A cup of human kindness

and a hot toddy that’s the perfect antidote to a dreary January day

This may be the greyest January ever.

One gloomy rainy day follows another, and the only saving grace is that it’s not snow. Although I dislike extreme heat, I’ve never been a winter outdoors sort of person. That puts me squarely in spring or autumn for my perfect kind of weather.

It also seems to be the month where everyone I know, including me, is getting that first dreaded seasonal cold. We’ve all become expert at diagnosing our various ills, garden variety or not. But being sick has added weight these days. How we behave, what we believe, what our personal responsibility is, has become somehow politicized.

At least for the next 35 years, I think we can expect that public respect for expertise in public health and epidemics to be at least partially restored.

— Tom Nichols, Politico, March 2020

Cast your mind back to mid 2020. In the early days of the pandemic, we became hyper vigilant. Careful of our actions and mindful of everyone around us. We listened to the scientists and believed them.

As weeks turned into months, early prognosticators started predicting what fundamental shifts had happened, what would be fleeting, what would stick.

The hopeful amongst them foretold of a future where we contrarian humans finally understood that community matters. That kindnesses, big and especially small, would become the norm. We saw the signs around us, however subtle. The skies were bluer, there were more birds, Mother Nature flourished. We heard tales of local heroes, people who went to their jobs to care for others every day, even though they were at risk themselves. We gave way on the sidewalk, allowed cars into our busy lane, smiled at strangers, our eyes crinkling behind our masks.

Those were the days.

“Why should I care when no one else does? For the simple reason that the most critical time to care is when no one else does.”
— Craig D. Lounsbrough

Is it just me, or have we taken three steps backwards in this winter of our discontent? All pretences of niceties are gone. I dread getting into a car these days, as road rage seems to have morphed into pure aggressive driving. Even being a pedestrian is perilous. Just a few weeks ago I was literally knocked off my feet, and lay sprawled on the road at a busy intersection, plowed down by a cyclist in a hurry. We’ve been through so much yet we seem to be doubling down on “me first” and it isn’t pretty.

Yet despite evidence to the contrary, I’m hopeful that we can hearken back to the bigger we.

Moments of random kindness still happen. We take care to be mindful of others, staying away from work or family when the once innocuous sniffles hit. And while we might not hug as often or for as long, we really do care when we ask “How are you?”

How we manage in this almost post pandemic world is a tale still to be written. The rain has turned to snow, and outside my window is a beautiful mysterious blanket of calm. As I sip on a perfect rosemary honey and lemon tonic, I’m taking that fresh sheet of paper with me into tomorrow, passing a cup of kindness along the way.

Lemon and rosemary herbal remedy

from HeartSmart: The Best of HeartSmart Cooking, Bonnie Stern

makes two to four servings

When I’m feeling under the weather, or even when I’m not, I turn to this wonderfully warming herbal drink. The almost magical alchemy of rosemary, honey and lemon seems as old as time itself, and in its simplicity lies its secret. Ready in minutes, it’s warming, delicious and perfect for a dreary winter evening.

1 lemon

2 sprigs, fresh rosemary or 1 tablespoon dried

¼ cup honey

3 cups water

1. Roll the lemon on counter to soften it so that more juice will be released. Cut the lemon in half and squeeze out juice. Reserve juice.

2. Put the two lemon halves in a medium sauce pan. Add the rosemary, honey and water to the sauce pan. Bring to a boil and simmer gently for 10 minutes.

3. Strain, discarding lemon halves and rosemary. Add reserved lemon juice. Cuddle under a blanket and drink slowly.