dual personalities

Praise God from whom all blessings flow, my mood has finally improved. In large part, this is because I took Tuesday afternoon off from work and have started refusing to put Zoom meetings on the calendar.

With my time off, I made a strawberry rhubarb pie that was totally delicious. I love strawberry rhubarb pie, certainly for the flavor but also because it feels so purely end-of-Spring, beginning-of-summer. Like peony season. I make my own pie crust and it doesn’t always look perfect, but for some reason, this just totally hit the spot. (And then hit the spot again for breakfast.)

I also spent some time re-watching John Mulaney stand-up this week. This joke, about stopping at a McDonald’s on a road trip, had me laughing out loud. I’ve actually pulled this move as a babysitter!

I did find out through my clip-fest that late night television seems to be suffering from the Zoom setting. Not that I ever consumed these shows when they were produced on set, but I found John Mulaney’s interviews with Stephen Colbert and Seth Myers borderline boring! How is it possible.

I did appreciate this bit (watch 9:25-11:00). The line “I can have hair on my face” is highly relevant to my feelings about DN’s quarantine beard growth. (As I’ve written before, loving John Mulaney perhaps exposes my “type.”) Also, I myself also desperately need a quarantine haircut. I’m trying to convince DN that he should give it a go. My mother cut my hair until I was at least 14; I think he could handle it.

Whether or not you choose Mulaney, watching some stand-up comedy — even specials you’ve seen before — lifts the spirits! I mean, duh.

DN takes great selfie candids, eh?

Last but not least on the positive vibes front: I’m sticking to my daily walk routine! The sun really is the best medicine, isn’t it?

This is pretty much my reaction to every interaction I have with my co-workers via phone. Except instead of going to my room, I remain in my apartment and vow not to reply to their dumb suggestions going forward.

Anyway, it’s Tuesday again and this time I’m not in a terrible mood. I also did not go to the grocery store today. I’m sure there is a correlation.

In other news, it is really amazing what you can accomplish when you aren’t allowed to go anywhere. I’ve got a ways to go (two more boats and a big whale plus the border) and while the end is not in sight, it is definitely reachable.

It isn’t perfect–and I’ve had to do some ripping out and restitching it–but I am quite proud of my progress. I think the sea monster is my favorite element.

I am also excited because I finally got a fiddle leaf fig plant for my apartment. They are very trendy and I’ve wanted one for some time. While my mother and I were at a nursery looking for plants for her as a Mother’s Day gift, I, of course, found something for myself! Anyway, I’m excited to see if I can keep it alive.

I should add that it’s not all sunshine and roses here in flyover country, though:

As my mother mentioned, we listened to quite a bit of angsty music that was trendy 15 years ago this weekend. And it really struck me how much that kind of “I’m privileged but unhappy” attitude that one mistakes for being “deep” as a college student is just not remotely entertaining to me anymore. I enjoy Patrick Park and “Something Pretty” is a fun throwback–but one can OD on angst.

Loneliness, she greets me every morning may be cooler, but I’ll take joy still comes in the morning.

Did you have a nice Mother’s Day? I wish I had a good literary quote (like the DP’s on Saturday) to celebrate wonderful mothers, but I’m a bit at a loss — my favorite Elizabeth Stuart Phelps quote has been blogged before, and the book I’m trying to finish (The Scarlet Letter) certainly features motherhood, but not in a totally uplifting way!

I missed my mom a lot this weekend. Unfortunately my “new normal” seems to include a terrible Saturday dip — a busy week’s worth of anxiety finally has a chance to descend, and I have nothing to do but wallow! It appears that my hormones have inserted themselves into this mix, so it was a real doozy of feelings this weekend. Well, like I say, at least we have cell phones — I am able to check in with my mom (and siblings), connect on Instagram and have nice long conversations as needed. I am very grateful for that.

We did make a socially-distant visit to the suburbs to celebrate Mother’s Day on Sunday with DN’s parents. I made lemon-ricotta cookies and boxed them up nicely, which gave me a (tasty!) sense of purpose. (Plus, we have leftovers.) It was nice to be outside on a spacious patio and catch up. Of course, we also got to see the dog:

It was warm enough to take my sweater off, so there was no hiding the 9-month bump…

Now, time for another week — only 2 full weeks of work left for me, so I will do my best to hang in there!

Another week has flown by and we all feel as beleaguered as the poor daffodils and just-sprouting peonies in this photo:

Snow in May isn’t that unusual, but given our current circumstances, it feels a little punitive. Governor Cuomo’s lock-down continues…

Since tomorrow is Mother’s Day, I’ve been thinking about how many women experience the day as mothers and daughters simultaneously. Tomorrow, I will talk to my wonderful sons and reminisce about their childhoods, but I will also remember my own mother, as indeed I do every day.

As I prepared to write this post and looked for an appropriate photo of our mother, I realized that I do not have many. Back in ‘our day’, photos belonged to special occasions; we could not record every moment of our daily lives, and the fact that our mother usually acted as photographer reduced her appearance in photos even more. She did not like to have her picture taken. Here’s a cropped photo from a Christmas in the early 1960s.

You see my DP’s leg in the bottom right among the wrapping paper. That was the year my parents gave our brother a toy bazooka that shot large, blue plastic missiles. I don’t suppose they anticipated that he’d use his sisters as targets. Those bazooka shells hurt! In the photo, taken before a weapon has been fired, our Mother looks happy and relaxed. All hell will break loose once she heads to the kitchen to make Christmas dinner. Despite the brotherly rambunctiousness and sisterly tears, it was a nearly perfect Christmas.

Recently, I came across John Steinbeck’s description of Ma Joad from The Grapes of Wrath and I remembered that my DP had quoted it previously  as another Mother’s Day approached. I think it’s worth including again:

“Ma was heavy, but not fat; thick with child-bearing and work… She looked out into the sunshine. Her full face was not soft; it was controlled, kindly. Her hazel eyes seemed to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and a superhuman understanding. She seemed to know, to accept, to welcome her position, the citadel of the family, the strong place that could not be taken. And since old Tom and the children could not know hurt or fear unless she acknowledged hurt and fear, she had practiced denying them in herself. And since, when a joyful thing happened, they looked to see whether joy was on her, it was her habit to build up laughter out of inadequate materials. But better than joy was calm. Imperturbability could be depended upon. And from her great and humble position in the family she had taken dignity and a clean calm beauty. From her position as healer, her hands had grown sure and cool and quiet; from her position as arbiter she had become as remote and faultless in judgment as a goddess. She seemed to know that if she swayed the family shook, and if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired the family would fall, the family will to function would be gone.”

We all depended on Mother — maybe a little too much — and we miss her daily. Happy Mother’s Day to all of you, whether you are celebrating your mother, busy being one, or about to become one!

*Robert Louis Stevenson, “To My Mother”:

Several weeks ago, I wrote about the experience of watching The Thomas Crown Affair, a movie that was so purely of its time (the sixties) that it actually managed to take me out of the current moment. Well, I continue to think there’s something to that. The other night, some odd flare of nostalgia inspired me to select Garden State for our night’s movie viewing.

Is there a movie more 2000s than Garden State? It showcases the manic-pixie-dream-girl love interest, an indie soundtrack, and a painfully-earnest script ready to be excerpted in quotation compilations published to Thought Catalog.

So it didn’t change our lives — it’s really pretty bad — but it was mildly captivating for a Sunday evening in quarantine. (“Mildly captivating” is my new bar for entertainment.)

Watching Garden State reminded me of another angsty early-aughts indie film, Donnie Darko, which I similarly remember primarily for its soundtrack. I might have to watch it next.

My apologies if I’ve forced you to you listen to this song and now you feel like this:

“Mad world,” indeed. Any other ideas for comfortingly era-specific films to add to our list?

*”Outlier” by Spoon

Well, hello there. It must be Wednesday again. And as usual I’m all frenzied having had a busy day topped with a trip to the grocery store. There’s something about the parking lot at the Jefferson City Hy Vee that just really does not bring out the best in me. I need to do some deep breathing exercises to recover.

Maybe a little Jim Gaffigan will help.

I can’t decide if watching that made me feel fatter or thinner. My favorite part is when he refers to Jon Hamm as his stunt double. I feel a little like this these days:

If only I’d spent the last seven (eight?) weeks doing sit ups and burpees as I’d intended and not just calling my one walk a day “exercise”. Oh well. It turns out summer bodies are NOT made in quarantine.

I always say I should start writing these posts on the weekend so they aren’t just my angry ramblings on Tuesday evening–but I sat down this Sunday and was like “Hmmmm….no inspiration….maybe something will inspire me on Tuesday” and here we are.

This did make me laugh this week. And I did hear some Marty Stuart on the radio. But boy I feel like we all need a reprieve from this pandemic. My weariness does amaze me. I feel like this calls for some singing of Bob Dylan. Loudly. Sorry neighbors.

*Mr. Tamborine Man, Bob Dylan