose, and that this is peace and pleasure all at once, elegance and sinfulness in one sweet, sweet cake, that is what I am truly after. It helps me feel connected in this very disconnected time I am dealing with. Past and present, harmonized.

And my other perfection, my sweet kids. Here, my big boy is 5.....