Barbie

    I never had a Barbie doll. Barbies came along  after my doll days, and, besides, wasn't Barbie a symbol of all that was wrong—having to have the perfect body, being a sex object, having to wear high heels? These were Barbie associations we scorned in the hippy days.

    Nonetheless, without question, my favorite Christmas present this year, from my sister Laura, was a Barbie doll. I opened the Barbie package—Laura and my other sister, Sharon, were watching on Google Meet—and I burst out laughing. They were laughing, too We were sharing again the moments of watching the Barbie movie in Laura's den the week after Thanksgiving. Oh, how we had laughed. It was a sisters' bonding, sharing untold moments in our pasts as girls and women. 

        Laura had given Sharon a Barbie doll for Christmas, too. She held hers up to show me—Barbie, the yoga teacher. We reminisced about favorite scenes in the movie— Barbie walking into the shower on tiptoes, "Kenough" on Ken's shirt and the back end of a racehorse showing on a large-screen TV behind him when he talks to Barbie on the doorstep. The tribute to Ruth Handler. Barbie's concession, at the end of the movie, that every night didn't have to be girls' night. 

    We thought Greta Gerwig was brilliant, and we knew the truth of Gloria's monologue. "You're so beautiful and so smart." she says to Barbie, "and it kills me that you don't think you're good enough." Such familiar attitudes.

    Barbie no longer symbolizes what's wrong with the culture; she symbolizes that a girl can be whatever she aspires to be. (Laura said she had tried to find me a Barbie who was a professor of Old English, but had to settle for the baker Barbie.) I love having a Barbie. Standing tall (but not in heels) on my windowsill, she reminds me of how much has changed for women and how much I love my sisters. 

Well by Christmas!

     "Well by Christmas!" my doctor declared, setting our goal. 

    Three days and counting. Bronchitis. What a bear. 

    Bronchitis was the doctor's diagnosis when, since my violent fits of coughing weren't responding to cough drops, water, hot tea, herbs, juices, and spoonfuls of honey, I decided I ought to see him. That was a Sunday (of course). I called first thing Monday, and typical of this, the best doctor's office in Southern Oregon, he saw me that same day, at 3:00. 

    By 4:30 I was driving home with medications in my pocket and "well by Christmas" in my ears.

    Certainly I'm better. I no longer spend the night sitting upright on the couch, as I did for days, since I couldn't lie prone without being thrown into a coughing fit. My route through the house has expanded from the few steps between the couch and the bathroom. Yesterday I even took an hour-and-half walk up the mountain. (Never mind that the same walk used to take an hour.) My throat doesn't hurt any more, and when my son called me yesterday, he said my voice was stronger. Although a few days ago I couldn't eat the zucchini soup I made (one of my usual favorites) or, the next night, my curried yam soup, a never-fail pleaser, or even, the next night, the butternut squash soup a friend made and sent up to me, I have found that, actually, now that I try them again, the butternut soup is delicious and the other two as good as usual. I knew how sick I was when I didn't want to eat.

    My doctor, whom I really, really like, told me that one of the best things I could do was to bundle up and sit outside. "This cold, moist air is good for bronchitis," he told me. "Don't get cold," he cautioned. "Bundle up." 

    So for the past few days I have been bundling up in a coat, a wool hat, a wool scarf, fuzzy slippers, and my lovely warm gloves and sitting on the back porch with a blanket wrapped around my legs. I sit there for about an hour, reading or just watching the rain in the trees, breathing the cold moist air, loving the freshness, thinking, "Well by Christmas!"

    I'm not out of the woods yet, but the trees are thinning. This morning I spent hours planning a Christmas menu: salmon with mushroom orzo and red wine sauce, a green bean and feta salad, and Kahlua-and-chocolate pecan pie for dessert—a real meal, with fresh food and good tastes. Because, after all, I will be well by Christmas.

    Here's to a happy and healthy Christmas and holiday season for you, too.