Category Archives: domesticity

Remember shopping?

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Last weekend when Sunday evening arrived, I couldn’t figure out where the time had gone.

Oh yeah. I went shopping. Shopping for cotton t-shirts to replace the food stained collection currently in my drawers (I didn’t gain weight during the pandemic, but I did ruin a lot of shirts by eating dinner on the couch) and for shorts and pants. Went to the PO for passport photos.

K and I went to THREE places in search of a new side chair for the living room. Look at us, I might’ve said. Shopping for new furniture like adults! It’s not something we’ve done much.

Then I returned one of the shirts from Uni-Qlo because it was too tight. Got the large instead. I might have dropped what for me was a small fortune at JJill.

How much time we used to routinely spend in pursuit of food and other goods! Errands, errands! Decisions, decisions! Driving, parking, waiting in lines! Finding the bathroom, because…

Today, I was at it again. I returned the shirt I bought to replace the too-tight one because it still bound at the neck (I have a thing about that). Returned the swanky JJill outfit. I loved it but it was too drapey and long for a short woman with curves. This is when I wondered if maybe I enter a fugue state when clothes shopping, one in which I’m a slender woman standing five-seven.

I also returned the olive shorts bought last weekend because when I went to put them on this morning, I grabbed another pair of olive shorts. You know, the ones I forgot about.

I believe this fugue state might have a clinical name, but never mind that.

This morning I headed to the mall at 10, forgetting that nothing opens until 11, even though I was just confronted with that fact last week. Made a quick right into the Wegman’s complex and good thing, because we have two social gatherings coming up. I will bring bruschetta and artichoke dip to one, seared, honeyed shishito peppers and a plate of tomatoes with homegrown basil to the other.

Back home now and I’m breathing a sigh of relief.

In other news: I hit the “below obese designation” on the scale this morning. Talk about relief! This, merely by employing the trendy but sensible process of intermittent fasting. I didn’t give anything up. I didn’t start using my exercycle. I just stopped eating at 7 pm and held off eating again til 1 pm. It works!

The catalpa blossoms litter the yard. The white scatter offers unusual floral beauty, but also precipitates a little dread since we will need to pick up rotting piles of them in a couple of days. Our back catalpa — we have two — didn’t used to flower but now does. Who knew trees changed gender? Probably all of you…

With mild temps and sun, I’m able to edit on the deck under the umbrella. It makes for pleasant typing, even as I am reaching a point of deep reluctance. I hope it’s a temporary resistance, for I have a ways to go. Line by line editing is pure pleasure for me. I could do it all day, every day. But this business of moving big chunks around and deleting or drastically shrinking entire chapters requires a different kind of focus. Ugh. Maybe this new mood signals that I am nearing the end. I hope so.

Avoidance and chores

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Have other bloggers noticed that if you let a few too many days go by, it can be hard to step back in? Right now, I’m procrastinating.

I should be putting my recently printed manuscript into a binder for ease of editing. Instead, I vacuumed. To finish properly, I had to pull a big jam out of the tubing using forceps. Found a bic pen lodged in there (– perhaps a symbol about getting down to business today?) Then I knocked over a Christmas cactus and had to clean that up.

I rearranged papers under the desk to make room for my soothing noise maker, because leaf blowing season is upon us again. “I must be ready!” she said.

Then there was a little candle lighting (my brother hasn’t been feeling well; D lives in Boulder — AND IS OKAY — but shops at that grocery store).

Then, because it’s lovely today, I opened a bunch of windows and got a couple of fans going and in the process kept losing the cup of coffee which any writer can tell you is an essential element of GETTING ONE’s ASS BACK IN THE CHAIR. One screen got stuck. Par for the course.

It occurs to me that if one had a practice of praying for all the victims of gunfire in this country, and their families, there’d be little time for anything else.

It also occurs to me that keeping a catalogue of the sickening and vast difference in how Black and white bodies are treated by cops could be a full time job.

On that note, I’ll leave you with yesterday’s historical tidbit (think: a trump-corrupted CDC playing down the Covid numbers).

And now, off to work!

We’re gonna be dancing soon

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This headline will be dated by the time I post this and that’s a good thing.

There I was, ear buds in, dancing my heart out at midnight, hoping for the call. Nope. But I got to see a rumpled Kornacki return to the white board, refusing to cede his nerd throne even though no one would’ve begrudged him a few hours sleep and a change of clothes.

Woke to news that Georgia flipped blue. Not long after learned about Biden taking the lead in Pennsylvania.

People can’t decide whether to anoint Stacey Abrams Queen of the Universe or offer her a Nobel Peace prize.

Autocratic Chaos maker soon to be relegated to the sidelines, a King maker no longer.

So, first, let’s celebrate kicking slime bag ninny and corrupt cohorts out of office before we get to addressing the shocking (not shocking?) support for trump.

And, the Senate is still in play, thanks — again — to GEORGIA! I love that I know about both these democratic candidates and supported their campaigns with money (Jon Ossoff’s last run, too). That level of commitment isn’t going away.

In other news: hips ache at the 45 minute mark. Decision: eat breakfast before setting out with Finn so I can take Tylenol or just grunt it out and take it on return?

I’m making a pumpkin pie today. K’s sister and her husband are coming for a Thanksgiving Dinner on the patio tomorrow. It’s supposed to be in the high-60’s so it should be comfie. I’ll roast a turkey breast, not a whole bird and instead of the usual mashed potatoes, I’ll add roasted garlic. There will be string beans or Brussel sprouts or both.

Back to back days of summer

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Plans for patio entertainment on. Then off. Rain storms swept through. Of course now, approaching the dinner hour, it is clearing.

No matter. Another super-focused day of writing under my belt.

A short walk with Finn and K after the second rain. A nearby cul de sac has the most beautiful garden.

It occurred to me while watering the garden yesterday, that we probably have never spent so many summer days at home before.

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: there is something very grounding about staying put. I don’t think it’s any accident that I have been able to work mornings and afternoons on my book. That has NEVER happened before.

What about after?

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After the pandemic recedes, no one believes we will return to normal. But the question is, what will be different? Is hand shaking a courtesy of the past? Will people with colds wear masks from here on out? Will we treat our homeless population with more dedicated resources, since if the Mayor of LA could find them 600 beds in the middle of a pandemic, surely he can later — when the homeless are left with only their own set of catastrophic conditions?

Today, standing at the counter eating a grapefruit that had withered in the fridge for weeks, I thought: this, this change will come with me. A withered grapefruit that I would have thrown out without a second thought once upon a time turned out to be delicious.

Underneath its toughened top, lay the most succulent wedges of citrusy goodness.

I like to think that after this weird and trying episode we will be better somehow. More inclined to deprive ourselves in service of the greater good, less wasteful, less eager to go shopping, and more kind to the cashiers and phlebotomists and mail carriers in our lives.

I did listen to the podcast that Grace recommended. It was moving and provocative, featuring an interview with the author of a book called, “Die Wise.”

To be truthful, I need to listen again to really let it in. But anything besides Pod Save America or Gaslit Nation is good these days. My consumption of news has dropped precipitously in service of mental health, she said about to go watch Nicolle Wallace.

What behaviors or ideas do you think might stick when this crisis is over? Or, maybe the better question is, what do you hope will stick?