my 42

50-1 – Turning Fifty

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This is the second week of the second month, and I had anticipated being so much far along in my reflections. I’m still not sure how I want these to flow; I just feel that my fiftieth year deserves something a little special; a little different; a little more.

My age has always been one of those oddities for me. Between not caring at all and caring too much, I can never remember how old I am without doing the math. Being born in December, I was always the youngest in high school and college, having just made the cut off to attend school in my year. My middle son is usually the youngest (October birthday) in his class and my daughter is usually the oldest (January).  One of my closest college friends was born in January, so he and I were quite literally one year apart. At my first job in the early childhood field, I remained the youngest or at least close to the youngest for most of my tenure there.  Things evened out a little bit after my first son was born with colleagues and other parents in school, but I still tended to be one of the oldest in any give group. Even now I am either the youngest (at church or the Red Hats) or the oldest (at any other school or friend function.) My closest friends are in their mid-twenties/thirties.

I don’t know how I feel about the whole age thing.

I already feel adrift, falling somewhere between baby boomers and gen Xers, a forgotten generation of sorts. Too old and practical for my twenty-something friends, and too flighty and culture savvy for my aged peers.

People laugh and think it’s vanity that I can never remember my age. It’s not intentional; it’s just never been important enough to stay on my mind. Oh, I knew 18 and 21, 25 and 30. Forty didn’t bother me like I was told it would, but 41 made me cry, pretty much all year. Forty-one was tragic. I looked forward to 42 – my Douglas Adams birthday as I called it, and I expressed my age that year every chance I could. But after that….it feels like a countdown, and I don’t like to dwell on it or that I’m not quite where I wanted to be at 49. It didn’t help that 45 came with the baggage of a heaping pile  of a previously unknown and undiagnosed severe  case of depression and anxiety that is finally beginning to stay on the track it’s supposed to be on.

One thing that I do enjoy lately is that we’ve have hit the moment pop culturally where most of my favorite television shows have actors around my age: Misha Collins-ish,Jensen Ackles (at least they’re not twenty), Norman Reedus, Alan Cumming, Robert Downey, Jr, John Barrowman. (Notice the obvious lack of women/actresses in my age group to look up to, though.)

At the end of the year, I will be 50, and I wonder what that means. I’m beginning this series of reflections. My aim is to do about fifty of these, originally planned for one a week, and I’m not going to worry about it being the second week of the second month. I’m going to go with the flow. Some of the time. This is the year of positive thinking. I’m just going to trudge on, and make my way through this year, paying attention, noticing, writing, and moving forward.

Always moving forward.

I am in good company, however:

This past weekend, the Super Bowl turned 50.

In September, Star Trek, one of my most formative childhood and adolescent guides to my world will also be 50. Star Trek formed and inspired my creativity, my writing, my thoughts about the future and space travel (I was born during the Apollo age), and my never-ending love of science fiction, which begat fantasy. Star Trek was very important in my life.

NOW (National Organization for Women) was founded.

Batman: The Movie was released and was soon followed by the television show.

UFWOC (United Farm Workers Organizing Committee) founded.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas aired for the first time.

The first Kwanzaa was celebrated.

Nolan Ryan made his debut in the big leagues with the NY Mets (my favorite team. I grew up near Shea Stadium.)

The SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) was formed at author Diana Paxson’s graduation party at UC-Berkeley. The name was created by author Marion Zimmer Bradley. Like Star Trek, the SCA was a tremendous influence and inspiration in showing me new worlds, new people, and new skills like costuming and jewelry making. (It’s kind of amazing how many of my life’s influences were born the same year as I was.)

Days of Our Lives premiered.

The Supreme Court case that brought us the Miranda warning to our collective vocabulary and basic civil rights was decided.

The start of Medicare.

The Department of Transportation was created.

The Black Panthers formed.

Pampers creates the first disposable diaper, and I for one, can’t thank them enough.

Last Night

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Frying chicken in (peanut) oil.

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Fried chicken tenders

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Frying latkes (potato pancakes) in oil

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My dinner: fried chicken tenders, latkes, applesauce, and sour cream.

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At the table with the menorah

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There is something amazing that feeds my soul about the taste of applesauce mixed with sour cream on the crispy on the outside, soft on the inside latke

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Dreidl and gelt

I Remember…Chanukah

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This is my daughter’s dresser. I don’t know how her clothes fit in here. With the closet and the pjs under her bed, sweaters in the basket next to the dresser, she manages to get it all in. Mostly. This was my dresser when I was a baby, but what I remember this dresser most for was hat it sat in the living room of our NYC apartment (and later of our suburban house). In our two bedroom apartment it was placed against one long wall directly across from our green patterned sofa. During Passover, we’d walk along it on our way to leave a glass of wine for Elijah on the radiator.

In front of the radiator was a television stand, one of those carts with wheels that our television sat on. I remember sitting on that sofa watching Fonzie jump over a shark on Happy Days (although I think that it’s the sofa I’m remembering and not the apartment.) I also remember spending a day or two curled up there, under a warm blanket when I was sick and stayed home from school. It is a comforting memory of warm soup or mashed sweet potatoes with butter and the television.

Behind the television cart is a medium sized picture window that I can still see my brother and I looking out of while we were home with the chicken pox. When we recovered, my sister got them. Some things we didn’t mind sharing more than others.

What I remember most about that dresser, though is the three little piles of Chanukah presents on the floor in front of it, waiting to be opened each night after we lit the candles on the menorah. The menorah was placed on the dining room table on a small sheet of aluminum foil. My mother would never put the burning candles on the dresser; they might start a fire. As the oldest and the only one attending Hebrew school as it were, it was probably my job to do most of the lighting. The candles came in a box of forty-four, different colors that were randomly chosen each night and lit, reading the prayer from the side of the box. We might sing a song and play dreidl. My cousins lived in the same garden apartment complex so they were probably around more often then not. We went to the same shul where we learned the songs and traditions of the holidays. I thought I remembered it differently but when I saw those cousins recently they had the same memories of music in the school basement and we kids not being allowed into the temple on the High Holidays. We used to play in the parking lot, which seems a ludicrous idea today.

Describing the gifts as a pile makes it seem much bigger than it actually was. Yes, there were eight gifts, but they were all small things. Each one wrapped carefully in white paper adorned with multi-hued blue Stars of David and dreidls. We would of course get dreidls and gelt, probably on the first night. One of my favorite things about celebrating Chanukah today is the taste of the gelt. It’s not anything fancy or special but it tastes exactly the same as it did when I was a schoolgirl. My kids wonder why I won’t share mine with them. After all, they each get their own bag of gelt.

Choosing which gift to open was a several minute decision making process. Picking each package up, shaking it slightly, bringing it to my ear as if I would hear something or smell something underneath the packaging and the paper. Nothing was hidden; it was all wrapped around whatever the shape of the package was. Shake the rectangular box. Should I open the Barbie doll shaped package? Or the Barbie doll clothes shaped package? There might have been puzzles and books too. No Nintendo. No tablets. No smartphones. What a simple, beautiful time that holiday was. Everyone in our court had an electric menorah in their windows or their curtains were open and we could see the candles burning deep inside their apartments.

There were also latkes to look forward to. They came from a box, but after mixing and refrigerating and then frying them in the pan, they were as homemade as they could be. The house smelled of the oil, and they were eaten hot with applesauce and sour cream. Back then, they were the only thing that I ate sour cream with. When I cook them today for my family, I still use vegetable oil. They are the only things that I cook in vegetable oil. I tried olive once, but the smell didn’t work for me, so I went back to the usual vegetable oil and they were perfect. Applesauce and sour cream could give any kind of potato pancake that latkes taste, even frozen or those triangles from Arby’s, but there is nothing like the real thing, frying them alongside the burning candles on the dining room table.

For the holiday we celebrate in our family with my children, we keep Chanukah separate from Christmas. That is my personal thing; pet peeve if you will; the one tradition I don’t want to share. I’m fine with families that celebrate both Chanukah and Christmas; we’re one of them, but I prefer to keep the two separate even when they fall in the same week. My personal feeling is that it keeps their significance and their importance significant, and important. For Chanukah, we don’t give eight presents anymore. Some years they might get one larger gift on the first night, but most years they get a new dreidl and a bag of gelt. Some years they get stickers or pencils or an extra something, but we still keep it a little simpler.

Simple, minimalist, centered on the eight candles burning like they kept the fire burning in the temple for eight days until the oil could get there. Just like Christmas, it is a reminder of a time long ago, a history that we forget too often, and the simplicity of working together and taking care of each other.

That’s what this dresser reminds me of – my family and all the special things they taught me, especially when they weren’t trying to teach me anything at all.

Better to light a candle than curse the darkness.

Happy Chanukah.

Vocations and Saints and Good Days, Oh My

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I’ve spent today with so many thoughts running through my head. I started today in a weird place. I showered yesterday so I was able to sleep in a little, but I had forgotten to change the clocks back, so when I awoke this morning, they were all wrong except for my cell phone and my kindle. I hate waking up to wrong clocks on the time change Sunday. I find it so confusing. If I don’t realize the change I’m fine, but throwing it in my face just irritates my senses. That’s why I try to change them all before I go to bed, and avoid them all night.

Today was one of those days that was good in retrospect. It’s hard to pay attention to life as it is happening, but it is in looking back that we see what was there. This was something John Boehner said this week after he left Congress. He was asked if the Holy Spirit played a part in his decision to leave, and he relayed that he was told that we only see the Holy Spirit in retrospect.

It should say something that I’m paraphrasing John Boehner!

But it’s the same with good days. They are simply not bad days until you look back and breathe that sigh of relief and announce to yourselves, hey, that was a good day.


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My Fandom History, Abridged Version

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In high school I wrote fan fiction (although we didn’t call it that then) for The White Shadow.; Mary Sue self-insert. I wrote RPG spy fiction. Again Mary Sue self-insert, but with a little more character development. I wrote band fic; less Mary Sue, more career exploration. I was a photojournalist for the opening act, and I guess except for the band, I kind of try to do that now with my blog. It reminds me of the inspiration and the you can do anything feeling that I forgot about in my thirties.

I like to think I’ve gotten better, both as a writer and a creator of original content. Those three examples are not something I usually share. It’s in the embarrassing box of teen angst, and hiding my fan side in the closet. It’s okay with certain people, but not others, and that’s how we give off the aloof, quiet, introvert vibe. Some of us are those things, but as a whole, fans are exuberant and fun and loud; very loud.

My first fandom was Star Trek. I was in every aspect of fandom. I watched every episode multiple times, I knew every episode by heart, I learned Klingon, I went to conventions. I bought the books and set my clock by Starlog’s publication date. Star Trek led me into every other science-fiction/fantasy from space to dragons to magic to time travel. There were watching parties, and special menus for mystery dinner nights. I could recognize later generation actors out of their makeup by their voices or body language. I’ve stood hours in line for autographs, but in those early days, we didn’t pay for them.

As a TV junkie, I’ve followed many actors on their careers. Shaun Cassidy for one; William Shatner and George Takei for others. I’ve gone in and out of fandoms, although most of them continue to have a place in my heart. I was recently reminded of H.R. Pufnstuf, one of my favorite shows and Land of the Lost by the same team of Sid & Marty Kroft.

I belonged to the SCA, which in and of itself is its own fandom; the fandom of medieval history. I’d claim to be a history buff and a political junkie, but those are just different words for fan and for the fandoms.

Fandom now is far more extensive and out in the open than I ever imagined it would be. There are mainstream stores in the malls dedicated to them: Hot Topic, and you can find licensed merchandise from Minecraft to Lego to DC and Marvel Comics franchises in Wal-Mart and Target. You can’t get more mainstream than that.

When my daughter was three, I found a beautiful, mostly historic rendition of a velvet scarlet Spanish Renaissance gown with a matching velvet tiara for Halloween. That was in Target, and it was less than $20. It would have cost three times that or more for me to make it for her. The only princess costume I could ever wear as a child growing up were those plastic ones of Sleeping Beauty. My face still gets hot when I even think about it.

We’re not embarrassed to say our pop culture loves, and there is no wrong way to be in fandom. Many of us wax and wane on our involvement, and which fandom gets the most attention at one time.

Harry Potter was the book series that brought me into today’s fandom. It was loaned from a friend who thought I might like it. I did. With Harry Potter came movies – in fact, Prisoner of Azkaban was the first movie I ever attended alone. In addition to the movies, I discovered a whole new world on Live Journal of fan fiction, and from there found other fans, and groups, and sub-fandoms, and meta – the analysis of the details. No longer would the minutia of details be relegated to small groups meeting in basements and youth centers once a week or month. Now, the minutia is everywhere. There are headcanons and alternate universes (AUs). There are wikis for individual television shows, movies, and comic book characters. There are kinks and squicks, which aren’t always sexual in nature, but preferential, and their are triggers and spoiler etiquette.

I hear my non-fandom friends expressing fandom sentiments like canon and ships. Many of my closest friends are originally from fandom. What we’ve discovered in fandom is that in addition to our mutual love of fandom, we also have families and jobs and our mundane life doesn’t need to be so mundane as our friendships broaden and include people from across the country and around the world who we never would have met if not for our intersecting fandoms. In turn, we share our views and our values, we accept and learn.

I would say that the fandom I am most involved in is Supernatural. I’m sure most people would have guessed The Walking Dead, and while I do consider myself in that fandom, I don’t get to meet and know the people who are also in it except for Norman Reedus‘ Facebook and Instagram.
With Supernatural, there is tumblr, conventions (even though I don’t attend), watching parties, meta, fan fiction, discussions, speculation, compassion and kindness. Every day I witness those last two in the fandom. It was there already, but is even more pronounced with Misha Collins’ charity, Random Acts and gishwhes, his annual scavenger hunt.

Supernatural showed me a literal whole new world, and was instrumental in my recovery from depression. I love the shows, I love the plots and the characters and the fan family, but I also keep Supernatural on as my background noise. I know many of the episodes so it doesn’t interfere with my writing or my living for the most part, but the voices give me the soft comfort, the hand on my shoulder, the short, quick hug when I need it. We all must have something like that in our lives, and for me, Supernatural is it.

Fandom is here to stay, and I for one, am glad of it. It is so much of my life that I forget when I’m talking to a non-fandom person that they don’t know the details; that the casual viewer doesn’t recognize the reference back three seasons, or the foreshadowing.

Fandom is a life unto itself, and a life unto others. It is supportive and comfort in a loud, sometimes angry world. It can be hope and faith, some of the things that most of my fandoms ascribe to be; a better world in the future, a future of exploration and creating; of ideals and compassion, and so many of the things we embrace and try to emulate in our own lives.

Mental Health Monday – MY Coping Tools

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For this penultimate Mental Health Monday for Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, I thought I would offer a few of my personal coping mechanisms and tools. I usually go through my things that work until they don’t and then go for the less good ones. You never know which combination of tools and mood will break out of those bad days.

As much as I love fall, October in particular, I find it a bit more stressful than the rest of the year (until late spring). It’s hectic. The school’s want so much, the weather changes throughout the day from summer to later fall, and then back again. We’re close enough to Christmas that we’re worrying how we’re going to pay for it all. The church is beginning its new year at the end of November, and this year I have a few new responsibilities on that front. My son’s birthday is in October, and from then until the anniversary of my mother’s death the first week in December, it’s like a ticking bomb, counting down to her death, like it did in retrospect eleven years ago.

I try to get myself set up with a retreat; not always feasible especially monetarily. I also have my writing group that meets for eight weeks in the fall. Except that it was cancelled last week for this season. *headdesk*

I guess in addition to giving you some helpful hints and resources, I’ll probably be using many of them myself.

First is my writing workshop. I need it. Desperately. My plan? Go to the library anyway at the time the workshop would have taken place, and work on my two books. They’ve been waiting in the wings for too long. One is a travel, essay, spiritual journey to and about Wales, and the second is the horror of buying my house. The first one is too much emotion, and the second one is too much anger, so I can’t handle them for very long. Now, I have a dedicated eight weeks to put a dent in their outlines and direction.

Second is it’s list season. I’ve told my family already: If it isn’t on my list, it doesn’t exist. I knew they knew I was serious when they didn’t comment on my little rhyme. My advice is to put absolutely everything on the list, including reminders to eat and go the bathroom. You’d be surprised how often you’ll forget without that check up on yourself.

My list for tomorrow looks something like this:

Kids to school
Get dressed
Mass
Target – toilet paper and Dawn
Groceries – cheddar cheese, rice, and Yartzeit candles (for Yom Kippur)
Breakfast
Continue cleaning my work space while Supernatural plays in the background
Write Friday’s fandom post about Gishwhes
Check Gishwhes site for updates

Seriously, no item is too small or too big. Too big use several steps, so break them down and pat yourself on the back when you complete something.

Third, I mentioned Supernatural as background noise. This is my comfort sound, especially the earlier seasons. Find what you like but don’t need to pay 100% attention to. It could be music. Talk radio. Nature sounds. We all have that one thing. Find yours.

Fourth, comfort food. Macaroni and cheese is an old standby (Kraft in the blue box), but last week I had the most intense craving…..and then I had the most amazing peanut butter and banana sandwich on toasted wheat bread that I have had in a long time. It was……fantastic.

Fifth, it’s okay to just sit and do nothing. Watch TV. Listen to music. Read a book or better yet, a magazine, so you don’t need to give it the same attention as a book. Take a nap if it will help.

Sixth, catch up on Netflix. I can heartily recommend Sense8 (warning for language, sex, adult situations, and violence) and Parks and Recreation (warning for sexual talk and adult situations).

Seventh, take care of yourself. Say no to people if you don’t have the spoons. It’s okay, and don’t apologize for taking care of yourself.

Mental Health Monday

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A few years ago, my undiagnosed depression came to a head. For me that was my introduction to suicidal thoughts and ideation. This came as a surprise to me. I had spent my entire life from childhood to parenthood abhoring the idea of death. It terrified me. I think the curious mind sometimes finds itself wondering about the afterlife, and I was no different, but as bad as things may have gotten for me, monetarily or spiritually, I always came back from it because suicide was not an option.

I hadn’t really noticed it change, but one day it just did. I knew there was a problem when I began to think that suicide was actually a good idea and I began to plan how I would do it. Every time it came up as an option, something talked me out of it. I thought I was going crazy, with the lethargy and the mood swings. I didn’t know depression and anxiety reared their ugly heads, but something was pushing me back down and towards the end.

I called a friend on one of these nights to relay that morning’s thoughts, the only thing keeping me alive was that I’d be taking away the only car we had from my family. He said something to me, I don’t remember quite what, but I know that he stopped whatever he was doing, and he spoke very softly, gently bringing me back home.

When I finally went to my doctor, she immediately put me on medication, anti-depressants. I didn’t want meds, but I also didn’t care that I was going to take them. The first batch didn’t work at all; in fact they made things worse. I wasn’t suicidal anymore, but I also wasn’t anything anymore.

We finally hit on a combination of meds, talk therapy, and I began taking a writing workshop, and attending church services. I was Jewish, so this was a bit odd, I suppose, but it worked for me.

That was in 2012. Here it is 2015, and I am finally feeling like a real me. This positivity, where I could feel the change probably began at the end of last year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2014.

It is a long road, and it can get worse before it gets better, but I did get better, and you will too.

There is a path to take; there are ears to listen and shoulders to lean on, and there is hope.

Do not be ashamed or embarrassed. Use all the resources at your disposal. Join a support group; online is equally helpful as in person. Find what works for you. Also find things that you have access to that will help you cope through the bad times. This week, I hope to offer you some of my coping tools, and where I take myself, whether physically or mentally when I’m having a bad day. We all have bad days. I still have bad days, but that is life. Life is up and down, and all around, and if I can get through my clutter, you can get through yours. You are not alone; you are never alone. There will be someone who will surprise you with their generosity of spirit. I have faith in you.

Today’s first resource is the sticky note at the top of the page. Do not rely on me, or anyone to get you through. You need a professional. These are some places that can help you through the most difficult times and on the right path to recovery. I still think of it as recovery. Take your mental pulse every couple of days. Don’t let yourself fall into a hole and forget how to get out.,

I saw a great quotation the other day:

“Not everyone has a mental illness, but everyone has mental health. It’s your responsibility to take care of your mental health.”
– Andrea Nguyen

It’s true; not everyone is mentally ill; not everyone is suicidal. However, everyone has mental health that they need to take care of, just like exercise for your body, you need to stretch and expand your mind to keep it in a healthy place. Think about the ways that rejuvenate you, and move you forward.

We are working towards no stigma about mental illness, and we should be striving for an equal balance between our physical health and our mental health. Get your mental health baseline.
Here’s a good place to start.

Monday’s Good for the Soul – Baptismal Water

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I’ve been trying to follow weekly themes. For the most part, it gives me a place to start when I’m looking at my weekly posts and prompt suggestions. This week is Water, Water Everywhere.

I have a mixed relationship with water. For the most part, I’m not a fan. I don’t like water. I take showers and wash my hands; my problem is mostly with natural bodies of water and boats. My husband tried to propose on a boat. That did not work out for us at all.

On the other hand, I do like waterfalls. I find them calming and soothing. I’ll share one of my favorite places (after Niagara Falls, which is too far for a day trip) later in the week. I discovered when we went out to Montauk Point a few years ago that I have a real problem with the ocean. It’s too big and never-ending from the shore.

When I returned to church and Mass one week ago today, the first thing I returned to was the baptismal font. I put my fingers in, and made the sign of the cross over myself, and I was back.

For my baptism (in 2014) I was not baptised in the font; an Easter pool (for lack of a better word) was built on the church’s altar. You’re supposed to get your whole body wet. I was told to bring a change of clothes for after, and I definitely needed them.

I thought today I would share the Gospel of Jesus’ Baptism as well as some of my photos from my Easter Vigil, the first one of my baptism.

The water was ice cold, and the pitcher was full and the priest poured it over my head (and the rest of me) three times: appropriately in the name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

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Baptism

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Confirmation

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My First Communion

The Baptism of Jesus
Matthew 3:13-17

Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. But John tried to deter him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

Jesus replied, “Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.” Then John consented.

As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son,whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

Summer Vacation, Week 1

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First week of summer vacation is getting used to everyone in the house again.

We spend more time home than out, which is a double edged sword. There is no money for an away vacation; that’s been for several years now. All our “vacation” money goes for trips to see Grandma.

In addition to money, one edge is that I can’t be in the sun. One of my blood pressure medications makes me very, very sensitive to the sun. Even the slightest sunbeam sends me into a scratching frenzy that lasts all day. This year, it is actually much worse than in the past. My skin is dry and flaky and there are some tiny scars left behind. I find my best friend is hand cream.

The other edge is that my husband works at home, and is often in meetings on the telephone. The kids are a little noisier during the summer than the rest of the year; the main reason being that they are actually home and not in school.

Our first week is usually very laid back. It’s a level of laid back/lazy that would put a sloth to shame.

We see who can sleep the latest, who can stay in their pajamas the longest, who can watch TV more, and we really test the batteries on our tablets and Kindles.

It’s our Braveheart call to freedom.

To coincide with my summer blog format the kids are looking forward to new foods to try, weekly movies with popcorn, one or two ‘field trips’ plus summer programs at the local community center and vacation bible school. They’re not terribly fond of it, but I’m excited for the youth minister running this summer’s program. Next year it will probably be back at my home church, and they liked the week it was there. It’s not torture, and they can’t sit around the house all summer. That’s just bonkers.

Dad will take them bike riding, and they’re old enough to play in the backyard on their own for a couple of hours at a time.

In August we’re gearing up for GIshwheS. Check the gishwhes tag to see last year’s posts.

We do have online plans as well as my daughter reclaiming her fashion blog.

On a personal note, I’ve had some motivational issues in getting to mass. I’m not sure why. When I go I enjoy it, and I get a lot out of it. It may have something to do with how busy the last two months were in getting ready for two of my kids to graduate from their respective schools. I may have needed a break; from everything.

The other night I sat and said the rosary. I may add that to my daily thing. The kids interrupted with hugs and kisses for bedtime, but that didn’t bother me. In fact, it seemed to fit in nicely with the prayers.

I usually give myself a retreat in the spring and/or fall. I don’t see anything on the calendar for the Dominican retreat house that I enjoy this summer, but I have been lucky to have discovered an online retreat (Ignatian Spirituality) for the next five weeks; I expect to share those reflections with you as I complete them.

Every season I try to start again. That gives me at least four times a year to regroup and re-energize and recharge.

Summer is my least favorite season, so I need that extra little motivation to get going. Any suggestions on activities, readings, foods and movies, let me know in all the ways.