What a dead Cuisinart can say about a year
My 2023 Jar of Good Things™ helps remind me of all the gifts — big and small — I received this year.
On Saturday, I dropped the food processor I’ve had for over 33 years on the kitchen floor and bashed in its front. Little plastic pieces had scattered across the floor on impact and when I hoisted the thing up to take a look at it, saw that the front right corner had cracked and crumpled on impact.
When I texted both daughters the photo of the smashed Cuisinart, their reactions reflected my own feelings on the loss of this kitchen workhorse. The trusty appliance that had been a major player at holiday meals and baby showers and Oscar parties and weeknight meals for over three decades.
“Oh, mom,” texted one, followed by the teary emoji. “She had a really good long life.”
“Oh my god,” the older daughter wrote, finished with a crying emoji, when she saw my story about it on Instagram.
Even my 21yo son was shook by the news. “Should we give it a Viking funeral?” he asked, conjuring images of the food stained base sailing off from some rugged Nordic coast in a wooden boat that had been set aflame.
To be fair, reports of the Cuisinart’s demise had come in on Christmas Eve, when my younger daughter had hauled it out from the bottom cabinet where it was tucked behind my old Kitchen Aid mixer and Crockpot to make pignoli cookies. I arrived in the kitchen and both her and my older daughter had funny looks on their faces and I noticed that the former was hand mixing the sticky almond dough.
“Mom,” she said, looking up nervously, “I think the Cuisinart is dead.”
My jaw literally dropped open as she rushed to comfort me and explain that the blade had slowly spun around once and then the motor made a whining sound and shut down. “We didn’t want to tell you,” she added, wiping the dough off the rubber spatula and looking at my still-open mouth agape in disbelief.
I told them that maybe it just needed to rest (denial: the initial stage of grief) and to put it away and I’d test it another day. So yesterday, I bent down to pull it out of the cabinet but as I stood up, the processor pulled out of my hands and smashed onto the hard tiled floor. I stood stunned and noticed that the plug had gotten pinned under the heavy Crockpot, so while I had kept moving, the food processor’s cord got pulled up short and the base was ripped from my hands.
The timing of this family tragedy is interesting, coming at the end of a year that brought with it the close of a couple of big eras in my life. First and foremost was the passing of my father in February, which really threw me for a loop. He had passed away a few months after his wife and it all triggered a lot of old wounds for me. All of a sudden I was a 12yo girl feeling super unmoored by her parents’ divorce and all the complicated feelings that came with it.
2023 also brought with it the grand finale to all the legal drama with my ex-husband, which — if it had been a TV series — would have run almost as long, and full of as much legal jargon, as the seminal Law and Order franchise. After months and months of a lot of back and forth that earned my attorney hundreds of dollars for each letter she wrote, we signed a deal in January and put it all to rest. That, too, dredged up a lot of old feelings and unhealed wounds and finally coming to an agreement was an incredible emotional relief.
I really struggled during the month between my dad’s death and his funeral in March. I was so angry at him for various reasons and wrote in my journal at one point that I really wanted somewhere that I could register a formal complaint. I wanted the Universe to know how mad I was and also, to tell me that my anger was justified.
Around the same time, I got a text from an old friend who had also just lost his dad and found himself in a similar emotional boat. He wrote:
“The pain from the past is coming back up because it’s still there, and some small parts may always be, but this will bring closure — if you let it.
Maybe the delay is a chance to regulate that, do it at your own pace rather than waiting for one single moment to let it all go.”
I remember a conversation I had with a woman in the early days of my recovery about surrendering, which is really what the program is all about. Letting go of trying to control it all (including drinking) and all the complicated narratives that had controlled your thinking — in particular about other people.
“But what does that mean, to surrender?” this friend asked one morning after a meeting. We stood in the hallway outside a church classroom and she shook her head and said, “Can someone give me directions on how to do it?”
We laughed and I agreed. I had spent a lot of time up to that point praying and meditating for the relief of surrender, and had yet to experience it. I kept waiting for this major religious experience, with bright lights from the heavens and angels singing and maybe some trumpets playing for good measure. In that epic moment, I would be awash in clarity and peace and all the stories I had been gripping on to so tightly for so long would just disintegrate into ash.
But that text from my friend was really like its own little lightning bolt from above. The idea that these things happen over time came as a new idea for me and gave me something that I could hold onto in those weeks before Dad’s funeral. Realizing that this was an opportunity to accept people for who they were and know that none of it really had anything to do with me was a whole new way of thinking. Like learning to speak a new language and being able to quickly make translations when you hear someone speaking, so you hold both at the same time in your head.
The other notion that really helped this year was something I’d heard my daughters say on numerous occasions: “None of it matters and we’re all going to die.”
I mean, it’s harsh but also, pretty true. None of it matters in the end. We are here for a short time and then it’s over. Do I want to spend a finite amount of time and energy on these petty things?
SPOILER ALERT: I do not.
Closing the door on some of these bigger eras means accepting that we are all just doing the best we can, with the resources available to us. Me, you and everyone else. So easy in theory and yet so, so hard to put into practice.
This morning, I cracked open my 2023 Jar of Good Things™ and was delighted with what I found written on all the little slips of white paper I’d been stuffing inside the oversized mason jar throughout the year. Of course, there were some big things — singing that post-divorce agreement and celebrating three years of sobriety (!!!). My son’s engagement in November and the major year I had at work and all that professional success.
A lot of great things happened that made this year pretty epic. Here’s some of the highlights:
· I leased a teeny tiny Mini Cooper, which turned out to be a slight overcorrection after all the giant vehicles I drove as the mother of four for decades and even my dog doesn’t want to get in it. But every time I see her, I break into a smile.
· My credit score was briefly in the 800s. Guys, there was a time it was well below 700 and I couldn’t qualify for anything because my credit cards were FULL. It feels amazing not to have all that hanging over my head when I go to bed at night.
· I realized about six weeks before a trip with my girls to Aruba that my passport had expired and when it arrived in plenty of time, I made sure to add it to the jar.
· I got a nice raise to go along with my new title at work and new job that is stimulating and engaging.
· I saw Beyonce with my two daughters in Philly in July. Damn.
But it’s remembering the little things that really remind of the joy I experienced in 2023:
· My college kid took down the Christmas tree and put everything away while I was at a Pilates class in January.
· The cake my daughter surprised me with the celebrate my 1000th day of not drinking.
· The two peonies that exploded in big pink blooms in my backyard in the spring out of nowhere.
· On the day I signed the consent order ending my alimony, my attorney and her associates clapped for me as I left the office and we joked I had graduated from Divorce School.
· Floating alongside oysters in the clear and cold Damarascotta River in Maine following an intense sauna session overlooking the rocky coastline.
· Sitting in bed at my Airbnb in Maine drinking coffee and looking out the window as the sun slowly rose over the Kennebec River in my backyard.
· The “magical” almond treat my friend Susan brought for a visit last summer.
· The chocolate covered cherries my son put in my Christmas stocking because I love nothing more than sipping that sweet, sticky juice and slowly chewing the maraschino cherry inside the cheap chocolate.
· The Taylor Swift-inspired sweatshirts my whole team bought off Etsy to wear to the company’s holiday happy hour (on Dec. 13) which read, “In My Merry Era.”
Here’s one last thing to add to my Jar of Good Things™ for the year — my new Cuisinart food processor, which is expected to arrive from Amazon before midnight. It seems pretty much like the one I got at my bridal shower in 1990 without any new bells or whistles, which I really like. And if it also lasts 33 years, chances are it will spend its final days with one of my daughters since I will no longer be around.
Until then (hopefully a very long time from now), I look forward to what the future has in store. I’m cleaning out the mason jar and cutting up a bunch of new paper slips to keep next to it to fill up in the coming year. I hope I’ll be able to find more instances of growth. Letting go of all the old stories that have kept me rooted so firmly in the past. Glimmers of the person I want to be. Turning the page on some of the longer running narratives I’ve held, as I was able to do this year.
Let’s hope those moments of surrender captured on slips of paper share space with good things with my friends and family. Adventures and quiet moments in nature. Milestones in writing my book. And of course, candy. I hope there’s lots and lots of candy.
sunday shares: read + watch + cook + buy
Some fiction to balance all the memoir. I sat in bed one night after Christmas and read Claire Keegan’s slim novel, Foster. Ireland in the 1980s. A young girl sent to live with distant relatives one summer after her mother has had (yet another) baby. Heartbreaking. Gorgeous.
Living up to the hype. I finished Suleika Jaouad’s Between Two Kingdoms, her memoir about her leukemia diagnosis in her early 20s, treatment and ensuing struggle to assimilate into a post-illness world. Quite lovely and for me as a writer of memoir, a great study in structure and storytelling.
Things to watch. Guys, I watched the movie Little Women twice this week (Greta Gerwig’s version, of course). I also watched the new Netflix animated movie Leo twice (and will probably watch again). It is DELIGHTFUL and not just for kids.
Asking for a friend. This week, members of the Midlifer community shared their own highlights from 2023 and whether any came with great lessons as a result. A few readers said that they, too, had experienced some letting go this year. Hop over to see the full conversation and chime in to share where you are as we wrap up 2023. I look forward to reading all about it.
Coming soon! I’ve been thinking a lot about how to bring our Midlife community together for more connection. Stay tuned for an in-person opportunity this winter and some regular Zoom calls for paying subscribers. More details to come!
A word of thanks. I want to end this final post of 2023 by saying that probably one of the biggest highlights for me was FINALLY making the transition here to Substack, which has enabled me to start creating more of a community with all of you. I am so, so grateful to all of you who have been following me FOR YEARS as well as those of you who are newer to the Midlifer community. And to every single person who has been so generous to pay for my work and subscribe to this newsletter, I can’t thank you enough for recognizing what I do.
See you all here in 2024! xoAmy
Now I'm worried about my Cuisnart. I hope she's all right! Love your insights as usual, Amy!
Happy New Year! I have to say, I think surrender is a slow slow burn.....you get there when you get there. And then you just keep going. 😂
Sorry about your beloved appliance. ❤️