As a profoundly emotionally illiterate person, I have been rocked by how much my feelings have fluctuated during this time. (I have no emotional coping mechanisms! Someone help me!) One day, I feel bright and hopeful; we’re outside and Moses is crawling in the grass and the sun is warm and healing on our necks. The next day, I am in the pit of despair; a fragment of a grim news story repeats on an endless loop. I feel that life will never be normal again, that we’ll never be able to hug anyone without a stab of fear, that we might all be homeless. This is how it goes for me right now. Up and down, up and down.
We are presently healthy, which is a mercy, and we are learning how to both work full days while minding the boy. Every day has its own share of minor victories and minor struggles. And I enjoy Guion so, so much, which is also very helpful. He is a tremendously valuable partner, chef, problem-solver, and parent. I would surely perish without him.
. . .
I have a book recommendation for you as well. It’s just the thing for this time of seclusion and meditation on the inherent chaos of life.
Lulu Miller’s new book Why Fish Don’t Exist is radiant. I read it ravenously, devouring most of it in a single sitting. Her winsome prose is addictive. The complicated story of scientist David Starr Jordan merges with Miller’s own life and years of grappling with Chaos. As anyone who has listened to her radio work knows, she is a reporter and writer with seemingly infinite stores of empathy and creativity, and all of her gifts are on display in this remarkable book. Highly recommended.
. . .
All morning with dry instruments
The field repeats the sound
And in the wall
The dead increase their invisible honey
It is August
The flocks are beginning to form
I will take with me the emptiness of my hands
What you do not have you find everywhere
. . .
Here is a baby who is almost a boy who very much wants to be walking. He will stand and bounce from time to time, but he has not yet developed much interest in taking steps. He has been forced to content himself with crawling around in the grass and trying to sneak as many nibbles of grass, mulch, and flowers as he can. He is busy, curious, and solemnly observant of the natural world. His favorite plants are red Japanese maples and boxwoods, which he loves to reach out and grab. We tried to get him to play with privet and Japanese hollies, which very closely resemble boxwoods, but he can’t be fooled. He is only interested in boxwoods, like the true Virginia gentleman that he is.
. . .
- The Satanic Verses, Salman Rushdie: Found a cheap copy; wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
- John McPhee Reader: A selection from many books by one of the greatest essayists of our time.
- Gulf Music, Robert Pinsky: Time to read through all of the poetry books we own but I have not yet touched.
- The Immoralist, André Gide: I’m not very interested in this.