dual personalities

Aren’t we all. Well, it’s Tuesday, but it feels like Monday, and I’m not full of rage today. Perhaps tomorrow will be a different story. The weather has been a whole of this for the past few days:

That is to say, sunny and then rainy, but maybe just cloudy, but possibly going to rain, but never really raining, very humid, and vaguely ominous in the distance. It’s getting to be a bit of a bore. You never know if you can take a walk or not!

As my mother said, we had a lovely weekend. We shopped in downtown Kirkwood (where we had to sign in at stores for contact tracing purposes [insert face palm emoji]), walked around Kirkwood Park (I don’t think I’d been there in at least 15 years), listened to music (it’s a great stress reliever), and accidentally drank a whole bottle of Rose. In one sitting. A Henry Mancini record has that effect!

These days, I think it’s important to do things that bring you joy and help take your mind off the world (maybe don’t drink a whole bottle of wine, especially if the wee babes are coming over the next morning). But, indulging in hours of music and not much else is totally fine. Sitting outside in the sunshine, or even just sitting inside, also totally fine. Starting each blog post with something from the Simpsons, totally legit.

I was reading my bible last night (the 99 Days of Joy) and I particularly enjoyed the verse in Luke where Jesus declares “How dull you are!” to the disciples who fail to recognize him when he returns. I just love that. People can be the worst. We’re so irritating, even Jesus gets annoyed with us. We also haven’t changed a whole lot in 2000 years.

So what’s my point? I’m not really sure. But everyday I strive to not be a total bore. Now, I’ll work on not being so dull, as well.

*Bastard, Ben Folds

I know it’s Saturday because it’s my turn to post something. This week was just like last week and the week before that, and they have all blurred together. At some point, as I puttered around, I found this priceless photo in a box of stuff.

What song do you imagine they are playing along to? Why the hats? And, yes, toy weapons do make great air guitars.

In other discovery news, I found this story by our grandfather in a book titled The Best News Stories of 1923. I had to capture it using the snipping tool, hence the three differently sized sections.

Aside from this human interest story, the book included a much longer, more serious selection dealing with rum-running in New York. Here’s the beginning:

If you’re interested, you can read the rest via Google Books.  Our poor grandmother did not bargain on our adventure-seeking grandfather. I imagine that when they got married in 1917 she thought he was an upright, patriotic citizen going off to fight in WWI (which, of course, he was). She expected that after the war he would come home and start practicing law, and that they would become pillars of whatever community they graced. It was not to be. The war killed his brother, but it also introduced Arthur to all sorts of stimulating people and experiences. He flew planes; he rubbed shoulders with movers and shakers different from the staid businessmen of his youth in Burlington. He liked the fast pace of big city journalism. Mira played along for a decade or more, but eventually it got to her and they separated. Arthur went to the west coast, and she and my father went home to Massachusetts. And that, as they say, was that.

When I wasn’t searching through my family’s past, I finished re-reading Wolf Hall, every page of which seems to reward the reader with some insight, beautifully expressed.

But it is no use to justify yourself. It is no good to explain. It is weak to be anecdotal. It is wise to conceal the past even if there is nothing to conceal. A man’s power is in the half-light, in the half-seen movements of his hand and the un-guessed-at expression of his face. It is the absence of facts that frightens people: the gap you open, into which they pour their fears, fantasies and desires (p. 331).

This passage particularly resonated:

You can have a silence full of words. A lute retains, in its bowl, the notes it has played. The viol, in its strings, hold a concord. A shriveled petal can hold its scent, a prayer can rattle with curses; an empty house, when the owners have gone out, can still be loud with ghosts (p. 597).

I am looking forward to re-reading Bring up the Bodies before I start the last book in the series, though it will be difficult to read about Thomas Cromwell’s demise.

In the meantime, life continues apace. Tim and Abbie are arriving for a visit later today. The weather is beautiful and warm (in the 80s) and everything is blooming, but we promise not to go anywhere, do anything or have fun. It’s not allowed here in New York, because we are just starting our phased reopening. Here are the rules:

Have a grand weekend, wherever you are and whatever your circumstances!

Toward the beginning of the COVID-19 crisis, lots of people were writing about plague literature. Most often referenced was Albert Camus’s The Plague, though people also loved to note that Shakespeare largely wrote his plays while in quarantine. So far I have failed to bring much literary focus to this blog, though I did make the rather obvious observation that Thoreau socially distanced at Walden Pond.

Well, I finally got around to making some headway in The Scarlet Letter, which I started way back when in February. And I couldn’t help but think that Hester Prynne, too, was an expert at social distancing. I’m half kidding. Ostracized is more like it, but she had her little cabin outside of town and she rarely went within six feet of others.

In the bit I read last night, Hester reconnects with Arthur Dimmesdale, and feels liberated from her “quarantine” for the first time in seven years:

But Hester Prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, and for so long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society, had habituated herself to such latitude of speculation as was altogether foreign to the clergyman. She wandered, without rule or guidance, in a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, as the untamed forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding a colloquy that was to decide their fate. Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods. For years past she had looked from this estranged point of view at human institutions, and whatever priests or legislators had established; criticising all with hardly more reverence than the Indian would feel for the clerical band, the judicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or the church. The tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers, — stern and wild ones, — and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss.

Do you feel that you are wandering a moral wilderness?

Anyway, I haven’t yet finished the novel and I’ve forgotten precisely how it ends. I’ll have to let you know if — and how — Hester (and her daughter) successfully reenter society.

Must be Tuesday.

Well, today was one of those days. Apple thinks I’ve had my old iPhone for too long and clearly wants me to buy a new one so it is rendering my phone non-functional through its mandatory updates. You know how they work. Then, I managed to spill half a can of soda on my lap during a work call. And, after giving me hope that my car (which I still don’t have) might be ready this afternoon, the mechanic called to say that the windshield they’d been waiting on was delivered but was the wrong one. I’ll never get my little car back. 

In other news, I have to say that one of the most enlightening things about this global pandemic has been learning how many people I know who, despite majoring in Communications in college, are experts in the field of public health and government. It’s really amazing isn’t it?

I’ve also really enjoyed learning how many people I know have access to second homes, pools, bodies of water, or all of the above. And in a Venn diagram of these two groups of people, the overlap is pretty wild.

Normally, I’d wrap this up with something inspirational but I don’t have it in me today. I’ve also used two Simpsons references and a 30 Rock gif so this is a real low for me. I hope everyone has a good rest of the week. And maybe the next time I post, I’ll have my car (but don’t hold your breath).

Turning a corner into the final days of work and the third trimester has really lifted my spirits. Even though Friday turned into a totally nutty day at work, complete with hours on the phone and URGENT!!! budget crises, I persevered and made it to the weekend. From there, I managed to enjoy myself, perhaps because of

Drive-thru McFlurries,

Faux palomas sipped from festive glassware,

And a clean apartment. As you can see, we have no foyer or entryway to speak of, so the space in front of the bookshelves becomes a dumping ground for shoes and packages. Well, we finally won the war against cardboard, and have found a home for all of our incoming baby gear. (For better or worse, we are definitely contributing to Jeff Bezos’s ascent to trillionaire-status.)

I also got about halfway through the large project of reorganizing my clothes and transitioning to a summer wardrobe, though it’s an odd task when you aren’t sure for what you’ll be dressing. I don’t exactly need my party dresses or pencil skirts for the workplace. But it still feels nice to clear out the closets!

DN outdid me on the project front, though. While I napped on Sunday, he scrubbed the bathtub, the bathroom floor, and the kitchen floor. It is amazing what his elbow grease can accomplish compared to mine. Then, he hung a curtain rod in our bedroom. (All of our windows have blinds installed, which are very functional but obviously not the most inspiring.)

Things were touch and go for a minute…

but ultimately he powered through, and the curtains look fantastic. (Once again I ask that you trust me — my iPhone pictures always make things look so dingy!)

Last but not least, I also cut my own hair this weekend. I watched this video, which sounds like it was recorded by a robot, and just went for it. Makes me wonder why I was paying $80 for a haircut pre-quarantine… Will we all be totally self-sufficient by the time this is all over?

This week was a real thrill (sarcastic face): I graded my final papers and then prepped for a routine medical procedure. What used to be merely unpleasant has turned into something positively theatrical. It was all so clandestine. I had to drive to an empty parking lot, make a phone call, and wait in the car until someone in disguise — so shrouded in protective garb as to be unrecognizable as human — came to administer the Covid test (maybe we should call that the Covert test).

Drones and helicopters hovered around — not really, but they wouldn’t have been out of place. On the days following the test, I received multiple phone calls changing the time of the procedure and the instructions about where to go and what to do. Was I in a Mission Impossible movie?

I don’t mean to mock. The health care system up here is doing a tremendous job adapting to endless, draconian directives from the Governor, who apparently thinks everyone lives in New York City.** Despite the B-movie vibe, everything went off without a hitch and I was home sleeping off the anesthesia by lunchtime. To top it all off, I got a phone call early this morning informing me that I had tested negative for Covid-19. Better late than never, I guess. As I said, they are doing their best under pressure, and, hey, I got a nice hospital face mask out of it, so it wasn’t all bad.

All of this has put me in the mood for some spy movies. I could go for The Spy who Came in from the Cold (1965). They knew how to adapt novels to screen in those days and this movie has a great script:

If that seems too dark, try The Man from U.N.C.L.E with Armie Hammer, Alicia Vykander and Henry Cavill. It’s very stylish and quite funny.

Yes, I know my DP has mentioned this movie recently, but being unoriginal, I will mention it again.

That’s all I’ve got for this week. Have a grand weekend navigating our Brave New World!

*Alan Furst, Spies of the Balkans.

**Permit me to explain. I live in the middle of nowhere, in the largest, emptiest county in NY. We’ve never had more than 9 people hospitalized simultaneously and they weren’t in the same hospital, but nevertheless the Governor required every hospital in the state to follow the same Covid operational rules. Given how small our rural hospitals are, he effectively shut them down, thereby driving them to the brink of bankruptcy and causing untold suffering among non-Covid patients awaiting treatment.