I never did get on a ferry over winter break. There were a LOT of things I didn't do - paint the kitchen, for example. I didn't read reviews, and while I'm glad I didn't, I also paid for that in terms of the scramble and chaos of the last few weeks at work. Today we approved 12 promotions and all of our merit increases. We are the Lake Wobegon of workplaces - all employees are above average. Monday will be spreadsheets and merged letters, four different versions, multiple spreadsheets and 56 envelopes at least. Then I'm good. Until the hiring for the year gets approved, at least.
I've been making things. Food things. Potato latkes and little meatballs and gougeres and apple sharlotka and cabbage with ham and chocolate chip cookies from scratch and cranberry apple crisp or crumble or whatever it is and fresh wild mushroom toasts and really a lot of lacinato kale. Beyond this, I'm not making much progress, but this IS progress, I keep telling myself. Even though tonight dinner was lasagna from the co-op deli (which I don't feel bad about buying because really, lasagna is a royal pain to make) and I bought beet salad for lunch tomorrow, which I do feel bad about buying, because I suspect it's easy enough even for me, and I forgot to even get the chevre I was going to add to it.
It's alright. This is what I tell myself nightly, in the little journal I've been keeping about the house. I just want to make that white bolognese sauce some time this month, and learn how to write letters again. Progress. That's the word.