And Just Like That, Things Have Changed

As a child, one of my favorite stories was Mary Poppins. I have asked myself why, over the years, and I finally understood that there is something in the deep ache I feel when she leaves 17 Cherry Tree Lane, and the kids move on, that makes me feel painfully alive

“And just like that,”

Catherine’s pre-school teacher ended one of her daily emails to the families,

“they are ready for the next chapter.”

She wrote that line referring to one of Catherine’s friends, who had learned how to space out letters when writing a word. What I felt reading it was the same deep ache of aliveness that I feel every time Mary Poppins leaves The Banks.

It’s death of the old, and beginning of the new.

I don’t fear death itself; I believe we keep returning here. What I fear, is that moment in space and time that happens just before the beginning of the new, the moving on, the being ready to do so.

I just understood, while writing the paragraph you have just read, why my favorite movie of all times is The Ghost and Mrs. Muir: she never moves on. That gives me comfort, it makes me feel safe, as if things have not changed for Lucia, the main character, or for me.

Catherine graduated pre-school a few weeks ago. I know that some of you will think pre-school is not a big deal, but it was for me. Catherine is growing up; I am getting older, life is changing, and I am scared.

There is something about our ability, as humans, to adapt, that terrifies me.

This month of June has been all about changing, adapting, resisting, and I have allowed myself to feel all that.

My body is changing. I am not doing well with SIBO, and for some stupid reason I don’t understand why I can’t accept that I don’t have a flat belly.

You have wasted 25 years starving, purging, hurting

A voice tells me.

Now you are giving up.

I can’t accept I have a disease. It’s as if I can’t recognize myself in the mirror, I am looking for someone who is no longer there, and I am fighting it.  

My career is changing, and I am scared. I am resisting that, also. I am so afraid of failure that I want to quit at the bare beginning.

I am scared of losing the amazing friends I made at pre-school; I am afraid for the journey ahead. I am in pain right now, and I am resisting the tears as I write. It’s never a good thing to resist the tears — they hurt your throat when they get stuck. 

What a strange month this have been. Busy, full, real, painful, but also extremely joyous, filled with achievements and insights, love, awareness, mostly grace, and the occasional temper tantrums (mine, not Catherine’s).

I know why I am feeling the pain: I am moving on, I am painfully alive.

Updates:

– The Italian Cookie is up and running. In a week or so, you will receive an email on how to purchase the cookie mixes and to officially launch the company and the new website. For now, you can purchase 1 for $15 or 4 for $57 with an inaugural flat rate shipping of $10 paying on my Venmo @culinaryselfcare (when you purchase it, tell me the flavor or flavor combinations you want, as well as your address). 

Mixes (organic, vegan and gluten-free) are available in:

• Bûnet, an ode to Piemonte’s traditional amaretto and chocolate pudding
• Meliga, an ode to Piemonte’s lemon and cornmeal cookies
• Cappuccino, an ode to Autogrill, Italy’s best highway restaurants
• Earl Grey, an ode to Alice’s London years

– No Italy this year. We are re-doing the roof, re-doing the garden, enjoying the last weeks at Catherine’s pre-school, and we will be going to Gainesville in August, to spend some time with Ben’s sisters (+ a few days by the beach, because when in Florida…)

– I finished my round of antibiotics, and I am now on a low-fermentation diet for two months. The one aspect of having SIBO that I am grateful for, is that I would have never achieved the perfect cookies that are The Italian Cookie. The only reason I began to research the best, sustainable gluten-free flour was because of my ailment. And what I created, I remember it well, when my mom was still here, was the absolute perfect pastry, which I couldn’t quite bake with regular flour. When I discovered Anson Mills, their amazing work, and how perfectly it combined with the almonds and the rest of my Italian ingredients it was a heavenly match; so there’s that for perspective!

Thank you for reading, and for your loyal support over the years. Writing this newsletter makes me happy, grounds me, and always helps me. 

see you next month,

Love,

Alice