Going out with a bang (Day 100)

I'm going to do a wrap up sometime this week (but not tomorrow), but it's fitting that the last day of my experiment was so jam-packed. The universe wanted to make sure I had a lot of material for today, right?

Today was my son's last day of class, which was a critique of his work by grad students from a nearby university. I had two video calls today, and my husband suggested that I stay home, but since my son seemed like he could use the confidence boost, I came along. Plus... I wanted one final day to be in that part of Boston.

My husband and I walked into the hub of the state government area, and an hour later I phoned into the first phone call. I did try going inside a Fed Ex office, but I wanted more privacy, which, obviously, was more plentiful outside (no, really). I paced around a small pocket park for forty minutes but, miraculously, was able to stay connected through the call.

That done, we walked back through the North End to my son's school, and I got on the second call while my husband got some pizza and treats. This call was harder to stay connected to, either because there was more network traffic or because my Gs were exhausted (or a combination of the two); regardless, walking under any kind of awning was a recipe for disaster. So of course my turn came when my husband and I were within throwing distance of the school, and I had to stop in my tracks for five minutes in something of a chill. But, finally, that was done as well, and back we went to the school. I tried to stay connected for a few more minutes, but since I didn't want to blast my call--and I can't abide by any kind of ear- or headphone--I hopped off. 

My son was out a few minutes later, and he reported that he got a very good critique over all. Now off to the real event--the barbecue restaurant we had promised him for his last day of class. Home to change, then out again to get one of my nieces, then uptown to pick up my daughter at the library, then off to the restaurant. I obviously dreaded this choice initially, but the one thing they had on the menu that accommodated me was delicious. Who knew a barbecue place was going to do such a good job with a salad?

We dropped my niece off, then my husband and son picked up two cakes while my daughter and I waited in the car. We were just minding our own business, trying to listen to music, when she noticed a man in another car staring at her. I turned around, and when I caught the guy's eye, he smiled. I... smiled back, and even waved, and then miraculously he stopped staring. He also drove off a minute later. Thank god, too, because I was so sleep-deprived that I wouldn't have finessed a conversation with him, I would have just ordered him to stop staring at my poor daughter who's been subjected to this kind of thing since she was eleven. (She told me less than an hour later that a drama teacher once told her that she would make a great Bond girl--when she was fourteen. However we want to improve things, ending the sexualization of children is a must.)

Home now, and the teenager who very much wanted a cake to mark the day is asleep. Well, so it goes.

This was a very good day and very good way to end my 100 days.

Deb in the City

Foreverism (Day 99)

The Tech Won't Save Us podcast was one of the recommendations I got to replace The Economist. I've listened to two episodes, including this one on Foreverism. Good news: Foreverism might be the cure for nostalgia; bad news: it just might shrink wrap you as well as our culture.

Please give the episode a listen. I can't describe all of it right now, but think endless Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and, oh yeah, Marvel franchises. (I was motivated to write about it when I saw that they are doing a remake of The Fall Guy. WHAT? WHY??)

It struck me today when I was listening to it with my husband for the second time that the impulse to do this is related to the compulsion to collect. Perhaps a dozen different films and series continuations of an "intellectual property" is the next evolution in the cards and action figures, only now the fans can more fully immerse in it. 

Maybe. All I know is that it made me feel better about almost never wanting to read the same title twice.

Deb in the City

Is Gardenstroke a thing? (Day 98)

My garden-mate and I have been very good about following our schedule and map so far. The real test is next week, when many of the seeds go in, but that can't be any harder than filling a box with dirt and planting spinach, collards, and mesclun.

That doesn't sound hard? I should also mention that we met a little before 1, which meant we were doing a lot of the work at 3. It also meant that we lost the plot more than once, which was kind of comical when we were trying to follow the map--that I created. Our husbands rescued us with food and craft sticks--it's also a garden label--but by then we were already a little spaced out, very sore, and burnt in spite of our hard.

It was fun, but mental note: start gardening before noon.

Deb in the City 

Introvert or just hyper-aware? (Day 97)

I am wondering more and more to what extent even the deep-seated issues we classify as psychiatric, psychological, or even biological are really sociogical. 

I don't believe that the majority of people are fully extroverted or introverted. I think it's a spectrum, and sometimes we feel better around people--or by ourselves--than others. I'm not a psychologist and this is just my opinion, but it's something I observe in myself, and I don't think I'm unique.

I have been more trepidatious in groups recently; let's call it "since the pandemic", and it's made me more observant of those times I feel depleted when I'm around people. What I realized--and maybe this isn't so common--is that I'm very aware not only of the people but also of the social dynamics going on around me. God forbid there are three or more different groups I need to tune into, which means six or more people. I need "a minute" after an hour or so.

It really is exhausting, but it's not *anxiety*, at least not if I understand that word correctly. And, obviously, it's not something I'm as likely to experience with friends and family (at least, not most of my family). That sounds like an introvert, but it's not; there are many times when I crave interactions with people, and not just because it's good for me.

I suspect I am not alone, and I think it's worth asking why I--and others--would be so hypervigilant in social situations. Is it really that we're so sensitive, just wired that way, or might we have been exposed to "dangerous" stimuli that required us to be so "sensitive"? 

I don't know, but maybe next time I'm in a group I'll see how long I can go without trying to suss everyone out.

Deb in the City 

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