This Week in Joyful Practice: Holiday Week, Perfume, and a Goose Egg.
first comes dread, then comes joy (with a little prodding)
This week, I had 18 staples removed from my scalp, and let me tell you that brought me joy. I was full of dread during the lead up to the appointment, memories of the not-so-joyful sound of snipping and scraping still reverberating in my skull. The relief I felt as soon as those staples were out—damn! I thought I’d levitate out of that exam-room chair if Yme hadn’t been holding my hand.
While I’m telling you about the relief that comes from finding myself on the other side of something I’ve dreaded, I must mention that the very same day the scalp staples were removed, I hosted a Halloween party. Yeah, that’s right. A Halloween party in April.
[Rewind to three months ago: Way back in January, before I knew that spot I’d been picking at on my head for more years than I care to admit was actually skin cancer, I committed to Holiday Week. The premise is seven holiday parties in seven days: Purim. Valentine’s Day. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Birthday/Slumber Party. Christmas. Easter. You host one party and go big. Then, the rest of the week, you show up and celebrate. When my friends called, asking if I wanted to participate in Holiday Week, I was enjoying a surprisingly sunny Oregon coast winter break escape. It was January–inauguration week, in fact—and every part of my body said oh hell yeah–Holiday Week in April. This is the kind of fun that is an absolute necessity. It was as if Baubo herself was on the other end of the phone saying, I got this crazy idea, and boy, are you gonna love it . Within minutes, I regretted saying yes. By regretted, I really mean dreaded. That’s a lot of parties. Dear gods.]
Last week, I was talking to my son about Holiday Week. By talking I really mean whining, bemoaning, still dreading. What was I thinking? Too many days in a row of wearing clothes with zippers and being supremely social. Then my very smart 25 year-old told me about this new group of friends he’s been hanging out with in Portland. Every Wednesday, they meet up for pickleball and family-style dinner. I thought pickleball was stupid until I started playing it with my friends, he told me. I’m glad I have friends who are organizers, he told me. Then my very smart 25 year-old reminded me how lucky I am to have a community of friends who organize fun shit to do together. He’s not wrong. And now that I have the sweet relief of being on the other side of putting on a party the day I had head staples removed, I can honestly say it was the best party I’ve ever thrown. And I’d do it again (in a year…).
Holiday Week has forced me to remember something my adult brain failed to recognize when it was sinking into the muddy abyss of dread (sometimes taking the time to be playful just feels like one more thing to add to the list when you have a zillion papers to grade and a chronic illness and middle age and global meltdowns and and and). Turns out it's really fun getting immersed in silly crafts and games that aren’t really silly because, holy shit, look at how creative and clever my friends are. Look at how much time and care and attention they’ve put into offering an experience full of exuberance and a shared re-imagining of celebrations that are often fraught.
It amazes me that just last week, while I was writing about following my creative impulses, I was simultaneously dreading a series of parties designed to get me to follow my creative impulses. In preparation for the Halloween party, I made tiny turnip jack-o-lanterns and carved carrots into witches’ fingers, and I helped my co-host hang the adorable bats she cut out of black construction paper.
There were candles, so many candles, and popcorn balls, and I dressed up as a fortune teller and offered my crappy tarot card-reading skills/super intuitive insights to my Holiday Week party family. And we built an altar for our beloved dead. We fed them and lit candles for them and shared stories about them. We invited them to party with us. And party we did! There was the runway costume competition (everyone won!) and dancing and fancy drinks with names like The Corpse Reviver. And then everyone left by 9:30, which was great because, like I mentioned earlier, I’m middle-aged, and also my freshly un-sutured head was telling me it was time to stop with the dancing and singing and go to sleep already.
Other things that have been moving my joy meter this week
Fancy perfume. A couple of weekends ago, the Triceratops gathered (there are three of us; we are all named Sarah–think of it as a Sarah sisterhood forged on the frontlines of bookselling when we all worked together at Orca Books) The Sarahs are into fancy perfume. I’ve been pretty agnostic about it, but then I was gifted a sample set of scents that are meant to be layered. All week I’ve had my nose shoved in my shirt smelling my cleavage–saffron on top of cardamom; yuzu layered over neroli. Every sniff is a little kick of joy. And a reminder of how grateful I am to be a Triceratops.
These adorable eggs from Jenn. I’d heard of tiny bantam eggs, but never ever have I seen them in real life, especially not next to such a huge goose egg! Jenn and I had fun imagining a plate full of baby deviled eggs. Or maybe two eentsy-teensie fried eggs next to one super-charged one.
Joyful Practice Reminder: Go Be Silly with Your Friends
(I think I’m going to write this on a sticky note and put it on my bathroom mirror.)
Almost every time I have plans that involve actually leaving my house, I tell Yme I’m too tired, plus, I don’t want to trade my sweet-ass Sade sweatpants for street clothes and also there’s having to interact with other humans, but then Yme says, Go. You’ll be glad. And he’s right.
It's happening this very moment. Tonight, in the Holiday Week line-up, it's Thanksgiving. If I hadn’t committed to carpooling with a neighborhood friend, I’d seriously consider swapping T-day for a long bath and an early bedtime with my book. Instead, I’ll listen to my inner Yme and take off my Sade sweats and brush my dang teeth. And when I’m sitting around a table full of cranberry sauce and gravy and stuffing, laughing so hard my tender scalp begins to hurt, I’ll grab my head and let the joy mingle with the pain. I’ll even join in the nightly rendition of the Holiday Week song.
Comments are open below.
Here’s to another week of following creative impulses (even if it takes a little prodding), Baubo approved silliness , and community-shared joy in the face of so very much darkness.
We’d love to see photos and hear your thoughts! What brought you joy this week? Did you do anything playfully silly? Where did you need a little joyful practice prodding? How did you spend time with your community?
And any suggestions for how I should prepare my big ole goose egg?!?!