Today's Reading

Today I read "Japan's Rent-a-Family Industry" by Elif Bautman, one of my favorite New Yorker writers.
The article is great, very long and in-depth, which is one of the reasons why I love the NYer. They commit to a lot of journalism that takes time.
This industry is so fascinating and causes Bautman to meditate on the nature of relationships and why money seems to alienate our thinking about relationships.
For me, the article made me think about several aspects of this industry that are curious. One, is there something uniquely Japanese about this phenomenon? Bautman makes the argument that, for example, many cultures have had or currently have "rental mourners" for funerals. I'm not sure that's enough to make me think there isn't something uniquely Japanese about this trend.
That said, for a time in graduate school I thought it was a funny idea to have a "Rent a Boyfriend," not for any sexual purpose, but someone to bring you kleenex and chicken soup when you were sick, maybe someone to come over and wash your dishes or bring you a movie to watch (this was pre-streaming, obviously).
Bautman discusses the many tasks we already pay others to do, such as taking care of our children, or cleaning our houses, or cooking. We have disentangled those tasks from the relationship with the person who performs it (usually a mother/woman). But other tasks, such as the nurturing which might accompany those chores, seems diminished when coupled with pay.
The concepts are so interesting. She discusses Marx or course and Gilman, along with other theorists.
But the whole scene raises interesting questions about how difficult it is for us to initiate, maintain, have relationships in cultures where we are increasingly alienated from ourselves and each other. What's the alternative to rent-a-family?
I guess we have to work hard to make and maintain close relationships. I am lucky in that I am close to my parents and my sisters, but I know that is not the case for everyone. I think our increasing separation from others contributes to the growing depression in our midst. (Well, that and politics.)
But I think if we can get together, whether it's for lunch or coffee or parties or dinners, and just sit down and relax and be and feel, I am confident that we will be happier.
To that end, I'm going to try this idea I heard about on The Splendid Table. I really love this idea of a weekly supper, but to be realistic, maybe once a month. I'm only human!
And now I have to get back to my regular Sunday, which involves swimming and, today, a whole lot of grading. Sigh.

Hello World!

Since I have given up the FB, I am going to try to blog instead.
I look back on our blogging heyday (yes, OUR) with great nostalgia. I feel like I can be long-winded and go on and on and also I can say whatever I want. And also there is less snark on the blog, perhaps because there are fewer comments?
In any case, as soon as the insanity that is the last few weeks of class is OVER, then I will be blogging with wild abandon.
ABANDON.
say it with me....

Iceland: the first

I am newly returned from Iceland.
I am trying to remember what I did and how I did it, but oye! I think I was sleep deprived for 95% of the time I was there. I may very well still be sleep deprived. We shall see.

So, I always have this idea that I will follow these very exact rules for how not to get jet lag, but first, I can't really sleep on planes. So that. The main rule is to start eating according to the time where you are going the day you leave. So, I didn't do that, and then when they offered me free salad and free wine on the flight, I took it! Yeah!

Then I maybe got two or three head-jerking, superficial hours of "sleep," and then arrived at Reykjavik! I had already booked a shuttle to town, which takes about 45 minutes. Then I transferred to another bus that dropped me off about a ten minute walk from the place I was staying.

The place, basically the lower floor of a house, was awesome, and right next to the University of Iceland, where my conference was. After consulting a map, I figured out which way I was going and found the place. I dropped off my extremely too heavy back pack, and got my bearings. I believe this was when I walked around the neighborhood, found a grocery store but was too confused to do much except buy coffee and a banana. I took the long way home and got a bit lost, but saw some cool stuff. I went back to our flat, dropped off the stuff and headed over to the University.

I couldn't register for the conference yet, so I bought a salad, which was not too expensive, in the student center. Then I registered for the conference, ran into some friends, and went to a roundtable with one of them, Laura. She was presenting, but there were so many people that each person just read for about 5 minutes. Overall it was pretty amazing, and one woman played a song she had written on her fiddle. She had an amazing Scottish accent. During this panel, I felt like my face was melting.

After this panel, there was free wine! Always drink free wine! So I drank some wine and talked to people I knew, all the while feeling like my head was a balloon being blown about by some invisible wind. I was going to go back to the flat, have a handful of trail mix and crash, but Brenda, my flatmate, convinced me that I should eat dinner.

We went to the Nordic House and I had fish, I think it was cod, with a rhubarb reduction and roasted vegetables. It was delicious and $40!! Then I went home and crashed, and I had a great night's sleep, with my eye mask and my ear plugs!

top: my adorable flat!
bottom: view from my walk around the neighborhood

A Small Dose of Nothing

Because in all things I want to be like Hightouch, I am blogging, though I have no breaking news. But, hey, even I can write a list, if the list is the thing to write. Which, apparently, it is.

1. Every day, I think, "This is it! It's all going to come crashing down!" And by "it" I mean, the end, how can we go on this way? But, apparently, we can, go on this way, I mean, so it goes on and we go with it, like a child being dragged by a very strong dog. But hey, it can't go on like this forever. CAN IT???
2. I finished a draft of one novel (regular, literary fiction); am now making chapter outline for almost finished novel (written before other novel, mystery!!). My other novel (yes, that makes three) is out with some small publishers who have been silent, so that probably means no. But I have almost three manuscripts, so that can't be bad...can it?
3. Meditating on the nature of empathy and sympathy. You don't want to hear about it, but it involves an argument with Middlebrow and the idea that some of us should just "buck up." Hey, I'm all for bucking, but sometimes isn't feeling bad justified? And can't we empathize with those who are feeling bad and even, maybe, feel bad on their behalf even if they are feeling bad about first world problems? Empathy can't be a bad thing, can it?
4. So there's the theme...can it? The rhetorical question that actually, right now, from me, requires an answer. What is one to do in such perilous times?
5. I find myself turning away from news, reading books about alternate universes, fantasizing about living in a cabin right by a lake where there is no internet service but there is a canoe. That's my mental state right now. 
6. I think the answer is NO. As in no, it can't go on forever; no, it's not bad that you have three unpublished manuscripts; no, empathy isn't bad. And no, there's nothing wrong about indulging my escape fantasies.
7. The end. 

20th Century Women

Ever since the Oscar nominations came out, I have been obsessed with the idea of seeing all the movies. Have I actually seen any? Well....like I said. Obsessed. Idea.

But today I drove myself downtown to the little theater to see a movie by myself. Seeing a movie by myself during the day feels like even more of an indulgence than just seeing a movie. I should say that I did, in fact, see a Sundance movie during the day about two weeks ago, but that's ancient history now. On with the Oscars!!

So I should just say that, before today, I had seen Moonlight, Manchester by the Sea, and La La Land. Of those, Moonlight is my favorite. I love the look of it, and the acting, and the emotional melancholy of it. Also, it felt real and emotional without being sappy or trite. (Also, aside, am I the only one who thinks Andre Holland should star in a Prince biopic? I mean, eyelashes!!) I liked Manchester by the Sea, I think Casey Affleck was amazing in it (but he's also an asshole?), but it's all white people all the time. La La Land was good, but ultimately disappointing (sorry!!).

Which brings me to 20th Century Women. Oh. My. God. I love it so much that I'm probably not being completely honest about its flaws (it must have flaws, right?). But I LOVE the form of it, and I LOVE Annette Bening, and I LOVE the kid who plays Jamie. I love Greta Gerwig more than I have loved her in other things and holy shit, Billy Crudup. I mean, I can't believe it didn't get nominated for Best Picture.  I think the script is better than La La Land for sure. Oh well.

This movie is especially powerful/heartbreaking for those of us with sons, and maybe particularly with sons who are the exact age as the son in the movie, Jamie.

The movie is witty and wry and smart and sad. If you haven't yet, you should read this profile of Mike Mills from The New Yorker. Once I read it, I became obsessed with seeing the movie. I found his comments in the profile interesting, especially about making art and his relationship with his wife, Miranda July. For some reason, he thinks she is more of an artist than he is, but I would disagree. I thought her movie was flat and self-indulgent. His movie, I think, is transcendent and emotional and real, as well as being formally innovative and interesting. 

It is just so, so good that I would see it again if I weren't so obsessed with the idea that I can see nine movies in 19 days. Oh, that's totally doable. Except that I'm rather ho-hum at the prospect of seeing Hacksaw Ridge, so I might not see that. But I would totally see the rest, but I might not get to.

What is your favorite movie of the year?

Sundance: First Weekend

This is my second year volunteering at Sundance, at the Grand Theater on the SLCC-South City campus. It's a huge (huge!) venue, 1100 seats!, so I see a lot of people during the two movies that play during my volunteer shifts.
This year I am part of the "inside theater" team, which means I do a variety of things. On the first day, Saturday, I worked re-entry on the balcony. On Sunday, I handed out and collected ballots for the first movie, and ushered for the second.
Saturday was pretty easy. It had snowed over night, so the first movie was pretty slow. Overall, all of that day was pretty calm.
I'll run down the movies in order and give you my reviews!
"Novitiate": This movie was set in the '60s. It was about a young woman, Kathleen, who grows up and decides to become a nun. Most of the movie was set in the convent and followed the young women as they take their first vows, confess to their flaws (yikes!), and then go through the changes as a result of Vatican 2. This movie was interesting. It dragged in parts, but I certainly learned a lot about convents and nuns. I anticipated the obligatory lesbian love scene, but was disappointed when it actually happened. I'm sure it's accurate, but it feels cliched. In any case, I'm glad I saw it as it wasn't a movie I would ever have chosen. And I learned a lot. I'd give it TWO stars (out of five).

"Their Finest": This movie follows a young woman during WWII as she becomes a writer for a propaganda feature film that is supposed to increase morale. This movie was occasionally heavy, but overall it was a comedy, based on a true story, or true stories. I thought this one was very good. All the actors were great, especially Bill Nighy. He's always great. Parts seemed heavy handed, but all in all, I would recommend it. THREE stars.

On Sunday, I worked as a balloteer. This meant handing out ballots as people went in, then collecting them in a ballot box as they left. Crazy town!! People going in were very serious about rushing in and getting the absolute best seats. It was so hard to hand out ballots quickly. My co-balloteer said, "That was the worst ten minutes of my life."
I got to see the movie "Chasing Coral" which was probably the MOST beautiful movie I have ever seen. When I heard it was about coral, I thought it would be boring. First, they have the most amazing footage of underwater scenery I have ever seen. Sea Dragons!
Also, they have amazing scientists, etc. But the main character, besides coral, turns out to be Zack, this adorable young man (he's probably in his 20s) who LOVES coral. So some of the movie follows him as he documents coral bleaching.
The whole thing is incredibly heartbreaking. Basically, global warming causes the water temperature to rise which kills coral, which kills all the other life forms that live on coral.
Also, you probably knew already, but coral IS AN ANIMAL.  I still can't get my mind around that. It seems like a plant. It is not a plant.
This movie is excellent. Everyone should see it. Warning: you will cry. About coral. Yep, you definitely will. FIVE stars!!

Luckily, the second movie was not balloted. But it had Robert Redford in it. Sadly, he was not there. But people were crazy for this movie and the theater was pretty packed! I worked as an usher. Basically this means hovering around seats that have magazines draped over them and trying to enforce the "no seat saving" rule.
"The Discovery": Basically, RR is a scientist who discovers proof of the afterlife. People start killing themselves in droves. The movie centers on Jason Segal and Rooney Mara and what happens to them. I liked much about this movie. It kind of seemed like an extended thought problem. A lot of it worked. I liked the visual representations of the afterlife. As in any movie like this, at the end, there were many questions! I had to explain parts of it to a woman sitting next to me. But it made a certain amount of sense to me. I agreed with a co-worker who said the main couple didn't really have chemistry. Agreed! I like both of them, so it was hard to see that when they kissed...no spark. But, that said, I still liked the movie and would recommend it, especially if you like the premise. FOUR stars.

I'm excited to see some movies this week, but also exhausted!! It's fun to volunteer and see movies. I also get some tickets, but last year I didn't use them all. So, I probably won't this year either. Oh well.

On Writing

Now that I am trying to be more regimented about my sabbatical writing, I sat down and wrote out a few things, long hand, in a notebook.
Later, I discovered a few stories I had written last summer, and I "fell in a hole" by which I mean I read them and that took some time.
But then, then!, I started a new story with these same characters and I wrote quite a bit on that.

All this to say that I should be/want to work on my non-fiction project, but I find it much easier to work on the novel, because I can just write whatever.

But! part of my research was looking up hit songs from my past, and so I give you this list:
Dancing Queen, ABBA
Grease
My Sharona,The Knack
TUSK, Fleetwood Mac
Jessie's Girl, Rick Springfield
Jack & Diane, John Cougar
Missing You, John Waite
Careless Whisper, Wham!
Broken Wings, Mr. Mister

I look forward to see what writing might be inspired by this titles....

Donald Trump Poem from 2005!!

Here's a poem I "wrote" using the Google Poetry generator. I found it on this very blog, from 2005. It's like a time machine!!

Donald Trump: Luddite Boy Scout

Dawns the new era when the Boy Scout
Motto "Be Prepared" is, for example,
a luddite described as having more than a color TV

Sad: An electrical accident at the Boy Scout
Jamboree in Virginia has killed four.
Call me old-fashioned, call me a Luddite, I don’t care.

Whether You are a technophile or neo-luddite or if you are (choose one):
1) Donald Trump
2) Richard Branson
3) Martha Stewart
4) Bill Gates
5) Oprah

It's a tough decision to make.
Or, if Trump was a boy scout
before he (never) went to Vietnam

Or if he was a cat or a hooker or a Girl Scout
Cookie. Donald Trump wants to fire you.
Donald Trump wants to. . .

Listen: Even Donald Trump is complaining. Is this Luddite
environmentalism? Is this positive thinking?
Or a gimmick? Like a new breakfast cereal or a press conference.

Donald Trump eats this way, chews this way,
Head in the sand, sad, a Luddite, oh—
He’s my boy, Scout, he’s a mogul.

On Books

Will there come a time when books will be obsolete?
Honestly, I don't think so, and I certainly HOPE not.
But a recent visit to the University library (research!) got me thinking. I was wandering around, looking for books, and all around me I was surrounded by young people on their computers. Were they studying? Perhaps. Probably.
But it begs the question, why do we need this library for them to study in? They could study in any structured space that gave them some privacy and some quiet. None of them (none!) was looking at a book. Not one!
On the plus side, when I walked among the rows and rows of books, I felt at ease. The smell of the books, many of them old, was familiar. I know my way around a library.
But for how many of the younger people (how many? how young? who can say!) is information and the idea of a text a wholly virtual and non-tactile thing?
My son certainly loves books, but he grew up with me and my husband. My husband, whose philosophy is "one cannot have too many books!" If my son expresses an interest in an idea, my husband buys him a book about it. Which is a great thing, and has made my son a fantastic and broadly read person.
But so many others don't know and don't care about books.
I suppose I (and others like me) are dinosaurs in our love of the actual, physical book. I know others love the book, but enough others?
And I don't necessarily think the death of the library as a place that houses books as a bad thing. I often go to the downtown public library and I think of it more as a social hub than one whose focus is primarily books. People go there to use the computers. And yes, to find books. But also to hang out, to find shelter, to use the bathroom, to sit at a table and exist.
So what is the future of the book and what is the future of the library?

Thoughts

As I was walking on the treadmill (don't ask), I watched two young girls and one young man on the ice below. One girl was twirling, one was skating, and the boy was leaping and spinning. "They're so lucky," I thought, "to be able to do that." But do they think they're lucky? They looked like they were having fun, but I bet, at their ages, they never once thought that maybe something would happen, an injury, that would prevent them from looking like magic on the ice.
I am feeling sad/sorry for myself that my injuries/pains prevent me from doing things I want to do, like run or lift heavy weight. I know, things could be much, much worse.

I saw a Cadillac Escalade with Virginia plates parked at the U, and wondered, "Why?" I mean, that is one giant vehicle. It made me think about how, when I was in college, I had a bicycle. But, it's true, I had friends with cars. Sigh.

I am quite happy that Moonlight won Best Picture at the Golden Globes. I thought it was amazing.

What I've read/been reading:
"California Dreamin'" by Tad Friend (about Mike Mills) from The New Yorker
an excerpt from The Theory of Absence (on my phone!)
The Marriage of Opposites by Alice Hoffman (so far, pretty good)
The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule (about Ted Bundy; SO CREEPY)


Deep Work by Cal Newport
This one has affected the way I work. I'm trying (!!) to stay off social media all day and FB forever, thus the blogging. I have lists for every day, including a writing schedule and writing goals (which I need to make more concrete). I'm trying to be a "rhythmic" deep worker, which means I set aside time each day to do deep work. I'm also trying to be a person who sops checking her email & looking at her phone at like, 6, each night. Trying!! It's a good book with good advice about being productive which, thankfully, includes a section on Being Lazy. Hooray!

Also, I've realized I'm a highly distractable person. Back to Deep Work!

On Doing Two (or more) Things at Once

I'm sure there is some science somewhere that explains how different parts of your brain can work on two different problems at the same time, and, in fact, how you can be better at solving two problems because one part of your brain is distracted by one problem and so the rest of your brain can sub-consciously work on that second problem.
This is my philosophy anyway, and explains why, in addition to trying to write this amorphous memoir-crime-history book I am also trying to put together a collection of poems. Also, today I started working (again) on a crime story I started. When I was looking for the notes I had made for this crime story (still lost!), I saw the manuscript of the mystery I wrote, oh, a few years back that I sort of promised myself I was going to finish and then try to find an agent for. Maybe?
Well, my point is, and I tell students this often, that when you have ONE BIG thing to do, it sometimes helps to do something else. Usually I recommend walking or working out or writing something that you tell your brain you don't care about (a blog post?). It's just fun! Just write it! It doesn't matter!
So, because of that, I easily tacked 1,000 words onto this crime story that I have NO IDEA where it is going....and that's okay, because it's just an exercise while I work on this very serious, totally important book project. Which is probably why that seems to be going nowhere, because it is so serious and important. Actually, I've written a few things for it, and I sort of like them.
The problem, speaking of amorphous, is that I've read a few things lately that have this sort of formal aspect to them, which, in theory, I like. In the two instances I can think of, however, the form sort of interfered with what, for all other purposes, might have been good novels.
This discovery has made me paranoid about the form of my amorphous project. Am I thinking too much about form? Maybe. However, when I try to write a straight narrative I realize that my life is actually pretty boring and no one would want to read about it that way. (trust me, it's true)
This leads to some long stretches of self-reflection that don't result in my "producing one thing." Though today I can at least say that I produced some words and that, by the end of next week perhaps?, I should have a draft of the story.
And with that, I'm going for a walk. (I hope I don't freeze out there!)

On Lists

So here I am on the first *real* day of the year, that is, the first WORKING day, because no one does anything of note on January 1. That's the day when you are getting ready for the year. January 2 fell on a Monday, so that's the day we pretend is a holiday because if a holiday is a Sunday, it's a rip off, because Sunday is already a day off. So.
That brings us to Tuesday, a fine day to start things, just as good as any other day, and the day in which I began to implement my PLAN. That makes it sound like a book that could be featured on Oprah, but in reality, it's just a wee plan to help me get/be/stay motivated to DO THINGS! in the new year.
What, pray tell, do I mean?
Well, there's this sabbatical project/s that I should be/totally am doing. Then also fitness and converting myself from a sloth into a person with a god-like body (but I'm giving myself until the end of the summer for that, because what good is a god-like body when it is covered in sweats and giant sweaters? no good is the obvious answer). Also healthy (non-sugar, alcohol free) living.
Which means life needs lists. Lots and lots of lists. But, it turns out, lists help me manage to do the thing that needs to be done while not doing the thing that can obviously be done later, i.e. during my writing time.
Writing time! That's a thing. That I schedule. So in addition to lists, schedules. I need one and not just to plan out my exercise for the week (done! something I can cross off my list).
Here's what's on my list:

• Blog (ON IT!!)
• Look for flights to Iceland (I KNOW!!)
• Get up and walk for 5 minutes every hour on the hour between 9-5 (so far I am 4 out of 6, but given that I spent 12 to 1 swimming, I'm going to call that a win. )
• Read Deep Work (pm)
• Produce 1 thing per day (I have to be loose because I don't know what I'm writing. What is a thing? It's the text that I've written, whatever that is. WIN!)
• Find a family volunteer project for MLK, jr Day

So, good bloggers of blogville, I am on my list. I am running my list and my list does not run me. When I think of a thing I want to do that day, I write it on my list. Today I have crossed out: write 2 hours (!), Swim, Lunch. Now I can cross off "Blog." Also produce 1 thing. I did that and more during my two hours. Take that, list!

I feel like Toad who writes a list in the sand so he can cross off Go to Sleep. I think all lists should be treated like structures of sand that might be erased by an incoming wave.

Oh well, it's only a list.

Adieu. 

Nostalgia for Everything

I stole this title from a favorite short essay by Andrei Codrescu.
The reason I am feeling nostalgia is that Son is 15, and as I peruse photographs of Christmas past I miss the us we were. Now we are not an us, now we are a me and a him.
I know this is a stage of life one must pass through, just as one must go through all the symptoms and illness of the flu before one can recover from it. Yes, adolescence is an illness, mostly for the parents.
The difficulty of this stage of his life surprises me. I was (somewhat) prepared for the difficulty of the younger years. They call them the Terrible Twos! But so much of that was difficult physically. Chasing after the little demon as he tried to put all the poisonous and electrical things in his mouth. Staying up late, getting up early when he developed his very own sleeping schedule that ignored the laws of nature and light. Being exhausted is just part of the deal.
But now the exhaustion is of a psychological nature. Son spends most of his time ignoring me, or slowly pushing the door closed as I try to talk to him. In all ways he is creating and drawing attention to the chasm between us. For him, I'm sure, this is healthy and all part of the process. For the mother, of course, it is painful.
So I find pictures of us when he was five and he has his arm around me and a crooked grin on his face. I sift through memories for moments with him. Watching TV. Listening to him watch Looney Tunes in the basement while he laughed hysterically, the day I was walking with him across a store parking lot, holding his hand, and I had the wherewithal to think, "Remember this. His little hand." And I did, so much so that I can feel the shape of his tiny hand in mine.
Those days are gone, my friends, and I think (a lot, actually) that our best days are behind us. I know there will be good times in the future, but when? The future, as always, is uncertain.
I'm sure there is a Buddhist way to make peace with all of this.
He is a wonderful person, and I'm sure that at some unspecified time in the future he will be able to admit that he likes me again.
But until then, Oy!
So I have nostalgia for everything. For the him he was and the me I was. For Christmases when we could buy him toys and coloring books. For the time when he *wanted* to make cookies with me. For the time when I didn't swear at him every day. (I'm a bad mom. I know.)
At the same time, I'm aware that in the future, two years perhaps, when he's away at college and the house is a tad-bit emptier, that I will have nostalgia for this time, when he ignored me and when I could observe, every day, tiny glimpses into the man he will become.
Damn. Being a Mom is hard.

A Night at The Westerner in President-Elect Trump's America

There are a few things I know for sure, and one is when a man who looks like a straight, white redneck in blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a camo baseball cap gets on stage at a bar called The Westerner to do karaoke, and he sings "Don't Cry Out Loud," you can be pretty sure he's not what you first thought him to be.
After, you will turn to your friend and say, "He's a closeted gay man," or something to that effect.
Later, when two older gentlemen, one in a giant black cowboy hat with a white mustache and beard, the other in a baseball hat, going by the names "Jack Daniels and Bud Light," get up to sing a version of "Beer For My Horses," you will begin to worry. The song, written by Toby Keith and Scotty Emerick, and originally recorded by Keith and Willie Nelson seems to be a benign country song in the tradition of many such country songs. Some of the lyrics, however, began to grab your attention and cause an uneasy knot to form in your stomach.

Grandpappy told my pappy

Back in my day, son

A man had to answer

For the wicked thing he done

Take all the rope in Texas

Find a tall oak tree

Round up all of them bad boys

And hang 'em high in the street

For all the people to see

Are you alone in being reminded of, say, a lynching? You look around and most of the mostly white people in this bar are singing along and don't seem to be aware of the words that are actually coming out of their very own mouths.

We got too many gangsters
Doing dirty deeds
Too much corruption
And crime in the streets
It's time the long arm of the law
Put a few more in the ground

 Is it the word "gangster" (code for African-American?) or is it the idea of vigilantism that now makes you worry, not only about yourself, but about lots of other people, some of them in this very room?

The cute young man in the plaid shirt has signed up for another song. He has a good voice. The song turns out to be "Sweet Transvestite" from Rocky Horror. Uh-oh. He gives a strong performance with some, but not too much, flair. You look uncomfortably around the room for any men who may be looking violent/disturbed. You say to your friend, "okay, maybe NOT in the closet."

A very talented friend has already signed up to sing a song by the Dixie Chicks. She reminds you of the very public battle between Toby Keith and the Dixie Chicks resulting in the F.U.T.K. t-shirt. Too late now. On she goes. Luckily, she sings like an angel and thereby, through the magic of music?, wins over Jack and his friend Bud. When she comes down from the stage, Jack gives her a high five. He must of forgotten that TK hated the DCs. Good!

Before you leave, you tell the young gay man that he has a good voice and that you liked both his songs. He hugs you. He is gathering his things, and you hope he is leaving, but you see him and his friends heading to the dance floor. 

It occurs to you that he is brave, in Post-Trump America, to dress like a redneck and sing like a fabulous gay man. You complimented him because you wanted him to know you are on his side, you wanted to encourage him, but now it occurs to you that he saw right through you. That he recognized immediately that you were the one who needed a hug, not him, because he has the knowledge and security of being 100% who he is. 

Even at the Westerner in President-elect Trump's America.

Some Thoughts on a Tuesday

Yesterday Middlebrow and I were doing yard work. Or, Middlebrow was doing yard work and I was approximate to him in a way that might suggest I was also invested in this labor, whether I was or not. The point is, we were in the yard and we were doing some manual type labor, wearing gloves, using tools, getting into and near the dirt.
Not very long, minutes-wise, into this endeavor I might have said something like, "This is boring." Because it was. It's basically the same physical action or actions over and over. Then one might look down the long row of rose bushes that stretches from the sidewalk to the fence and using some kind of fancy algebraic formula, one might guess at the amount of time it will take to finish the project and then one might imagine the boredom stretched out over those minutes and days and one might become instantly exhausted.
"This is why we went to college," said Middlebrow. To avoid such labor, I'm guessing. And it's true. I hated weeding in the summer, when my mom made me, I hated mowing that one day when I actually did it for money.
But it's necessary, isn't it? The labor? The weeds grow, and they grow and grow unless we pull them and then put down this miracle fabric which prevents them from growing. And the roses bloom and then they die, and someone has to trim them otherwise, how will the new buds find the sun?
I contemplated these ideas, labor, adulting, as I did some light weeding in the cool morning breeze. It felt good, but it was still boring. Also, my back hurt.
And then I thought about social media, and how obsessed it is, right now, in this moment with one particular gorilla. And how everyone and their fucking dog is using it as an occasion to bludgeon everyone else about a pet obsession: The gorilla proves that we don't care about endangered species (this one might be true); the gorilla proves that parents are distracted/lazy/bad; the gorilla proves that unless we are vegans, we're not allowed to feel compassion for the gorilla; the gorilla proves that zoos are bad; the gorilla proves that zoos are good; the zoo was justified in killing the gorilla; the zoo was unjustified in killing the gorilla. All these ideas basically come down to one thing: people who don't agree with me are stupid.
This seems to be the general sentiment these days, in social media, in politics, in entertainment, in sports, in life.
I have been guilty of it, but the quiet boring contemplation of yard work and the busy, hectic meaningless posturing of social media has given me a lot to think about.
Also I am contemplating a daily "black out" for my whole family.
I look forward to your thoughts.

My husband told me to write a sonnet

Sabbatical Sonnet

You must do the one thing that you think you

cannot do, Eleanor Roosevelt tells me. With all

the things due, it’s true, I do not think I can do

all the things I have yet to do. If you think

you can or think you can’t, you’re right. Says who?

Maybe Henry Ford, who wanted to do to

us before we did to him. Maybe it’s true

that thinking is key, that we do as we believe

or we believe as we do. There is only do,

there is no try, another sage says. Try as I do

I accomplish very little with much to do.

Sometimes I sit. I often admire the view.  

Piles shift in space rather than disappear.

I’m on sabbatical. Good thing I have a year.

Sunday

Over at Jim’s, across the street, they are still

asleep, but the trees dazzle, blossoms

blowing in the Sunday wind. The soft

down of grass has been culled into shape,

the dandelions removed, the pansies trained

into neat little rows. Even the maple seems

to be obeying some grand design.

In the mid-day sunlight, the greens glisten,

the yellows sparkle and pop, the oranges

blaze like dying suns, the reds bleed and bleed.

I observe Nature here, in the urban garden,

a blinded muse, a bound dancer, a slave.

I am no master.

(the first word of each line is taken from This Poem) 

to fast: v.

to go without, to postpone, to defer,

she fasted that she might be furthered

to hasten, to proceed quickly, to heighten,

she fasted that she might arrive

to increase, to displace, to prolong

she fasted that she might want

to hunger, to yearn, to need,

she fasted that she might desire

to bind, to fetter, to fix,

she fasted herself that she might persist

to worship, to mortify, to meditate

she fasted that she might be pure

to elevate, to seek, to pursue

she fasted that she might find

to arrive, to discover, to escape

Self-Portrait as Lucian Freud's "Double Portrait" (1985-86)

Am I the woman, artificially still, arranged as if in sleep,

or death? Am I the dog, nestled beside her, its jaw tense,

dreaming, ready to snarl or bite? Am I the paint, deep

and patchy, ridged  brushstrokes blowing from edge

to edge? Or am I the canvas, flat, transparent, and square?

Am I the navy of her dress, her pale buttery skin, the grayish-

pink of the dog’s vulnerable belly? Am I the paint brush, the hair

Of rabbit, badger, or horse? Am I the shadow beneath the weight

of her arm, casually shielding her eyes, or is her pose a defense

against the artist’s gaze? I’m the suggestion of a wall, the blank

bedsheet, the too white bed, the dog’s mottled fur, the sense

the world is one indecipherable scene and art makes it think.

What, exactly, is it the subject of this painting? That which we see:

woman, dog, paint? Or the space between the painting and me?

Sonnet

I like this one, so I'm reposting it here.


Sonnet for an Absent Spouse

I almost wrote “an empty house,” but it isn’t, still three of four

on site: Son, and dog and me. In your absence, I chauffeur Son

and walk the dog. I text “I miss you.” Is that the vodka (80 or more?

calories) talking? Or maybe it’s the delicious and necessary wine

(5 ounces Merlot = 120 calories) that makes my thumbs light.

When I miss you, I drink whiskey (110 calories), I let Son spend more

time watching “Firefly” on his computer to avoid the nightly fight.

I imagine expensive additions to our home: a deck, French doors

opening off our master bedroom and into the backyard, fertile

with rosemary, tomatoes, chard, sunflowers, and orange poppies.

When you are gone, I am uncharacteristically morose. I wile

the hours away reading actuary charts which forecast our untimely

demise. It’s not wise, the way I spend my time. Wait: that’s a lie.

I imagine the hours we’ll spend, sipping wine, until we die.