Week 31 Notes: Softer Eyes, Remember
If this week were a flavor, it would be a Mission-style burrito, even though I can’t eat them anymore.
Hello from the San Francisco Bay Area, where FunkyPlaid and I are staying for the briefest of visits to attend my mother-in-law’s retirement party. It has been five years since I’ve been here, a long time away from the place I’ve lived the longest.
As we approached our destination, we mused about all of the memories we made here, separately and together. Moments of unimaginable joy – our “meet cute” and our courtship and our wedding – and meaningful connection in the form of some of our deepest friendships all happened here.
And moments I thought I wouldn’t survive happened here, such fundamental heartbreaks and betrayals and terrors. For FunkyPlaid too, who lived here even longer, and who in some ways had much more to lose.
We talked about what it means to hold a place in disdain, to disavow it because of the pain we experienced inside it, and how unfair that castigation is. Maybe then we should try to remember with softer eyes, throw away that 20/20 hindsight prescription, squint a little to smooth out the most jagged edges.
You’re getting me in a melodramatic mood tonight. Three days ago I had surgery on my finger – a positive event I had waited several months for – and right now the pain has worn me down.
By the way, this surgery was my first experience with twilight anesthesia, and I am a new fan. Maybe because I am built for extra-strength naps? Not only did I fall deeply asleep mid-sentence, I did not experience any of the nasty side-effects they warned me about, like nausea or disorientation, and instead woke up rather delighted with the whole universe.
FunkyPlaid has been, as per usual, the most helpful and attentive partner as I navigate a world with one working hand and one sausage-swollen hand with a finger that vibrates with pain if anyone so much as looks at it. The bandage on my finger is comically large to accommodate the splint underneath it, and I somehow have to keep it completely dry, elevated, and iced for two whole weeks. However, it is a great conversation starter at parties!
Some links
None this week, because my internet reading has mainly consisted of search results on “how to shower after finger surgery” and “how to apologize if I say something offensive while under twilight anesthesia”.
One more thing
I have much more to say about … everything, really … but this took so long to type. I’ll save it for next time. Until then, thank you for all the healing thoughts you’ve sent my way. I tip my ice pack to you.
After an all-day drive, we arrived in the San Francisco Bay Area for a whirlwind visit with family. Sun setting over the bay as the fog rolled in. I have so many memories here, the place I’ve lived the longest.
Day one post-op: Pain woke me up at 03:00 from a sound sleep. Basic tasks take twice as long. Plastic bag over the hand to shower. One-handed typing on a full keyboard is garbage; swipe-typing on a phone is grand. Ice + elevation make it bearable.
Currently reading: Wool by Hugh Howey 📚 “Silo” the show wasn’t for me, but I am enjoying the first book so far.
Found a game I can play while my hand heals!
#Rogule 2023-8-2
🧝 5xp ⛩ 117 👣
streak: 1
🟩🟩⬜⬜⬜
⚔ 🦇👻👻🐗🧟
🌰
🍄
Fasting before surgery: All I can think about is eating food. And I have 12+ hours before I will eat again. 😩
Finished reading: The Story of the Lost Child (The Neapolitan Novels #4) by Elena Ferrante 📚 Expertly done, a fitting conclusion to the saga. I’m glad I read the series.
New sticker, a gift from FunkyPlaid. 🖋️🚀
Week 30 Notes: Closure, Aperture
If this week were a flavor, it would be roasted beets that you grew your own self … after someone showed you how to plant them and someone else watered them and someone else, before that, constructed the raised bed and filled it with soil.
This week at work, we celebrated a coworker’s retirement. We had plenty of advance notice so we were able to throw a lovely party with a great gift – one of our coworkers drew a black and white portrait of the person retiring, and we got it framed with a mat that everyone could sign with colorful markers.
Earlier in my working career, and in my personal life, I allowed myself to talk myself out of attending milestone events like retirement parties. I often worried about fumbling through small talk or feeling trapped in a situation I couldn’t easily leave. But now I understand that this final act of showing up for someone, sending them off, is a crucial part of the relationships we build. We’ve made many memories along the way, for sure, but this symbolic closure is valuable for both the leavers and those left.
There are so many moments that don’t offer closure that I now grab onto the ones that do.
And the opposite of closure: aperture? FunkyPlaid and I had a picnic dinner with new friends yesterday. The setting (in a local park I haven’t yet explored), homemade food, and warm company were all outstanding. Conversation flowed so well that three hours had passed and we suddenly realized we had to pack up our picnic baskets before we lost all the light.
Some links
Movetodon makes it easy to move from Twitter (now X, I guess) to Mastodon. Just sayin'.
Hanif Abdurraqib writes about how “Sinéad O’Connor Was Always Herself”:
Her greatest crime, underlying all of these defiant actions, was that she didn’t seem to be a gracious pop star, grateful for the sales that pushed her single to No. 1 and her album to platinum status in the United States, where such levels of success are expected to be met with dutiful compliance, especially if the pop star in question is a young woman.
One more thing
How do you listen to music? Spotify will be increasing their prices again, which has encouraged me to look for different options, including Bandcamp.
I finally had the energy, time, and focus to fix my TWSBI Diamond Mini! 🖋️ Thanks to @jessekelber for the important hints and to FunkyPlaid for figuring out what I couldn’t. Now filled with Troublemaker Inks' Petrichor and ready to write.
I love picnics, and I don’t plan them nearly enough. 🧺 My mom’s 2016 Advent gifts were all picnicking supplies, which FunkyPlaid and I used for a picnic dinner with new friends in a nearby park. Perfect weather, delicious food, outstanding conversation … a lovely night.
Hmm. We finished watching “Silo” and didn’t see what others saw in it. 📺 But it has prompted me to finally read “Wool” by Hugh Howey.
Listening to “I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” as full-blast as that ‘88 Toyota Corolla’s sound system ever got, speeding (no, not even at my most rebellious) around Chicago, with not one iota of understanding of Sinéad O’Connor’s politics, only loving her fist-like heart.
Very unscientific test happening in my life right now: Basing a “radio station” on the same song in both Apple Music and Spotify yields very different results. 🎵 So far, the Apple Music station is winning.
No, I didn’t rinse out my fountain pen in my mug — this is butterfly pea flower tea, and it really is this teal! 🍵
Currently reading: The Story of the Lost Child (The Neapolitan Novels #4) by Elena Ferrante 📚 I have enjoyed these novels, and I’m looking forward to the conclusion of the story. At times, the friendship between Elena and Lila is too painful to experience vicariously.
Week 29 Notes: Public Service and Casual Cruelty
If this week were a flavor, it would be watermelon agua fresca, but not the first, refreshing, summery burst of it. The fifth glass of it. Because we made so much. So, so much. What have we done.
This week I met with someone who was interested in learning about a career in librarianship. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence; over 30 people in the past three years have asked me the same, so many that I created a resource list for finding library jobs in Oregon.
Anyway, we had a good conversation. And I made sure to tell her, as I tell each person, that working in public service right now means dealing with the casual cruelty of people who are in pain.
Earlier in the COVID-19 pandemic, I started thinking about how our community might ask for library programs having to do with grief, loss, and trauma, and who we could partner with to offer such programming in a proactive and positive way. With over one million people lost in this country alone, and many people living with the daily reality of Long COVID, I expected some consequences to our collective mental health.
Combined with the political polarization stoked by social media and opportunistic leaders, this magnitude of pain on display in public spaces is rapidly increasing. When masks were required in our library earlier in the pandemic, people screamed at us, spit on us, and threatened violence. Even though masks are no longer required, some visitors and employees still choose to wear them, and at times they’re subjected to insults – simply for making a choice for their own personal health in a public space.
It’s clear to me that this level of outwardly-directed pain isn’t about masks or libraries at all, but rather the fear of powerlessness in a world that becomes less comprehensible by the second. But we’re right in front of them, so we’re the target.
Do you know what it’s like to wake up and go to work in a place where you are seen as a handy receptacle for all of that negative energy? Not as a human being, trying to do good work, trying to serve an increasingly divided community. But a garbage can.
Some nights I fall asleep visualizing the library building, reminding myself of the emergency exits. So I can be prepared. That’s my life now. Not all of it, but a significant part. And I know I’m not alone.
We must re-humanize each other if this is ever going to change.
Some links
I met Jessie a few years ago at a local social gathering for writers that she hosted. I was so nervous to attend something like that, but she welcomed me warmly and genuinely, and I was so glad I went. A week ago, Jessie was leaving a local street fair when a bullet ricocheted into the windshield of the car she was in, and she was injured. Jessie can’t work while she recovers, so she has a GoFundMe.
Related, FunkyPlaid told me about this news story, “75th ‘Bullet Free Weekend’ community event in North Portland”, which mentions the community organization Love Is Stronger and the work they’re doing to break the cycle of gun and gang violence in Portland.
Cory Doctorow says let the platforms burn. And I agree with him.
One more thing
It’s a heavy one this week. So here’s a poem, “In Grade Three” by Eve Joseph:
In Grade Three, Miss Gladstone showed us how to press leaves between wax paper with a hot iron. She taught us about photosynthesis and we lifted our spindly arms and swayed like trees. Some of us were maples, some poplars. When the breeze picked up, our crimson leaves twirled on their stems and fell at our feet. Branches held high, we breathed out what the world breathed in. We didn't know this was praise. Our faces, perfectly preserved, decorated the classroom windows. Press down, the late poet said, press down over and over again. This was the lesson. This was what we took away.
My first attempt at making watermelon agua fresca was a partial success. 🍹 FunkyPlaid did the hard part, straining the purée. I goofed by dumping the chopped mint leaves into the pitcher instead of muddling them in each glass. Still delicious.
Finished reading: Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay (Neapolitan Novels Book 3) by Elena Ferrante 📚 Still enjoying this series!
Today, every time I used a fountain pen for more than a few minutes, it ran out of ink. I went through four pens this way. It felt like I was in The Bad Place.