Small Anchors: Cookies, Grief, and Finding Steady Ground

A recipe for good things

Recent paintings in progress and a sketch for a future painting.

Grief is strange. It shows up in moments when we least expect it—leaving a job you wanted to leave, losing a beloved pet, mourning a loved one, or even in nostalgia for something long past. There’s grief for lost hope, for the body’s betrayal through illness or age, for the adjustments required to live differently. Loss has many faces, and grief follows in all its forms: fear of the unknown, fear of the known, fear of how much harder it will be now without what once was.

In the Northern Hemisphere, winter is the season of endings, the death of the year. Our ancestors marked it with rituals, feasting to fend off the cold and hunger, distractions from the dangers of the dark. Today, we have our own rituals—holidays, year-end rushes, family gatherings—but the feeling remains. Winter reminds us of what has gone and what we fear may yet go.

Lately, grief feels closer. The anniversary of my mother’s passing, the loss of our old cat, the quiet absence of friends who’ve moved away. There’s a shared weight too—friends and family carry their own losses, and the larger world feels fragile, tense in the aftermath of another fraught election season.

We’ll gather for celebrations, as we always do. But amid the noise and joy, there’s a need for stillness, for finding small, steadying anchors to hold us in the waves of loss. These anchors don’t erase grief, but keep us from being swept away with it.

Here are some of my anchors:

In times of loss, finding small, grounding rituals can help us navigate the waves of grief. Here are a few of the anchors that have been helping me lately:

A Good Night’s Sleep
Sleep isn’t just rest—it’s restoration. The first part of the night, NREM sleep, is when our brains process and file away the events of the day. The later phase, REM sleep, is where dreams take over and emotions are sorted. This cycle is essential for mental health, especially in times of stress. Prioritizing a full night of sleep, without cutting it short, helps me face each day with a little more clarity.

Music
Lately, I’ve pressed pause on the endless stream of podcasts and turned to music. Falling into a jazz/samba rabbit hole has been an unexpected comfort. On heavy rotation:

• Takuya Kuroda

• Dorothy Ashby

• Mussum

Music has a way of connecting us to emotions words can’t always reach.

Notes and Cards
Old-fashioned snail mail has brought a surprising joy. Writing notes to friends and family feels personal in a way digital messages can’t replicate. It’s a small act of connection, a tangible way to show care and stay in touch.

These small rituals provide moments of steadiness and happiness.

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Hermit Cookies (Snow Day Cookies)

Ingredients

1 cup salted butter, softened to room temperature

1 1/2 cups brown sugar, packed

2 eggs

1/2 cup cold coffee

3 and 1/2 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground allspice

1 tablespoon orange peel, chopped fine

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 and 1/2 cups golden raisins

1/2 cup dried cranberries or other dried fruit

1 cup chopped pecans

Instructions

1. Cream Butter and Sugar
   In a large bowl, cream together the sugar and butter until light and fluffy.

2. Add Wet Ingredients
   Mix in the eggs until well combined. Slowly add the coffee and orange peel, mixing thoroughly.

3. Incorporate Dry Ingredients
   Add all the dry ingredients to the bowl. Stir until completely combined.

4. Fold in Add-ins
   Gently fold in the raisins and nuts.

5. Chill Dough
   Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

6. Prepare for Baking
   Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

7. Shape Cookies
   Use a cookie scoop or large spoon to drop the dough onto the prepared baking sheet.

8. Bake
   Bake for 12 minutes, or until the cookies are golden brown and set on top.

9. Cool
   Transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool completely.