Spring Spirit: Time for Remembrance, Reverence, and Renewal

Let's not leave out the exuberance, merriment, and wonder of so many enduring ancient rituals. Or the silliest one that kicks off the new month: April Fools Day.

Spring is complicated, like its conflicted weather. Officially started on March 20, according to the vernal equinox, which marks the start of Spring on most calendars in the Northern Hemisphere. Like always, it was still snowing in the northern-most areas and few seedlings were anywhere in sight.

Today marks the silliest day of the season. April 1 is better known as April Fools Day, with one theory tracing its origins to the changeable weather, which could "fool" us and cause confusion. This is just one of many origin stories. Some argue that this centuries-old tradition resembles festivals such as Hilaria in ancient Rome, once held on March 25.

Mischief is also part of the enduring Holi celebration, a major Hindu festival "of Colours, Love, Equality and Spring" that celebrates "the eternal and divine love of the deities of Radha and Krishna." Participants of Holi, which occurred this year on March 13 and 14, have been known to throw "water and colored powders on one another."

Regardless of how springtime merriment began or how it expresses itself, April Fools Day has come to symbolize a one-day prank-athon inflicted on our friends, family, and co-workers.

This year Parade magazine outlined 60 such pranks to try on April 1, from the mundane to the outrageous. Plenty of props are also available for purchase to help amp up the fun, including remote control spiders, fake roaches, and rubber snakes.

If interested in plastic bugs, visit the kockuu store on Amazon.

One gag I thought would work all too well on me is a downloadable GIF that's textable to friends and family, and featuring the customary three dots to suggest we're busy typing a message. The fun part (perhaps) is that it just loops endlessly. I could see myself sitting there waiting for the other person to finish typing and eventually running out of patience, to my prankster's delight. (Dear family, I'm on to this one!)

There's also plenty of advice about how to keep things lighthearted and only mildly annoying. What that means is certainly in the eye of the beholder. If we're not the jokesters in our groups, then we're the victims. Many of us will spend a good part of the day waiting to find out if the giggles around us are due to a note stuck to our backs announcing we're not wearing any underwear. (I speak from experience.)

Acts such as putting stool softener in somebody's brownie is not funny nor is it harmless no matter what culture or country we hail from. If there's any doubt about proper limits, check out this advice from a source every child (if only at heart) can trust: Dr. Binocs, the voice behind the popular educational videos featured on Peekaboo Kidz.

Peekaboo Kidz YouTube channel has more than 6 million subscribers around the world.

Spring's more ancient and reverent rituals

Before and after April 1, and all its associated fool-hardy fun, other vital holidays and rituals associated with some of the world's major religions abound.

For most, first comes the fasting, then the feasting. The shared purpose across many religions of fasting or abstaining from specific foods and drinks is a "measure of discipline and self-reflection" meant to bring believers closer to the Divine or to honor the past with intentional remembrance.

Qur'an and beads often used by Muslims for the recitation of prayers.

Islam's sacred month of Ramadan began on February 28 and ended on March 30. It dates back to the 7th century and commemorates the "revelation of the Qur'an" to the Prophet Muhammad. Eid-al-Fitr, which translates from Arabic to "the festival of breaking the fast," has Muslims around the world gather with friends and families to show their gratitude to Allah with prayer, presents, and celebratory foods.

The Jewish Passover (or Pesach in Hebrew) begins on April 12 and ends April 20. It will culminate in a similar "break the fast," or as Sarah Seltzer called it in the Jewish news outlet Forward, "the post-Pesach carb binge." The carb part refers to once again eating leavened baked goods, forbidden during Passover, and made with leavening or rising agents such as yeast. The holiday commemorates the Israelites' hasty departure from Egypt, which left no time for their bread to rise.

Matzah (unleavened bread), eggs, and other symbolic foods and wine of Passover.

As Seltzer describes her attempts over the years to end Passover with carbs from bagels to pizza crust, she adds, "It's a Jewish tradition to invent your own mini-traditions for the holidays," and this "loose observance kept the meaning of the holiday fresh in my mind."

For Jews, the holiday means a "time of renewal, of Spring, of hope," notes Rabbi Debbie Reichmann, whether rooted in miracles that once saved Moses' people to living anxiously in the modern world. The key, suggests Reichmann, is not to count on miracles but to renew the commitment to always act with "conscience and resilience."

Easter: beyond colored eggs, bunnies and winter witches

Christianity's fasting and feasting period starts with Lent, which began with Ash Wednesday on March 5, and will end a day before Easter Sunday on April 20.

Easter supposedly descends from the Jewish Passover but their interconnections were complicated by the evolution of Christianity. [Check out this exchange between a rabbi and a reverend about these intertwined holidays.]  

Easter faced further complexity after a split between Roman Catholics and their Orthodox brethren, each celebrating different Easter dates from 1582 forward. It was the result of a clash, in part, between the existing Julian calendar and the newly established Gregorian one.

Pope Francis with Catholicos Awa III, patriarch of the Assyrian Church of the East in 2022. CNN/Vatican Media, appearing in Angelus News.

This year Easter falls on the same day for all Catholics, a rare occurrence, with renewed talk of arranging such a unifying coincidence in the future. Whatever Sunday it falls on each Spring, it's about celebrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ after a period of sober remembering of his sacrifice and suffering.

I grew up as part of the world's nearly 1.3 billion Catholics who also participate in the pre-Lent show of excess known as Carnival or Mardi Gras.

I've never been to New Orleans for what translates from French to English as Fat Tuesday, but indulged in its spirit just the same. There it's having deep fried dough coated in powdered sugar called a beignet (ben-yay). In our Polish neighborhood in Detroit, it was much the same but filled with jelly or cream, weighing in at what felt like half a pound, and called a pączki (punch-key).

The heavyweight but delicious pączki.

Once Lent is underway, we Catholics buckle down and give up something we value for the 40 days of Lent, including the above sweets. Lent shares the same sense of "discipline and self-reflection" mentioned above for the other world religions.

We also don't eat meat on Fridays, only fish. At least when I was growing up. I actually remember spitting out a surprise piece of chicken at a friend's house for fear of going straight to Hell. The Church has since relaxed this restriction (after 1966) but much too late for me to ever feel comfortable biting into a hamburger on a Friday night during Lent. As I've said before, some memories die hard, if ever.

We were so ready for Easter Sunday when it finally arrived. Dressed in special hats and our proverbial Sunday best, we went to Mass. Then we came home and I ate my way through a straw-filled basket of jelly beans, assorted chocolates, and edible pastel-colored bunnies. I was always confused when told that the Easter Bunny himself had brought this bounty. And it was okay to bite the head off his likeness, usually made of chocolate or marshmallow filling covered in hardened sugar. I still get a mysterious Easter basket to this day. (A child at heart.)

We also continue to hand-decorate, hard-boiled eggs and eat one of them that day for good luck.

These works of egg art are not made by any member of my family. If only!

Like Christmas, Easter traditions have found fans among non-Christians, including the notion of Easter egg decorating and egg hunts.

The White House Easter Egg Roll has a history going back to Abraham Lincoln but officially became recognized in 1878, taking place nearly every Easter Monday ever since. The 2025 version continues the more recent tradition of holding a lottery for the tickets, which are available to winners from all states and US territories.

Dating back to paganism, eggs have long represented new life (literally) and rebirth (symbolically) as linked to Spring in the broadest sense. Since about the 13th century, eggs reportedly became part of Easter celebrations for all Christians, thanks to an English king who "purchased eggs ... decorated with colours or gold leaf and given out to his household."

True story or not, what about that Easter Bunny?

As folklorist Tod Thompson reports in Smithsonian Magazine, both eggs and rabbits have ritualistic roots dating back to the Neolithic age in Europe. And folk traditions in both England and Germany speak of an Easter Hare (large rabbit) hiding eggs for children to hunt down.

In addition, eating a pie made with hare or rabbit may have links to enduring "folk traditions of scaring away witches at Easter." It's because the prolifically fertile hare or rabbit, and Spring itself, represent the "promise of new life [and] ... held symbolically in opposition to the life-draining activities of witches and winter."

The season's uplifted spirits and renewed optimism

As we celebrate Spring in so many ways in the weeks ahead, try to embrace its renewed sense of spirituality. And if nothing else, grasp the soul-stirring spectacle of Mother Nature waking up from a long, dormant winter.

Take in the robins and myriad of other birds flitting around our yards preparing nests to lay their eggs and start their broods, clutches and families anew. If that doesn't delight, perhaps the sight of daffodils and crocus already dotting the landscape will. In the DC area, where I live, there is a steady stream of tourists visiting the blossoming cherry trees to marvel at their profusion of delicate, pinkish blooms. They never fail to charm their onlookers.

Beyond April 1st's attempt to make us laugh, Spring is about lifting our spirits through the Divine or in concert with Mother Nature. Whatever the approach, relish this season, with its swings from cold to warm, its shift from fasting to feasting, and its nearly universal commitment to remembrance and renewal. Do both with reverence, and at a special place of worship, including the nearest public park.

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Empowering Women, Uplifting the World

The month of March is dedicated to celebrating women. March 8, in particular, is recognized globally as International Women's Day., which acknowledges the achievements of women worldwide. Thousands of events will take place and, according to UN Women, more than a million women around the globe will be participating.

As the IWD website notes, this annual event has its roots in the 19th century, first to honor female textile workers who marched in protest about unfair working conditions and unequal rights for women in New York City factories. Since then its come to honor "the achievements of women across all aspects of life - social, economic, cultural and political - while also advocating for gender equality."

This year's theme is to "accelerate action," with "a worldwide call to acknowledge strategies, resources, and activity that positively impact women's advancement, and to support and elevate their implementation."

From the "Theme" page of the International Women's Day website.

Amelia Earhart's 1963 stamp. Really, 8 cents?

Most of us have known impressive women who've greatly impacted our lives and whom we'd like to honor on this day. But most of them will probably never be asked to give a speech or become a famous face on a poster or a postage stamp. Some we admired growing up, while others we met along our life's journey.

Hopefully, some of these role models will remain in our lives to continue to provide guidance and inspiration. What it means to be a woman changes with each new generation as well as by race, religion, cultural heritage, hometown, or home country.

Mothers, daughters and magnificent matriarchs

I have a few examples of stellar women in my own family. None of them flew to the moon or cured cancer, but they kept their families together during some rough patches in the 20th century and are no less worth celebrating. In fact, most women on the planet are charged with such responsibilities, and in some cases, are working under dire conditions. They deserve the spotlight on such a honor-packed day. Maybe some of my family's stories will sound familiar even if the details are unique.

Let's start with my mother, Frances (aka Fran, Francie, or Franny), who will turn 97 this year. She remains full of life and love and shows no signs of losing her wicked sense of humor any time soon. She's also still giving me advice on how to be a grown-up woman, to which I mumble something sarcastic in return, much like I did as a teenager, except I'm not.

Our exchanges go something like this:

• Mom: Aren't you going to make your bed?

  • Me: No, if I wait long enough, Mom, it'll be time to go to bed and I won't have to.

• Mom: When I make a recipe out of that book, I like to keep it over there so I don't spill food all over the pages.

  • Me: I like it right here, Mom. Those messy pages tell me I tried those recipes before.

• Mom: I don't think those shoes look very comfortable. Maybe you should carry some flats in your bag, just in case.

  • Me: These shoes cost me $175, Motheeeeeer. I'm wearing them!

Seriously, I'm sure this sparring between mother and daughter isn't out of the ordinary. Some of it lies in my assumption that I'm somehow further evolved than her, and so much more independent. In some respects, that's true. I have more legal protections than she had and tons more choices to flex my agency.

Whereas I can be direct in my communication with my husband about what I need and want, and. likewise, he with me. But my mother was restricted about what she could say and do in her own house. Often times, like many other women of her generation, she had to engineer what she wanted through passive aggressive behavior or staged subterfuge, designed to preserve my father's ego and leave their gendered assumptions undisturbed.

It reminds me of the scene in the film, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, in which the patriarch Kostas must be convinced that a clever solution was his idea, otherwise he won't go for it. It was like watching an episode out of my childhood, without the Greek accents.

My mother still struggles to say directly what she means, perhaps a lingering effect from a lifetime of softening any assertive ideas before uttering them out loud. On the other hand, like my parents, Kostas and Maria Portokalos loved and respected each other, and trusted each other to take turns being both strong and vulnerable when it counted most (and mostly in private).

Another issue between generations of women is that we often speak different languages, although to anybody within earshot, my mother and I are using only English words. I describe what she does as practicing "mindfulness," which she thinks sounds made up. I boast about keeping a gratitude journal by my bedside, while she says she prays before going to sleep. I'm a big fan of yoga nidra to calm my nervous system, she thinks it sounds "foreign" and goes outdoors to sit and study clouds.

Who knew cloud watching could accomplish the same goals as my yoga class or those countless meditation apps on my phone? After looking it up, I found researchers claiming that watching clouds can help quiet the mind, increase creativity, improve emotional intelligence, manage energy, and focus thoughts.

I've been rolling my eyes at my mother's suggestions since I was 13. Maybe it's time I started paying attention to some of her words, even if they don't all come through the front door, so to speak. Maybe Mom knows best after all.

Women of a certain age

Before I discovered my mother as a source of wisdom, there was my grandmother. She was my first superhero or shero, although any such term would have her waving her ever-ready spatula in the air to bat away such crazy talk.

Like many of her generation, she worked hard without waiting for compliments, affirmations, or a pay packet with her name on it. She had few modern tools to work with and did the family's laundry on a washboard, then hung it on clotheslines before having to iron most of it, one item at a time. A load of wash takes me (or my husband) a few minutes to push some buttons. Hers took up most of a workday, perhaps two, before she had to start the process all over again.

She sewed most of her kids' clothes and created medicines from her own pantry and garden. She was the only doctor her children ever knew unless they came down with something extraordinary, including my mother's case of rubella. It caused her deep blue eyes to fade to a more translucent but-no-less-striking cornflower blue.

Otile, around 1920.

Otile Meyer was from Johnstown, Pennsylvania, where walking the streets meant going up and down steep inclines, which were no doubt responsible for her pair of meaty calves. Later in life, they still looked pretty sturdy, if not a bit strange, covered in sheer stockings rolled down and knotted just below her knees.

My grandmother was a spitfire to the end. Feisty and quick-tempered, but also someone who laughed as hard as she worked. When she and her sisters got together and something struck them funny, which was often enough, they'd laugh so hard their stomachs bounced up and down. They did so in unison, like a precision chorus line of animated bellies. To witness their sense of joy, though, was life-affirming and quite contagious.

To grandmother's house we go

Researchers have long touted the benefits of having close relationships with grandparents. "Children find unique acceptance in their relationships with grandparents," notes Stephen F. Duncan of Brigham Young University. "Grandparents can be a major support during family disruptions ... role models and mentors ... [and] historians - teaching values, instilling ethnic heritage and passing on family traditions."

My grandparents, Otile and August Buhr, in the backyard of their Detroit home in the 1930s.

My love of cooking was inspired by what I witnessed in her kitchen. It was her sanctuary, her "she shed," her creative space for crafting fabulous food on a daily basis - not just for special occasions. If she heard me talk like this, she'd wave that spatula at me and remind me what a vivid imagination I had, even as a child. Sure enough, but I was also precocious enough to know I'd better study her ever so intently so I'd have those memories to savor for the rest of my life.

Her meals often had a German flair, given her background, and a father born in northern Germany who never lost his accent. I only wish I could recreate her spaetzle, one of my favorite dishes. Yet I can't replicate her rapid-fire flicking of bits of dough off a hot spoon into bubbling liquid, which instantly turned them into bouncy, squigglier versions of the more familiar egg noodles.

Her meals often came with incredible pastries. Her pies were sublime, made from scratch, with lard in the crust that explained its dense but flaky texture. Even into her late 70s, she was happiest in her kitchen, humming and fussing and lifting lids like a master chemist hard at work.

When she did take a break, it was to sit and read. She was a voracious reader, devouring any subject that piqued her interest. I'd get an armful of books from the library for her every few weeks and remember the puzzled looks from staffers who wanted to know who was reading a book about famous shipwrecks followed by one about modern zoology.

I may not be able to replicate her skills in the kitchen, but I certainly inherited her obsession with books and the love of learning something about everything. I wonder if today she'd be puttering away in the kitchen and shouting constant queries at Siri or Alexa, or stopping to Google something just because a thought suddenly entered her head space. Okay, maybe that's just me.

For some of those afternoon sit-downs, she'd tell me her stories. Most were fascinating, and a few were downright scintillating.

She had left home at age 14 when her father, suddenly a widower, remarried and his new wife was less than kind to his existing children. As much as she would say, she moved to Detroit by herself and worked as a domestic. Not sure about many other details because if I asked too many questions, she'd offer a sly smile and clam up. I did find out that my mother, Frances, was named after an old boyfriend named Frank. Who does that?

Otile in the 1920s. Dig those shoes!

There were lots of other boyfriends, prompting lots of questions on my part, and lots of deflecting smiles on hers. She'd been part of the flapper wave of the Roaring 20s, those young women who had the audacity to drink, smoke, and dance in public with carefree abandon.

My grandmother didn't get married until she was 26, late for that era, because she said she was having too much fun. Her career choices were certainly limited. Plus, she fell in love with August Buhr, a quiet, Missouri-born farm boy, who came to Detroit to work at (and one day own) a machine shop. Together they raised three kids during the Great Depression followed by the hardships of WWII.

She was a feminist before there was such a term and considered herself my grandfather's equal. He was quiet and always seemed a bit stuffy, sitting at the table in his Sunday best, an impeccably starched shirt, only visible beneath the edges of a fanned-out newspaper. I don't think he liked children, let alone grandchildren. When I asked what she saw in him, she said he was handsome, made her laugh, and was good in bed. That half smile returned and I knew that's all I was going to get. Did I really want to know more?

When I was in my late teens and early 20s, I was frequently off track, sometimes recklessly so. It wasn't the Roaring 20s but it was certainly the Crazy 70s. I was burning through money and shuffling through dalliances with volatile men at alarming speed. As Leo Sayer sang in 1978, I was also "dancing the night away."

Like many young adults, rather than talk to my parents about my troubles, I turned to my grandmother. Mainly because she never expressed shock or disapproval about anything I ever shared. She simply listened without judgment and offered advice only when I asked for it. She knew how to make sure I felt heard, helped, or hugged. When a therapist once described those vital three Hs for me in that way, I immediately thought of my grandmother.

She especially urged me to avoid dwelling on mistakes. Fix what's wrong, apologize if necessary, but, above all, move on. Of course I often ignored that advice and chose to wallow in regret like it was an Olympic sport. I could hear her voice saying: Moll (why she called me that, I'll never know), your pity party is helping anyone, especially yourself.

Later in life, after shelling out sizable sums of money to learn how to heal, I remembered that the best coach I ever had was Otile, whose priceless advice was to love myself no matter what. She'd ask: Who better to be friends with than myself: the person who'd been there from the start and who'll be there with me at the end?

This Saturday, on this day to celebrate fabulous women, I'll write about my grandmother in my journal and talk about how grateful I am to have known her. Or maybe I'll take my mother's advice and say a prayer.

"There will never be a new world order until women are a part of it."

Alice Paul in 1917 being forcibly removed from a demonstration agitating for the right of women to vote.

Those words were uttered by Alice Paul, who was part of a dedicated contingent of suffragists who formed the National Woman’s Party. They picketed the White House in 1917 during Woodrow Wilson’s presidency and became known as the “Silent Sentinels,” due to their silent but persistent protesting.

In time they stepped up their efforts and started getting arrested for more "bold" acts of civil disobedience. On November 14, 1917, Paul and her colleagues, were jailed and horribly abused while in police custody.

As arrests of suffragists increased, so were reports of them being beaten and held in "cold, unsanitary, and rat-infested cells," according to the Alice Paul Center for Gender Justice. Many of those jailed staged hunger strikes, borrowing tactics from British suffragists in the early 1900s. In Paul's case, prison officials moved her to a sanitarium "in an attempt to have her declared insane."

Courtesy of the Suffrage Postcard Project.

Eventually news leaked out about a particular "Night of Terror" that resulted in a public outcry that forced Wilson to change course and declare his support for women's suffrage.

The 19th Amendment to the US Constitution (ratified on August 18, 1920) gave women the right to vote, following nearly a hundred years of courageous efforts on the part of hundreds of suffragists who never gave up the fight.

My grandmother was among the 26 million women who were eligible to vote in the 1920 election. How many actually did is still under debate. Many factors continued to block their path, including various methods of voter suppression and lingering cultural pressures, including disapproving family members who discouraged their mothers, daughters, and sisters from actually casting their votes.

I knew my grandmother voted but I never found out for who: James M. Cox or Warren G. Harding (who won the presidency in the 1920 election). Don't we all wish we could sit down with our grandparents and ask them such questions?

Expanding rights for women across race, class and geography

Soujourner Truth, the 19th century former slave turned abolitionist and women's rights advocate, would not live to see women win the right to vote. Not to mention witness black women achieve parity with their white, middle-class sisters-in-arms (before or after securing the right to vote).

In fact, a serious disparity persists to this day among women due to race, class and geopolitical differences. It's a central part of what International Women's Day is all about.

In her landmark speech before a Women's Rights Convention in 1851, "Ain't I a Woman?" Truth affirmed her claim to be recognized as a woman with civil rights at a time when she was also battling to be seen as a human being rather than property a white man could own.

Near the end of her speech, she noted, "If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again!" As memorable a quote as any coming from her contemporaries, including Abraham Lincoln, who once invited the formidable Truth to the White House for a visit.

Truth also knew how to cherish what she'd already fought hard to attain. She offered: "Life is hard battle anyway. If we ... sing a little as we fight the good fight of freedom, it makes it all go easier. I will not allow my life's light [to] be determined by the darkness around me."

Her profound words are a reminder to all women never to lose sight of what they've accomplished even while soldiering on to do more. Whether it's embracing a will of iron to get things done or to savor a well-deserved "sit-down," as Otile Buhr would put it, Truth urged women not to forget to live in the moment while imagining a better tomorrow. A remarkable 19th century version of mindfulness if ever there was one.

The iconic Rosie the Riveter, who represented women working in factories and shipyards during WWII.

My list of remarkable women goes beyond family members and famous pioneers like Truth. It also includes teachers, bosses, colleagues, girlfriends, and even a pugnacious nun from my Catholic grade school.

Most of us know influential women, past and present, who've helped teach us something, encouraged us to be someone, and continue to inspire us to be our best selves. All women this Saturday are sisters for a day. And many are still struggling to be heard, helped, or hugged. Let's do this on a global scale. The universe just might be listening. If nothing else, say a prayer. Thanks, Mom!

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February: How to Stay Motivated Until Spring

February is a tough month to navigate. First, it's no longer about holiday cheer and uplifting visits (hopefully) with family and friends for ample feasting and gift-giving.

Second, it's still deep in wintry moodiness and weather lashings. Many of us know we'll have to grapple with its nasty effects for weeks to come. That celebrated ground hog in Punxsutawney confirmed that much.

Third, at this point, few people have stuck to their New Year's resolutions. Quitters Day was back on January 10 when 88% of people had already given up. That number has certainly fallen further. I abandoned most of mine, too, except for one.

Meanwhile, the National Day calendar offers some notable dates to look forward to in February. There's Pizza Day on the 9th, Drink Wine Day on the 18th, and on the last day of the month, Tooth Fairy Day. If these don't inspire, there's always Presidents' Day, on February 17, when banks are closed and retailers offer those big savings on mattresses and large appliances.

Of course, I couldn't leave out the February superstars: this weekend's Super Bowl extravaganza and Valentine's Day on the 14th. Both of these can delight or depress, depending on how much we're into pro football or that someone special in our lives. I've had those years when it was me and some girlfriends enjoying a few Love Potion Cocktails.

Even for non-fans of football, the commercials that debut during the Super Bowl telecast remain popular crowd pleasers, even though many of them are popping up online days way ahead of the game. With an average cost of $7 million for a 30-second commercial, they remain a big deal no matter when or where they get watched. Below is one earning plenty of attention.

Keeping New Year's resolutions (ok, maybe just the one)

I mentioned above that I'm sticking to one of my New Year's resolutions for this year: to eat healthier.

My January blogs previewed our Whole 30 adventure, which started on January 2 and ended on February 1. The first phase is (thankfully) over, and it was a tough slog at times. We successfully eliminated dairy, grains, legumes, sugar, and alcohol for 30 days straight.

The absence of alcohol was tough on our wedding anniversary, January 22. It wasn't the same floating a lime in a glass of club soda. Even using stemmed glasses didn't help, as our taste buds knew the "bubbles" were somehow counterfeit.

But we did it. That alone was worth celebrating before realizing any other rewards. We're now in the final phase, which involves slowly adding back the missing food groups, taking care to note any adverse reactions such as bloating, gassiness, or other digestive issues.

For me, all of the above occurred when I added back mozzarella cheese to an otherwise Whole 30 eggplant parmigiana. Maybe too much too soon. I've since restricted dairy to just a few crumbles of feta until my system adjusts. And it better. We're headed to New York City next week for a quick getaway, and I'm looking forward to enjoying a slice of the city's renowned pizza. (I'll keep a few antacids at the ready.)

Who says February is boring?

There's no denying that for most of us living in North America, this month is accepting that it's still cold outside (and sometimes snowy and sleety too). But complaining about the weather is not going to help any of us overcome the winter doldrums that may have settled in about now.

It was a shock to our systems to experience winter again, after having lived in the Phoenix area for the previous six years. After buying more sweaters and thermal gloves, we're hoping our blood thickens at some point. Is that even a thing? (Turns out it is. Check out the link to learn more.)

No matter where many of us live, February remains that post-holiday, Spring-is-nowhere-in-sight sort of month. It lacks personality. And a clear identity. It's just there, like a bowl of plain oatmeal.

We're well aware that we're in for a snowstorm while in New York, but hoping that doesn't get one of our "walking tours" canceled. It's with an ex-NYPD cop, who is supposed to take us to iconic Mafia-related sites around town. That includes Little Italy, where the tour includes sampling the sumptuous food there. (More antacids, please!)

My book's cover with photos the publisher let me choose from the archives housed at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

I'm interested in such a quirky tour after having written a book in the late 1990s about gangster films, many of which involve New York locations. The book is a survey of such cinema's critique of American society and how its antiheroes, often immigrants or other marginalized young men, become criminals to seize their version of the American Dream. That is, until they're violently gunned down by fierce rivals or relentless cops (often "rogue" ones, the focus of my 2020 book).

As I wrote in my gangster book's preface, the seductive draw of such films as The Godfather and Goodfellas is that perhaps "we see [the gangster] as a nightmare vision of our own desires and ambitions run amok."

While in New York, we'll also do the usual tourist stuff, catch a Broadway show and pay our respects at the 9/11 memorial. No matter the weather, we vow to make the most of our time there.

That's the essential message for surviving February, isn't it? Stay busy, focusing on whatever sustains and expands our quality of life, despite the gray skies and freezing temps.

At home we try our best to exercise indoors and stroll around our local museums. Since winter started, we've tried to pick a day each week to visit another of the Smithsonian museums in our newly adopted hometown.

Nearly everybody's hometown has a museum, historical society or movie theater that can fill up their February calendar. Like many communities, ours also offers book readings, trivia nights, and yoga classes, to name a few of the indoor options available this time of year.

Since most of us have to go outside at some point and brave the elements (to go to work or pick up kids at school or visit the Big Apple just because), just bundle up and carry on. This too shall pass.

Spending quality time in the kitchen

I've discovered that one of my favorite things to do during the dreariest months of winter is to cook. My husband and I spent most of January in the kitchen because of Whole 30. It's now February and we're pretty psyched about cooking and eating a wider variety of food. After the dairy try-out, which didn't go so well for me, we added back grains. We'll be adding back a food group every two or three days and be back to "normal" by mid-month.

For the debut of grains, we chose to make our own whole wheat bread. It was our first time baking anything other than pre-made cookie dough.

Like so many others, baking intimidates me. I have no such fears about cooking, even when recreating recipes from our travels. While in Istanbul, we fell in love with "imam biyaldi," which more or less means the "imam fainted" after eating this delectable eggplant dish. We've made it many times over the years, experimenting with different recipes, depending on the ingredients available.

Cooking is something creative my husband and I can do together. It also engages all our senses, from what ingredients smell and sound like when sizzling, to what a meal looks and tastes like when it's finally on our forks.

On the other hand, baking seems about exacting chemistry. It doesn't like free-wheeling experiments. I can't toss in a pinch of baking powder to add pizzazz to bread dough as I can with herbs in a pasta sauce. Baking is about measuring and fractions and mixing dry ingredients to wet ones (or is it the other way round?).

The bread idea came about because we wanted to continue our healthy path. We thought, why not make our own? After doing plenty of research, we lined up all those measuring things and power tools. I mean sifters, blenders, and one prized KitchenAid stand mixer. It's an expensive appliance I've used once in the eight years I've owned it. And that was to (unsuccessfully) make pizza dough. This brave new me, though, dragged it out from the back of the cupboard and dusted it off. Literally.

Other than strictly adhering to a recipe and what seemed like endless waiting for the dough to rise and rest and bake, the process was easier than we thought. As it was the first morsel of bread we'd eaten since the start of 2025, so the bar may have been set incredibly low.

Not only was it delicious, it smelled heavenly. The kitchen was warm and toasty but also a mess, with flour scattered everywhere, including in my hair. No doubt that's a part of the creative process. The Dutch Masters probably had to clean their brushes after creating their masterpieces too.

Cooking as winter therapy

I'm not the first to note the inspirational, even curative, effects of cooking, especially when the great outdoors isn't beckoning this time of year.

"Research has shown links between cooking and reduced stress, anxiety, and depression," notes Renata Haidle, of Simply Local, a Montana-based site that celebrates local food and culture. "Many therapists now recommend cooking (and baking, by extension) as a tool for improving mental health and well-being, alongside art therapy, physical activity, and even play therapy."

Haidle outlines the "therapeutic benefits of cooking":

●     Mindfulness and Stress Reduction. Cooking engages repetitive motions (like chopping and stirring) that can be as meditative as they are rhythmic.

●     Enhanced Creativity. This comes from experimenting with flavors and ingredients that is about expression and a sense of accomplishment

●     Established Routine. Cooking adds structure to daily habits, especially those involving our health, offering us a sense of control over a key aspect of daily life.

●     Social Connection. Cooking with or for others fosters social connection and the chance to bond over the act of creating and sharing meals together.

●     Improved Nutrition. Cooking at home often leads to healthier food choices that, in turn, impact our mood and overall well-being.

Lasting lessons from our 30-day experiment

All in all, besides further embracing the joy of cooking, did we experience any other valuable takeaways from our Whole 30 adventure?

Yes, we learned to eat outside our comfort zone and to discover "substitutes" we didn't know existed. Turns out almond milk is tastier than nonfat milk. Plant-based cream cheese adds the same creaminess to recipes as the full-fat dairy version. Those sweet potato "toasts" proved delicious enough to adopt long term as acceptable substitutes for bread, if carbs are an issue. And when we added pasta back in, we used spirals made from brown rice that worked well in tuna salad.

My husband and I each lost about seven pounds during our 30 days. My blood pressure went down considerably and we're both sleeping better at night. I don't have drops in energy in the afternoons, as I experience consistent levels throughout the day. I'll have to wait to see with the next set of blood tests if there’s been any impact on my cholesterol numbers. I suspect those will have improved as well.

Going forward, we have vowed not to return to the way we used to eat. We're now slowly transitioning to a more broad-based Mediterranean diet to help us continue to lose weight while cooking and eating fresh, whole foods. That means encompassing our favorite cuisines from so many of the countries bordering the Mediterranean Sea, from North Africa and the Middle East to the countries of southern Europe.

Eat in a new way (for us), but using an approach that’s ancient and proven to be among the healthiest diets in the world. In other words, eat like my husband's Italian ancestors before they came to America. (His grandmother, though, would certainly wonder why he's even in the kitchen!)

Check back for updates on our cooking and culinary journey in the weeks ahead. Find out if we're continuing to make fresh bread every weekend.

I'll be posting updates to Instagram while we're in NYC. And some pics of a slice (or two) of pizza. Buon appetito!

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