Peg Duthie's Blog, page 12

rest in power, Elijah Cummings

. . . fierce, universal, nonviolent, openhearted, deeply rooted RESOLVE . . .

Spread from Mark Noxon's GOOD TROUBLE: LESSONS FROM THE CIVIL RIGHTS PLAYBOOK

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I wanna burn all the cities to the ground

Not really, of course - I love cities with the fervor of a bluestocking who grew up in a county without a public library. That said, I have belatedly come across Emma Stone's lip-sync of Blues Traveler's "Hook" (starts at 1:55 in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLBSoC_2IY8) and, yeah. (And her take on "All I Do Is Win" starts at 5:40.)

I've been binge-watching Lip Sync Battle clips. The gateway was Tom Holland's Umbrella. Other favorites:

The Rock: Shake It Off
The reactions to Matt Iseman channeling Cher (1:42)
Julianne Hough: I Just Had Sex
Taye Diggs: Let Me Love You
Big Bird: I Gotta Feeling (I don't even like that song...)
Lupita Nyong'o: Bailando

Part of the fun has been finding out the names/performers of songs I first encountered at the Y, including Booty, Low, Fireball, Gasolina, and "M.I.L.F. $" (and it is also funny that some of the raunchiest songs I know are being taught by unapologetically devout Christian women. They are good teachers, and I am more than a little torn about one of the classes being in conflict with English country dancing).

Speaking of Not Really Safe for Work content, I dove into Deadspin's "Why Your Team Sucks: 2019 Tennessee Titans" this afternoon. The Titans were leading 17-13 in the 4th quarter when I opened the tab ... and ended up losing 19-17. Ooof. I love my city, but some of the vicious jabs directed at it are called for. (I'm nodding especially at "full of racists feigning as libertarians." The language of my tweeps turned a particularly vehement shade of blue on Friday when our new mayor-elect declared that "Nashville cannot and will not be a Sanctuary City.")

Also, Deadspin gives every team in the NFL the treatment. I am looking forward to pairing some of the others with a bourbon or beer some other rest day. (These days I seem to be most invested in are the Titans, the Eagles, and the Bears, in that order. Then there's the teams-friends-care-about-that-aren't-the-Patriots-or-Steelers-or-Packers tier, featuring the Lions, the Saints, the Panthers, the Browns, and the Vikings. Then there's the teams-I-may-add-to-this-list-even-if-they're-the-Patriots-Steelers-or-Packers corner, where I'll be paying attention to whomever has the cojones to hire Ryan Russell or Kaep.

Before returning Good Trouble: Lessons from the Civil Rights Playbook to the library, I snapped some hasty last-night shots to share with y'all bit by bit over the next few weeks. (The link will take you to the publisher's page, which contains a better-quality sample of the artwork.) The author is donating all proceeds to The Center for Popular Democracy.

Today's glimpse:


"...if you wonder what you would've done if you were alive during the civil rights movement, remember one thing: YOU ARE."

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Taking the shield of faith

Since last night, I've been living with the urge to howl holy hell at North Carolina.

What has helped: cranking up the volume on my car stereo and singing along as it plays "Stand" over and over. (That chorus!)

The Nashville Public Library is ordering copies of Good Trouble for its collection.

Team Tug of Warhol (War-HAUL!) was not victorious, but we were valiant, and apparently provided a good deal of entertainment for our colleagues back at the ranch via Facebook Live (as well as those who joined us at the park, where it was 91 freaking F at noon).

It's been an intense day. I dreamt at length about my late honorary mama and her family last night. I was up at 6:30 a.m. for an early meeting. A training session for our upcoming Native Women Artists exhibition included a viewing of The Indian Problem, which -- god _____, Tennessee. Gdi, North Carolina. I followed church class with ten minutes on the erg at the Y. I'm looking at the Road Scholar catalogue that just arrived -- Honorary Mama had suggested doing one of their trips together, and while that never happened, there's at least one that another honorary relative might be up for.

But first, bath and bed. And reinforcing that figurative breastplate.

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"I have not seen a polar bear twerk before."

Today's subject line is from the emcee of the drummers' dance-off during today's dragon boat festival, when the Coca-Cola team mascot got down. Supergirl (a gorgeous African American woman in red stiletto knee-high boots, who was later seen catching footballs in them) and Animal also showed up.

My team finished first in its first heat (1:21.571), which put us at 12th overall. I ended up pinch-paddling for another team (Nashville Veterinary Specialists), sitting in the last row on the left side (exactly opposite to my position in the TSRA boat) ... and ended up sliding off my seat halfway through the race when I leaned forward an notch too far. Despite that mishap, and the team being a hodgepodge to begin with (at least 6 of us were from other teams), that boat finished in 1:21.995, putting it in 13th overall even though it was 4th (= last) in its heat.


Vanderbilt failed to show up, hence their time of 5:55 (assigned to 3 teams out of the 35).

During the second round, TSRA finished 3rd out of 4, with a time of 1:23.494, which had us in 6th place after 4 heats. (The app has failed to update since then, and some of the more competitive teams were in later heats.) Most of the team members had hoped and assumed that we would finish no better than 13th (apparently the top 12 and worst 4 still on site compete in a final round; something something football, and how Southern is that?), and they were gone by the time I returned from the marshaling area. (I had planned on helping the vets again, but they didn't show up for their scheduled heat, so I shrugged at the volunteers, who shrugged back; one loped off to inform the announcer, and I ambled over to the spectators' area. Apparently the vets sorted themselves out in time to compete 2 or 3 heats later, and there wasn't another call for help, so I bid farewell to the two other TSRA rowers still there and headed to Bates Nursery (today was the last day to use a 50% discount, so my own "if I end up leaving by 3" plan was to go look at their hellebores and ferns. But it would've been nice to spend more time on the water, and if I do this again I will plan on staying closer to the staging area so that I can answer more calls for help. The neuroscientist in a tutu who bought lunch for me -- I'd given her a ride last night -- also did an extra race as well; it's apparently a recurring thing.)

Also enjoyed at the festival: matcha bubble tea and some fine tunes (I can't Umbrella like Tom Holland, but I was happy to hear it anyway. And also a nicely roughed-up mix of "Someone that I Used To Know"). I resisted the temptation of $5 t-shirts (hello, hellebore!). It was good to be outside. And now it's time to put in more time at the piano.

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1, 2, 1, 2 ...

I was put in the right front of the dragon boat during practice tonight, and the coach emphasized that those of us in the first two rows needed to stay zen no matter what was being shouted at us, and that what might feel slow to us in the front would be impossible to keep up with in the back if we went too fast, because of how water works.

Oh, the metaphors to be expanded from that.

Last night, in a dream, I saw myself effortlessly doing splits in front of two co-workers. I've never successfully executed a split in my life. One doesn't need a psychology degree to unpack that one.

Work is providing solid entertainment on top of the crushing load. (I was at the office past 9 p.m. yesterday to meet today's deadlines.) During today's lunch break, a colleague plaintively asked what "Mercury in retrograde" meant, and twenty minutes later everyone at the table was discussing Chinese zodiac breakdowns (precipitated by me mentioning the anticolonial heft to a presentation about Eastern vs. Western zodiacs at a Philadelphia Museum of Art party last year, and then noting that I'm a metal dog).

More important, I am filled with glee at how our tug-of-war team for this Wednesday's tournament is coming together.

Last night, I could not settle down or focus after getting home, so I dove into Jackie Lau's Ultimate Pi Day Party and Ice Cream Lover. Props to whomever on Twitter recommended them to me, and props to my library for stocking them. Asian heroes! Bisexual and biracial heroine! Six-year-old foodies! Snark from sisters! Grandmas digging durian! (Can't stand the stuff myself, but the commentary is fab.)

Surprise gift from a friend. Notes from other friends. Scandalizing the BYM because I went grocery-shopping in a bikini. (I could not be arsed to put my work dress back on after practice, so to speak.) Doing laundry after midnight because of the leggings I want to wear tomorrow (keeping my right hip glued to the side of the boat = chafing). Getting one inbox below 500 unread. Plotting pies . . .

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London speed it up, Houston rocket

[The subject line's from Beyoncé's "Countdown," which is alternating with "Belle qui tiens ma vie" as song-in-residence in my head at the moment.]

We have reached peak absent-mindedness here, y'all. I used my kitchen scale to weigh a pair of boots, and then put it on the rack the boots had been on instead of its customary shelf, and it then took me another half hour to figure out that that's what I'd done.

It wasn't a wasted half-hour -- plenty of chores can be churned through during such bouts of WTF -- but lord. And it was a good evening. I went from work to the first chamber choir rehearsal of the season, and then to the pool, where I had a wide lane to myself for the first half of my workout. The water was hot right away in the shower, both before and after. I cooked the defrosting pork before it went bad, and the slightly slimy mushrooms on sale didn't give me gut trouble, and they both went well with the tapioca noodles I'd boiled earlier this week (not noodley enough to serve to anyone else, but good enough for porridge). I wrote postcards to voters and paid some bills and ran a load of laundry. I'm doing some filing as I wind down with my second glass of Evolúció, a Hungarian white wine. I heard from several people I miss. The puniest of my cacti is still alive. And, hey, so am I.

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"don't break all the machines now"

Today's subject line comes from the dude sassin' me as we crossed paths on my way to the Y.

I almost didn't go. I was on a roll with work, and it was tempting to crank through some more items on the list, and to get home earlier to other must-dos. But there are people I really enjoy moving and smiling with (like, watching them = instant energy), the instructor (Evelyn Wilson, aka "NFL diva" -- the happiest person in this city during the draft, in my circles) delivers "Majesty Moment" mini-sermons at the end of class that I do not mind in the slightest because they are authentically affirming ("Remember, you are royalty. You are kings and queens and you don't tear each other down, because there are plenty of people out there ready to do that. You help each other with your crowns and don't let anybody tell you you are less than"), and for the third week in a row we did "the Beyoncé warmup" (a medley of "Freedom," the Coachella "Drunk in Love/Swag Surfin/Diva" sequence, "Countdown," and maybe a couple more songs I'm not remembering), which I would happily do every session. So yay me for getting over there.



It's a good thing we don't keep a swear jar in this household, because it's but the third day of the month and it would be full already. In one instance, it was realizing that I'd neglected my roses for so long that sodding ivy had had sodding time to twine its way up a branch.

There are a lot of reasons I'm angry (at least 250 of them in DC, to begin with...). But the two surviving bushes are still doing their thang. There's even a bud this late in the summer:



And, I pulled together another pie, this time with the aging bananas and nectarines (and crust that had been in the freezer for probably half a year):



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layers

On the one hand, AARP trying to recruit me before I turn 50? Goddamn...

On the other hand, the issue of O Magazine they sent with the latest pitch includes a page on quilter Bisa Butler, who "may spend 20 hours layering hundreds of silk pieces to create one hyperrealistic face." The lead image is of her Four Little Girls, September 15, 1963. And the feature ends with this:

Butler's fabric collection swallows her dining room, fills 22 bins in her basement, and contains material both donated (like her mother's hijabs) and purchased. "If I see something I like, I buy it," she says. "I found a print called 'Michelle Obama's shoes' that commemorated a trip to Africa by President Obama and the first lady, and I went HAM. I was like, Michelle Obama? I'll take it in all five colors."

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"trees are chicken soup for cities"

Today's subject line comes from an interview of Michael Van Valkenburgh, a landscape designer who "never met a tree I didn't like." Also: "When a new garden is being constructed, Van Valkenburgh has been known to use his body as a tree" to figure out where things should go.

We've had some weather this month. Not every tree on my tree made it through:



My foot injury from about a year ago is doing its flare-uppity thing. Some days I can bop and bounce with the best; some days, tree pose is out of the question. Most days, I stretch and limp and lope and swear and slide and shimmy (and in heels, too) depending on the hour, the surface, and how long I've been seated or supine.

On an upside, a kind friend who is an herbalist gave me a salve containing frankincense that I've been applying to the affected heel during breaks at work, and my office consequently smells fantastic.

Some evenings, it doesn't matter what's (over)due or how devil-long the damn list of other damn things to make has become, it's time to half-ass together a nectarine tart (loosely based on Brooklyn Supper's riff on Florence Fabricant's instructions; the linked-to tutorial on browning butter is a keeper):



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baskets of intention

Today's subject line is prompted by a statement by Pomo Indian artist Susan Billy, whose baskets will appear at the Frist Art Museum this fall: “As the baskets got smaller, people asked me what I put in them, and I realized what I put in them is intention.”

I am raising money for the Cumberland River Compact as a member of the TSRA dragon boat team. No contribution too small! https://crc.kindful.com/dragon-boat-2019/peg-duthie.

Tonight the sky was dark when I got home from the gym. It is still very much summer -- at the Y, the instructors were pulling down shades to ameliorate some of the heat and glare -- and yet, staring at the stars and the silhouettes of treetops tonight, and now sipping on cider -- fall is but a handful of weeks away.

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