Peg Duthie's Blog, page 10
April 15, 2020
meme
Via
![[personal profile]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1491408111i/22407843.png)
kirbyfest
,
kass
,
antisoppist
, and others...
1. Are you an Essential Worker?
No.
2. How many drinks have you had since the quarantine started?
1 bottle of chardonnay
5/6 bottle of Bordeaux
2 beers
1/3 bottle of Louisa's Liqueur ("Louisa Nelson was a woman of remarkable strength and character. . . .")
3. If you have kids... Are they driving you nuts? n/a
4. What new hobby have you taken up during this?
There still aren't enough hours in the day.
5. How many grocery runs have you done?
5? If counting from around the Ides of March. We are down to one scant cup of soy sauce and no mirin, and I ate the last apple this morning, so I cannot put off donning the face mask much longer.
6. What are you spending your stimulus check on?
It will be split between part of a mortgage payment and the fee charged by our new estate lawyer to get our wills and directives updated. (See #15.)
7. Do you have any special occasions that you will miss during this quarantine?
The plans canceled so far through July would fill a whole entry.
My birthday is next month, and I hadn't planned to host a party anyhow (because of rehearsals for Grand Magnolia), but I'm still thinking of ordering an almond cake from Sweet 16th, even though I might end up freezing 3/4 of it.
8. Are you keeping your housework done?
I'm able to tackle more of it because I'm home all day (and because I'm less okay with all the dust and grime now that I am), but done? Cue fit of derisive laughter.
9a. What movie have you watched during this quarantine?
Saw You Gave Me a Song: The Life and Music of Alice Gerrard Monday night, courtesy of the Southern Circuit Film Festival.
9b. What are you reading right now?
Good Omens and The Graham Kerr [aka the Galloping Gourmet] Cookbook
9c. What video game are you playing?
I consider Duolingo a video game. Diamond League, my dudes!
10. What are you streaming with?
YouTube/DailyMotion/Vevo, Spotify, and Hoopla (thank you, Nashville Public Library)
11. 9 months from now is there any chance of you having a baby? Oh hell no.
12. What's your go-to quarantine meal?
Fried rice, with ketchup and a scrambled egg added to whatever odd tasty bits can be scrounged from the fridge and the yard.
13. Is this whole situation making you paranoid?
It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.
14. Has your internet gone out on you during this time?
It's periodically flaky, especially when I'm juggling both home and work connections.
15. What month do you predict this all ends?
"All" being the pandemic, or broad "safer at home" measures? Being deeply cynical, I suspect social restrictions here in the South might ease up by summer solstice or even earlier -- resulting in the curve roaring up three or four or even more times before people truly finally register (if indeed they ever do) that it's not going to end until enough of us cooperate with scientific realities and enough policymakers get their heads out of their asses for an effective vaccine not only to be developed but manufactured and distributed in sufficient quantity to inoculate the general population regardless of socioeconomic means. Which I'm guessing will be more than 18 months out, and given how such things often take far longer than hoped for, it would not surprise me if it takes 36.
All that said, I'm still mulling over whether to continue my membership at the Y. I'm leaning towards no, because I imagine that I will feel for a long time like I'm unnecessarily tempting fate every time I use the pool or sauna or shared equipment, and it's going to feel less safe walking alone across downtown given how many more people are now in dire straits. But I am so much better about pushing myself when I'm a regular at their classes. I am also admittedly reluctant to cancel since I would have to pay a new joining fee if I ever wanted to return, and I wouldn't get the discounted rate I have now, and who knows what their offerings will be once things get back to some pretense of normal. But that is bad math on my part -- the new fee would likely not exceed two months of what I pay now, and the full rate not exceed the total otherwise wasted on two or three years of minimal use. And moreover, pressuring myself to resume going to the Y before I truly feel safe there because it's paid for is the sort of daft thing my brain doesn't need to be doing to me.
(So, yay meme for nudging me into spelling all this out instead of the half-baked dithering I'd applied to the situation thus far.)
16. First thing you're gonna do when you get off quarantine?
Get a haircut and a massage. (Yes, there are people I miss, but it's not like I saw them every week or every month pre-pandemic, and I'm not a hug-my-colleagues gal.)
17. Where do you wish you were right now?
I was supposed to be sea-kayaking near Charleston right around now. (Though I'm also side-eyeing the hotel's email, sent last week: "We thought you would have rebooked by now...")
18. What free-from-quarantine activity are you missing the most?
Swimming laps and English country dancing and waltzing. And right now I don't know if I will return to any of those after the pandemic ends, although in English maybe it will become okay to wear gloves outside of formals.
(I mean, I probably will. I can be as stupid as many people when it comes to disregarding risk because the prospect of missing out becomes too much to bear. But I also don't lack for other diversions -- or, for that matter, obligations. And there's also working to help save the republic . . . )
(Not incidentally, my stats as of Monday: More than 1300 postcards sent since mid-2017, including 123 for Jill Karofsky (Wisconsin Supreme Court). Plus additional cards sent in response to recommendations from Americans of Conscience, plus some self-initiated messages and calls in reaction to other feeds and sources.)
19. Have you run out of toilet paper and hand sanitizer?
No, although the current stash of TP is on the scratchier side than what we usually keep on hand.
20. Do you have enough food to last a month?
No. I like fresh produce and meat (and general variety) too much (just ask my friends in Detroit who had to put up with me craving salad when we were hitting dive bars). Although I also have trouble resisting sales, which is ironically why we have a good supply of paper towels and wipes (both purchased pre-lockdowns), along with three boxes of Hamburger Helper, a huge bag of tulsi leaves, and other testaments to past bouts of impulsiveness and ridiculousness.
comments
kirbyfest
,
kass
,
antisoppist
, and others...1. Are you an Essential Worker?
No.
2. How many drinks have you had since the quarantine started?
1 bottle of chardonnay
5/6 bottle of Bordeaux
2 beers
1/3 bottle of Louisa's Liqueur ("Louisa Nelson was a woman of remarkable strength and character. . . .")
3. If you have kids... Are they driving you nuts? n/a
4. What new hobby have you taken up during this?
There still aren't enough hours in the day.
5. How many grocery runs have you done?
5? If counting from around the Ides of March. We are down to one scant cup of soy sauce and no mirin, and I ate the last apple this morning, so I cannot put off donning the face mask much longer.
6. What are you spending your stimulus check on?
It will be split between part of a mortgage payment and the fee charged by our new estate lawyer to get our wills and directives updated. (See #15.)
7. Do you have any special occasions that you will miss during this quarantine?
The plans canceled so far through July would fill a whole entry.
My birthday is next month, and I hadn't planned to host a party anyhow (because of rehearsals for Grand Magnolia), but I'm still thinking of ordering an almond cake from Sweet 16th, even though I might end up freezing 3/4 of it.
8. Are you keeping your housework done?
I'm able to tackle more of it because I'm home all day (and because I'm less okay with all the dust and grime now that I am), but done? Cue fit of derisive laughter.
9a. What movie have you watched during this quarantine?
Saw You Gave Me a Song: The Life and Music of Alice Gerrard Monday night, courtesy of the Southern Circuit Film Festival.
9b. What are you reading right now?
Good Omens and The Graham Kerr [aka the Galloping Gourmet] Cookbook
9c. What video game are you playing?
I consider Duolingo a video game. Diamond League, my dudes!
10. What are you streaming with?
YouTube/DailyMotion/Vevo, Spotify, and Hoopla (thank you, Nashville Public Library)
11. 9 months from now is there any chance of you having a baby? Oh hell no.
12. What's your go-to quarantine meal?
Fried rice, with ketchup and a scrambled egg added to whatever odd tasty bits can be scrounged from the fridge and the yard.
13. Is this whole situation making you paranoid?
It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.
14. Has your internet gone out on you during this time?
It's periodically flaky, especially when I'm juggling both home and work connections.
15. What month do you predict this all ends?
"All" being the pandemic, or broad "safer at home" measures? Being deeply cynical, I suspect social restrictions here in the South might ease up by summer solstice or even earlier -- resulting in the curve roaring up three or four or even more times before people truly finally register (if indeed they ever do) that it's not going to end until enough of us cooperate with scientific realities and enough policymakers get their heads out of their asses for an effective vaccine not only to be developed but manufactured and distributed in sufficient quantity to inoculate the general population regardless of socioeconomic means. Which I'm guessing will be more than 18 months out, and given how such things often take far longer than hoped for, it would not surprise me if it takes 36.
All that said, I'm still mulling over whether to continue my membership at the Y. I'm leaning towards no, because I imagine that I will feel for a long time like I'm unnecessarily tempting fate every time I use the pool or sauna or shared equipment, and it's going to feel less safe walking alone across downtown given how many more people are now in dire straits. But I am so much better about pushing myself when I'm a regular at their classes. I am also admittedly reluctant to cancel since I would have to pay a new joining fee if I ever wanted to return, and I wouldn't get the discounted rate I have now, and who knows what their offerings will be once things get back to some pretense of normal. But that is bad math on my part -- the new fee would likely not exceed two months of what I pay now, and the full rate not exceed the total otherwise wasted on two or three years of minimal use. And moreover, pressuring myself to resume going to the Y before I truly feel safe there because it's paid for is the sort of daft thing my brain doesn't need to be doing to me.
(So, yay meme for nudging me into spelling all this out instead of the half-baked dithering I'd applied to the situation thus far.)
16. First thing you're gonna do when you get off quarantine?
Get a haircut and a massage. (Yes, there are people I miss, but it's not like I saw them every week or every month pre-pandemic, and I'm not a hug-my-colleagues gal.)
17. Where do you wish you were right now?
I was supposed to be sea-kayaking near Charleston right around now. (Though I'm also side-eyeing the hotel's email, sent last week: "We thought you would have rebooked by now...")
18. What free-from-quarantine activity are you missing the most?
Swimming laps and English country dancing and waltzing. And right now I don't know if I will return to any of those after the pandemic ends, although in English maybe it will become okay to wear gloves outside of formals.
(I mean, I probably will. I can be as stupid as many people when it comes to disregarding risk because the prospect of missing out becomes too much to bear. But I also don't lack for other diversions -- or, for that matter, obligations. And there's also working to help save the republic . . . )
(Not incidentally, my stats as of Monday: More than 1300 postcards sent since mid-2017, including 123 for Jill Karofsky (Wisconsin Supreme Court). Plus additional cards sent in response to recommendations from Americans of Conscience, plus some self-initiated messages and calls in reaction to other feeds and sources.)
19. Have you run out of toilet paper and hand sanitizer?
No, although the current stash of TP is on the scratchier side than what we usually keep on hand.
20. Do you have enough food to last a month?
No. I like fresh produce and meat (and general variety) too much (just ask my friends in Detroit who had to put up with me craving salad when we were hitting dive bars). Although I also have trouble resisting sales, which is ironically why we have a good supply of paper towels and wipes (both purchased pre-lockdowns), along with three boxes of Hamburger Helper, a huge bag of tulsi leaves, and other testaments to past bouts of impulsiveness and ridiculousness.
comments
April 9, 2020
gardening after sundown
Sometimes the urge to keep going wins out. Sowing green beans was on this week's list, and there was a pot's worth of outdoor mix left in the bag, so. Before that, I'd cleaned up and around the rose bushes, added topsoil to the mint patch, accidentally harvested some wild chives, and transplanted more of the Prairie Fire seedlings.
Yesterday, I'd deliberately harvested some gooseweed, turning it into a blenderful of pesto after picking out the bugs.
I learned that it was edible while chatting with my boss, who's been foraging with her family; she referred to the plant as "cleavers," to which I responded, "Bzuh? Whazzat? ... Oh!" Making chimichurri and steamed buns with it is also on my list. As I told another friend, the Taiwanese peasant (me) and Memphis hippie (her) effect has kicked in.
Our fridge did a thing where it froze a bunch of things in spite of the temperature gauge claiming otherwise, so instead of devoting half a cabbage to slaw, I stuck the whole thing in a pot and then rolled/sandwiched the leaves around the bean-and-bulgur mess I'd slow-cooked earlier this week (doctored with eggs and breadcrumbs, with enough left over for a cabbage-loaf):
The rest of the pepper seedlings and the kalanchoe cuttings have been transplanted. I found an old packet of microgreen mix that I've scattered across the surface of a half-dozen pots. There are some more patches of chives in the yard I managed to leave intact, in hopes of snipping at them next week.
Someday I'll work up the energy to build an asparagus bed. It was my parents' most successful crop in all their years of gardening. That, and the daffodils that came back year after year for decades.
The spinach has sprouted. I think there may be some zinnia and pepper action by the front walk, but since I didn't label things properly I'm just going to leave it all alone until I can tell what's what. (Photinia leaves are piling on top of the stretch closest to our east neighbor anyhow.) There are a couple of stalks of something that might be pretty about to unfurl in the front yard, and against the ruined fence to the west, some tiny white blossoms can be glimpsed amid all the green and brown:
comments
Yesterday, I'd deliberately harvested some gooseweed, turning it into a blenderful of pesto after picking out the bugs.
I learned that it was edible while chatting with my boss, who's been foraging with her family; she referred to the plant as "cleavers," to which I responded, "Bzuh? Whazzat? ... Oh!" Making chimichurri and steamed buns with it is also on my list. As I told another friend, the Taiwanese peasant (me) and Memphis hippie (her) effect has kicked in.
Our fridge did a thing where it froze a bunch of things in spite of the temperature gauge claiming otherwise, so instead of devoting half a cabbage to slaw, I stuck the whole thing in a pot and then rolled/sandwiched the leaves around the bean-and-bulgur mess I'd slow-cooked earlier this week (doctored with eggs and breadcrumbs, with enough left over for a cabbage-loaf):
The rest of the pepper seedlings and the kalanchoe cuttings have been transplanted. I found an old packet of microgreen mix that I've scattered across the surface of a half-dozen pots. There are some more patches of chives in the yard I managed to leave intact, in hopes of snipping at them next week.
Someday I'll work up the energy to build an asparagus bed. It was my parents' most successful crop in all their years of gardening. That, and the daffodils that came back year after year for decades.
The spinach has sprouted. I think there may be some zinnia and pepper action by the front walk, but since I didn't label things properly I'm just going to leave it all alone until I can tell what's what. (Photinia leaves are piling on top of the stretch closest to our east neighbor anyhow.) There are a couple of stalks of something that might be pretty about to unfurl in the front yard, and against the ruined fence to the west, some tiny white blossoms can be glimpsed amid all the green and brown:
comments
April 4, 2020
more meme-ing
I rarely enlist the BYM on my projects, in part because of hereditary pigheadedness on both sides and in part because I want my asks to carry sufficient weight (like updating our wills and directives *sigh*), but could I resist the #MuseumFromHome excuse to re-create Giovanni Bologna's River God? Of course not -- especially since after (very predictably) rolling his eyes, he (also very predictably) proceeded to fix the composition like a champ.
In an Ackland Art Museum catalogue:
Chez nous:
In other foolery, I am delighted to see my friend Bill (a global epidemiologist who used to work in Chicago) retweeting artsy riffs on Mayor Lightfoot telling people to stay home:
https://twitter.com/KateSchaefers/status/1245833882219487233
https://twitter.com/BereavedBlessed/status/1245038098905542657
Today's original plan had included yardwork and dance classes, but I sacked it when I didn't end up sacking out long enough overnight, in spite of hitting the hay well before midnight. I did take a stab at cleaning my laptop (almost literally, lifting out like a cat's worth of fuzz and crumbs with toothpicks while half-hysterically muttering jokes to myself about chametz), which (also predictably) has munged something up with my arrow keys, but at least the board as a whole is less disgusting now.
I also tossed assorted sheaves of magazines and clippings with new realism goggles on: recipes containing reflux triggers, cosmetics reviews (so many seasons ago that the products may not even be on offer anymore), travel advice (because who the hell knows what will reopen, or when) . . .
Last year was so nuts that I hadn't actually opened the April/May 2019 issue of Garden & Gun until now. It contains a plantable page of mind that I shall plunk into the front yard. The roses are spotty. Nothing else looks okay except the mint and the radish seedlings, but the violets continue to be abundant, with a few buttercups here and there.
Indoors, the Christmas cactus is providing some pre-Palm Sunday pleasure. It is next to the aloe plant I picked up at the Presbyterian waffle shop last Noel, which has plumped up nicely under my care.
There are also pepper seedlings ready to transplant. There's plenty to do (including a massive report to proofread, Sabbath notwithstanding, hence my being determined to rest the past 24 hours).
comments
In an Ackland Art Museum catalogue:
Chez nous:
In other foolery, I am delighted to see my friend Bill (a global epidemiologist who used to work in Chicago) retweeting artsy riffs on Mayor Lightfoot telling people to stay home:
https://twitter.com/KateSchaefers/status/1245833882219487233
https://twitter.com/BereavedBlessed/status/1245038098905542657
Today's original plan had included yardwork and dance classes, but I sacked it when I didn't end up sacking out long enough overnight, in spite of hitting the hay well before midnight. I did take a stab at cleaning my laptop (almost literally, lifting out like a cat's worth of fuzz and crumbs with toothpicks while half-hysterically muttering jokes to myself about chametz), which (also predictably) has munged something up with my arrow keys, but at least the board as a whole is less disgusting now.
I also tossed assorted sheaves of magazines and clippings with new realism goggles on: recipes containing reflux triggers, cosmetics reviews (so many seasons ago that the products may not even be on offer anymore), travel advice (because who the hell knows what will reopen, or when) . . .
Last year was so nuts that I hadn't actually opened the April/May 2019 issue of Garden & Gun until now. It contains a plantable page of mind that I shall plunk into the front yard. The roses are spotty. Nothing else looks okay except the mint and the radish seedlings, but the violets continue to be abundant, with a few buttercups here and there.
Indoors, the Christmas cactus is providing some pre-Palm Sunday pleasure. It is next to the aloe plant I picked up at the Presbyterian waffle shop last Noel, which has plumped up nicely under my care.
There are also pepper seedlings ready to transplant. There's plenty to do (including a massive report to proofread, Sabbath notwithstanding, hence my being determined to rest the past 24 hours).
comments
March 29, 2020
meme
Via
el_staplador
Last time I traveled abroad: May 2019 - Cancún - wedding celebration for my friends David and Josh
Last time I slept in a hotel: February 2020 - Lexington, Kentucky - wedding celebration for my big brother and his husband
Last time I flew in a plane: July 2019, returning from the Amherst Early Music Festival
Last time I took a train: same
Last time I took public transit: October 2019, Nashville, when I last took my old car to Markee for an oil change. I was able to pin down the month because Music City Transit had just been discontinued, which I learned while stomping across downtown in high heels.
Last time I had a houseguest: January, when big sister Suz and Uncle Harry stayed with us on their way from Detroit to New Orleans.
Last time I got my hair cut: January. I'm hoping to get another one before I have to renew my license, but if not, that's what sponge curlers and heated clamps are for.
Last time I went to the movies: February 29. Agrippina, live in HD. I was definitely one of the younger people there.
Last time I went to the theatre: January. Wendy Whelan and friends - contemporary dance at TPAC.
Last time I went to a concert: January. Reginald Mobley - countertenor recital at Blair.
Last time I went to an art museum: I was last in the office on March 13, the day after we opened Jitish Kallat: Return to Sender and Mel Ziegler: Flag Exchange. I sang at the Tennessee State Museum in December but didn't have time to look around. Maybe Cookeville's Doll Museum and History Museum with Rae, earlier in the fall? ... Oh, wait, I think I poked around the Country Music Hall of Fame some afternoon in January. (Life has been hectic. The winter was a blur.)
Last time I sat down in a restaurant: February - Chinatown, after Agrippina
Last time I went to a party: February - brunch hosted by big brother and his sweetie
Last time I played a board game: Um.... I legit do not remember. Maybe with someone's kids a few years ago. The last time I cleaned a board game was in November 2014, my last month of sanitizing toys as a volunteer at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. The last board game I enjoyed reading was a hilarious mailer from Lucia | Marquand titled So ... You Want to Publish an Art Book. It was shaped like an ampersand and started with these spaces:
comments
el_staplador
Last time I traveled abroad: May 2019 - Cancún - wedding celebration for my friends David and Josh
Last time I slept in a hotel: February 2020 - Lexington, Kentucky - wedding celebration for my big brother and his husband
Last time I flew in a plane: July 2019, returning from the Amherst Early Music Festival
Last time I took a train: same
Last time I took public transit: October 2019, Nashville, when I last took my old car to Markee for an oil change. I was able to pin down the month because Music City Transit had just been discontinued, which I learned while stomping across downtown in high heels.
Last time I had a houseguest: January, when big sister Suz and Uncle Harry stayed with us on their way from Detroit to New Orleans.
Last time I got my hair cut: January. I'm hoping to get another one before I have to renew my license, but if not, that's what sponge curlers and heated clamps are for.
Last time I went to the movies: February 29. Agrippina, live in HD. I was definitely one of the younger people there.
Last time I went to the theatre: January. Wendy Whelan and friends - contemporary dance at TPAC.
Last time I went to a concert: January. Reginald Mobley - countertenor recital at Blair.
Last time I went to an art museum: I was last in the office on March 13, the day after we opened Jitish Kallat: Return to Sender and Mel Ziegler: Flag Exchange. I sang at the Tennessee State Museum in December but didn't have time to look around. Maybe Cookeville's Doll Museum and History Museum with Rae, earlier in the fall? ... Oh, wait, I think I poked around the Country Music Hall of Fame some afternoon in January. (Life has been hectic. The winter was a blur.)
Last time I sat down in a restaurant: February - Chinatown, after Agrippina
Last time I went to a party: February - brunch hosted by big brother and his sweetie
Last time I played a board game: Um.... I legit do not remember. Maybe with someone's kids a few years ago. The last time I cleaned a board game was in November 2014, my last month of sanitizing toys as a volunteer at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. The last board game I enjoyed reading was a hilarious mailer from Lucia | Marquand titled So ... You Want to Publish an Art Book. It was shaped like an ampersand and started with these spaces:
comments
March 28, 2020
patiently plucking at specks
Today was an ideal day for yardwork: the ground still damp from recent rain, but sunny much of the afternoon, with a few stray drops of rain. The temperature was above 80 F when I went out. The bees and wasps were busy among my two surviving rosebushes, but I still managed to cut away as much of the dead and diseased bits as I could. The neighbor who painted our fence last fall was, ah, casual about how much paint landed off-picket, so I have two buckets with me as I prep the strip by the sidewalk -- one for trash, and one for weeds. That said, I'm trying to leave alone the violets (which remind me of Rae) and the crown vetch (which the BYM likes), in some cases transplanting cuttings (most accidental) and/or arranging them near crepe myrtle poles:
The lettuce seeds from 2016 aren't looking promising, but the radish pot is already crowded, so I thinned out that group, transferring some of the seedlings to another container and nibbling on the rest. One neighbor dropped off thank-you beer for the BYM, keeping his distance while placing it on the porch and chatting with me. Another said hi while his two dogs tugged him up and down the street. I was able to wave to my homebound 80-something neighbor when she reached for her mail. The giant owl nesting high up in a hackberry next door hooted up a storm, so to speak, and a couple of hours later I heard a kid imitating it.
We were under a severe thunderstorm warning and tornado watch when I started typing this. In notes/tweets from other locals, the weariness and jitters are palpable. Looking at the wider world, I'm fretting about friends in the so-called hotspots, especially NYC.
I returned to work (remotely) on Monday. Like gardening, there is so dang much to do no matter what is or isn't on the calendar, and so many things outside of my control, budget, etc. Me and my tools will keep scraping at and tugging things into some semblance of order.
Sometimes I am the dumbest kitten in the basket. Yesterday I opened a package of seaweed, realized from the smell that it had gone rancid, and then dumped it into the soup pot anyway. The soup subsequently had to be dumped down the drain. One of these years my understanding of sunk cost fallacy will override peasant autopilot, but it sure didn't kick in last night. I also clean forgot about the five-spice pork in the microwave between putting it in last night and wondering why the machine was flashing its ENJOY YOUR MEAL message this morning. It's okay. There's a lot to tend to, and every experienced cook has tales of failure. I was reading the October 2018 issue of Southern Living earlier today, which has Damaris Phillips's memories of Blackberry Jam Cake: "I made the mistake of using the wrong kind of jam once, and it produced a dense brick of a cake that even our backyard opossum, Sir Phillip, refused to eat."
comments
The lettuce seeds from 2016 aren't looking promising, but the radish pot is already crowded, so I thinned out that group, transferring some of the seedlings to another container and nibbling on the rest. One neighbor dropped off thank-you beer for the BYM, keeping his distance while placing it on the porch and chatting with me. Another said hi while his two dogs tugged him up and down the street. I was able to wave to my homebound 80-something neighbor when she reached for her mail. The giant owl nesting high up in a hackberry next door hooted up a storm, so to speak, and a couple of hours later I heard a kid imitating it.
We were under a severe thunderstorm warning and tornado watch when I started typing this. In notes/tweets from other locals, the weariness and jitters are palpable. Looking at the wider world, I'm fretting about friends in the so-called hotspots, especially NYC.
I returned to work (remotely) on Monday. Like gardening, there is so dang much to do no matter what is or isn't on the calendar, and so many things outside of my control, budget, etc. Me and my tools will keep scraping at and tugging things into some semblance of order.
Sometimes I am the dumbest kitten in the basket. Yesterday I opened a package of seaweed, realized from the smell that it had gone rancid, and then dumped it into the soup pot anyway. The soup subsequently had to be dumped down the drain. One of these years my understanding of sunk cost fallacy will override peasant autopilot, but it sure didn't kick in last night. I also clean forgot about the five-spice pork in the microwave between putting it in last night and wondering why the machine was flashing its ENJOY YOUR MEAL message this morning. It's okay. There's a lot to tend to, and every experienced cook has tales of failure. I was reading the October 2018 issue of Southern Living earlier today, which has Damaris Phillips's memories of Blackberry Jam Cake: "I made the mistake of using the wrong kind of jam once, and it produced a dense brick of a cake that even our backyard opossum, Sir Phillip, refused to eat."
comments
March 22, 2020
blue
The tornado has increased the amount of blue in my neighborhood. The blue of flashing police car lights, blocking off streets or parked outside buildings. The blue of tarps on many roofs, especially on Holly Street.
On my walk to and from Turnip Truck this afternoon, I could see and hear carpenters at work on a roof between Woodland and Holly, even though enough rain was coming down for me to bring out my umbrella.
This tree near East End UMC has a PLEASE DO NOT HAUL AWAY sign affixed to it -- apparently Good Wood Nashville has dibs and will presumably turn it into "tornado furniture."
I had ambitious plans for the day, but then I stayed up until 4 a.m. sipping valerian-camomile tea while writing letters and organizing old messages, and subsequently woke up once or twice mid-sleep thanks to dreams and discomfort (I'll be taking up an extra blanket tonight), so today's been more of the same (plus rereading Jackie Lau's Ultimate Pi Day Party). It's okay:
during high school and part of college, I used to have a Shaker postcard above my desk that said, "Do your work as though you had a thousand years to live and as if you were going to die tomorrow," and some days the thousand years has a bigger say in the pacing.
Today's cooking:
impromptu corn chowder: I belated realized that I really wanted soup for lunch, so I mixed a can of creamed corn with around a 3/4 canful of water, a handful of imitation crab flakes, and a few shakes of pepper.
slow-cooker pork and lentils: 1 lb. pork. 1 bag of lentils. 1/2 bag of cubed sweet potatoes. Around a cup of white rice. All piled into the cooker with water to cover, and some shakes of Montreal chicken seasoning (garlic, onion, salt, black pepper, parsley, red pepper, paprika, orange peel, and green bell pepper); stewed on low for I guess around eight hours, and garnished with fresh parsley and chopped sugar snap peas
There is much that is awful about Twitter, but it does also yield quite a few kernels amid the chaff. Kara Hartnett (
kara_nashpost
) communicated the mayor's Safer At Home order far more effectively than the local Gannett publication or the then-crashed Metro site, which my partner attempted to consult when I came downstairs and said, "So, you saw...?" Later in the day, I played for him Jane Godley's profane "translation" of Nicola Sturgeon's speech, which (as I'd hoped) had him grinning by the end, especially once he found out that Sturgeon herself had retweeted it.
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March 21, 2020
"all my goats are named Margaret"
Today's subject line is from painter Bee Sieburg, in the March 2019 issue of Asheville Made.
Pre-physical distancing, the plan for today was to participate in a vocal clinic, with the combined choirs of First UU Nashville and UUC Huntsville working on "I've Been 'buked" and two other pieces for tomorrow's service.
That didn't happen, but there's an IG video of Alvin Ailey dancers dancing in their own spaces (some with doggies!) to "Buked." So that's a fine thing.
Debbie Allen made the full video of her IG class available. Dancing to it is definitely on my list for next week.
Today's pleasures included receiving notes from other dancers, cooking (pancakes; lamb (the last of the shabu-sliced bowlful I bought earlier this week) and sugar snap peas; turnip cake (modified) and broccoli), and napping. I also picked yet more shingles out of my yard (plus some debris from my neighbor's), scraped paint flakes off the patch where I'm hoping to sow some zinnias, and scrubbed various surfaces. And now it's time to write more postcards.
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Pre-physical distancing, the plan for today was to participate in a vocal clinic, with the combined choirs of First UU Nashville and UUC Huntsville working on "I've Been 'buked" and two other pieces for tomorrow's service.
That didn't happen, but there's an IG video of Alvin Ailey dancers dancing in their own spaces (some with doggies!) to "Buked." So that's a fine thing.
Debbie Allen made the full video of her IG class available. Dancing to it is definitely on my list for next week.
Today's pleasures included receiving notes from other dancers, cooking (pancakes; lamb (the last of the shabu-sliced bowlful I bought earlier this week) and sugar snap peas; turnip cake (modified) and broccoli), and napping. I also picked yet more shingles out of my yard (plus some debris from my neighbor's), scraped paint flakes off the patch where I'm hoping to sow some zinnias, and scrubbed various surfaces. And now it's time to write more postcards.
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March 20, 2020
"moving at the speed of warm lead"
Today's subject line is from Rick Bragg's essay about Atlanta traffic in the May 2018 issue of Southern Living, which also talks about blood pressure as a metric for measuring gridlock: "I think this city has sent more truck drivers to the cardiologist than Little Debbie."
My predictably ornery subconscious devoted my two most recent REM cycles to (1) me playing harpsichord at a crowded expo, and (2) me managing all the logistics of a work-related party. Neither dream was relaxing, but considering I went to bed thinking of guillotines, I should be grateful that they at least didn't feature my own death. No, I haven't been insider trading, but I can't help recalling that intellectuals ended up on the wrong ends of guns and blades during the French Revolution -- U of C made me read Michelet three times -- and the Nationalist takeover of Taiwan. My Aunt Cherry lectured me at length during a phone call some years ago about all the people murdered on Chiang Kai-Shek's watch, including scholars, which is among the reasons why she refuses to speak Mandarin if she is talking to someone who can understand English, Japanese, or Taiwanese.
That said, I've been working on my Mandarin this week, since Duolingo has it and I have relatives with whom conversations aren't going to get very far if I don't get functional in it. I'm about to reach checkpoint 1 in that course, and just passed checkpoint 2 in French. I took a break from Spanish this week since it's tied to work.
Trying to tame the reflux cough means I'm eschewing booze, caffeine, citrus, mint, onions/garlic, spicy dishes, and chocolate at the moment (least successfully with the last two), so when I stopped at Sweet 16th yesterday (which is currently allowing only 5 customers at time in the store, and there was no one at all at around 1 p.m.), I bought a bandana to make up for the cupcakes I'm not currently indulging in. (Plus, I'm going to need more head coverings if physical distancing stretches out beyond a few more weeks. I'm relieved that I no longer have to renew my driver's license in person, even though it means being stuck with the current photo for another half-decade...) Lunch was the pimiento cheese sandwich I picked up from there, plus hot and sour soup from stuff on hand: chicken bouillon, shiitake mushrooms, thin-sliced lamb, Taiwanese spinach, and black vinegar. Dinner was more of that plus a made-in-USA Chinese sausage.
It's not Good Friday yet (which is when one should get to planting, according to the late great Jace Burch's granny), but it was so sunny yesterday that I went ahead with sowing some lettuce, radishes, and peppers. (The seeds for the first two date from 2014, so who knows if anything will sprout...) I also moved four jonquil bulbs from the back room to the future hellebore bed, in hopes of them doing better cushioned in mud than resting on top of pebbles and water. Bates Nursery is open, so today's mission includes fetching a carload of dirt.
Over in the Triangle, VAE is hosting an auction of toilet paper art for NC artist relief. So I grabbed my pens and markers and came up with the above. You can bid on it and other originals at https://e.givesmart.com/s/:OTq733iZp-V/e/h0V/i/ if you feel so moved. ;)
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My predictably ornery subconscious devoted my two most recent REM cycles to (1) me playing harpsichord at a crowded expo, and (2) me managing all the logistics of a work-related party. Neither dream was relaxing, but considering I went to bed thinking of guillotines, I should be grateful that they at least didn't feature my own death. No, I haven't been insider trading, but I can't help recalling that intellectuals ended up on the wrong ends of guns and blades during the French Revolution -- U of C made me read Michelet three times -- and the Nationalist takeover of Taiwan. My Aunt Cherry lectured me at length during a phone call some years ago about all the people murdered on Chiang Kai-Shek's watch, including scholars, which is among the reasons why she refuses to speak Mandarin if she is talking to someone who can understand English, Japanese, or Taiwanese.
That said, I've been working on my Mandarin this week, since Duolingo has it and I have relatives with whom conversations aren't going to get very far if I don't get functional in it. I'm about to reach checkpoint 1 in that course, and just passed checkpoint 2 in French. I took a break from Spanish this week since it's tied to work.
Trying to tame the reflux cough means I'm eschewing booze, caffeine, citrus, mint, onions/garlic, spicy dishes, and chocolate at the moment (least successfully with the last two), so when I stopped at Sweet 16th yesterday (which is currently allowing only 5 customers at time in the store, and there was no one at all at around 1 p.m.), I bought a bandana to make up for the cupcakes I'm not currently indulging in. (Plus, I'm going to need more head coverings if physical distancing stretches out beyond a few more weeks. I'm relieved that I no longer have to renew my driver's license in person, even though it means being stuck with the current photo for another half-decade...) Lunch was the pimiento cheese sandwich I picked up from there, plus hot and sour soup from stuff on hand: chicken bouillon, shiitake mushrooms, thin-sliced lamb, Taiwanese spinach, and black vinegar. Dinner was more of that plus a made-in-USA Chinese sausage.
It's not Good Friday yet (which is when one should get to planting, according to the late great Jace Burch's granny), but it was so sunny yesterday that I went ahead with sowing some lettuce, radishes, and peppers. (The seeds for the first two date from 2014, so who knows if anything will sprout...) I also moved four jonquil bulbs from the back room to the future hellebore bed, in hopes of them doing better cushioned in mud than resting on top of pebbles and water. Bates Nursery is open, so today's mission includes fetching a carload of dirt.
Over in the Triangle, VAE is hosting an auction of toilet paper art for NC artist relief. So I grabbed my pens and markers and came up with the above. You can bid on it and other originals at https://e.givesmart.com/s/:OTq733iZp-V/e/h0V/i/ if you feel so moved. ;)
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March 18, 2020
"hanging in the air, like a broken halo"
Today's subject line is from Stephen Dobyns's [His Life Was the Practice], from the December 2001 issue of Poetry. Based on my scribble, the reason I actually tore that page out of the issue was on the other side: W. S. Merwin's To the Mistakes.
My mother died on St. Patrick's Day 2008. My honorary mama died on March 19, 2018. So I tend to be a little dour right after the Ides of March. In recent years, when feasible, my habit has been to attend an English country dancefest in North Carolina and with a few days added on for solo wandering, followed by a night or two with honorary mama's niece.
I managed not to scowl at the mini-St. Patrick's Day caravan honking at me yesterday on my way to the post office, and even replied "Slainte mhath!" to one family, though I will admit to also fretting about whether they'd mistake what I said for Chinese instead of Irish.
There were no napkins or TP rolls at the supermarkets I stopped at yesterday, but we have cloth options here at home for the former, and assorted alternatives for the latter, should we not be able to restock. At the Lipstick Lounge, there is a post-tornado banner proclaiming something like "our lipstick got smeared, but we're still open!" next to a much smaller sign stating that they're closed by order of the health department. The international market did have Korean turnips and Chinese-style sausages and a variety of mushrooms, so I will make turnip cake later this week. (My pantry has an overabundance of unusual flours from past festivities. Time to use them up.)
Last night, though, I heated up a chana masala bowl and clomped upstairs to hunt for a letter I'd been meaning to reply to. It's still in some "I'll look at this again soon" cluster I have yet to identify, but in the meantime, I managed to reduce the mess a bit. Into the recycling bin or reuse bag/tray: cards from people I haven't heard from in years; assorted incoherent drafts of poetry (although I kinda like "the songs / all have it wrong / the graves stay quiet / it's the living / that won't shut up and let be" -- but that isn't going to go anywhere, since I'm firmly Team Living Raising Hell to Do Right by the Dead, fondness for old English ballads notwithstanding); old "achievement test" results, which are hilariously bizarre (my 1986 results scored me at "above average" for everything except English and economics...); an envelope full of Japanese and Korean gum wrappers and cartoons (from a friend traveling around 1987), including this one:
A typo I've been committing frequently lately -- typing "joy" instead of "hoy" (the latter means "today" in Spanish). Yesterday I caught myself writing "experimental" when I meant "experienced." Time to brew some more porcupine tea and buckle down.
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My mother died on St. Patrick's Day 2008. My honorary mama died on March 19, 2018. So I tend to be a little dour right after the Ides of March. In recent years, when feasible, my habit has been to attend an English country dancefest in North Carolina and with a few days added on for solo wandering, followed by a night or two with honorary mama's niece.
I managed not to scowl at the mini-St. Patrick's Day caravan honking at me yesterday on my way to the post office, and even replied "Slainte mhath!" to one family, though I will admit to also fretting about whether they'd mistake what I said for Chinese instead of Irish.
There were no napkins or TP rolls at the supermarkets I stopped at yesterday, but we have cloth options here at home for the former, and assorted alternatives for the latter, should we not be able to restock. At the Lipstick Lounge, there is a post-tornado banner proclaiming something like "our lipstick got smeared, but we're still open!" next to a much smaller sign stating that they're closed by order of the health department. The international market did have Korean turnips and Chinese-style sausages and a variety of mushrooms, so I will make turnip cake later this week. (My pantry has an overabundance of unusual flours from past festivities. Time to use them up.)
Last night, though, I heated up a chana masala bowl and clomped upstairs to hunt for a letter I'd been meaning to reply to. It's still in some "I'll look at this again soon" cluster I have yet to identify, but in the meantime, I managed to reduce the mess a bit. Into the recycling bin or reuse bag/tray: cards from people I haven't heard from in years; assorted incoherent drafts of poetry (although I kinda like "the songs / all have it wrong / the graves stay quiet / it's the living / that won't shut up and let be" -- but that isn't going to go anywhere, since I'm firmly Team Living Raising Hell to Do Right by the Dead, fondness for old English ballads notwithstanding); old "achievement test" results, which are hilariously bizarre (my 1986 results scored me at "above average" for everything except English and economics...); an envelope full of Japanese and Korean gum wrappers and cartoons (from a friend traveling around 1987), including this one:
A typo I've been committing frequently lately -- typing "joy" instead of "hoy" (the latter means "today" in Spanish). Yesterday I caught myself writing "experimental" when I meant "experienced." Time to brew some more porcupine tea and buckle down.
comments
March 16, 2020
"In the version where I am wrong, we keep going."
Today's subject line is from Laura Passin's poem "We the Destroyers."
Poetic Medicine published my poem "Eichengrün in Terezín, 1944" today.
I didn't learn about Eichengrün during my 2009 visit to the Czech Republic, but later, when I started reading more about pharmacy practice and research (Diarmuid Jeffreys's Aspirin: The Story of a Wonder Drug was a source of some of the details in my poem).
I was in Prague/Terezin primarily to sing, but there was much to see, including this tribute to a journalist imprisoned in Buchenwald:
And also this cage over a well, apparently to protect the water from would-be poisoners:
I did carve out some time for writing during that trip, as stated in my one of my Southern Legitimacy Statements for Dead Mule. The poem mentioned in that bio became The Language of Waiting. (If you want a copy with proper apostrophes, as opposed to the Wordpress in DM's archives, there's always my book...)
The bar where I worked at that poem:
Going through some albums and notes from that trip reminded me of how much I've forgotten about it. But I do remember my favorite building:
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Poetic Medicine published my poem "Eichengrün in Terezín, 1944" today.
I didn't learn about Eichengrün during my 2009 visit to the Czech Republic, but later, when I started reading more about pharmacy practice and research (Diarmuid Jeffreys's Aspirin: The Story of a Wonder Drug was a source of some of the details in my poem).
I was in Prague/Terezin primarily to sing, but there was much to see, including this tribute to a journalist imprisoned in Buchenwald:
And also this cage over a well, apparently to protect the water from would-be poisoners:
I did carve out some time for writing during that trip, as stated in my one of my Southern Legitimacy Statements for Dead Mule. The poem mentioned in that bio became The Language of Waiting. (If you want a copy with proper apostrophes, as opposed to the Wordpress in DM's archives, there's always my book...)
The bar where I worked at that poem:
Going through some albums and notes from that trip reminded me of how much I've forgotten about it. But I do remember my favorite building:
comments
