the meaningful glow: a weekly archive
making room, forest houses, Book Lovers, and enchilada casserole
“I regret that,” she says, her gloved hands mercilessly rolling over knots in my neck. “I regret making them tear their forts down all the time.” Face down in the massage table, I can hear the hitch in her voice, feel her sadness, her touch connecting us in a current of electricity. Her children, two boys, are grown now with kids of their own. Thinking of my boy's excessive fort building habits, the constant deep breaths, reminding myself to embrace the creativity rather than see only the mess, I note: make room for the forts.
We laugh in the exchange of stories, telling of their mischievous grins and escapades. I tell of my youngest’s predisposition to run off the edge of playgrounds into the nearest field. The current shifts again and I lurch as she suddenly speaks of another story, nearly a decade old, a child falling into a gorilla enclosure. The child survived and the gorilla was killed on sight. The family was never charged. A simmering anger possesses her and she rants against the parents, passionately declaring she doesn’t know “how anyone could let go of a toddler’s hand for one minute and lose their kid.”
Silent, I absorb this. Instantly I am in the head of the mother.
Did everyone wake up too early? Was breakfast half-eaten and left on the table? Perhaps putting socks and shoes on took forever and kids kept having to use the bathroom. The baby didn’t sleep last night, again, and he wailed at being put in the car seat. Once everyone was in the van someone forgot something and they had to run back in the house. There’s that medical bill on the table, still unpaid. They get on the road and hit traffic. A kid has to pee so they pull over. Getting to the zoo everyone is hungry so snacks are pulled out. They finish and throw away trash and slowly begin to explore. With full bellies and empty bladders, she begins to relax a little.
Her children are looking at the animals, content, and her mind can wonder. She wishes her partner would help more. She thinks of the books she would like to read. She dreads that conversation with her parents, the one about faith - or her lack thereof. She wonders how her friend is doing this week who is going through a divorce - she should send her a message. The grocery order is ready, her family’s food for the week, but she has to approve the substitutions on her phone. A phone call - her child’s occupational therapist needing to reschedule. Starting the camera, ready to document her children’s happiness so she can look at them after they are asleep, she gazes up and suddenly everyone is hushed. A foot slips over a gate and she knows that foot. She runs and it is too late. They are inside.
This is what I think when the massage therapist shares her pedestaled rage over the lack of care from the child’s parents. Sure, it could have been a neglectful, awful family and I could point my own finger - but what if they weren’t?
It could have been me, I think, instead.
There are signs of change everywhere, though they are hesitant. Yesterday I saw a daffodil and my heart swelled, dreaming of the warmer days ahead, of my oldest son’s 5th birthday in March. It’s the first year he’s truly aware of it’s coming and I’ve told him often, watch for their yellow glow. When we see them your day is getting closer. Our day. The day both of our lives were forever changed.
February, at least to me, is a transitional month. The time, according to folklore, when the Ruler of Winter is in battle against the Green Man. Years ago I lived in Northern Ireland. In my mid-20s at the time, I was more aware of seasons than at any other point in my young life. I remember February as blustery and wet in my walks to work, the endless cups of tea and a roaring fire, the guffawing laughter at the pub, the moody daylight draping the green hills in the distance, barely illuminating the yellow gorse bushes. There were hyacinths and pansies, longer daylight hours stretching across distant mountains. It was as though the world was yawning, releasing a golden hue a bit earlier every morning, a bit later in the evenings. By the time March arrived people’s faces had lost the habitual winter dourness and carried instead twinkling eyes, hints of expectancy, of a dormant hope beginning to stir.
There are times I am weary of always looking ahead to the next thing. The next season of holidays, clothing shifts, growth spurts, illnesses, and monotonous house work. The next season of my life, the intense desire I have to be alone. My to-do lists are long and exhausting and while they are tasks I need to complete at some point or other, why not also make room?
I think of the mother of the child who got away. Did she need a room of her own?
My days are crammed with things to remember, but there are rooms I love. They are as familiar as the 3 tattoos across my pelvis, maps of my children’s births. There are the book-lined walls with a pair of muddy boots by the door. A worn couch, sinking in many places, memories of my children’s play. The galley style kitchen, often cramped with bakeware and snack wrappers, smells of baking sourdough. Towering trees, named and known by their garments of leaves and bark. Friends on the way for conversation and picking up of pieces beyond a text thread. Cooking with my children even though flour gets in places I didn’t think possible. The mornings snuggled up instead of my usual rush to tick boxes.
I can make room for my ever-expanding, changing personhood. I can accept who I am even in the midst of change, even as I emerge from the many chrysalises of my lifetime.
February may be the awkward kid to some, and for many years it was a month I wished away. But now I notice it’s quiet offerings. I collect them in my arms, a teetering pile of aged and newly released spines. Some of the titles are as known as the freckles patterned on my arms and I lean into their comfort. Others are unfinished, waiting for the right moment. For my courage to lay them open.
life with littles
They build houses in the woods. “Like the Boxcar Children, Momma!” Up and down the hill, carrying twigs, smoothing paths in the dirt. The backs of their pants are muddied and the baby tries to eat a leaf. Their hoots and hollers resonate within me like an echo. I tuck the sound, the almost impossible brightness of their dimpled, soil-streaked cheeks, the way their hands are still engulfed in mine, into my mother-grooved caverns for safe keeping. For the times we forget.
reading/listening/learning
I was in a slump and now I’m overrun with books. It’s a good feeling, a reassuring one, honestly. Books have been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember. When I can’t seem to find a companion in one I feel a bit on uneven ground until the next comes along. Lately I’ve been reading several books at once - Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book (some know her work from the Moomin series), Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Maggie Millner’s poetic release, Couplets: A Love Story. Audio books wise - Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl (yes, I am very behind the times and also I didn’t realize it was a thriller and I’m a bit on edge, but the narrators are so good and I can’t stop listening), and Emily Henry’s Book Lovers. Julia Whelan is a narrator I adore and I’m doing a bit of a self-imposed masterclass in her work. Audio books have been a companion for me over the years, and as I embark on painting some walls in our house - okay…a lot of walls - it’s helped the time to pass splendidly.
on the table: enchilada casserole
I have no exact recipe for this. Enchilada casserole is something that arose spontaneously for me years ago when I felt like wrapping up individual tortillas was too much work. (I know. But sometimes life hands you one of those days.)
Preheat the oven to 350F/180C. Grease a 13x9 baking pan.
Ingredients
rotisserie chicken, meat removed and shredded* (This is for the least amount of effort possible. If you are feeling energetic or perhaps puttery on a cozy day, you can cook and shred your own chicken.) Vegetarian? Skip this part, and consider a vegan meat substitute or hearty vegetables like peppers and mushrooms.
salt and pepper to taste
roughly 1 tsp of cumin and garlic powder. If you like spice you can add chili powder to your desired level of heat.
1 medium onion, diced. (if you save scraps for broth, put those unused onion ends and peel in a freezer bag.)
1 can of corn, rinsed and drained; or 1 cup of frozen corn
1 can of black beans, rinsed and drained
2 cans of enchilada sauce
8-10 small corn or flour tortillas
cheese of your preference
toppings like sour cream, salsa, avocados, etc.
Method
In a skillet on medium heat, cook the onions for a few minutes until translucent. As they cook, add the seasonings to increase overall flavor.
Add the chicken, corn, and beans, cooking until warmed through. Taste and see if it’s flavorful. If it isn’t, add bits of seasoning at a time until you like it.
While the above cooks, spread a layer of enchilada sauce on the bottom of the pan. Add about 3-4 tortillas on top. (I tend to split tortillas if needed.)
Place a layer of the chicken filling, cheese if you wish, and another layer of tortillas. Spread more sauce on top. Add more chicken, cheese, and repeat.
On the very top layer of tortillas, add more sauce and cheese. Bake for about 20 minutes or until cheese is melted to your preference. (I say this because you may be a browned cheese person like myself, or a just-melted cheese person like my husband.) If you really like it brown, broil it for 1-2 minutes.
Serve with desired toppings.
*Save or freeze the carcass for bone broth! This can be done on the stove, in a crockpot, or pressure cooker. Want a recipe? Comment or reply to this email. It’s magic.
Thank you for being here. I took a wee break last week as it felt like a needed moment to pause. In the next few weeks we are in the middle of a large house project, but I still hope to be here with you.
Feel free to comment below or reply directly to this email. I love connecting with you.
Warmly,
Jess
Going to try this recipe!
You weave together threads from you life and the seasons so beautifully ❤️💕