THESE NEW OLD TRADITIONS

By Megan Snowe

When I began thinking about this first post for my N.O.T. monthly-ish series on the chapters of Full Moon Feast by Jessica Prentice, the first thing I thought was, “Jeez, ernski, way to pick an off time to start celebrating nature. Everything is cold and basically dormant. It gets dark at 4:30, and the freshest foods are knobby, dirt-encrusted potatoes.”

I thought that all I’d have to look at was darkness, and frankly, I’m not a night person. As we head toward the winter solstice, I just keep thinking, this is not my favorite time of year.

Well, lucky me, it turns out that Ms. Prentice has a different take.

Prentice looks at our current moon, “The Moon of Long Nights,” as a time to see that what is thought of as imperfection is actually a perfect and beautiful part of our mysterious world. When we see the hard times and imperfect conditions in our lives as something to explore rather than fix, we give ourselves the chance to relax and enjoy the earth and each other in a new way. We can see that all those knobby, dirt-encrusted things in our lives are in fact something to celebrate.

First, Prentice looks at darkness itself. We all know what to do about darkness…turn on the lights! Its great. Darkness makes us sad. Light makes us happy. Why live with darkness? Indeed, these days we can even get little light boxes that have a special light to make our bodies and minds think that the sun is shining on us, so it can be summertime all the time. However, in “The Moon of Long Nights” Prentice talks about cultures that in fact believe that creating light where there is darkness is in fact bad news. Scares the spirits away. And how are we supposed to get a long if the spirits leave us?

It makes me think of when I was a little girl and I believed, like a lot of little girls, that my dolls would come to life in the darkness and live out their lives while I slept. In part, I was enchanted by this idea and wanted to be a part of the fabulous parties I was sure they were having. But, the other side of me was desperately afraid of this possibility. I don’t know why. My mother kept me sheltered enough that I didn’t really have visions of Chucky dancing around in my head, but I guess there’s something inherently scary about what we’re not allowed to see. I wonder what could have happened if I turned my nightlight off and instead reveled in the darkness? New friends found in worn teddy bears, and porcelain ringlet-clad girls?

“The Moon of Long Nights” goes on to reflect what we consider to be disorders in our society. Conditions such as ADD and autism are being diagnosed in record numbers. We’re all running around trying to figure out why this is. Is it misdiagnoses? Is it vaccines? Is it television? Is it what we’re eating? Surely all of these possible causes have validity. But what if, at least for some time, we start to think of those “disorders” not as problems, like darkness that we need to illuminate and make go away, but rather as something to explore and appreciate. Prentice sites Temple Grandin, an autistic woman who has written extensively on her work with animals as an example. Grandin tells us that her autism allows her to understand animals in a way the “average” thinker cannot, and as a result she has profoundly changed the way we raise and slaughter livestock.

I was personally diagnosed with ADD when I was sixteen. Immediately people started telling me not to worry about it, that ADD didn’t exist, or that it was so over-diagnosed that it was likely I didn’t “have” it at all. Part of me is thankful for that kind of thinking. Prentice states in “The Moon of Long Nights” that saying a disorder is something one can have or be automatically creates this sense of a “thing that can be gotten rid of.” Rather, we should understand that these diagnoses are just labels we create; labels we attach to ways of existing that are very complex and varied. I do think, however, that the tests I took to diagnose me with ADD showed that I had a way of thinking that I already knew about; a way that didn’t always fit in comfortably with my public school classroom, or the way many of my peers interacted with each other and the world.

I was lucky at that time that no one just plopped a bunch of pills in my mouth. In fact, I remember my folks having a fair amount of resistance to that method. Though I certainly was prone to struggle with certain aspects of schooling and socialization, and was often classified as “not living up to my potential,” I was also a quirky and creative youth. I had a big imagination and a handful of talents that I used to express it. When I did start taking Ritalin, it was actually me that initiated the conversation. Like turning the light on in my bedroom, I was scared of what I couldn’t understand in myself. I wanted to be able to do all the things everyone said I was perfectly capable of doing. I thought Ritalin offered that solution, and in some ways it did. Ritalin let me fit in with what the structures around me wanted me to be, but it also came with a whole host of jitters and lack of appetite that if we didn’t know where they came from, probably could have been considered a disorder of their own.

As most adults do, I stopped taking Ritalin sometime in college. Still, I find myself looking for possible solutions to my “problem.” I read about the havoc refined sugar can reap, and the possibility that I have ways of eating that make it harder for my brain to function. I do not doubt this for a second. It’s clear enough after a day of poor eating that my brain is less alert and perhaps more prone to distraction. But I think it’s important not to think that if I just stopped eating all processed food I would miraculously start thinking like everyone else. Quite to the contrary, I think it’s more likely that I would find my best self to be a person who moves quickly from one task to another, who’s able to jump forward and backward in conversation, and who can look at things from a new angle.

So what, if instead of spending so much time trying to fit in with what I’ve been told is normal, I go ahead and live up to my potential by comfortably and fearlessly being who I am? It’s a tall order in our world of lights and diagnosis.

So, to close this post on the “Moon of Long Nights” I’d like to give myself (and you) the chance to celebrate what initially looked to be a depressing new moon, but turned out to be a time of surrender and understanding. And because I promised a recipe, I offer one that is the only medicine you’ll ever really need: Mom’s Chicken Soup.

My Mom’s Chicken Soup

all the compents, ready to be delicious

1 whole kosher chicken, quarted

2-4 parsnips, depending on size, peeled and cut into bite size chunks

4 stalks of celery, cut into 3 inch pieces

6 carrots, peeled and cut into 1 inch sticks

3 medium onions, quatered

3 chicken bullion cubes, or more to taste (in my house, we believe that Telma Bullion cubes are the only way to go. They’re a bit hard to find so you can try another, but as my mom say’s, “it’s not the same.”)

Put everything in the pot except the bullion cubes at once and fill it up with water.

Bring it all to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Simmer it until the chicken is done through and the veggies are soft. At some point in the simmering processes, remove the chicken, take off it’s skin, add the chicken back in and add the bullion cubes.

Once everything is good and done, taste it and add another bullion cube if needed.

Remove from heat. Take the chicken out of the soup and remove the bones. Tear the chicken into bit sized pieces and put some (or all?) back in the soup. If you have more chicken that you want in the soup, make chicken salad!

Let it cool on the stove. Once cool, put the whole pot in the fridge over night. The next morning skim off the hard fat that has risen to the top. Reheat and add cooked thin egg noodles, or whatever else. Enjoy!

This recipe is the perfect example of letting something be as it is. While my Mom was describing it to me, I kept arguing with different parts: “Why use the bullion, couldn’t you just make a stronger stock?” “I don’t know, this is how it’s done,” says my mom. I asked why she leaves the skin on but then skims off the fat. “I think it adds flavor,” she says. I didn’t understand why the bullion was added late in the cooking process. “That’s how Nana did it,” was my mom’s only reply. I thought about changing some things, but you know…it’s a delicate soup. I suspect changing even one thing (like not using kosher chicken) would affect the flavor and make it not my Mom’s. That’s not what this is a recipe for. It’s not just chicken soup, it’s THAT chicken soup.