Category Archives: dog love

Pandemic Pie Bonus

Being able to start eating the pie on Thanksgiving Eve counts as a silver lining this year. As does sitting here typing instead of running around in a dash of last minute clean up and then prepping for hours in advance of the big meal. I enjoy the latter, but still, this is nice. I slept til nine.

Given Finn’s propensity for fowl thievery, the brined bird is airing behind a barricade of coleus cuttings. The other side is a staircase to which he has no access. Ha! Look at us! Dog people who finally learned a thing or two.

Why a whole bird for two people, you ask? I was gonna keep it simple: breast only, one-ingredient side dishes. Well, I couldn’t find breasts at the critical moment and pomegranate seeds and walnuts are demanding to be partnered with Brussel sprouts. Maybe a maple glaze?

We already finished the holiday puzzle but another is on the way. This year will require at least two.

There will be two zoom calls and episodes of Money Heist. Twitter. Maybe a fire, even though it’s warm enough to rain.

I have so so much to be grateful for — including all of you, dear readers. Have a wonderful day in whatever way. Let’s all live to see another holiday!

Grey Sunday, random notes

Wind and rain are supposed to begin at kick-off of the Patriots’ game and let up around the game’s ending. Ha! Maybe speaking to the end of a dynasty?

This chyron perhaps speaks to the imminent collapse of our hospital systems. Less people might be dying of Covid, but here are two critical problems: health care workers are already burned out and help cannot be secured from other states because the entire country is awash with the disease.

This Atlantic article speaks to all of that.

We walked in the woods this morning. It’s not raining yet. It seemed that some sort of geocaching was afoot because the paths were littered with people staring down at pieces of paper.

One wonders how anything will stay in business. Not that I give a shit about Bloomingdales, but it is a case in point.

I like sheer fabric as much as the next fiber enthusiast but I don’t particularly go for murder as a fashion theme. WTF Style section of the NYTimes?

I didn’t know fat freezing was a thing.

Today I will stitch and watch Love Actually. K commented from the other room yesterday as I actually managed to watch a Hallmark movie in its entirety (I don’t usually). He said, “It sounds like you’re being force fed dead raccoon.”

Don’t ask me where THAT analogy came from!

This time next week, my brother will be at home and it will be his birthday.

A beautiful day to vote

Deb was right. Voting was a surefire pick-me-up. Voting was in fact so exciting it overrode my usual reserve and I found myself reaching out to a fellow voter.

“My vote has never felt more important,” she said. Yes! Yes! Even here in Massachusetts.

After depositing our ballots, fellow voter and I talked about — what else? — the weather. She loves the fall. I love the fall. She grew up in Cuba. I was born in Massachusetts. Summers are hotter here, she said. Ocean breezes making a difference.

(Will my brother be able to vote? Will Barrett throw the election to trump, having after all, worked on the Bush v Gore matter?). Never mind that for now.

It is a spectacular fall day. Crisp and blue-skied. And voting brings satisfaction.

And now it’s back to work. Postcards to Voters in Pennsylvania and editing the middle years (1740 to 1743).

Insomniac’s Rabbit Hole

When I wasn’t asleep at midnight, I started reading twitter (don’t @ me). The comedian Bill Burr’s opening on SNL was getting a lot of commentary. A lot. So when I still wasn’t asleep an hour later, I came down and watched it.

Source of controversy: his criticisms of white women.

The failure to acknowledge how we benefit from white supremacy. The way we take over social justice movements and want credit for being “woke” when we are anything but. (Even using the word “woke” for ourselves being, of course, an offense.) Our Gucci boots (huh?)

One prominent Black woman I follow declared it hilarious (Roxane Gay @rgay). Another noted that you could practically recite his reading list based on it. Tressie McMillan Cottom pointed out his Black wife.

White women in the comments were attacked for taking offense and further, the offense was offered up as proof of the validity of Burr’s critique. And of course, to complain about this would be centering the conversation on white women’s feelings. Instead of, I don’t know, having an opinion?

Here’s the thing. I don’t take issue with his observations about white women. At all. Our history speaks for itself, particularly our relationships to and within political circles. Pretty bad.

We were all reminded of this recently during the look backs at Suffrage — an ignominious chapter of activism when white women excluded Black women from leadership roles and from the very goal of achieving the vote. The decision to segregate a Suffrage parade in DC was particularly cringe-worthy.

Wells-Barnett had no intention of abiding by the rules segregating the parade. She stood on the sidelines until the marchers from Chicago passed, then fearlessly, she stepped to the front of the procession.

The Washington Post, August 2020

But this?

I just didn’t find it funny. I don’t need to compare him to either Louis CK or Dave Chappelle to back up a claim of tone deafness or even assert tone deafness. I just didn’t think it was funny.

And I’ll go one step further and assert this: my not finding it funny says jack all about where I land on the ally-spectrum.

What WAS hilarious was Burr’s take on Bostonians in a faux Sam Adams ad.

After a hike in the Middlesex Fells and a nap under my weighted blanket, I feel restored!

Potpourri

Today my brother is being transferred to a rehab facility. In a pique of helplessness, I ordered him a diffuser and some jasmine oil — to elevate his mood? When what he needs are electrical stimulators or computer driven exercise devices?

His impatience to GET ON WITH IT will serve him well and it may not necessarily shorten the length of his recovery. So much remains up in the air.

Listening to old Tippet interview with Vincent Harding on dog walk. A few takeaways:

  • To label the justice movement as one centering on “civil rights” is to fall very short of MLK Jr’s vision of the “beloved community.”
  • Stories are essential
  • We need to seek out our wise elders

The commotion of limb removal next door, believe it or not, refreshes my grief at Michelle’s passing. Even tho she lived in Manhattan and I dwell in a leafy suburb, we both frequently felt assaulted by noise. My commiserator in chief. I still can’t believe she’s gone.

Re-reading passages from Virginia Woolf’s diaries this week, a little light bulb went on. Here’s my insight: Jude Hill has a distinctly Woolfian sensibility and that may be why I felt so instantly drawn to her. Listen:

  • All I mean to make is a note of a curious state of mind.
  • My theory being the actual event practically does not exist — nor time either.
  • I wrote this partly in order to slip the burden of writing narrative
  • I want to sort out all the ideas that have accumulated in me.

The complete collection of Woolf’s novels got away from me at some point. I regret that. Reading her in college was like opening a door to myself. Big time.

Confession: I once took a pack of colored pencils to a copy of The Waves and appropriately highlighted all the color words. I’m sure I had a reason.

Interestingly, I now prefer more “straight up” narratives. A product of aging no doubt. Ask me if I care.

British crime novels, it is!

No really, I’m working my way through Kate Atkinson’s Jackson Brody series.

Sibling insurance questions call. Redux.