Fool me twice

We can still win this thing. Unless...unless we don't, or unless there's an actual coup. And really, didn't we already lose in a way, by not winning decisively, by having no "mandate," by not flipping Senate seats left and right? There are parts of this that feel nauseatingly familiar, my secret expectation that we'd easily sweep the election and then that initial shock that Biden didn't win Florida, a feeling that evolved into dread as that map went red and pink.

We can still win this thing, though. But this country is a fucking mess.

I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water

I'm a NEXTDOOR nnarcissist

I forgot my credit card at Trader Joe's the other day and burst into tears, but not until I was safely back in my car. My body clearly would've preferred to sob all day for no concrete reason, but I had to bribe it to stop so we could get some work done (see above, it is very CAPITALIST work I am doing).

Hell, I love everybody*

Oh imagine a world in which I could find paying work as an itinerant internet archaeologist!  

My latest finds:

We ate it for dinner. Will report any negative repercussions.

I will be thinking of Leonard the next time I prepare to make sandwiches.

Same.

Total mood.

Hunger? Try some Dark Salves with Dog Mustard.

:(

"Goodtime Jesus" by James Tate*

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.

Palimpsest

Okay, hear me out: Sicilian twins playing Coldplay on violins.

Here's a capybara getting a massage from a chicken.

And...we're down two appliances in this pandemic. At least it's the dishwasher and the microwave and not the stove and the refrigerator UNLESS I JUST JINXED MYSELF!

I keep writing this blorg post, a few words a day, and each day things get stranger, my friends. We were without running water for one day, one brief strange day of using those crinkly plastic bottles of water (city-supplied, thanks Portland!) to wash our hands and rinse our toothbrushes, and scooping buckets from the tub into the toilet to flush. Since I wrote the above, we've replaced the microwave, but the dishwasher will have to wait awhile, since a person can purchase a new dishwasher, but a person has to haul it from the sidewalk into the house on their own these days. Mark and I keep fearfully pressing our ears to the refrigerator: is it making a weird noise?

And while washing dishes by hand is a stress-relieving activity for a couple of us (Edna and me), we need the refrigerator, which is so full it feels like Christmastime. 

I feel like I'm playing pandemic bingo, and I'm almost there:

• Made our own sourdough starter
• Made the whipped coffee
• Sewed a bunch of masks
• Started a 30-day ukulele class on YouTube
• Made the beneficial biscuits
• Made a comforting soup
• Got carryout from a local restaurant
• Had groceries delivered to our porch
• Donated three N95 masks (discovered in the basement) to a local hospital
• Made no-knead bread thrice
• Watched Tiger King
• Joined a family Zoom meeting
• Cried when a beloved celebrity died
• Canceled a haircut, a dentist appointment, a mammogram, a blood test, and a follow-up shingles vaccine
• Made baguettes
• Had bagels delivered to our porch
• Stood in line for 45 minutes to get into a grocery store

Things are about to enter a new strange phase as the DOT starts work this month on the roundabout project that involves our driveway. Today I gazed out the window, distracted from work, watching two guys with a...circular saw? Cut a line across the bottom of our driveway?

I went to Trader Joe's for the first time in weeks, and their system felt very organized and as safe as can be expected, with all the workers wearing (homemade) masks, and very few shoppers in the store at a time. It's like a dream, drifting around the grocery store peering over the top of my own homemade mask, my own breath like a little ghost caught in front of my mouth. I put a small container of heavy cream in my cart and then wove my way up and down the aisles before I realized it had a leak, and I'd left a long, winding Hansel-and-Gretel trail of white drops through the entire store. I pantomimed my apology to a worker. I don't know how he felt about it, since we were both wearing masks and it's hard to interpret mood through them. But in general, the TJ's folks were not their usual cheery selves.

Fünf

I have been overwhelmingly distracted since yesterday by something terribly sad that happened to an Instagram acquaintance. She lost her child to suicide and posted about it the very next morning. I don't know her in real life, and I've only known her and her family the way you become familiar with online friends who illustrate their lives with beauty and clarity. But I've been aware of them for years, of this sweet boy who's suddenly gone. And his sweet mother and younger brother whose world has just ended, and who will have to start over in an entirely new one, without him. I can't stop going back to her post, and scrolling through pictures from her past. It feels like the heaviest, saddest event to witness (up close, but afar). If you're interested in helping, there is a Meal Train site where people are making donations. 

And of course, I'm sending love out to all the humans I adore so much.

In happier news, I'm in awe of this solar system quilt made in 1876. It makes me think of my brilliant niece Oona.*

Click for all the info!

“The eye that directs a needle in the delicate meshes of embroidery will equally well bisect a star with the spider web of the micrometer." - Maria Mitchell 



*MOM, note, no comma after "niece," as I have more than one brilliant niece!

Marriage Story

Adam Driver's face
dissolving in tears—the song
he sings at the end

Manchester by the Sea

Achingly sad, but
unexpected laughter makes
it feel like real life.

Sister Winter Playlist

With the help of Zoë and her petit ami, I've compiled a Spotify playlist of sad, sad holiday songs for your pleasure!

Enjoy.

Is This Real Life?

I had this dream that Tromp won. No, I really did, about a week ago, and I woke up in a knot of anxiety--for that single moment, it hit me how bad it would be if he won the election. The next time I felt that feeling was sitting in front of the TV at our friend Mitchell's house, after what started as a cheerful election viewing and burrito party. I don't know what time it was--9:30 or 10:00, I guess--when I found my hands pressed against my face, my body curled forward, a low moan coming out of my mouth. We all stared in disbelief. He hadn't won yet, but it was clear what was happening. Even after Mark and I came home and climbed in bed and managed to sleep a little bit, part of me thought

1. It was a dream, it was all a dream
2. Something miraculously happened at the very end to change the outcome
3. Or..? I don't know, I don't know


But there it was on my phone in the morning, sent by the New York Times to my email in-box. I can't type it, but you know what I mean.

[There's the dream where the bad guy wins and a chill settles: he's a bad, bad guy. He is surrounded by badness, he is supported by evil ugliness. And his HAIR. And...]

Then there's the dream Mark had the other night where he could text emoji to Zoë and Isaac that were edible--little pink cotton candy and stretchy salt water taffy emoji! Edible, so cute! I really, really wish that dream came true.


("David After Dentist" idea borrowed from Meg Rooks.)
("Tromp" borrowed from Elias, age three.)

Inside Out

A Pixar sob-fest
for this mother of former
eleven year-olds.

All the Lonely People

Oh because I'm a glutton for all the tears, I watched this:





Which utterly broke my heart. And then even this lonely old man on the moon* really gets me.


 



*Even, only because it's an ad. But it's a British advert, not a US advertisement. So.

Happy//sad

Last month, my dad had a Big Birthday (one of those divisible-by-five birthdays), and Adam and David appeared in Cambridge to surprise him. He may have had an inkling that something surprising was going to happen, but he was genuinely startled to see them walk into Veggie Galaxy, where he, Mom, and I were eating breakfast. We had a lovely several days, fit many museum visits and copious snacks and long walks in, and at some point realized that it's been years since the five of us were together, just us (sans kids or spouses). I love them all so much, and I am so lucky to consider every single one of them a friend.

(Mom's not in this picture--she took it!)

David, Mom, and Adam at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

On Saturday, my sweet Aunt Peggy died, my mom's oldest (and beloved) sister. She was 17 when mom was born, and always lovingly mothered my mom in a way that her own mother didn't. I haven't seen much of her for years, but she was a loving presence in my life when I was (unhappily) at Wellesley College, not too far from Peggy's house. I love this photo of the sisters (circa 1945 or so):

Mom's the baby.

July, July

In the continuing adventures of our kitchen, Mark and I voyaged to Ikea yesterday and bought three base cabinets, which will make up about half of the kitchen (one wall, including the sink and dishwasher), once we get them installed. I do love Ikea, and it was a whole new experience doing the kitchen thing, which requires a print out from their special, buggy computer planning tool and a brief consultation with an Ikea kitchen "expert." Each cabinet comes flat-packed in brown cardboard, with plastic bags of hinges and knobs, and long rails and miles of kick plate. We split the project in half so we could fit everything in our little car, and so we wouldn't have to store too many boxes at once, and just to make it feel more manageable. It was an all-day project, and we'll have to do it again (but I don't mind; I really do love Ikea).

On the way to Ikea I saw a sad, sad thing. It was so sad I can't even tell you about it--I honestly don't want it to sit in your head the way it still is in mine.

I'll tell you about the sad thing I saw today, which was the inside of the new(ish) Anthropologie store in Portland, built in what used to be two spaces--the main one was the Chamber of Commerce, and the other was Casco Bay Books for seven years, before it was briefly an ice cream place and then a tea house. Our space is now just a "dressing area" at the back of the store, our former doors and windows filled in and covered up so you'd never know they were there. There ought to be a plaque or something. Hmm, maybe a guerilla plaque installation needs to happen.

Did you know it's July? As in, summer?? Tomorrow is the fourth, which keeps surprising me whenever I remember it (again). My garden is at the awkward place after all the blue/purple stuff is done, and before the yellowish stuff starts going. I planted a couple of things in the hopes of livening up the color combo (a daisy and some pink yarrow). I need to move things around and divide them, too, but it's pretty nice back there, green and leafy.

Here are some nice songs for you, courtesy of my brothers:





And this one, Laura Jane Grace covering Michael McDonald, so good.

Tomorrow we'll start assembling kitchen parts, and there's also the sink and faucet to be ordered, hooray!

Wild

Some trigger warnings:
Dead mom, drugs, and worst of all,
A sad horse story.

Olive Kitteridge

Life is heartbreaking,
Sad and beautiful--even
When you live in Maine.

Twenty-four

"I am so tired of waiting,
Aren't you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?"

-- Langston Hughes

Nest: September Second

The status of my nest on this Tuesday evening is: empty(ish). Look at this boy, he is at college. He is installed in his dorm room, with a roommate and a desk and a "shower caddy" and so on. This week at his school he will participate in a long, intensive process of interviewing all the professors whose classes he'd like to take (the professors interview him right back!). It sounds like he's leaning toward history/politics/economics. He is a homebody at heart, so this is a lot, for him and for us.

And now: to fill the dumpster, which still sits all crookedly sited in the driveway, hungry for junk.

Boyhood

Fun weekend pro tips:
Take your baby to college,
Then go see Boyhood.

Some Things I Like To Do

Cry: Oh, I just remembered this book I loved so much when I was a kid, and I spent about twenty minutes trying to find it online based on these search criteria: "Dog in kennel while family goes on vacation. Family dies in car crash. Possibly a Dell Yearling book. SO SAD." And I found it: The Visitor, by Gene Smith. Just look at that description, "When his master dies, Sassafras, an Irish setter, becomes a permanent resident of a kennel." BOO HOO HOO. I think I must've first read this book when I was around nine years old, and it became my go-to book when I wanted to bawl. It's funny to abruptly remember this, and to realize that one of my favorite activities, sitting in a movie theater--or in the privacy of my home with a book in my hands--with tears and snot pouring down my face, has always been one of my favorite activities.

Yell: Here's a good way to test out a possible name for your future child/ren: Holler it out loud, like you're calling the child in for dinner from your fictional back yard. I have done this to amusing effect with both sexually transmitted diseases ("Chlamydia! Come inside this instant, young lady!") and fonts ("Garamond! Helvetica! Dinner time!"). Just a suggestion. And note, I successfully named my own children Isaac and Zoë.

Walk/Listen: We have a houseguest these couple of weeks, cousin-auntie Lulu the hound dog. She has been a perfect guest, aside from one or two mornings when she decided she was ready for a walk at five AM. I've enjoyed taking her for a long stroll mid-morning every day. She sniffs all the smells and pees like a boy while I listen to a podcast. May I recommend Judge John Hodgman, in addition to my various NPR and pop culture favorites? It's adorable when a loud truck drives past and she bark-howls at it. She's so little, when you're used to a big old Gusdog.

Muse: I'm going to try to write in this lil' blog more often, because I'm feeling mute. I think it's the weather, which I've solemnly sworn (to myself) not to mention. I can sum it up, and my feelings about it, by mentioning at this point my suspicion that we may skip spring and summer this year and go right to fall. In which case I am moving to the desert.

Watch: Please go see The Grand Budapest Hotel. I loved it so much. And maybe you'll enjoy the web series High Maintenance as much as I do. And perhaps you'll grow to love The Bridge, as I have despite my initial reluctance (I wanted to watch the original, set on the border between Denmark and Sweden, which Mark thought sounded much less interesting than the American version, set on the border between El Paso and Juarez. "Why don't you want to watch it?" he asked, and I was all, "I don't know. Just, Mexico."). But it's pretty great, if dark and with the chopping of bodies and their parts and so on.

I like the beach. I like dogs. I am tired of always wearing these boots, and this sleeping bag coat.

12 Years a Slave

It deserves to win
Every award, including
"Made Me Cry Hardest."