Unsubscribed to the Economist (Day 96)

After about eight years of reading, the editors on the Checks and Balances podcast last week hit the final straw for me. I'm allergic to anything that's super popular, and during my time as a subscriber the Economist went from this somewhat erudite (though not always correct) source of information to something that's being quoted by everyone. They are one of the only mostly centrist outlets available, and though I'm about as left of center as you can imagine, I found it a tolerable way to find out what other people were thinking. 

But I'm not blind, and it occurred to me that much of what I was seeing in establishment journalism that I can't stand--something that critiques both the left and the right, not on their merits, but because there is a bias toward maintaining the status quo--is exemplified by the Economist. And when I heard John, Idris, and Charlotte critiquing the New York case against Trump and his hush money to a mistress, I was done. 

Yes, it's a wonky case--but have you ever seen Trump? It occurs to me as everyone is positive that democracy itself is on the line in this election, naysaying holding a criminal insurrectionist to account for any of his crimes isn't helpful.

I've gotten some good recommendations to fill the void, but frankly, I don't miss it. Just that much more time for me and books. I mean, those things never got anything wrong...

Deb in the City

Audre Lorde had a point (Day 95)

For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.

-Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, 1984

I thought of this as soon as I heard that Harvey Weinstein's conviction in New York had been overturned. When my husband told me, all I could say was "Of course," because many of us had been bracing ourselves for this... maybe since 1984, when Lorde wrote this.

I looked up the quote, and then I saw the rest of it:

They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support.

Lorde was right, as many of us have come to know, but boy, did I hope that wasn't going to apply to the law. (Yes, I have been paying attention to the Supreme Court, why do you ask?)

So... now what do we do?

Deb in the City

Off-track, and I'm okay with it (Day 94)

I have a goal of transcribing one-thousand words a day during the week. I gave myself a walk on Monday because it was the first night of Passover, which means there was a lot of cleaning and cooking. I gave myself another break on Tuesday because it was my anniversary and if my husband was going to take the day off, so was I. I was did plan on resuming today, but instead I spent three (3) hours on the phone with Mass Health. Not for me, but for someone else, and in the middle of the ordeal I cried (and that's not something I ordinarily do on administrative calls). The issue is resolved now, but the executive branch of Massachusetts should be ashamed of itself. Needless to say, I didn't get transcribing done today, either.

I am happy to get back to it tomorrow--I legitimately look forward to it--but I'm not going to try to make up for lost time, because it occurs to me that, at least in this instance, that's just another way to lose more time.

In slightly related new, I am officially over vegan ice cream, so over it that if someone offered me a way to eat "real" ice cream, I wouldn't be interested. I needed a comfort food (see above), but for the last three months every time I've had ice cream I've felt disappointed and empty. I asked my husband what I should substitute, and we ended up coming to rice pudding (with dates and not sugar, thank you). That's something that can be served both warm or cold, and there's a lot you can do to dress it up. And, not for nothing, much less expensive than a jaunt to my local ice cream shop. I think they'll be okay without my business.

Deb in the City

Anniversary (Day 93)

My husband and I walked 12,000 steps through Back Bay and downtown Boston before 4 PM. 

Related #1: The shoes I bought last week are not fit for purpose.

Related #2: That might not have been my best idea on five (or so) hours of sleep. 

Still, I enjoyed lunch (and caffeine) with my husband. Next year's goal: more sleep (and better shoes).

Deb in the City

First Night of Passover (Day 92)

Tonight was the first night of passover, which means I've been planning for a week and spent a couple of hours cleaning and cooking for a small dinner with my husband and two of our children. I'd have pictures except I was too busy doing things. 

We had a very brief hunger- and labor-themed seder before we ate. I had intentionally overcooked so we were all full, but now I have lentil kofta stew and kugel left over to eat as well as asparagus to put into a besan omelet, tzimmes to put into a smoothie--no, really, it's prunes and sweet potatoes--date and peanut charoset to make something Larabar-esque, and chocolate covered dates and bananas just because. Seriously, I don't need to cook for a week.

I feel humbled by my good fortune even in the throes of some stressful news. Dayenu indeed.

Deb in the City

Trees and Environmental Injustice in Massachusetts (Day 91)

My husband and I participated in a Zoom webinar called Why Trees Matter for Green Development. I want to say it was fantastic, but I'm outraged.

The scientific grounding--which should be accepted information at this point, but no--was thorough and thoughtful, and I've got a name to add to my list. But the three case studies were horrifying. Two of them were in Boston proper, and one of them practically right down the street from me. For all of Boston's posturing about working with neighborhoods to deliver smart reform--for all of Massachusetts' departments touting their environmental record--you still have the state shrugging about removing four acres of wood from a predominantly Black neighborhood and shrugging when that neighborhood appeals for a review. 

What really got me was seeing footage from the "cranberry" industry that were allegedly deforested to create bogs but were really valued for their sand. The pictures made me think of West Virginia after a mountain had been blasted.

I'm reeling, but it inspires me to action, not my bed.

Don't know how I'm going to get involved, only that I will.

Deb in the City 

A day late (Day 90ish)

No post yesterday because I was busy doing my day, and it got away from me. Got to have lunch with the future in-laws and my daughter, then came home and cooked a lot, in pre-prep for Passover.

Today is shaping up to be *very* interesting, so I will be back. 

Deb in the City

Readers and Writers vs. Editors and Publishers (Day 89)

The book I alluded to this week that got me editing my to-be-read list and contemplating how well I can predict my future desires based on my current ones also got me thinking about publishing in general. I'm an indie so I'm biased, but I think we're increasingly underserved.

I won't name the book, but as much as I didn't like it and dropped it before I had finished the second chapter, it was evident that the author was skilled. The forced exposition was done well, and the obvious-to-me set up for the inevitable revelation was subtle enough that you'd have to be reading in the genre for a long time to recognize it from far away. The characters were exactly the characters you'd expect in the predictable set up--it was clear from jump who was who, and I wasn't going to worry about mistaking one for another. And the setting was well-thought out, even if I'd read variants on it already.

I am not, I promise, trying to damn this unnamed writer with faint praise. I mean it--she can write. Which it why it struck me as very, very odd that she was writing this particular book. It felt similar to a talented young actor or actress being stuck in a film that was clearly beneath them, but that's just what you have to do when you first get started.

And that only makes me more sure that a lot of debut authors aren't picking their own stories. I can't prove anything at this point, but it seems obvious to me that debut authors are being told, after a fashion, what to write, and how to write it.

Tochi Onyebuchi was the first author who made me think this might be the case. Beasts Made of Night and its sequel Crown of Thunder had a disturbing premise and intriguing characters. And much of the writing was good, but the story was uneven. It's something that people who haven't written and gotten comments might not have picked up on, but it seemed obvious to me that Onyebuchi was told to cut certain things for length, and to compress both back story and some action to... make a page count (I blanch just writing that). It made for some awkwardness, and the conclusion didn't feel as satisfying as I suspect it would have if we had had the chance to read the whole thing.

I couldn't prove that it was the editor and not the writer--not until I read Onyebuchi's Riot Baby and Goliath. Oh, hello. Those books are incredible, and haunting without any of the romance usually attached to the word. Onyebuchi is a masterful writer, and I have no doubt that the book he meant to write with his earlier series was changed by other people.

It's bad editing to force those kinds of cuts and revisions, but it's bad *publishing* to force writers to churn out the same stories that have been written before--and I mean in the last year, not the last decade. Publishing suffers so, so clearly from the same problem that has plagued the rest of mass media. Forget the internet filter bubble/echo chamber; the business advice to "give the people what they want" is just as sure to freeze a culture into a set of customs (with apologies to Frantz Fanon). 

I hope the young writer writes more; I'll be happy to take a look at her newer titles. Here's hoping she's able to write something original; you know, the stuff she'd actually like to write, and the stuff we would actually like to read.

Deb in the City

The gift that keeps on giving (Day 88)

The scan I had last week showed that none of the bones in my foot were broken. Therefore, I could stick to the plan to go to physical therapy and get a holistic evaluation that dealt with my multifidus muscle, my SI joint, my hip, and my foot.

I felt "seen" when we did the strength exam and the PT felt the pop in my right hip as he pressed on my knee. I felt discomfort when he touched the muscles on my right hip and declared the presence of my knots, but fortunately, that part of the exam was over and he knew what was going on.

Both my hip discomfort--that irritating feeling like my hip needs to go back into the socket, but it isn't dislocated--and my foot pain are due to the aftereffects of chemotherapy, and I also got the impression that the weakness of my low, low back was as well, if only as an indirect effect (hips are connected to backs, in case you didn't know). There is nothing to be done about my slipped disc, but fortunately it's very mild and can be mitigated with exercise. 

The PT said "core strength, core strength, core strength" twice--as long as it wasn't sit ups or crunches. I'm going to, if not pat myself on the back, indulge in a bit of gratitude that my instincts have kept me away from those exercises for several years because of other issues I have. He said the yoga and Pilates probably helped keep me with as much function as I have now (but probably because of the stretching). I have a list of stretches and strength exercises to perform for the next two weeks, and then we'll talk again. 

Let's agree this isn't the worst side effect in the world, and let's also agree that I would have gone through with chemotherapy even if I had been told this would be a side effect. But if I had been told this could be a side effect, I might have planned accordingly. Say, not pushing so hard to go on long walks, and making sure to do regular stretches, and maybe just knowing that I was going to need to consult a physical therapist. 

I'm bitter about this because, as usual, I blamed myself for the foot pain, which ended up indirectly leading to a costly event, but *it wasn't my fault*. Maybe that's what I really wish my oncologist had told me: there's going to be weird things that happen to the rest of your body as a result of the chemotherapy, so be gentle with yourself, physically and mentally.

Yeah, that would have been nice.

Deb in the City

I am not a psychic computer program (Day 87)

I talked before about how I used my library website to set up reading lists for the year so I wouldn't be overwhelmed by all of the things I wanted to read. I was so proud of myself for doing that because I could take the pressure off of myself to read *everything* and finally get to the things that had been on my list for a few years.

Well, this month I got to a book I'd been wanting to read since it came out last year, and it took my less than ten pages to realize that I didn't want to read it anymore.

I told an online group I'm in about and added that I felt like I'd already read the book. Someone went to check the description and then said they felt like *they* had already read it. I read my husband a passage that screamed foreshadowing, and he agreed with what I saw foreshadowed. He also agreed that, indeed, we'd already the story, a couple of times over. 

I looked at the description of another library book I had out. Er, I'd read that one, too. Then I looked at two more items on my book list that were all too familiar. 

Needless to say, I have fewer books to read this year than I'd thought I would...although I have seen a few more newer releases and/or books on newer ideas that have caught my fancy.

I don't want people to think that I can't make plans. If a friend or family member gets on my schedule, I keep that appointment. I can plan out novels and see them to completion (and I have). I can budget--one of the most mind-wrecking plans of all. Big picture I can commit to; what I don't want to lock myself into are the little details, like what I might order when I meet a friend at a restaurant, or exactly how much I'm going to spend in each category of spending. When I plan, I need to give my future self flexibility, because, sadly, I'm not psychic. Similarly, when I'm in the thick of daily activities, I need to use my past self as a guide, not a set of programming instructions, because, fortunately, I'm not a computer program.

I'm sorry I couldn't support those others--and that's another post in and of itself, because the problem is the editors and publishers, not the authors--but I've got too much to do right now to saddle myself to what I used to think I should do.

Deb in the City

Rolling with the punches (Day 86)

My husband was supposed to pick up his computer this afternoon, so we took advantage of the forced break in his schedule and went for a very long walk, with a break to get brunch or whatever you want to call a very late breakfast. It was a beautiful day in Boston, but you'll just have to believe me because I was enjoying being with my husband so much that I didn't stop to take pictures.

We picked our son up from class and then went to Microcenter to pick up his computer. When he told me that the tech had told him that they fixed it even though they didn't know what the problem had been, I snickered and told him that he'd be bringing it back. I was wrong--he didn't even get to leave with it. He can turn it on just fine, but he can only sometimes connect to the internet. Please try doing work on a computer without connecting to the internet. Right. They'll let him know when they've figured it out. In the meantime, he'll be renting a station at one of those workplaces, which is just great.

While waiting in line to buy my son a snack, I glanced at the magazine selection. They cover an eclectic mix of topics, including art, hardware, stocks and finance, cooking, logic games--and guns.

Garden and Gun, the Soul of the South. Alrighty then.

Well, I guess we know who Microcenter's target audience is. But, um, they're still better than Amazon...right?

Deb in the City

How about something crazy like fruit salad? (Day 85)

No, really.

I've been trying to eat more fruit. What that meant up until recently is making smoothies and figuring out ways to make puddings with bananas, avocados, dates, and frozen fruit, and of course banana nice cream. And while I can get my son to consume smoothies as well, we ran into an issue a few weeks ago when we discovered that he's allergic to berries as well as tree nuts. Therefore I started buying other fruits, like pineapples, apples, and oranges, among others. (Don't even say the word "mango" in front of my son; that was one of the first things we discovered he couldn't eat, and now we're forbidden from bringing it into the house.)

My son basically mirrors my husband, although he can at least eat pistachios and cashews. (Weirdly, this is the opposite of one of my nieces, so nuts are off the menu for any hypothetical meal. Oh right, they already were since my younger daughter is also allergic to every nut but Brazil nuts. Anyway!) So I started buying more of the fruits I know he can eat and likes, including grapes and melons (though he definitely likes the former more than the latter). 

Nice thing about many of those fruits is that they're easy to hold to pack (and so are the berries). So when I knew I had to be out last Tuesday, I packed a jar of fruit (and nuts--it was just for me) and brought along two oranges. And then I was totally satisfied and didn't need to spend unreasonable amounts of money on a snack.

On Thursday I had to go to an unplanned doctor's appointment, and though I had some oranges, I was still hungry. Thus did I break down and spend $4.80 on about 3/4 cup worth of fruit salad...and then realized I had a good number of those ingredients at home. So, obviously, when I got home, I made myself a fruit salad which was better than what I'd bought. (This isn't because I'm so fabulous in the kitchen; this is because most of what you buy outside is just not that good.)

I ate it. I enjoyed it. I shared it. My husband ate it. By last night it was gone, so I had to have another. Which meant that our special trip today was sourcing fruit so I could make another. Grapes, watermelon, pineapple (!), blueberries, and of course, oranges and dates. All "marinated" with lime juice. (And yes, I totally wished for another fruit that could have gotten me a little more of a purple feel, but we'll take this and call it a win.)

 

 

I remembered reading in The American Vegetarian Cookbook decades ago the idea to create a sauce or "dressing" for fruit salads. That was a little more trouble than my younger self could handle, but after years making nut milk and smoothies, no problem. After boiling down the pineapple core and ginger to make an unsweetened syrup, I blended that with cashews, two dates, and some frozen strawberries, and voila! Not that the fruit salad needed it, but I admit it gave me a thrill to dress it up (and tasted good). And since I can't stand wasting anything, I blended the bit of dressing I couldn't get out of the blender with some almond milk and ice to have a "shake" with my salad.

 

And it was delicious.

That, really, is my point. I have this vague feeling that if I haven't been "had", I've been poorly served by the trend to make fruit and nuts into things I might have missed (you know, because up until people wanted to eat a whole foods vegan diet they were all eating ice cream, cake, and cookies at every meal). I mean, yes, it's nice to know that I can still have those things, but I think it would do everything more good to emphasize actually *eating* the fruits (and occasional nuts if you're not allergic), rather than going to a lot of trouble to make them look like something else. I keep hearing myself ask "where is the money in that?", and maybe that's it. But I also wonder to what extent people just don't eat fruit, period, and don't have the experience to draw on for reference--or recommendation.

It's something of a luxury to eat fruit--I get that for multiple reasons, and I think it's tragic, ridiculous, and outrageous. I'm going to try to honor my food--and the people who have more trouble accessing it than I do--and enjoy it more and more as fruit, not something it's not. That feels better to me--and did I mention that it's delicious?

Deb in the City

Change in plans isn't always a bad thing (but backups aren't a bad idea) (Day 84)

The plan was that we would work in the garden yesterday and today my husband would get in a couple of hours of work. Ha. Today his computer started acting up again, so he bit the bullet and turned it in to microcenter. When will he get it back? I have no idea. 

Good thing the long-waited for elevated garden box finally appeared in the mail yesterday, and good thing we like being in the garden. He put the box together in less than an hour; I want to say I helped, but other than remembering how many screws we were supposed to use, not so much. Well, fine, at least we have the box.

This isn't a great time for him to be without a computer: there's drama with the car, there's college tuition, and there's a wedding. It's such a bad time it borders on comical. We could have bulked, but today for some reason I decided to embrace that this was an unexpected opportunity for us to spend more time together. So we went to Brookline to get some Korean food, looked at the bookstore and found George O'Connor's new graphic novel, Odin, then came home and read, worked out, washed dishes, and enjoyed each other's company. It was all in all not just a good day but a happy day.

...with one caveat: it isn't lost on me that his computer troubles began immediately after he made get out the vote calls with me on Friday. Needless to say, he can't tomorrow, but now I'm nervous about doing so. Just...the internet has not helped without exacting some costs. I miss the days when I got a list of phone numbers to call on, you know, a sheet of paper. 

In other news and perhaps on the other hand, it seems the British food writer and human right advocate Jack Monroe has fled the internet. Crazy that someone who's been bullied and received death threats with a reference to their address might seek anonymity, but here we are. Today I discovered that they seem to have shut down their website, on top of removing social media accounts. This is a huge loss, and that is a fact. They provided clear-eyed analysis of what British austerity is costing its most vulnerable people, and they provided recipes that were always easy to follow, inexpensive, and delicious. 

So here I would like to thank...Pocket. I panicked when I realized Monroe's recipes were gone, then remembered that I had saved many of them to my Pocket account. This prompted me to look through all of my posts tagged "recipes", and I got a little thrill that I had so much great stuff at my fingertips, and in a better format than simply bookmarks or tabs. I'm not going to send everyone to Pocket, but given how likely it is for material on the internet to disappear, it might not be a bad idea to capture the things you love one way or another.

Or, you know, just shrug it off and cuddle up with your sweetie. 

Deb in the City

Compost, Marathon weekend, computers, the usual (Day 83)

My son woke me up a little before 3 AM, and I have not been back to sleep, though I did try. (Yes, I say this a lot; yes, I did have a talk with him.) 5 hours of sleep is not ideal, but I decided to do my day anyway, even if it felt half-assed. 

My husband and I went to the garden to turn the compost, and oh my is it gorgeous. That spongy, chocolate cake texture people aspire to--it has been achieved. My husband finished it up while our garden partner and I went down to the wilds to talk design with a landscaper. We've wanted to turn the space into a permaculture food forest for years, and this brings us closer. I liked the man, in no small part because he recognizes the same Boston grifts that we've seen.

My husband joined us shortly before the landscaper needed to leave, then we went to pick up some miso and peanut butter. I was all set to go home after, but then I saw a message from my sister for help with an errand that she wouldn't be able to run herself. Off to Newton, through Back Bay, and my eyes widened as I recognized all of the signs that the runners were in town. We are agreed that we will not be traveling to Back Bay again for several days. 

Ran the errand, got a snack of desperation--Tatte is the nicest looking sub-par establishment in Boston--and finally got home. I tried to nap, my husband went to work out, and I took the night owl to return some books--2024 Deb does not have the same reading taste as 2021 Deb--and get him a drink. For some reason, my little part of Boston was out in droves even though we're nowhere near the marathon route. That, or everyone is *really* excited about Patriot's Day.

We washed dishes, bathed--did I mention compost?--then settled in to watch a kdrama before my husband ran into computer problems because of course he did. Fixed now--fingers crossed--and we're snacking on hummus, which I somehow managed to make along with vegetable broth and almond milk.

You know, your typical Saturday. May Sunday be just a little less eventful. 

Deb in the City 

20 calls for democracy (Day 82)

...but that is all.

I'm not superstitious--I'm really not--but I frequently feel that when I make plans and try very, very hard to stick to them, it always comes back at me.

Today was the first day that I could make voter turn out phone calls. I can't stress enough how important this is--not just to me, but in general. So much so that I drafted my husband and my son to join me. My son agreed as long as I got him fast food. I did not think this would be a problem, so I agreed.

I sat through the pep talk, the training, and made my twenty calls. By the second I realized how humbling this was going to be, but I did it anyway. And I'll do it again until I get to 1000 calls. Because it's worth a little discomfort on my part to get people out to vote.

We ordered the fast food for my son. This shouldn't have been a problem, but over two hours later, we were still waiting. My husband canceled the order, and I'm silently thinking this is what we get for ordering through that stupid server I won't give any virtual ink to. In the middle of that, his computer stopped working. Yes, obviously he's using Windows, but still. He was frustrated, so I thought it was a good time for me to drive over to the fast food place and pick up the food. I think I was back within 35 minutes. Lesson learned.

My husband's computer still hadn't turned on by the time I returned from buying groceries, so I said I'd take a look before he had to drop off the computer tomorrow and be told that he'd need to wait three days for someone to look at it and tell him he needed to wait five more days to get it back. He turned it on--it worked. He's reinstalling the operating system now, so it's entirely possible it will fail again. As I said, Windows. 

Well, my son is fed, my husband's computer may not be dead, and I still need to transcribe at least a little bit, but no way will I get to 1000 words today. Okay, fine, that's the way it goes sometimes. But I will eventually, just like I'll get to those 1000 calls.

But maybe we'll find a different source of fast food next time.

Deb in the City

Draft Day (Day 81)

Every writer's process is going to be different, but most of us agree that it's better to have a draft, even a messy one, for edits than a blank page of paper waiting for perfection. So some days, maybe, are Draft Days, in which it's better to have done something at all than to have done it perfectly.

I woke up at a decent time, after a decent number of hours, and maybe because I had enough sleep I came to the realization that I should finally have someone take a look at the foot that's been bothering for over a month. Don't ask what happened, by the way: I was literally minding my own business at home, standing up, and suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the top of my foot, toward the outside. I had not fallen, which is amazing because both of my ankles are shot and my hips and multifidus muscle (that's the tiny muscle that's right over your sacrum, basically). But, no, I didn't fall, so there was no reason my foot should be fractured, so I shrugged it off.

But not getting it looked at cost me a couple of weeks ago when the bottom of that same foot felt exhausted, for lack of a better term, and when that happened a second time, I called my husband to pick me up from the train station very close to home. Well, that didn't go well, and weeks later we're still dealing with the fallout. Getting my foot looked at might have prevented that.

(It might also behoove me to spend a little more money on my shoes, given how much I walk, but that's another story.)

So I made an appointment to get my foot looked at, but then I looked at my to-dos and realized that I could just barely squeeze in the phone calls to other states' reps to free up money for Ukraine (side note: Castro in Texas' staff isn't as nice as Pocan's in Wisconsin). Then just as I was getting ready to start cleaning up--as I mentioned yesterday, I *really* needed to clean up--a friend posted information about another set of phone calls and emails the librarian union at the Boston Public Library needed. Well, obviously, I had to get to that, but then it was a rush to clean up (even by my standards). Upshot was that not all the dishes got washed--but some of them did.

I got my foot examined, and the nurse practitioner was mystified but suggested physical therapy. She also sent me to get an x-ray. (No clue what the results are yet.) Then I walked down the street to finally get that vegan ice cream and meet my husband, and twenty minutes later I kicked myself for forgetting how not great that vegan ice cream was.

I didn't have much time between when I got home and when two webinars were going to start, but, somehow, I got in both my drafting and finished the dishes. (This may or may not have been helped by the fact that one of those webinars was subpar.)

I did nothing perfectly, and I didn't do everything I wanted to, but I did most of the most I wanted to do. Maybe tomorrow will be an Edit Day, but at least I have the draft to start with.

Deb in the City

Best laid plans (Day 80)

Alternate title: God laughs...only I'm basically an atheist, so that feels disingenuous.

If you're over a certain age--say, fifteen--you probably know the gyst of the sayings "The best laid plans are laid to waste" or "Humans plan, god laughs". That was pretty much today.

For the record, I didn't have ambitious or complicated plans. They mostly revolved around my husband and I getting art supplies for my son and the pieces he needs to mount for a senior show. And then, you know, maybe some vegan ice cream, since that got derailed a bit yesterday, but that was pretty much it. (Actually, wait, I'm lying: I was planning on getting some cleaning done. Please know that if I'm saying that you shouldn't be imagining me adhering to the kinds of schedules women's magazines put out; if I get excited about cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, it's because they *require* a cleaning.)

My day started unusually early, even for me: after going to sleep at 9 because my husband was exhausted (and I had walked all over Boston), I woke up at 12:30 because my son had left his light on and couldn't go back to sleep until 2:30, courtesy of the late (but light) dinner I'd eaten close to 8. I did finally get to sleep--I mean, I woke up at 12:30--and then woke up again a little after 7. That almost never happens, but I confess I kind of enjoyed it. (Side note: it occurred to me while eating breakfast that maybe just maybe the matcha latte I had yesterday was part of the reason I woke up. Curse you, caffeine sensitivity.)

Wonder of wonders, my son was also awake by 7:30. That NEVER happens, but my husband and I were happy he could join us for breakfast. And he was enthusiastic about leaving to go get art supplies. I was finishing up the dishes when all of a sudden my husband felt nauseous, and he's basically been flat on his back ever since. 

Hilarious interlude occurred when my son suggested that my husband had eaten almond butter instead of peanut butter; he just happens to be allergic to almonds. I called my sister because her family has had some experience with anaphylaxis, and then tried very hard to get my husband to go to the ER. He refused. He's also larger than I am, so I couldn't drag him away. However, I did get him to make an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow morning, so there's that.

So you know, I'm not incompetent, and I could have taken my son for art supplies. However, we are temporarily using a rental car--long story, don't ask--and he insisted that because I wasn't listed on the insurance I couldn't drive the car. When I told my sister this, she immediately told me that wasn't the case. I called the rental company, and they assured me that, yep, I could drive as long as our driver's licenses had the same address (they do). I gloated, in no small part because my husband can be insufferable when he's convinced he's right; also, I am prone to gloating. At which point he plaintively asked why I wanted to leave him when he was sick.

Thus have I spent most of my day essentially watching him sleep. Good news: he's feeling better.

I can clean tomorrow, and my husband can pick up the supplies while he's out and about. So it's all good...except for the part about the vegan ice cream.

Deb in the City

Seven down, nine more to go (Day 79)

Hey, that actually sounds like progress, right?

Just finished transcribing the seventh installment of my saga. We are now at 167, 915 words. And we are not even half-way done...

Suddenly occurring to me that I haven't mentioned the titles yet. Overall, I'm happy with all of them...except the first. Minor problem! But here they are:

1. The Daughter of Danaus
   
2. A Friend in Charavi
3. Memoriam
4. Remission
5. Reckoning
6. Proof of Life
7. Choice and Consequence

And now onto...Factors of Loss. (Yes, you are correct that it's going to be loads of fun.) 

Onward!

Deb in the City

 

Democracy is hard, and that's why it's worth doing (Day 78)

I went to my daughter's workplace today to help support the next step in their unionization drive. Her company, Blue Bottle, had until noon today to recognize their union. Because they didn't, she read a prepared statement announcing that everyone was walking off the job to go file their papers with the National Labor Relations Board. 

I followed as my daughter and her crew slowly picked up people from other stores, first at the Copley MBTA stop, then at the Park Street stop. I felt incredibly awkward as the only non-Blue Bottle employee there, but eventually I found a couple of other young people who also weren't employed by Blue Bottle, including a nice young person from 1369 Cafe in Cambridge, an organizer from UAW from Evan MacKay from Harvard who is running for State Rep, and Sarah, an organizer affiliated with the Dorchester Food Co-op. I was easily the oldest person there, and I stood out like a sore thumb, but if I'm going to be somewhere I don't fit in, I'd rather be surrounded by people like them than some of the alternatives.

There was a lot of waiting for people, which was harder than moving. But if you want a group action, you have to wait for everyone in that group. It takes a while, but that's the only way to guarantee that it's real.

Perhaps understandably, the federal building on Causeway Street that houses the NLRB didn't want over twenty people inside to file the papers. Perhaps...but the four Department of Homeland Security officers were maybe a little bit much. 

That's what's up

Three and a half hours after the walkout, the papers were filed. It's just a matter of time, but that time does need to be spent. Fingers crossed that they have their election in May and everything goes to plan. Sign me up for the next action...as soon as I get a stretch.

Deb in the City

I'm not the only one to have noticed (Day 77)

Today was a run-through tour of the Commons with a good friend (and my husband). She did a good job and I would recommend her, but what made me laugh and groan was her statement, repeated twice, that the same names come up again and again because apparently there were only ten people living in Boston at any one time. 

Weird how it doesn't take much to notice that. Small city, small country, small world. 

Deb in the City

Lars and The Real Girl just isn't for me (Day 76)

I told someone I would watch Lars and The Real Girl if they watched Hot Fuzz. Well, I finally made good. Lesson: don't offer to exchange movie watching. 

I'm in the minority, clearly, but I spent the movie open-mouthed. I get it, everyone was being compassionate, but I could not get past how an individual delusion came to be shared by everyone. Maybe it's been the heightened politics of the last decade, but I found it disturbing, not comforting.

Deb in the City

There is no hiding (Day 75)

Part of my adventures yesterday included being on the Green Line of the MBTA for all of three stops. You'd think that would be the easy leg of the trip given the slog that was the 57 bus in the rain, but no. Because as I passed through the Longwood station on the D-Line, I saw that someone had helpfully written "ZIONIST SCUM" in red on the map. Sorry I couldn't take a picture; we were passing by really quickly. Actually, I'm not sorry, because the artist in question just wasn't that talented.

The Longwood station is on the border of Boston and Brookline. It's a five minute walk from the train station to the Longwood Medical Area. That's in Boston. Maybe the teaching hospitals did something recently to earn the ire of anti-Semites? Or do you think that was directed at someone else?

As of 2002, the Jewish population of Brookline was 30 percent. In case anyone is interested, that means less than a third. It's very hard to find statistics any later, but it would be remarkable if the percentage had increased to 50 percent. But it doesn't matter. Brookline has a well-established Jewish population. I'm just going to guess that message was directed to them.

I'm not going to try to distinguish Judaism from Zionism, in any of its incarnations. I'm not going to defend either; I don't have to, I don't need to. That graffiti was a hate message, and I don't need to justify to anyone, anywhere why it's inappropriate. (I'm confident in that because of the word "scum", but there are other qualifications.) And if you're reading this and you think I do, honestly, what is wrong with you?

That message worked--I felt threatened, and I bet a lot of Jews who read it felt the same way. My first reaction to being threatened is the same as anyone else's: I want to protect myself. I don't want to be hurt. I want to be safe.

Give me a second, though, and my reaction is different. There is no "safety" when you live in an environment where someone is going to presume "scum" because "Zionist" or "Jewish", and complaining about it--telling people you feel threatened--isn't going to get you much sympathy. So...then let's go.

If you have a problem with this, that is entirely on you

 

I'm Jewish. I AM JEWISH. I'm Jewish because I have a Jewish grandparent, and I'm Jewish because I affirmatively want to be. I married a Jewish man, and I raised Jewish children. I spent a lot of time in a reform temple, and I do Jewish things like observe Shabbat and celebrate Jewish holidays. I'm Jewish, and just because that's not the first thing you think when you see me, it doesn't mean it's not true, and I'm not going to hide behind anyone's presumptions.

And another thing: that Jewish grandparent may not have covered himself in glory as a husband or a father, but he managed to do something that I am very proud of: he was a World War II veteran who was injured as a gunner over England. He was fighting Nazis, because that's what Jews do.

I'm fighting Nazis, too. They may be scary, but you know what? I can be, too.

Deb in the City

Art, Social Media, Community: Just Another Day (Day 74)

The Nor'easter was worse in other parts of New England, but Boston got its share of rain and wind today, plus a bit of snow. Anyone who has ever been in one knows that the most important detail is the icy wind which exacerbates the precipitation, and today was no exception.

I take seriously the union action we attended at my daughter's place of work yesterday, so I couldn't stomach the REI coat I've been wearing for a few years. But you know, maybe I would have soldiered through today, except I am finally sick of only having one functional pocket in the outer layer--yeah, I know I could have returned it, but since REI wasn't going to repair the coat, I couldn't bring myself to do that. I needed two pockets today--see: Nor'easter--so I decided to swap out the ultra-modern materials for the pea coat my father-in-law wore when he was in the Navy in the 1960s. My husband declared me cute; I declared me warm. 

As I said, I take labor seriously, and another result of yesterday was that because I had to go to an appointment in Newton and couldn't drive the car--long story--I wasn't going to call a Lyft. I arranged for a cab, and miraculously it arrived when it said it would. Which was great, except the privilege (!) of doing the right thing (!!) cost me over $50. Um...what? So rather than take a cab back, I walked to the nearest bus station and took public transportation to an easy spot for my husband to pick me up. It was a little bit scary to walk on the wet pavement, but you know what? That coat kept me warm.

Today's big event was a reception at the Museum of Fine Arts for Napoleon Jones-Henderson, an artist whom I call a friend when I want to flatter myself but is really a very good friend of a very good friend. Regardless, he is an extremely generous person, and I am honored to be in his circle, and to have been invited. While I waited for the hour to roll around, I decided to play with Mastodon. That's a little better than BlueSky, but after five minutes, the usual emptiness rolled over me, and I muttered to myself that I was wasting my time when I could be doing anything else, like reading. So I did.

 

1970s cool

So-We-Too (Black Men Rise) by Napoleon Jones-Henderson

 

We cajoled my son the art student to leave the house and join us...and we had a great time. It was a small affair, but I was fascinated by Napoleon's discussion of how he developed So-We-Too (Black Men Rise), how he came to get involved in textiles, and most importantly what the artist's community AfriCOBRA has meant to him. How wonderful to have a community of artists where you can collaborate not just on works but ideas. And it occurred to me that that is why I always feel so empty on social media: all of these people, many of whom are like-minded, many of whom are also creative, but we all keep so much close to our chest, whether for fear of criticism or competition. That is, perhaps, the biggest disappointment of the internet: instead of providing a space where we can collaborate, it is instead all too easy for us to exist in the space even more vulnerable than before. Not all of the internet--I have found a handful of spaces where people genuinely want to collaborate and create, and not just promote--but not nearly as many as there should be.

Oh, and did I mention that Napoleon's primary medium is textiles? Let me tell you, he approved of the coat, and the whole discussion made me think that I don't agonize over my clothing and choices enough. Well, some goals are easier to fulfill than others.

Deb in the City

Let's go, unions! (Day 73)

My younger daughter is an employee of Blue Bottle, and today she and other employees at her store and the stores in Boston publicly announced their campaign to create a union. My husband, my son, and I showed up to support the effort, as did a friend from the Boston Public Library's union. It was small--it's been raining--but I'm still pretty chuffed. There's a lot of work we need to do, in every aspect of life, and fair treatment of labor is fundamental to all of it.

My oldest child works for another coffee chain, albeit part-time. Before this, she worked at several cafes, in roles ranging from barista to manager. (All of which informed her decision to return to school and pursue a master's degree, hence the need for the part-time job.) Before her time at Blue Bottle, her sister worked in various retail jobs during college, including during the pandemic. They've both seen how precarious a job like that is when you are dependent, essentially, on the good will of your employer. Without a union, and without the enforcement of labor protections, your best hope is a benevolent dictator. 

That's not good enough.

I haven't worked a job like that in years, but I'm still outraged at what I experienced and what I saw when I did. When I was sixteen, I was fired for asking if I could have my birthday off. Even then I thought that was pretty erratic, and I came to find out the next year that I was suspected of stealing. (I was the prime suspect because I wasn't white.) That was a rough summer, capping off a rough few years, and when the owner didn't have my final paycheck ready, I snapped--and by snapped, I mean I went directly to the Attorney General's office to file a complaint. The manager I spoke to later, who also loathed the owners, chortled as he recounted how the man scrambled to get my check ready.

Years later, during the Great Recession, I got a job as a barista at a nearby cafe. The hours were fine--I'm a morning person--and the pay was what I needed to help my family get over the hump. But after a year it was time to move on. I kept in touch with my colleagues, so I wasn't surprised to hear that the owner was mismanaging the place. What I was surprised to hear was that he hadn't paid them for weeks (never mind that he always made sure he had his own salary), and when the manager confronted him about it, he fired her. I happily directed her to the office at the AG's that she needed to file a complaint with, and thanked my luck that I wasn't in the precarious position all of the people I used to work with were.

It's one odious thing to need a spouse or financially supportive family to see you through the lean first years of a career in journalism, publishing, teaching, etc; it's entirely another to need a second income to support you for most of your career in a service industry. A requirement to be a barista or a waitress shouldn't be a graduate degree; it shouldn't even be a bachelors. Everyone--even if they didn't go to college--should have a livable wage as part of the dignity of their work, regardless of profession. Unions like this are the first step.

Deb in the City

A long day filled with wonders (Day 72)

I accompany my son to his college--for his very last class--on Tuesdays. It's on the other side of Boston, but in The Before Times, this wasn't such a bad trip. Now it's pretty nauseating.

He has to be there early, so we have to leave even earlier. This is fine, usually--I'm a morning person--but less so when I'm woken up at 2:30 AM. By my son. (On the plus side, I now know why I've been waking up relatively consistently at 2:30 AM for the past few nights.) Usually I can fall back asleep after an hour, but of course that was not so easily done when I needed to wake up at 6.

By some miracle, we were not only able to get to the train and his school on time, but I was also able to pack myself food so I wouldn't have to pay a ransom for sustenance later. I was even able to take my usual sort of long walk back and forth. Yay me.

All was well until about an hour before his class ended. Then I felt it. By the time my son and I were on the train home, we were both nodding off, and he was using me as a pillow. It was okay; it helped stabilize me so I didn't fall over. 

Needless to say, we both dropped to our respective beds as soon as we got home. I got in a nap for about ninety minutes--this is the most wondrous of all of today's events, because I'm almost never able to nap--before I woke up and thought I should get some water for my headache.

I was actually able to meet my transcription goals--I goosed myself one hundred words at a time, which might be something I do when I'm a little more awake as well--but now I am ready to entertain thoughts of rest again. 

I'm so grateful that he only has class once a week this semester. I'm even more grateful that he'll be going to a much closer school in the fall.

Deb in the City

One way to get you (Day 71)

Last week, as I was making a hardboiled egg for my son, I remarked to my husband that before I would have felt a pang of jealousy that other people in my family could eat a compact source of protein while I could not; eggs are just not my friend. My husband wanted to know just how bad it was, and to everything I said, he replied that might be solved by getting rid of the egg yolk. 

He finally agreed to go to the nutritionfacts.org website, and he was probably most disturbed by the video about egg health claims and the USDA. Basically, eggs are so unhealthy that the USDA won't let you say they are at all if you want to use any federal money for your ad campaign. You can't even say they're nutritious.

My husband has been avoiding eggs since then, but I'm wondering why I thought they were healthy at all. Because I remember reading that they were...in women's interests magazines, in statements by personal trainers, registered dieticians, and maybe even some doctors. Yeah...I'm sure none of those people were paid for their statements. 

Deb in the City

An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States (Day 70)

I am reading this book with my husband. It wasn't what I expected--it follows the narrative of the colonization of the US from the indigenous peoples' perspective, but it is less about them than what is done to them--but it's very good. It is also very disturbing. 

I'm not one to put something down because it's too hard--it's my responsibility to look at those things--but I could not get through the last chapter fast enough. I will not go into too much detail, but let's just say that "scalping" was actually started in Ireland, and however badly you feel about the term "redskin" you don't feel bad enough.

There's no way to know about some things without being disturbed. 

Deb in the City

Today's random adventures (Day 69)

My husband and I took a long walk into a different part of Boston today. We stopped into a new grocery store, then got lunch at a newish restaurant--quinoa bowls are the best bowls--stopped at home to make our son lunch, then went out again to pick up another few items. 

We've been chilling out with kdramas since we got home--The Escape of the Seven: Resurrection is addictive and insane--and I've got quinoa cooking for tomorrow. Here's hoping I can repeat the quinoa bowl, but will probably take a rain check on the walk.

Deb in the City

Garden Map (Day 68)

I promised my gardening partner that I would give her a proposed map for the garden tomorrow. As much as I'm trying to plan better this year, I ended up not starting on this until 6:30 PM. But it's a first draft, and that's the start.

No one should get excited about my skills--I had my son the art student create this file; my first pass drawing...was always going to be a first pass.

Cool cool cool...now I just need to get the calendar to my partner. By tomorrow morning. 

This is fine!

Deb in the City

Northeastern Climate Justice Action Plan (Day 67ish)

Not even going to apologize for missing yesterday as I had a late night out (well, for me. I got home after 9:30--you decide).

A friend and I joined a tour and conversation about the Climate Justice Action Plan a group at Northeastern University is vetting. This was, according to a member of the team, something like their tenth iteration, and there will be more.

It seems like the group needs to bring evidence to Northeastern that the very reasonable things they want to do should be done. That's so very Northeastern; it's also so very typical of any entrenched organization. The team behind this seems earnest, and I hope they succeeded.

The energy was hopeful, and the evening featured good food, good conversations, and some good performances of poetry and song. Northeastern, don't let us down.

Deb in the City

Accepted! (Day 66)

I am happy to report that my son has been accepted as a transfer student to Mass College of Art, starting in the fall. There are still some details we need to work out regarding scheduling and financing (like everyone else), but this is for definite sure a good thing.

Deb in the City

Safe! (Day 65)

Happy to report that I made it to this late hour without any more vehicular incidents. The car was indeed towed to a repair shop, and the young man who picked up the car was duly impressed. Er...not sure that's a good thing.

We have a rental and will be using it for hopefully not too many days while we wait for the repair. Fingers crossed that the drama is over (for now).

Deb in the City 

Crash (Day 64ish)

Hopefully I can be forgiven for not blogging yesterday. Reason: someone rear-ended my husband when he was yards away from the spot where he was supposed to pick me up. Pro-tip: drivers from the suburbs are the ones who make Boston's roads so scary. 

Everyone is fine, but the bumper, not so much. Hopefully it can be taken in for service immediately--and by taken in, I mean towed. Yeah, it was that bad.

Deb in the City

Cold Sunday (Day 63)

Spring Break is over, so my husband drove one son back to college while I stayed back with his sick brother. I got some things done, but the cold in the morning sapped my will to do too much more.

When he got back, my husband assured me that it didn't feel that cold outside, so we went for a long walk along the Emerald Necklace so we could pick up art supplies for the remaining child at home. It was a long walk, but a good walk; I relish my ability to do these things, having seen so many people lose that ability. 

We took the train home--walking's great, but we didn't want to spend every waking hour on it--and arrived to find Purim treats from our good friends. We nibbled while I cooked and washed up and my husband read to me. 

Cold day, but not a bad one.

Deb in the City

5 Stars for A Master of Djinn (Day 62)

Raining all day here, and the next best thing to batch cooking on such a day is reading. We finished P. Djeli Clark's A Master of Djinn, and I can't recommend it enough. Alternate History, mystery, fantasy, and really well done on all fronts. 

Now where is the sequel?

Deb in the City

Pro-tip: don't announce you're going to Haymarket (Day 61)

I spent too much time on the computer yesterday, and in general I feel that way a lot. Today I decided that I was going to have An Adventure, so I went to Haymarket and Boston Public Market. (Would love to show you pictures of my walk along the Charles, but this app is ridiculous with pictures, so I'm hoping you'll take my word for it.)

Adventures in Boston are extra special when the MBTA is dysfunctional, but the upshot is that I got to share a surprise bus ride with my daughter. Once we parted company, I dropped off a book at the library, walked along the river to Beacon Hill, got myself a cookie, hung out at another library (this almost balances Boston's deficits), and went shopping at Haymarket. 

My youngest son is home for spring break this week, so I offered to get him pizza from Haymarket Pizza. Alas, they are closed (again). He pleaded with me to go to Bricco in the North End, which I refused but then agreed to after my husband met me. He, it turned out, had some demands from my other son. Half an hour and a couple of shout-filled calls with the boys later, we had a sub (but not from Bricco), two chocolate chip muffins from Bova (the only place in the North End my other son likes), and then some hermits for my husband. 

Definitely an adventure. Next time I might not mention where I'm going until I get back.

Deb in the City

Not sure if I feel better now (Day 60)

In light of the exchange I had yesterday, and a brief interaction with someone online, I decided to take a look at the Southern Poverty Law Center to see if I could grab some statistics. Well, I can, somewhere, but I got derailed while searching by, well, some loser who heads a not-at-all crazy neo-nazi organization (I don't want to name either of them because I don't want to show up in a search; also, these guys don't deserve proper case) advocating the sexual assault of women--white women--as "war brides" who can't be trusted to choose how to use their own reproductive systems.

I've lived through trauma, but my triggers are random and personal; I'm not someone who can't read about terrible things, and in some ways I think it's my responsibility. But the article above is deeply disturbing, so please be warned. And so is the whole site--because they are talking about deeply disturbing things.

I listen to Gaslit Nation, and I know people have accused them of being conspiracy theorists. The Southern Poverty Law Center is a widely respected organization, and believe me when I tell you that they come to the same conclusions. Or rather, don't believe me, go take a look for yourselves. If anything, Gaslit Nation sees more of a use for Twitter or whatever the hell it's called now; after reading just a little of this, I don't want to look at even references to tweets again, but Elon Musk is pure evil. Shame on the mainstream press, especially the business press, for legitimizing him. 

As hard as it is for me to read their analysis, I understand that the people who write for them have to monitor horrific people and spaces. I hope they rotate out of those jobs regularly, because that might rot their souls.

I'll be reading more of the Southern Poverty Law Center going forward. As I said, it's my duty. It won't make me feel better, but as a consolation, I won't feel as awkward when I have to clap back at people for off-handed bigotry.

Deb in the City

Even if it doesn't matter (Day 59)

I was in a conversation with someone today who was talking about a lot of the topics I talk about, including systemic injustice. I was nodding along with her until she said something about people who came over now and get everything done for them. I'm grateful that it was a group conversation so I had the space to pause and process. Yes, I did hear her say that, and yes, I had to say something.

I pointed out that I wasn't seeing a crowd of people getting everything they wanted or needed; I was instead seeing families sleeping in airports in the middle of winter. I could have gone on, but there wasn't time. I pointed out that my father was an immigrant, as were two of my great-grandparents. What this person said didn't match what I saw and knew. 

I have no idea whether I persuaded her or not; I didn't bring all of my citations and rhetoric with me. But it was my duty to say something, because it's something that comes up so much, and I don't want later generations to say that I was one of the many who stood by while people maligned refugees. 

I don't believe god or any other deity is going to judge me in death, and truth be told, I don't think I'll be important enough for history to take too much note of me, except bundled in as a statistic. My opinion ultimately doesn't matter, but my silence does.

Deb in the City

Maybe we really should just be listening to our bodies (Day 58)

I think about health topics more than I want to. To paraphrase someone else, I could have learned three foreign languages in all of the time I've spent thinking about, reading about, agonizing over, and trying to practice good nutrition and exercise. I did make a big breakthrough in my thinking and practice of exercise last year, and I've felt better since then, but I admit that food continues to wear me down. This is due in large part to my food sensitivities, but that's not all.

I consider myself mostly immune to trends around eating. Frankly, when my sensitivities have limited me as much as they have, I don't have room to play. The only "choice" I'm making these days is not eating meat, and since that's been the case since I was sixteen (other than the period I was bullied by my college boyfriend), I'm not apologizing. Since it's accepted that eating meat does a lot of really bad things to you, yeah, I don't feel like I'm being indulgent. I'm a vegetarian because I want to be; I'm a vegan because eggs and dairy make me ill, and I can't eat wheat or soy because those set me back for a week.

And it's not just food sensitivities--there is nothing like an experience of cancer, particularly colon cancer, to make you sensitive about your diet. I am never consuming alcohol again, and since I've never liked it in the first place, why should I? I go out of my way to eat legumes and whole grains as well as fruits and vegetables--and nuts and seeds--and avoid coconut products and refined sugar--because of all of the evidence around mortality, cancer, and general health. It's not my fault I developed cancer--my diet was still pretty good by modern American standards--but I think it's understandable why I prioritize things that give me a better chance of living longer.

So my behavior isn't about trends--with the exception of time restricted eating. That was something recommended to me by my acupuncturist a few years ago, and all of the research I did on it showed no ill effects. In fact, it was mentioned as one of the only effective "dieting" strategies, and it also is said to good things for blood sugar and cholesterol. What was the harm? I mean, other than the fact that I can't eat large meals (thanks to a very small but manageable hernia between my stomach and duodenum), and that being hungry at night was sometimes just depressing?

I don't know what or why, but today the American Heart Association released results of a study that showed that time-restricted eating may yield short-term benefits but may have long-term negative effects; at the very least, it's not shown to have long-term positive effects. This isn't a perfect study and more work needs to be done, but for now it's enough to make me think that maybe I don't have to try to force feed myself and that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to go back to eating five or so small meals over the course of the day.

I'm reminded of something Dalia Kinsey, the author of Decolonizing Wellness wrote. Your body's reaction to hunger is going to be hoarding fat; even if you're not trying to lose weight, that's not a good outcome. More importantly, only you know how much your body needs of anything, regardless of what is advised for a serving or a number of servings. And while that may sound touchy-feely, that was one of the most profound messages out of Ultra-Processed People by Chris van Tulleken, and yes, he had plenty of scientific evidence to back it up.

Listening to our bodies can be really hard when we're subjected not only to ultra-processed foods but also marketing (see Raj Patel on that one), which is why it's important to do our best to break from both. I can tell you it's much easier to break from ultra-processed foods than marketing, no matter what kind of media you choose to consume. But it's worth the effort, however imperfect. Take a deep breath when your experiences contradict claims, and maybe cross your fingers that if you're in alignment with most of the best scientific research, you might have some grace around the rest of it.

Deb in the City

Compost (Day 57)

After the Gardeners Gathering on Saturday and my planning adventures on Sunday, I wanted to keep my momentum going toward getting the season started off well. For me, as much as I of course need to plan around when and what to plant, everything begins and ends with soil. If you've got good soil, your errors in the rest can be more easily forgiven. If you don't have great soil, everything else needs to be perfect, and then you still have room for error.

And while biodiversity is absolutely important, I think good compost can also provide a strong boost. And since I consider myself something of a macrophage, I decided to give our compost piles a turn this morning.

I was pleasantly surprised to run into two of the other gardeners from our community garden who were also at the Gathering; in fact, they were presenters. We spent about twenty minutes running down the ways in which the city had changed and was changing, but as one of them said, we keep at it anyway because that's just how we're moved. Amen (and I don't say that lightly).

I surveyed our plot, and I was surprised again that we had fewer permanent landmark than I'd remembered. I did try to remove two "weed trees", but I think I'm going to need heavier equipment as well as a clear plan if I don't want to disrupt our lavender and saffron too much. Good. This makes it easier for me to plan where to place things.

 

Yeah, I know, this would be more impressive with a Before version, but I'm still proud

 

I spent the next 75 minutes (or so) moving compost from one bin to another, moving woody/stemmy things to one side, and moving matter from our staging area into our compost bins. It was work, and I *really* need to work out today so I can compensate for such uneven movements, but it was also fun and rewarding. Even the staging area, the first stop where our gardeners dump their unwanted plants and sometimes food, had really good looking soil under the woodiness.

I'll go back in a couple of weeks and do this again (if my husband doesn't beat to it; he's a little territorial about the compost). But whoever does it, we'll have good compost to help strengthen our soil--and grow food.

Deb in the City

Stepping out of my comfort zone (Day 56)

Every year, I really do try to be a better gardener, but like so many, by the time the beginning of July rolls around, I'm spent, especially because of my duties as a co-coordinator. This year, I wanted to try to get ahead of everything, so I finally decided to be organized and went through the seed packets I have (this does not include the seed packets my garden partner has) and created an Excel spreadsheet a few weeks ago.

Today, inspired by yesterday's gathering, I went through the packages again to get an idea of *how* everything should be planted; I'm pretty sure that half of my problems last year were due to me cramping things in, so this year I wanted to do a better job with that. It's probably for the best

After that, I decided that I should get next level and create a calendar. Oh boy, between going between a website that listed last and first frosts and Accuweather, then cross-referencing with my spreadsheet, I spent about two hours getting in the temperature dates, when seedlings need to be started, when things need to be planted, and when things can begin to be harvested. Oh yeah, when the plot needs to be cleaned up, because otherwise we can't do anything.

Did I mention I still need another set of seed information?

Next step: go to the plot and take a picture of it as it stands now so I can figure out where things should do. My memory is good enough to hit most of the big ticket items, but since we move things around every year, I can't be sure I won't miss anything.

At least it's a break from math...?

Deb in the City

Gardeners Gathering 2024 (Day 55)

The last frost in Boston is approximately May 1, but the gardening season gets started in March with the Gardeners Gathering. It's an event hosted by the Trustees and, since I've been attending, held at Northeastern University (my alma mater, and more importantly, accessible by T).

COVID, obviously, was a damper on the event--the organizers did a great job, but there's a limit to the community you can build via Zoom--and last year felt like it was getting its groove back. But this year felt like a party, and not the least because it opened with a tribute to Mel King, the Black state rep who in 1983 made history by making it into the run-off in the mayoral election. He did not win--for some reason, Boston's voters thought Ray Flynn was the man to lead--but King's legacy and continued work loomed large. I did not realize until after his death this year that he was also the sponsor of the 1974 legislation that made it possible for community gardens to exist in Massachusetts in the first place. Watching an old interview with him made me appreciate yet again how clearly his generation saw what the problems were and what needed to be done about it. Kudos to King for actually implementing some of those solutions. (And in this case, that will be enough to allow me to forgive him for endorsing Jill Stein for anything.)

I brought my own lunch, and thank goodness, because the program ran late due to the mayor's arrival time. Some of the sessions ended up being standing room only. Not all of them were useful--the bokashi system is just going to be too difficult to implement since I'm not on-site--but I did love the energizing session I went to at the end hosted by the youth arm of Alternatives for Community and Environment. Nice to be energized by younger people--Jesus, you start to feel like a vampire--and nice to dream a little bit about what can make things better.

My co-coordinator and friend walked out with me and my husband when it was over, and she smiled before we left. She couldn't wait to get started in the garden. Same.

Deb in the City

TikTok is so bad, only Steve Mnuchin can save it (Day 54)

I don't care about TikTok anymore than I care about Facebook or Twitter, but I do care that TikTok is being singled out for doing exactly what every other platform does. Cory Doctorow explains why the platform is as garbage as the others; worth a read. 

I would applaud the US Congress for trying to control TikTok if they were also trying to do it with other platforms. This is not the case. Well, of course it isn't. 

The big winners, based on what happened in India (I'd link to this, but it's from an Economist Newsletter), are going to be YouTube--sorry, Google--sorry, Alphabet and Instagram--sorry, Facebook--sorry Meta. Those services ended up eating the local services that were developed after India banned them. (India and China get into a hell of a lot more than China and the US, in case anyone was wondering.)

Fine, here we are, China should divest, yada yada...but how should we be sanguine when Steve Mnuchin, aka Trump's Treasury Secretary, is now said to be trying to buy TikTok? Are all the people who were concerned about the Chinese government getting a hold of user data and weaponizing it, that somehow wouldn't be a concern if it's Mnuchin's crowd? Uh. Huh. 

Good thing I wasn't going to use TikTok anyway.

Deb in the City

Six down, ten to go (Day 53)

A brief update: I finished drafting the sixth installment of my saga yesterday. I'm not at the halfway point, but the character is more of an adult now, and therefore more fun to write (and edit). I tormented (and that's the nice word for it) my main character for two installments, but she's starting to find her spine again. Don't worry--she'll suffer yet again before we wrap this up, and we'll also take a little detour into history to answer questions readers will have...but not quite yet.

147,248 words. Let's see what we end up landing on.

Deb in the City

History versus the news (Day 52)

I don't read as much of Austin Kleon since he switched over to Substack, first because I didn't want to pay for the subscription, then because of the whole, you know, Substack and Nazis thing. But, before everyone rushed to monetize the mailing list they'd been told would insulate them from the vagaries of social media, I enjoyed a lot of his insights.

One that stands out in particular was that sometimes reading books from a generation ago (or maybe more like two decades ago) provided something we didn't get from the latest and greatest published in the last year. I've been thinking about this a lot since I read Revolutionary Spring.

I pat myself on the back a lot--I know this--but my latest source of self-congratulations is that I lean on books for information as opposed to the news, whether that be radio or print. And I think this is a good position: the trade off of not being up on the latest and greatest is that I get to explore an issue in some depth (bonus: I also have an excuse not to engage in idiotic rages on social media). 

But as much as I complain about the propagandist spin of much of our media, I can't deny that publishing is an arm of the media (and as an indie author, trust me, I know this well). And while they may ultimately produce better media artifacts, they are making decisions that are both sensitive to the moment and shape the moment. I'm not naive--I understand manuscripts aren't published simply because of their quality.

It's fair to say that the books that were published for similar reasons in previous generations, they're not playing the same role in shaping the conversation as they were then. If anything, teasing out the ways in which they formed thoughts--and how their thoughts were informed--is part of the enrichment of "news from the past", and at the same time a little easier than when you're living through the moment.

All a very long wind up to say that the Studs Terkel Radio Archive is one of the best things on the internet. Terkel was an observer with a deep memory, and he knew what was happening as it happened around him (that's unfortunately rare). As such, his conversations and insights can be mind-blowing, as well as making me snap my fingers because someone caught something so perfectly that I've noticed but never been able to put into words. Had just such a moment this morning when listening to him talk to Neil Postman--in 1974--about what was then the latest round of the Education Wars. Give it a listen, and then tool around the rest of the site for your own personal time machine.

Beats skimming for today's news.

Deb in the City

The dead of night, thanks to allergies (Day 51)

The worst thing about not getting as much sleep as other people (at least in my home) is having to lie in bed awake for so long before I can turn on the light. I've learned through many early morning hours that, for the most part, the thoughts I have at those times are not thoughts that I should take seriously. I have no idea what the science says about it, but I imagine my thinks it should still be sleeping, and therefore processes thoughts at a level that isn't entirely rational. Because I am, actually, awake, those thoughts tend to look like the worst possible version of my fears and insecurities. Perhaps the lesson of the long, dark nights of our souls isn't that we have to unlock anything, we just have to get through it.

It is far, far better when I can do something as opposed to lying in bed, staring into the dark, waiting for sleep to return, which it almost never does. I do try to make use of my phone during those times, but that concentrated bright light doesn't help much when the rest of the room is dark, and I feel my already weak eyes straining that much more. I have been going into the kitchen once it hits 6 AM--that's a decent time to move around--but I think I'm going to have to start at 5:30 AM. 

Last night saw me wake up around 3 AM, in large part because I wasn't able to work out yesterday due to my allergies. 3 AM is not the worst--it's 2 or 2:30 that makes me feel like I want to fly into the stratosphere. But usually if I can fall asleep around 9 or 9:30 PM, I can stay in bed until around 4 or 4:30 AM. (The night before I slept until 6:30 AM, which was amazing until I realized that it was because of Daylight Savings--but 5:30 isn't bad either.) I have, of course, tried to stay up later in the hopes of waking up later, but staying up until 10:30 PM doesn't buy me later sleep but less sleep--go figure. 

Clearly, I need to make sure I work out, which is why I'm pretty religious about it. But then I need to avoid eating foods that trigger any reactions, and that is harder to control as my reactions are getting a little more serious. Is this why so many people go on vegetable only diets?

Deb in the City

Allergies (Day 50)

I mark the half-way point of my blogging experiment with a really lousy allergy flare up. I know, exciting stuff, but then I never promised that I was going to be constant explosions of surprising insights. Also, pretty sure it isn't just me.

Two possible culprits: earlier spring seems to be bringing earlier pollen, and I've also been told people can have winter allergies. While that wasn't much of a problem when I was younger, entirely possible that it's something that has changed in my body, especially given all of the things that have changed on the planet.

Other possible sources include my worsening food sensitivities. These are not things that show up in an allergy panel, but as an allergist once told me, our bodies' reactions are the best possible indicators. All I know is that I long for the time when I could choose to not eat meat and was a little lactose intolerant; as it is now, reactions to dairy and eggs are uncomfortable but fleeting, while reactions to wheat and soy are frightening, suspending some of my body's systems for a week. I'm more careful than I have been, but even after being assured that a dish I ordered had neither soy nor wheat, I find myself this morning, even after literally rinsing leftovers, sick to my stomach, struggling to keep my eyes open, and experiencing numbness on my tongue and fingertips. 

As with so many things lately, the first thought that comes to mind is "why can't it be both?" However, I'm not sure how safe it is for me to ever go to a Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Thai place ever again. 

Thank god for Indian food?

Deb in the City

It's not every day a relative shows up in a book (Day 49)

Finally started reading Beasts of a Little Land by Juhea Kim, and it's really good. I would watch fewer k-dramas if there were more books like this. 

Bonus: one of the main characters in the sprawling cast shares a name with my cousin. This doesn't happen often: Nam is an unusual Korean name, and my cousin's name isn't uncommon, but it isn't the Korean equivalent of John or Michael. (Worth noting that this is the first time this has happened to me, despite having some relatives on the other side of my family with more common names like Lloyd, Prince, Simmons, and even more common names like David, John, and Margaret. )

Obviously I am destined to love this book.

Deb in the City

Don't worry, Substack, I can wait you out (Day 48)

I'm aghast at how many seemingly ethical actors have chosen to throw in with Substack even after revelations that they are platforming Nazis. If someone locked themselves into the service before--and they've grown dependent on the income from the paid subscriptions--I understand why they've remained. These services don't make it easy to transition away from them, and not everyone has the ability to create their own personalized service. 

But those aren't the only people on Substack, and I'm dismayed to see new or newish people popping up there all the time. This morning, while looking for the blog of one of my favorite authors, I discovered that he recently transitioned to Substack. Just...what? Does Nazi not conjure up images of bigotry and violence that it does for me? Did no one else get the lessons in school about how collaborators and bystanders facilitated them?

I am also unnerved by the sheer number; it's starting to feel like I'm surrounded. It's starting to take on an air of inevitability, as in, "Check my business' Facebook page for information about our hours." I don't have a choice, do I?

No, actually, I do. I'm not the one suffering if I don't subscribe to these people's newsletters, they are (and they can all stop pretending they're fooling anyone by "allowing" you to read their posts as blogs for free: anyone who's been on the internet for over a decade knows that won't last). And as inevitable as Facebook was, as inevitable as Twitter was, as inevitable as Instagram was, they are not now. The momentum had shifted to other platforms--which is something anyone who has been on the internet for five years can tell you. 

There's a universe of people who aren't going to reach me because they've decided to linger in a universe inhabited by Nazis. Well, this is their choice, but I'm going to remember (choices have consequences). And when their audience decides that they don't want to be in a constant state of being their customers, I suspect we'll start seeing a lot of public mea culpas.

The drama--the pageant of passions--is the only thing inevitable on the internet as it is today. I'll just be here, reading my books, wondering when people are going to stop repeating each other's mistakes. 

Bonus: Nazi-free.

Deb in the City

Who's zooming who? (Day 47)

Who knew that my obsessive interest in performance would morph into something of an obsession with propaganda versus history? 

I've been rolling my eyes for over two decades about how the plethora of news outlets focuses on the same stories ad nauseam. I thank The Economist for remembering Myanmar and reminding people of the existence of Cameroon, but even they don't have enough to say about Syria (history is not going to judge any of us well for sitting back while a creep butchered his people for a decade). 

It occurred to me this week that the problem isn't "the news" but me. Why have I been thinking all this time that these outlets was going to include far-flung places like Burkina Faso and Cambodia? Because they've done a thorough job of convincing me--and, I assume, others--that they cover the *important* stories, so if something isn't being covered, it's because it isn't important. The cognitive dissonance has come in because I've been aware of stories that no, really, are important and aren't getting coverage. Surely the problem was that The News wasn't doing its job. But I actually think they have been. They're not just covering what is objectively important--they are *telling you* what is important. 

In case I'm not being clear, let me use another word: they are **deciding** what is important, what is The News. And once you see it that way, and once you understand how much is communicated and shaped through the lens of propaganda, you can take the news for what it's worth. (And yes, that will mean freeing up a lot of time to read books. But then again...books don't publish themselves, for the most part.)

Deb in the City

Benefits are a lifeline for many (Day 46)

I met someone yesterday who was deeply depressed because her Long-Term Disability benefits (SSDI) had suddenly, erroneously, been cut off at the beginning of the year. As soon as she started speaking, I felt ill. Like so many people, I've had to deal with sudden changes to insurance benefits, and I've had to help family members navigate those bureaucracies. It can be an agonizing process, and wow, I hope people aren't trying to do that on their lunch hours, because the wait times can be forever. 

I've come to the conclusion that difficulties navigating a bureaucracy are a feature, not a bug. In other words, they know that after a certain point enough people are going to give up, and they want it that way, and that means they have fewer services--or guaranteed entitlements--to provide. That is a scam.

And it is deadly, especially when your inaction harms people who are already the most vulnerable. People who are on long-term disability depend on those benefits as their only source of income. Some are fortunate enough to live with family and friends who can provide for them, but many are not. Some of them are also dependent on that money to supplement other benefit programs, particularly the ones that make it possible for them to eat. Losing that money can be a matter of life and death.

The person I met could not stop crying for the first few minutes. She had been spending months trying to sort it out, and she hadn't been able to yet. Doing so required medical notes from her doctor to verify her condition--on a good day, those can be hard to get. Bureaucracies involve more bureaucracies, which is added impetus to forfeit.

Some people have said that sometimes you need to keep calling until you get a kind person who can 1) understand and 2) help you. Well, I agree with the first half: you need to keep calling, and that in itself is exhausting. But finding a kind person, actually, means nothing: the kindest person I spoke to when calling on behalf of a family member gave me incorrect information. She was very nice about it, but the net result was that she wasted as much of my time as the nastier ones.

I have sorted things out on my end, and I think, on balance, it is true that if you persist you can eventually do the same. I sincerely hope my new acquaintance can eventually sort her problems out. But persistence is hard when you have a condition that already qualified for long-term disability and you're thisclose to suicidal depression. 

It's one more symptom of a broken system, and one more reason we need systemic change.

Deb in the City