Filed under: things I did not do today.
Well I guess this is growing up
grocery shame
A few weekends ago, on the way to sleep over at an old friend’s house, just like we did in the olden days, I stopped by the store to pick up some essentials. The people behind me in line were apparently going on an organic kale, ginger, and lemon juice cleanse. I got ice cream and two cakes.
I walked in the front door of the house, a house that had served as a second home in high school, to be greeted by the same friends, standing in the same kitchen, wearing (possibly the same) sweats, talking over each other. It could have been 1997.
We were so excited. It was going to be just like before.
Except that since our last slumber party, Friend #1 (owner of the house) has graduated from college, gotten married, had babies, and bought the house from her parents.
And instead of ordering Dominos, Friend #2 made the pizza FROM SCRATCH (including the crust) and brought an incredible fancy appetizer of mussels with some sort of divine garlic dressing (marinade?) on it.
And she made her own bread.
A nice pairing to the gourmet dessert.
And this time, instead of gearing up to watch an ‘N Sync special for the 18th time that someone had taped off of MTV on VHS, we were prepping for Justin Timberlake + The Tennessee Kids Concert on Netflix.
Oh, and there was this:
Tearing around the house.
So instead of eating pizza in front of the TV with YM mags to warm up for the main event, we fed these four, bathed them, dressed them, and wrangled them into bed.
Then we settled in with our beverages and Netflix. We were so ready.
…only to be interrupted about 5 minutes later from squealing coming from one of the rooms.
Repeat every 5 minutes. For the next hour.
After an hour we were about 15 minutes into the 2 hour concert because of all the pausing.
Then Friend #2 who was, in her day, one of the most die-hard boy band fans I have ever known, tilted her head at JT on the screen and, through a mild scowl, said, “Why would anyone pay hundreds of dollars to watch this live? He’d be like a tiny speck.”
…and that was it. Things just weren’t the same.
With a few sad, defeated glances around the room, we fast forwarded to the one song everyone wanted to hear and then turned it off.
Then we fell asleep at 10.
Thomas Moore wrote:
Ev’ry season has it’s pleasures;
Spring may boast her flow’ry prime,
Yet the vineyard’s ruby treasures
Brighten Autumn’s sob’rer time.
So life’s year begins and closes;
Days, though short’ning, still can shine;
What though youth gave love and roses,
Age still leaves us friends and wine.
A beautiful reflection on the passing of time, the relationship between what is and what was, and how beauty and value can evolve without being lost.
…plus we still know the choreography. At least we’ll always have that.
BOOK: Zorba the Greek
“Once again I reassured myself that happiness is something simple and self-restrained — a glass of wine, a chestnut, a paltry brazier, the sea’s rumble, nothing else. The only requirement for one to sense that all this is happiness is to possess a heart that is also simple and self-restrained.”
I read Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis for the first time in high school. I remember it being a beautiful book, with lots of noteworthy passages. I had a quote from it taped above my desk in college:
“As I watched the seagulls I thought: That is the road to take; find the absolute rhythm and follow it with absolute trust.”
I loved that quote. But it’s basically all I remember.
I had an old copy of it lying around, and the book has been called “one of the greatest life-affirming novels of our time.” So I decided to give it another go.
Turns out, the story is kind of strange. Scenes felt choppy, the narrator seemed whiny, and Zorba, the hero of the novel, came across as shallow, selfish, and crazy. Everything seemed a little melodramatic.
Another thing I did not remember is the role of women in the story. The way the men use them, and the way they refer to them (a few examples: brazen bitch, brood mare, slut, whore, hussy, wench, “having no brains”…)
I thought maybe it was just me, that I was being a little hypersensitive because we were mid-election and there was all sorts of talk coming from our country’s leaders about grabbing body parts and blood coming out of wherever. But really:
(Describing a Russian man dance):
“I watched his hands, feet, chest, eyes, and understood everything: how they had entered Novorossiysk, killed the bosses, looted the shops, entered homes and grabbed the women, who at first wept, scratched at their own faces, scratched the men’s faces, but grew tame over time, the hussies, shut their eyes, and squealed with pleasure. Women, after all!”
I understand that this was written in 1950s about rural Greek society. Still.
I finished this book thinking, wtf. Of all the books out there, THIS is consistently on the “Top 100 Books of All Time” list?
But I finished it. And a few days later I sat there thinking about the fact that in spite of the above, I kept reading. Because mixed into this world of a twisted society with imperfect, ugly people and barbaric, unpalatable scenes, are beautiful, poetic prose about that same world:
“It had begun to grow dark. The western sky had acquired great sweetness: somberly violet beneath small, scattered clouds with golden edges weaving gently in and out of hte evening light and incessantly changing form — sometimes boats, sometimes swans, sometimes fantastic wild beasts made of cotton and frayed silk.”
And I thought: Maybe that’s the point. That these passages were what kept me coming back to a world that was so unappealing. Maybe this book is way more meta then I initially thought.
Kafka said: “Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”
People are cruel, the world is ugly, society is barbaric, and often times there isn’t much you can do to stop or change that. This feels particularly true today. But mixed in with all of that is a beauty in the things we do and experience every day. But to see it we have to get out, we have to engage, which means exposing ourselves to the not-so-beautiful as well.
So maybe Zorba’s heroism lies not the fact that he is callous or dismissive of all that ugliness, but that–unlike the narrator–he is able to move through the world without shouldering the burden of everything bad. He may seem insensitive and irresponsible at times (because he is), but his strength is in that he manages to revel in the good, which keeps him young and alive.
“God changes his appearance every second. Blessed is the man who can recognize him in all his disguises.”
…or maybe I just need more sleep. (And yes, I understand there is a level of privilege to approach, that the “hero” of this story is part of the problem, but that is a conversation for another time.)
As I was sitting there pondering these deep, deep thoughts (aka staring at the wall), my three year old came marching over to me, naked, with a gross old baby blanket draped around her neck like a cape:
“Mommy, can you play some music please?”
“Uh, sure I can…where are your clothes?”
“No, I’m wearing my dress because I need to dance. Isn’t my dress sooooooooo beautiful?”
Yes, yes it is.
“…there is only one life for all men…there is no other…all that can be enjoyed must be enjoyed here.”
This Year
No, but seriously. I’ve been taking an exceptional number walks. It’s a problem.
i baked this cake for my friend’s birthday, then ate the entire thing by myself
One thing that really isn’t helping is the fact that my sister is literally posting pictures of her abs on social media. Because she has abs to post, not a doughy mid-section mass.
I know, the holidays, self-discipline, blah blah. But let’s be real. I blame Trump.
there used to be 5 of those on there
Or *blamed* Trump. Then I saw this:
Because everything else wasn’t enough.
And I realized, there is just no fighting it. This year is unstoppable. Resistance is futile.
2016, you win. I surrender. Bring on the bonbons.
Holiday Card
I kept observing him, thinking to what a degree this life of ours is truly so extraordinary and mysterious, how people join and separate like autumn leaves chased by a windy downpour, how we labor in vain to enable our glance to cling to the face, body, and gestures of the people we love, whereas in a few years we fail to remember any longer even whether their eyes were blue or black.
~Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek
It’s that time of year again! The below was my original choice for our annual holiday card.
It got vetoed because you can’t see the dog, Paul appears to have lost muscle function in part of his face, our first child looks like she needs to be exorcised, and our second child is not looking at the camera. Bummer.
I love sending out holiday cards. I love getting them.
Every year as I make the list of who to send them to, by stage of life: Childhood. College. Grad school. This city. That job.
I’ve always been a little bit sentimental about how transient relationships can be. It’s bittersweet that someone who seems so crucial in your life can fade to a hazy memory.
Social media has changed this, in ways both good and bad. Those people no longer disappear into a vortex. You know where they live, what they’re doing, how they look. You no longer have to remember their eye color, just go check their most recent selfie.
But social media platforms can also alter the context of your relationship. I don’t need in-depth knowledge of my ex-roommate’s beliefs on circumcision or whether an old teammate thinks I should change my skin care routine. Because I haven’t seen either of them in years, and sometimes all that matters is that I still smile remembering the time they made me laugh so hard I threw up. Regardless of their feelings on Harambe.
So I like the cards. A quick snapshot of the present without additional, unsolicited commentary. I like to make the list, think of all those people without being prompted by my Facebook feed. It is nice to see how much has changed and not changed over the years, to look up at my actual wall, see all the people I love, and be reminded of just how fortunate I have been.
(For the record, that is only a portion of the cards we have waiting to be hung. We are more popular than that. I swear.)
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
The past few weeks have been wonderful and ugly. In my little bubble things have been pretty smooth and happy, while so much of the rest of the world has not. Cue a lot of emotional confusion. Gratitude and guilt. Joy and horror. Hope and helplessness. The dissonance is awkward and uncomfortable.
Things felt weird. I wasn’t sure how to start up a dumb blog again.
And then last night our close friend invited us to dinner at a a beautiful country club where carolers dressed in A Christmas Carol garb wandered around from table to table singing.
george c. scott’s a christmas carol
It was such a treat. The food was amazing, the kids were dazzled. We basked in the holiday cheer. Both kids fell asleep in the car on the way home and we tucked them into bed with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads.
Then 4am HH woke up yelling that her tummy hurt. On the way to the toilet she threw up all over the bathroom floor.
This wasn’t my first rodeo. I sprinted out of the bathroom to find a hair elastic. On the way back in I saw her basically submerge her head — long, luscious hair first — into the toilet bowl as she was retching. And in that moment of panic I didn’t watch where I was going, stepped in the puddle of puke on the floor, slipped, and pulled a groin muscle.
So why don’t we start there.
Fall Running
the time has come for colds
and overcoats
Sort of. At least until the sun comes up.
It dipped down into the high 60s last week. On my morning run I saw a lady riding her bike wearing gloves, scarf, and a hat.
I was considering running another half marathon this fall with the hopes of breaking 1:45. But since my last race about two months ago I have run approximately 5 times (once at 10,000 feet that was a very slow walk/run which almost killed me), attended two weddings, one family reunion, and consumed an unprecedented amount of bourbon and food.
(Speaking of which, the place we stayed at in September served bahn mi tacos WHAAAAT).
It’s been awesome.
But then my sister showed up this weekend. Since I last saw her, she has lost 10 lbs and is a weight-lifting, marathon-running machine. In her usual overachieving fashion, she PR’ed at the NYC Marathon two Sundays ago…and then decided to run the SB Veteran’s Half Marathon this morning. Carrying a 40lb backpack. Like she did two years ago.
She invited me to join her, but I bailed at the last minute. Because wine and tacos. And children. Always blame the children.
So since I couldn’t be there to support her or say it myself at the race, Happy Veterans Day and thank you to all the vets out there including my sister, my dad, my grandfather, some of my cousins, and a handful of my uncles.
And in the wise words of my sister (or her army friend, I’m not sure):
If you want to thank the military, be the kind of American worth fighting for.
Crumbs
I am not going to talk about how I’ve felt like I’m going to barf for three days straight, because I know I am far from alone in this. Go visit your Facebook feed if you need confirmation.
But I am going to say one thing. Because it’s hard to say nothing.
In 2014 I started working with a community organization that provided resources to victims of domestic violence. It is an organization that, like most in this field, struggles with funding and relies heavily on volunteers.
I met really wonderful people, it gave me perspective…I genuinely loved it.
But it was a volunteer position, and when baby #2 came along and I started to wear thin I backed off. I started going less often, and I’ve spent the past year waffling on whether or not I have it in me to go back now and give them my time. I know they need people like me to stick around if they want to keep providing services to their clients and I care about what they are doing, but finding and paying a babysitter, making the drive…it was just, like, a lot of hassle.
The first thing I did Wednesday morning was email the volunteer coordinator and get my name back on the schedule. Because now, I really fucking care.
Yes, I cared before. I cared about the Syrian refugee crisis and judicial reform and the degradation of the environment and women’s health. I would donate when I felt like it, occasionally post something on social media, didn’t hesitate to state my opinion when asked.
But in so many ways my daily life did not reflect the values that I know, deep down, are important. Blogs on my RSS feed about political oppression and violence and humanity and science and the environment have, for years, been skipped over for celebrity gossip sites. I slacked on local elections and community activism. I wasn’t completely inactive, but I often avoided things that were uncomfortable or inconvenient because I felt as though my community would pick up the slack.
I no longer feel that way.
The morning after, a friend from grad school called me. After about 15 minutes of extended silences broken with “…I don’t…I just….I don’t even know…”s, he started telling me about how he had started to try to find tiny crumbs of good that could potentially come from this.
Like…the peaceful transfer of power. The class Democratic leadership has demonstrated in the light of such a devastating loss, indicating that maybe our political discourse hasn’t degenerated to the extent that all the campaigning and debates would have led us to believe. Things like that.
But for so many people, this election feels like a true tragedy. A broken heart. The pit in your stomach, the absence of a way out. It’s all you can think about, and there is nothing you can do. The feeling is familiar and horrible.
It is possible that recommitting myself to an organization focused on women’s issues and marginalized groups is just a defense mechanism for the moment, a distraction. Something that will fade as the shock wears off and this new reality becomes normalized.
Or maybe it marks a bigger change.
There are many, many people out there who devote their lives to making the world a better place. People who put their health and safety at risk, make careers out of working for a cause with no thought to any sort of personal gain or glory. People who make these things a priority. Who have been able to maintain their focus on issues that are crucial to the community, who have been able to see that none of these liberties or freedoms or services that are paramount to maintaining a free society were ever a given, or are ever permanent.
…and there are people like me who are comfortable, who believed the country was moving in a certain direction, and who became complacent.
This is a stark reminder that when it comes to values and laws that we hold dear we not only can act, we need to. And not just during elections or times of crisis. Even when things seem good, seem to be moving the right direction, we need to pay attention. We need to talk to each other. We need to work. Not your friends, not your neighbors. You.
I.
We.
We are responsible.
So maybe this is a crumb. Maybe this will jolt us back into realizing that what we do day to day matters. Maybe we will become more engaged. Maybe engagement will lead to a more solid foundation upon which our collective goals, as a nation, can be built. Maybe, ultimately, it will make for a better future.
Maybe.
It’s not much, but right now so many of us are searching for anything. A crumb will have to do.
Reading
To file under “things that are not as awesome as they sound”: being forced to lay in bed not really moving for 3 days.
I threw my back out 3 days ago. Haven’t been able to stand up straight since. I managed to make the drive up to my parent’s house after the first day so they could chase children around while I lay on ice packs. Fortunately my three-year-old knows that fashion should not fall victim to situations like this.
white bedazzled headband. #glamour
The silver lining is I’ve had some time to read (when I’m not too dazed from the Norco.)
Since having kids I just haven’t had the time, energy, or attention span to really get into books. I never fully quit reading, but it was no longer a part of my daily routine. And eventually I hit a point where I felt like my reading muscle had atrophied. That part of my brain wasn’t functioning anymore. Almost every single book I picked up I struggled to get into.
So the past two months I decided to make reading a priority.
It took a little effort on my part to sit down and open up a book as opposed to zone out and watch Ep 9, Season 3 of SATC for the 30th time in a row while simultaneously browsing social media on my computer. But eventually it paid off.
Because once I got back on board it became easier. And I had forgotten how much the right book can open up the world and change the way you see things. I had forgotten how much I really love reading.
And since people are always asking me for book recommendations, and I am always looking for book recommendations, and more than once I have started reading a book only to be realize, a few chapters in, that I had already read that book a few years ago and just didn’t recognize the title, I figured it can’t hurt to start writing down a few thoughts about the books I’ve been reading.
So brace yourself. Things are about to get crazy.
P.S. Previous book “reviews” can be found here.
Reality
This arrived in our mailbox two days ago. I literally guffawed when I saw the cover.
Rambulatory Ambulatory 