Gratitudes 2: sourdough starter, email, and dinner out/branzini

Today a sister and friend wrote with some distressing news: 2–5 years. I truly hope that the doctors will be able to circumvent that prognosis, but what if not? Two to five years? No. I can't believe that. I can't believe ever being without her. We already lost her husband, for god's sake.

Death has been on my mind already lately—because of the flashing red lights outside our house last night (all's well, thankfully), because my Norwegian brother-in-law has Parkinson's, because Milo, our beloved dog, is almost 13. This news just gives me more to worry over.

Another friend asked this morning on our daily WhatsApp chat, three of us, if we do daily gratitudes. She was just at a memorial service, and the fellow being memorialized had gotten in the habit of exchanging gratitudes with a friend of his. The friend shared some of those. She said it was moving, hearing his moments of gratefulness, of noticing. Concrete. "The details!" she said. "The voice!" He had been navigating sobriety. An extra layer. 

So I'm here today with another three. Maybe I'll make it a daily project. Or maybe I'll never get sucked into the "daily" nonsense again. Time will tell.

1. The beautiful bubbling aliveness of the sourdough starter I launched a couple of weeks ago. Soon, I will have enough head space to bake a loaf of bread with it. But even if I never did that, feeding it each day, then seeing the bubbles rise some hours later—it's oddly satisfying.

2. Email. I was spelling out the entire story here, which had to do with a finished editing job and locking files, and different operating systems on different computers, but no, the details aren't important here. Email, however, is: it allowed me to finish my end of the job, and then send the files to the author for her review. (Though email is also how I heard the 2–5 year news...)

3. Dinner out: branzini on a carroty quinoa bed, with asparagus, coconut, Pernod-infused raisins (I kid you not). It's nothing I'd ever even dream of cooking at home. And it was super delicious. Thank you, fish, for the sacrifice of your life.

Gratitudes

I've been looking through old posts—1,464 so far, since April 12, 2009, but really getting going in 2015. It's fun to see my life (recent and going back some) laid out in words. I've done some cool stuff! Been some cool places! Discovered some really interesting things. Spent time with wonderful people.

Lately, though, I've been in a bit of funk, and I've been trying to figure out how to break out of it. 

Pharmaceuticals, maybe? Psilocybin? Coffee doesn't seem to work.

Just kidding, ha ha.

But also not. I feel like I need a shift in perspective. A shift in sensibility. And I don't know how to achieve that. (Psilocybin, my brain whispers... if only it weren't illegal...)

An acquaintance of mine had a health issue recently, and as it was being resolved, she found solace in Icelandic horses. I love the specificity of that: you hurt? go to Iceland, find a horse with your name on it. A grounded place, and someone (preferably with a mane) to hug.

I have always used travel as my something to hug, but that's not working so well anymore. It's not especially huggable, arriving in a foreign place and having to reconnoiter, in a strange language, in a traffic jam, wondering just what I am risking waiving the insurance on the rented Peugeot, why my credit card is being refused at the train station kiosk.

Last year, I traveled to Portugal and France, the Galápagos, Ontario, and Madagscar. This year, so far, to Denmark, Norway, and France. It's been eye-opening and rewarding; I do benefit from the stimulation, the difference, for sure. But centering? grounding? Not so much.

So I find myself growing ever more focused on my leaf-patterned chair upstairs, or the comfy brown couch in front of the TV. 

And that is not good.

It is strange to feel the world shrinking around you. I think some of it comes from Covid (scary virus!) and some—moreso—from the political insanity in this country, and elsewhere as well. I honestly feel that the world I grew up learning about, fitting into, has vanished. Or at least it's contracting, growing ever more conservative, restrictive, rights-bashing, dare I say fascist. Even bastions of open-armed liberalness like Denmark and the Netherlands have closed in on themselves. But this country? Half of it has gone insane. And that scares me. 

Not that I, personally, will be affected by the rightward shift. But this country isn't just about me. It's about an ideal, an idea, yes. But it's also about real, struggling people. Whom the GOP don't seem to give a damn about. If I may generalize. But I think it's a fair generalization.

In any case, I didn't come here to whine about the state of my country. Whining does no good. The other day I posted some tips for dealing with depression, and I think I'll start mining them more.  

One thing that is missing from that list is meditation. I've said before that I'd like to start meditating—as in, regularly. As in, every day. Maybe now's the time to start. (How many times can I say that without acting on it? An infinite number, apparently!) Also, writing some short gratitudes every day. 

Like, today: I am grateful for Lindt caramel milk chocolate truffle bars, which presently are on sale at Safeway (and I'm grateful for that, because it gave me permission to buy four of them, for five bucks). I am grateful to be finished with chapter 4 of the guidebook on swimming in California that I'm editing; only two chapters to go, and then I'll be done with work for a while—like, until (if) I decide to take on a new project. Which at the moment, I strongly do not want to do. But I know how restless I get, how undirected. Work gives me focus. And yet . . . I really do think I'd like to quit. Forever. And put my attention somewhere else more centering, more grounding.

So, gratitude #3: I am grateful for having so many interests and, dare I say, a few skills. I brought home from Europe a couple of books each in Norwegian and French. When I finish improving other people's prose in English, maybe it'll be time to tread some foreign-language waters. I may not be a confident swimmer, but at least I know I can stay afloat. And maybe I can get back to making artist books. And curating photos. And taking new photos, with my new camera. There's always the garage to clean out, books to cull. And I'd like to do more reading—um, in Norwegian or French. Or English! There's so much good literature out there. I don't have all the time in the world, after all. And I have many, many more books than I can read in whatever time I have left. Finally, there's the sourdough starter I've concocted, and that's doing really well. Maybe it's finally time to try making a loaf of bread? So yeah: I should get to it. Honestly, there is no shortage of (personally) worthwhile things I could be doing.

Okay. That was a good pep talk, which I'm putting out here for all the world (or at any rate, my six followers) to see.

But I'm still interested in psylocibin . . . Or what the heck, maybe Icelandic horses.

Or both!

But not at once.

Paul Klee's cats

I first saw Paul Klee's (1879–1940) paintings in person at the art museum in Cleveland. Oh, they were entrancing! I don't recall seeing cat paintings per se there, but today I ran into one on FB (I should just call this blog "My Facebook Encounters," shouldn't I?), and that got me looking for more of his work. And what I happened upon was his cats, and so yes, I just kept going down that rabbit (not cat!) hole. And here is some of what I found.

Cat Staring at the Moon, c. 1920

A Kind of Cat, 1937

Brocard Katze sich leckend, 1905

Tom Cat's Turf, 1919

Cat and Bird, 1928

Where this post started:
The Mountain of the Sacred Cat, 1923

Paul Klee, his wife Lily, and their cat Bimbo

Depression tips

I get down sometimes. I imagine we all do. A friend posted these tips on FB, and I think they make for a lot of good pointers. So I thought I'd keep 'em here.

• Shower. Not a bath, a shower. Use water as hot or cold as you like. You don’t even need to wash. Just get in under the water and let it run over you for a while. Sit on the floor if you gotta.
• Moisturize everything. Use whatever lotion you like. Unscented? Poundland lotion? Fancy 48-hour lotion that makes you smell like a field of wildflowers? Use whatever you want, and use it all over your entire dermis. 
• Put on clean, comfortable clothes. 
• Put on your favorite underwear. Those boxers that are so comfortable and worn out? Cute black lacy panties? Those ridiculous briefs you bought last Christmas with pink love hearts on the butt? Put them on.
• Drink cold water. Use ice. If you want, add some mint or lemon for an extra boost. 
• Clean something. Doesn’t have to be anything big. Organize one drawer of a desk. Wash five dirty dishes. Do a load of laundry. Scrub the bathroom sink. 
• Blast music. Listen to something upbeat and dancey and loud, something that’s got lots of energy. Sing to it, dance to it, even if you suck at both.
• Make food. Don’t just grab a Kit Kat bar to munch. Take the time and make food. Even if it’s beans on toast. Add something special to it, like a soft boiled egg or some veggies. Prepare food, it tastes way better, and you’ll feel like you accomplished something.
• Make something. Write a short story or a poem, draw a picture, color a picture, fold origami, crochet or knit, sculpt something out of clay, anything artistic. Even if you don’t think you’re good at it. Create. 
• Go outside. Take a walk. Sit in the grass. Look at the clouds. Smell flowers. Put your hands in the dirt and feel the soil against your skin.
• Call someone. Call a loved one, a friend, a family member, call a chat service if you have no one else to call. Talk to a stranger on the street. Have a conversation and listen to someone’s voice. If you can’t bring yourself to call, text or email or whatever, just have some social interaction with another person. Even if you don’t say much, listen to them. It helps. 
• Cuddle your pets if you have them/can cuddle them. Take pictures of them. Talk to them. Tell them how you feel, about your favorite movie, a new game coming out, anything. 

May seem small or silly to some, but this list keeps people alive. 

 

*** At your absolute best you won’t be good enough for the wrong people. But at your worst, you’ll still be worth it to the right ones. Remember that. Keep holding on. 

 

*** In case nobody has told you today I love you and you are worth your weight and then some in gold, so be kind to yourself, and most of all, keep pushing on.

 

There is always something to be grateful for. Find it and hold it in your thoughts.

Europe '23

Although I didn't post photos here from our recent trip to Denmark, Norway, and Brittany, I did post photos on Facebook. Here are the daily links. With commentary, and the occasional odd photo.

Departure from SFO (5/12)

We landed at our friends Jan & Catharina's, just north of Copenhagen, and took an afternoon stroll to the little lake nearby:

A beautiful day on the water in J&C's sailboat, and a visit to the Swedish island of Hven, home of astronomer Tycho Brahe

A rest day—i.e., a hike around Sjælsø, the lake pictured above

A day in Copenhagen, wandering about the town

Another day in Copenhagen, visiting museums 

An excursion to the island of Møn

Helsingør and the Louisiana Museum of Art

Our last full day in Denmark: more sailing (sort of), a walk along the shore, and a last luscious dinner out  

A final morning walk, then . . . on to Norway, by ferry!

A walkabout in Oslo, geocaching 

And another wander, close to home, including the botanical garden 

Frognerparken, one of my favorite spots in Oslo, and downtown Oslo

And then we flew to Kirkenes in the far north (Finnmark) for a week of birds and beautiful stark landscapes 

May 26, our first full day in Finnmark, in three parts: buying shrimp at the dock in the morning, traveling up the coast to see birds and witches, and the midnight sun

A trip to the end of the world—or at least the end of the road 

A day hanging around our little peninsula of Ekkerøy

Last day in Finnmark, with a visit to the Russian border—and our flight back to Oslo 

One last day wandering around Oslo

And so we move on to new surroundings: Brittany, by way of Alençon, Normandie

A driving day through Normandie and Brittany as we head toward St-Benôit-des-Ondes

A walk up the coast while we await our niece, Erica, and her husband, Terry 

A visit to St-Malo

A coastal walk at Pointe du Grouin, near Cancale 

Dinan, a charming medieval town

Cap Fréhel, another coastal walk 

Mont St-Michel

La Plage des Chevrets and Île Besnard 

Moving on to our final week, in the southwest of Brittany near Quimper 

The forest of Huelgoat, followed by a visit to the church of Pleyben

A ramble along the Bélon estuary 

Carnac 

Point du Van to Pointe du Raz—another coastal walk

Pointe de la Torche and Bigourne Bay

Quimper and one last geocaching excursion  

Heading to CDG and home

Book Report: The Plot

13. Jean Hanff Korelitz, The Plot (2021) (7/23/23)

I keep trying to read these novels that are touted as "breathtakingly suspenseful," hoping they really will be, but I'm always disappointed. (Gone Girl, The Girl on the Train.) Not only that, but I end up feeling cheap and dirty. This was another of those. Yes, I want a page-turner, and yes, this one was (in part because, finally, I just wanted to get it over with), but I also want something where there's redemption, not merely trickery. In any case, the moment the "bad guy" appeared, I had my suspicions, and there was no one else it could ever have been. Totally predictable. And the plot itself? utterly preposterous. When will I learn my lesson? With this one? Can I hope?

All that said, the writing itself was good (except for the excessive parenthetical asides), and there are moments when it works as literary satire. But that's not enough. As the protagonist of this book would have agreed. 

For the record, I read this because of something I read online—a book review, I think—by the author, and liked what she had to say, so thought I'd check out one of her own works. It got good reviews, and was on the New York Times 100 Notable Books 2021 list. Apparently, this genre just isn't my cuppa.

Two poems

I have been neglecting the blog, busy traveling. Though why I don't blog when I'm traveling, I just don't know. Instead I post everything on Facebook. Soon I'm going to provide the links to my daily travelogues here, so I can find them again, if for no other reason. But for today, I wanted to share a couple of poems that are, sort of, related, also not. 

The first is by Ross Gay, writing in honor of Eric Garner on the first anniversary of his murder on July 14, 2014. He was killed by police in a prohibited chokehold, and left us the immortal phrase, "I can't breathe." (As did George Floyd.) The second, by Philip Larkin, I heard read in a movie, Empire of Light, which I watched flying from Paris to Toronto last Friday. 

A Small Needful Fact

Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
perhaps, in all likelihood,
he put gently into the earth
some plants which, most likely,
some of them, in all likelihood,
continue to grow, continue
to do what such plants do, like house
and feed small and necessary creatures,
like being pleasant to touch and smell,
like converting sunlight
into food, like making it easier
for us to breathe. 

                                —Ross Gay

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh. 

                                —Philip Larkin