I feel like quite a few of my posts contain the words "please don't judge" or some variation on that theme. I'm starting to wonder. Do I have very judgey friends and family, or do I just know that I do a lot of things that are so not-the-norm that people will, in fact, be (probably justifiably) judging me?
I think it's the latter.
But I'm going to write this post anyway. At the risk of being (again, probably justifiably) judged.
Dexter. The Shield. Justified. Deadwood. Broadchurch. Luther. Ozark. Bodyguard (BBC, not Whitney Houston). The Sopranos. Southland. The Fall. Marcella. Killing Eve. The Great British Bake Off.
These are a few of my favorite things. (you sang that, didn't you?)
In case you don't see the obvious trend in that list, it's violence (except for The Great British Bake Off, obviously).
These are all shows that have violence. A lot of violence. And not just any violence. Kind of horrific violence. A lot of horrific violence.
But, but, but (as the Washington Post 202 likes to say), and hear me out please, the violence is in service to the plot, in every single one of these shows. And the plots are complex and smart and phenomenal! These are not shows filled with mindless, gratuitous violence (I'm looking at you, Blacklist).
Which leaves me at this weird intersection of television viewing: I appreciate good acting, great writing and intriguing, well-crafted plot arcs, and the only shows I seem to find that have all of these qualities also have an insane amount of brutal death. So I guess it's not that I love homicidal tendencies, per se, it's more that I don't mind when they are deftly woven into exceedingly clever diegeses.
Wow. I think I just saved myself a ton of time and money. I was seriously starting to wonder if I need therapy to figure out why I have a deep-seated affinity for barbarity. But I don't! It turns out I don't love gory mayhem. I just love great TV.
And since we're (sort of) on the topic of content, I'd like to continue on a slightly tangential note and address the absolute dearth of extraordinary television writing on the major (US) networks. (Olivia, can you get on that please?) If you peruse my list of favorite shows above, you'll find that they are largely British. I watch a whole lotta BBC. Because writing.
The Brits are not afraid. Of anything. They're not afraid (and are allowed) to write realistic dialog. They are not afraid to kill off main characters with no warning--shit happens in British shows! They move their plots forward with gratifying speed. They are not afraid to hire actors who bring nothing to the show other than actual, amazing acting ability. They are not afraid to make you squirm in your seat, halfway closing your eyes in reaction to the horrors on the screen but not fully closing your eyes because the details of what's happening are absolutely going to be important and you know it.
I appreciate that.
I am currently enamored of a show called "The End of the F***ing World". That's the actual title, asterisks and all. It checks all my boxes. It's British. Intriguing plot (from the VERY FIRST scene), unknown but remarkable actors, darkly funny writing, interesting and pivotal events occurring in every episode. And yes. There might be a skosh of bloodshed. But bloodshed with purpose.
Which is just fine. I'm fine. Pretty sure my therapist would say I have great taste in TV.
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
My Laminated List
Who's on your Laminated List?
Don't pretend you don't have one. You do. You know you do.
Your list of "who you'd want to sleep with AND have permission to sleep with IF you actually had the opportunity..." That's one GIANT "if", which is the fun of the Laminated List. The "if" has pretty much zero chance of happening, so it's just ridiculously fun contemplation of who everyone thinks is sexy. It's an interesting reveal of everyone's WILDLY varying definitions of sexy.
The Laminated List game has been going on for decades. Literally. My list has at various times contained names like Sting, the Edge, Colin Firth, Denzel Washington, Daniel Craig. Mind you, those names span over thirty years of evolving lists. They weren't on all at the same time, but you get the idea. Good looking men, all of them (imo). Perhaps Sting and The Edge aren't quite on the same level, looks-wise, as the others, but they still make it onto the list because... musicians. You get it. You know you do.
I never really thought of the Laminated List as anything more than a fun topic of (usually drunken) conversation between me and my girlfriends. Everyone's lists always contained similar subjects, ranging from Brad Pitt to Tom Cruise to Timothy Olyphant (I realize that's not really a range so much as a homogenous group). Nothing shocking. No one out of the ordinary or unexpected--generally widely agreed-upon Hollywood A-list specimens of genetics.
But then. I noticed. My list changed. I mean, like, morphed into something completely different. Or maybe I morphed into someone completely different.
Because in my 20's (and 30's and 40's), the people who currently occupy my list would NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS have made made it through my screening criteria. In my 20's (and 30's and 40's) my list was a reflection of what society put forth as appealing. Sexy was defined by People Magazine, and I based my selections on its parameters.
I guess I got old. In fact based on who's currently on my list, I got shockingly old.
So without further ado, I give you full permission to analyze my psyche (and taste in men) based on current occupants of my Laminated List:
Jeff Daniels (I will say this one has more to do with Sorkin's writing, probably)
Jon Stewart (a bitingly sarcastic, intellectual wit compensates for lack of height)
Barack Obama (I know, very Fleabag of me)
Andrew Scott (yes, yes I do know he's gay)
Richard Engel (so many languages... so much danger)
What has happened to me?
Not a rock star in the bunch.
Yes, I did get old(er). But also wiser. Who I find appealing in my 50's has much more to do with who a person is, what they represent, as opposed to what they look like.
Sense of humor. Wit. Intelligence. Honor. Bravery. Talent. Ability to express ideas. Selflessness. Truth to power. Service. Humility. That's all sexy.
I've completely over-analyzed the evolution of my definition of sexy at this point and have taken all the fun out of the Laminated List, which is really just supposed to be a light-hearted party game, not a Socratic exercise in existentialism.
We save that serious stuff for Marry, #$*@, Kill.
Don't pretend you don't have one. You do. You know you do.
Your list of "who you'd want to sleep with AND have permission to sleep with IF you actually had the opportunity..." That's one GIANT "if", which is the fun of the Laminated List. The "if" has pretty much zero chance of happening, so it's just ridiculously fun contemplation of who everyone thinks is sexy. It's an interesting reveal of everyone's WILDLY varying definitions of sexy.
The Laminated List game has been going on for decades. Literally. My list has at various times contained names like Sting, the Edge, Colin Firth, Denzel Washington, Daniel Craig. Mind you, those names span over thirty years of evolving lists. They weren't on all at the same time, but you get the idea. Good looking men, all of them (imo). Perhaps Sting and The Edge aren't quite on the same level, looks-wise, as the others, but they still make it onto the list because... musicians. You get it. You know you do.
I never really thought of the Laminated List as anything more than a fun topic of (usually drunken) conversation between me and my girlfriends. Everyone's lists always contained similar subjects, ranging from Brad Pitt to Tom Cruise to Timothy Olyphant (I realize that's not really a range so much as a homogenous group). Nothing shocking. No one out of the ordinary or unexpected--generally widely agreed-upon Hollywood A-list specimens of genetics.
But then. I noticed. My list changed. I mean, like, morphed into something completely different. Or maybe I morphed into someone completely different.
Because in my 20's (and 30's and 40's), the people who currently occupy my list would NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS have made made it through my screening criteria. In my 20's (and 30's and 40's) my list was a reflection of what society put forth as appealing. Sexy was defined by People Magazine, and I based my selections on its parameters.
I guess I got old. In fact based on who's currently on my list, I got shockingly old.
So without further ado, I give you full permission to analyze my psyche (and taste in men) based on current occupants of my Laminated List:
Jeff Daniels (I will say this one has more to do with Sorkin's writing, probably)
Jon Stewart (a bitingly sarcastic, intellectual wit compensates for lack of height)
Barack Obama (I know, very Fleabag of me)
Andrew Scott (yes, yes I do know he's gay)
Richard Engel (so many languages... so much danger)
What has happened to me?
Not a rock star in the bunch.
Yes, I did get old(er). But also wiser. Who I find appealing in my 50's has much more to do with who a person is, what they represent, as opposed to what they look like.
Sense of humor. Wit. Intelligence. Honor. Bravery. Talent. Ability to express ideas. Selflessness. Truth to power. Service. Humility. That's all sexy.
I've completely over-analyzed the evolution of my definition of sexy at this point and have taken all the fun out of the Laminated List, which is really just supposed to be a light-hearted party game, not a Socratic exercise in existentialism.
We save that serious stuff for Marry, #$*@, Kill.
TP or not TP (it only gets worse)
These are strange times.
I'm not saying my brain functions normally during the best of times, but right now my poor cortex (I have no idea which one, so I'm just going with cortex in general) does not quite know what to do or how to make decisions or even how to figure out what's important. As an actual example of my somewhat paralyzed state:
Do I iron my wrinkled shirt before I put it on, or just wear it as is?
I give this as an example of my brain not knowing what to do. At all. In these trying times of pandemicness and quarantinification, do I really care if my shirt is wrinkled? Should I care if my shirt is wrinkled? Does anyone else even notice if my shirt is wrinkled? I do not know the answers to these pressing (ha!) questions.
And there's more. So much more.
How important is toilet paper? Should I be hoarding it? I mean, if you went through your house and had to rank, by number, most important to least important things you need during a global emergency, where on the list would tp land? Based on the fact that people are buying it by the buttloads (you had to see that coming), it seems like it's in the top 5. Or at least it is for a lot of people. Which got me to thinking. What would be my top 5 necessities in case of a crisis (which, is, like, now I guess)?
Don't judge. Here they are--and these are particular to this crisis, by the way. In the case of zombies my list would of course be completely different.
1. food
2. coffee (it does not count as a food, it turns out)
3. soap (yes, yes, I ranked coffee above soap; I'm a horrible person)
4. gas in the car
5. paper napkins or paper towels (can be used for a variety of purposes, if you get my drift)
This list presupposes that there is electricity, water and internet. If there's not electricity, water and internet all bets are off. That would change everything.
At that point, I would definitely not wonder if my shirt needed ironing.
I'm not saying my brain functions normally during the best of times, but right now my poor cortex (I have no idea which one, so I'm just going with cortex in general) does not quite know what to do or how to make decisions or even how to figure out what's important. As an actual example of my somewhat paralyzed state:
Do I iron my wrinkled shirt before I put it on, or just wear it as is?
I give this as an example of my brain not knowing what to do. At all. In these trying times of pandemicness and quarantinification, do I really care if my shirt is wrinkled? Should I care if my shirt is wrinkled? Does anyone else even notice if my shirt is wrinkled? I do not know the answers to these pressing (ha!) questions.
And there's more. So much more.
How important is toilet paper? Should I be hoarding it? I mean, if you went through your house and had to rank, by number, most important to least important things you need during a global emergency, where on the list would tp land? Based on the fact that people are buying it by the buttloads (you had to see that coming), it seems like it's in the top 5. Or at least it is for a lot of people. Which got me to thinking. What would be my top 5 necessities in case of a crisis (which, is, like, now I guess)?
Don't judge. Here they are--and these are particular to this crisis, by the way. In the case of zombies my list would of course be completely different.
1. food
2. coffee (it does not count as a food, it turns out)
3. soap (yes, yes, I ranked coffee above soap; I'm a horrible person)
4. gas in the car
5. paper napkins or paper towels (can be used for a variety of purposes, if you get my drift)
This list presupposes that there is electricity, water and internet. If there's not electricity, water and internet all bets are off. That would change everything.
At that point, I would definitely not wonder if my shirt needed ironing.
Saturday, March 7, 2020
Goat Soap
"Is the goat soap antibacterial?"
What does that even mean? What is goat soap? Is it to wash a goat? Is it made of goat parts (yuck)? If you're washing a goat, do you really need anything to be antibacterial, because I kind of feel like that ship has sailed for you if you are, in fact, washing a goat. Or using soap made of goat parts.
I was at the supermarket an hour ago and the checkout clerk yelled that query to another clerk, trying (I assume) to get clarification for a customer regarding the efficacy of the goat soap.
I feel like I should just leave this right here, just stop now, because I'm not sure I can adequately expound upon how that opening question reflects our coronavirus-driven lives at present. But you know me (probably). I'm going to try anyway.
Let's just start with the 800 pound gorilla and get that out of the way so we can move on to more pressing issues. Goat soap. What? Why? Who? How?
Ok. On to coronavirus, and how it has turned people into... I don't want to say idiots because that sounds super judgy, but also it might be kind of accurate, because in my supermarket this morning someone was trying to buy antibacterial goat soap.
Also, I walked down the cleaning aisle to look for Clorox disinfectant wipes, and there were only five containers of them left. There was zero Purell, or any other brand of hand sanitizer. Paper towels were running low. I actually think this is all good--it means people are paying attention and trying to do what they can to limit their exposure. But it also made me wonder, why isn't there ALWAYS a run on Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer? Because this situation right now makes me seriously think that nobody is wiping down their surfaces or cleaning their hands unless there's a life-threatening virus on the prowl. No bueno.
And I also want to know what ELSE (besides hands/surfaces) we are all doing in our everyday lives to combat this? I guess even more paramount in my mind is what are we all going to CONTINUE to do, even after this virus has subsided and we have a vaccine, which should be next week, I believe, according to our president, so also let's not get all worked up about this because this virus is "contained" already, even without people being tested and without us knowing who has it, and the testing kits are "beautiful", so that's helpful and should end the pandemic right there. Words to live by.
Sorry. Frustration, disguised as sarcasm, poking its head through there. Back to what is really on my mind: moving forward and living in a mindful way that minimizes the chances of getting sick. I'm sure we can't avoid pandemics. But I'm also sure we CAN lessen their impact.
Ever the problem solver, here are some thoughts from me, Kim Traversi, absolutely not a medical doctor of any kind, with zero training in epidemiology or even any actual knowledge gained by reading good source material on any of this kind of stuff. This is the ONLY thing I have in common with our president--we both have an absolute lack of expertise on any of this, and yet we are still going to advise you how to proceed. I present for your consideration:
1. Stop shaking hands when you meet people. Ever. Just don't. This is a habit that we need to replace with a nice hand-to-the-heart and a slight bow of respect.
2. Cough into your sleeve. Even when there's no coronavirus--cough into your sleeve. Anywhere else is just gross.
3. Don't share chapsticks. Ever.
4. Catholic church: no more shared chalice of wine that you let everyone drink from because you think it's ok because you wipe the chalice in between sips. No. No. No.
5. Wash your hands when you come into your house. Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. Wash your hands before you come into a situation where people are gathering. Wash your hands when you leave. You get the idea.
6. Please, for the love of god, turn away from people when you sneeze. I mean come on. It shouldn't take coronavirus for that to happen.
7. Hold your breath on elevators. Kidding.
8. Can we all agree that communal dishes of party foods should not exist? I mean they should not exist at all, forevermore. No more bowls of popcorn or nuts waiting for you at the bar, because eeeew, you have no idea whose hand was in that before you arrived. No more bowls of M&M's at parties. I'm not sure what to do about the potato chip situation. I feel like I could be an industry-killer with this one. Can we establish a blue-ribbon committee on proper chip display/consumption methods?
I guess what I'm seeing right now is panic-driven behaviors (such as use of hand sanitizer and hand washing) that are spurred by very real concerns about getting sick, when these behaviors should be present realistically in our daily lives regardless of whether there's a current panic/pandemic.
I have a sinking feeling that when this all starts to fade, the only thing we will have learned is that excessive use of Purell makes your hands really dry. And that there is goat soap, which may or may not be antibacterial.
What does that even mean? What is goat soap? Is it to wash a goat? Is it made of goat parts (yuck)? If you're washing a goat, do you really need anything to be antibacterial, because I kind of feel like that ship has sailed for you if you are, in fact, washing a goat. Or using soap made of goat parts.
I was at the supermarket an hour ago and the checkout clerk yelled that query to another clerk, trying (I assume) to get clarification for a customer regarding the efficacy of the goat soap.
I feel like I should just leave this right here, just stop now, because I'm not sure I can adequately expound upon how that opening question reflects our coronavirus-driven lives at present. But you know me (probably). I'm going to try anyway.
Let's just start with the 800 pound gorilla and get that out of the way so we can move on to more pressing issues. Goat soap. What? Why? Who? How?
Ok. On to coronavirus, and how it has turned people into... I don't want to say idiots because that sounds super judgy, but also it might be kind of accurate, because in my supermarket this morning someone was trying to buy antibacterial goat soap.
Also, I walked down the cleaning aisle to look for Clorox disinfectant wipes, and there were only five containers of them left. There was zero Purell, or any other brand of hand sanitizer. Paper towels were running low. I actually think this is all good--it means people are paying attention and trying to do what they can to limit their exposure. But it also made me wonder, why isn't there ALWAYS a run on Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer? Because this situation right now makes me seriously think that nobody is wiping down their surfaces or cleaning their hands unless there's a life-threatening virus on the prowl. No bueno.
And I also want to know what ELSE (besides hands/surfaces) we are all doing in our everyday lives to combat this? I guess even more paramount in my mind is what are we all going to CONTINUE to do, even after this virus has subsided and we have a vaccine, which should be next week, I believe, according to our president, so also let's not get all worked up about this because this virus is "contained" already, even without people being tested and without us knowing who has it, and the testing kits are "beautiful", so that's helpful and should end the pandemic right there. Words to live by.
Sorry. Frustration, disguised as sarcasm, poking its head through there. Back to what is really on my mind: moving forward and living in a mindful way that minimizes the chances of getting sick. I'm sure we can't avoid pandemics. But I'm also sure we CAN lessen their impact.
Ever the problem solver, here are some thoughts from me, Kim Traversi, absolutely not a medical doctor of any kind, with zero training in epidemiology or even any actual knowledge gained by reading good source material on any of this kind of stuff. This is the ONLY thing I have in common with our president--we both have an absolute lack of expertise on any of this, and yet we are still going to advise you how to proceed. I present for your consideration:
1. Stop shaking hands when you meet people. Ever. Just don't. This is a habit that we need to replace with a nice hand-to-the-heart and a slight bow of respect.
2. Cough into your sleeve. Even when there's no coronavirus--cough into your sleeve. Anywhere else is just gross.
3. Don't share chapsticks. Ever.
4. Catholic church: no more shared chalice of wine that you let everyone drink from because you think it's ok because you wipe the chalice in between sips. No. No. No.
5. Wash your hands when you come into your house. Wash your hands before you eat. Wash your hands after you eat. Wash your hands before you come into a situation where people are gathering. Wash your hands when you leave. You get the idea.
6. Please, for the love of god, turn away from people when you sneeze. I mean come on. It shouldn't take coronavirus for that to happen.
7. Hold your breath on elevators. Kidding.
8. Can we all agree that communal dishes of party foods should not exist? I mean they should not exist at all, forevermore. No more bowls of popcorn or nuts waiting for you at the bar, because eeeew, you have no idea whose hand was in that before you arrived. No more bowls of M&M's at parties. I'm not sure what to do about the potato chip situation. I feel like I could be an industry-killer with this one. Can we establish a blue-ribbon committee on proper chip display/consumption methods?
I guess what I'm seeing right now is panic-driven behaviors (such as use of hand sanitizer and hand washing) that are spurred by very real concerns about getting sick, when these behaviors should be present realistically in our daily lives regardless of whether there's a current panic/pandemic.
I have a sinking feeling that when this all starts to fade, the only thing we will have learned is that excessive use of Purell makes your hands really dry. And that there is goat soap, which may or may not be antibacterial.
Sunday, January 12, 2020
Dave, Retiree Extraordinaire
I don't write a lot about Dave because I know he doesn't really love that kind of attention. I know he's not super comfortable with being in the spotlight.
But I'm going to shine a light on him, just for a moment. Just for a blog post. If I may.
This is a guy who taught eighth graders for thirty years and loved every year, for god's sake. I know there are other people who taught eighth graders for thirty years. But I triple-dog dare you to find me one who loved all thirty years, right up to retirement. I mean, come on! Who does that?
Dave did.
He retired and proceeded to enjoy his new status as pensioner as much as he had enjoyed his teaching. We reveled in his retirement for about a year before crappy circumstances took over, and all the sudden our carefree "go see baseball stadiums" became "go see doctors". In these past three years of crazy shit-hits-the-fan crap, he's more than earned himself a Nobel Prize for Outstanding Human Being, an award which, in my humble opinion, should be created for the sole purpose of bestowing it upon Dave, a husband beyond par and imagination. The award should then be immediately retired, as the Nobel committee will not find ever again an equal or more worthy recipient.
I could go on and on and on regarding the millions of ways in which Dave, when faced with this unexpected crisis, rose (and continues to rise) to the occasion. But I'm not going to dwell on that because I can hear you all (four of you) yelling, "More about Dave, not about the crappy shit!" as you read this, and rightfully so. Back to Dave.
So Dave was an amazing educator, yes, but he's also, it turns out, an outstanding and keen learner. He taught himself, from scratch, how to cut dovetails. And he practiced and practiced cutting dovetails. He made boxes. Dozens and dozens of boxes. Until he could dovetail so well that he could build furniture using dovetails as the joinery instead of nails. Not just any furniture. Beautiful furniture. Nicer-than-you-can-buy-in-a-store furniture, that will last longer. Pictures don't do them justice. He basically taught himself into becoming a professional-quality furniture maker.
But wait. There's more. You can only build so many dressers and tables and credenzas (I, for the record, can build exactly zero of any of these) before you need a new challenge (if you're Dave).
Chairs! Dave decides to learn to build chairs. Which means he also has to learn to become more than proficient with a lathe and a shave horse (look it up--not at all what you're thinking, I guarantee it). Not only does he teach himself how to use these tools, he actually makes one of them! This is a shave horse. Dave made one of these...
to help him learn to make this......
This is the first chair Dave made. THE FIRST ONE! Go ahead. Click and zoom. It's phenomenal. It's beautiful. Again, it's his FIRST chair.
It's not often you find someone who wants to learn something new and difficult, and who can simultaneously teach it to himself while actually absorbing and learning it. Think about that. It brings to mind a snake eating its tail as it tries to feed itself (just as a note, I am someone who really really does not like snakes or snake imagery but truly, it's the best representation of what I was trying to say about teaching and learning a skill at the same time so I'm using the metaphor even though I now do not want to read this paragraph ever again).
I am constantly astounded at Dave's ability to methodically, patiently, painstakingly, passionately build his skills (ha! pun unintended but wow! that worked out nicely). He is inspiring.
Follow with me here as I connect a few dots...
(POINT A)
Our kids are now adults, out in the world being grown-ups with jobs and rent and car payments and all the attendant responsibilities of being independent. It pains me to say it, but they "head home" after they "visit here". But that was the goal, right? I'm not complaining. I'm proud of them. But our opportunities for parenting, for setting good examples, for influencing our kids, are (rightfully) limited at this point.
(POINT B)
I think that one of our big goals as parents, what we really wanted for our kids as they grew up and went out into the world, was for them to have a never-ending passion for learning (whatever they wanted to learn), to always be curious about something, to always want to grow.
I think that Dave is the straight line between POINT A and POINT B in our family. Dave pursues learning every day in some way, he is endlessly curious, he is unafraid to grow and change, and our kids notice. As an example:
When Steven was home recently, he showed Dave a drawing of a bookcase that he wanted Dave to make. Dave saw an opportunity to hang out with Steven, and taught him to dovetail. Steven had never done anything like that before (also, it turns out, Steven is great at it!). The dovetailing lesson sparked an interest in helping with the bookcase project. And the two of them embarked upon a weeks-long build together, which produced this beauty:
I don't want to exhaust the geometry metaphor here, but sometimes POINT A and POINT B are just lone points, existing in isolation on the family graph. It is no small feat to connect the points, and I am so grateful for Dave's approach to life, for his inspiring example. For his strong geometry skills.
But I'm going to shine a light on him, just for a moment. Just for a blog post. If I may.
This is a guy who taught eighth graders for thirty years and loved every year, for god's sake. I know there are other people who taught eighth graders for thirty years. But I triple-dog dare you to find me one who loved all thirty years, right up to retirement. I mean, come on! Who does that?
Dave did.
He retired and proceeded to enjoy his new status as pensioner as much as he had enjoyed his teaching. We reveled in his retirement for about a year before crappy circumstances took over, and all the sudden our carefree "go see baseball stadiums" became "go see doctors". In these past three years of crazy shit-hits-the-fan crap, he's more than earned himself a Nobel Prize for Outstanding Human Being, an award which, in my humble opinion, should be created for the sole purpose of bestowing it upon Dave, a husband beyond par and imagination. The award should then be immediately retired, as the Nobel committee will not find ever again an equal or more worthy recipient.
I could go on and on and on regarding the millions of ways in which Dave, when faced with this unexpected crisis, rose (and continues to rise) to the occasion. But I'm not going to dwell on that because I can hear you all (four of you) yelling, "More about Dave, not about the crappy shit!" as you read this, and rightfully so. Back to Dave.
So Dave was an amazing educator, yes, but he's also, it turns out, an outstanding and keen learner. He taught himself, from scratch, how to cut dovetails. And he practiced and practiced cutting dovetails. He made boxes. Dozens and dozens of boxes. Until he could dovetail so well that he could build furniture using dovetails as the joinery instead of nails. Not just any furniture. Beautiful furniture. Nicer-than-you-can-buy-in-a-store furniture, that will last longer. Pictures don't do them justice. He basically taught himself into becoming a professional-quality furniture maker.
But wait. There's more. You can only build so many dressers and tables and credenzas (I, for the record, can build exactly zero of any of these) before you need a new challenge (if you're Dave).
Chairs! Dave decides to learn to build chairs. Which means he also has to learn to become more than proficient with a lathe and a shave horse (look it up--not at all what you're thinking, I guarantee it). Not only does he teach himself how to use these tools, he actually makes one of them! This is a shave horse. Dave made one of these...
to help him learn to make this......
This is the first chair Dave made. THE FIRST ONE! Go ahead. Click and zoom. It's phenomenal. It's beautiful. Again, it's his FIRST chair.
It's not often you find someone who wants to learn something new and difficult, and who can simultaneously teach it to himself while actually absorbing and learning it. Think about that. It brings to mind a snake eating its tail as it tries to feed itself (just as a note, I am someone who really really does not like snakes or snake imagery but truly, it's the best representation of what I was trying to say about teaching and learning a skill at the same time so I'm using the metaphor even though I now do not want to read this paragraph ever again).
I am constantly astounded at Dave's ability to methodically, patiently, painstakingly, passionately build his skills (ha! pun unintended but wow! that worked out nicely). He is inspiring.
Follow with me here as I connect a few dots...
(POINT A)
Our kids are now adults, out in the world being grown-ups with jobs and rent and car payments and all the attendant responsibilities of being independent. It pains me to say it, but they "head home" after they "visit here". But that was the goal, right? I'm not complaining. I'm proud of them. But our opportunities for parenting, for setting good examples, for influencing our kids, are (rightfully) limited at this point.
(POINT B)
I think that one of our big goals as parents, what we really wanted for our kids as they grew up and went out into the world, was for them to have a never-ending passion for learning (whatever they wanted to learn), to always be curious about something, to always want to grow.
I think that Dave is the straight line between POINT A and POINT B in our family. Dave pursues learning every day in some way, he is endlessly curious, he is unafraid to grow and change, and our kids notice. As an example:
When Steven was home recently, he showed Dave a drawing of a bookcase that he wanted Dave to make. Dave saw an opportunity to hang out with Steven, and taught him to dovetail. Steven had never done anything like that before (also, it turns out, Steven is great at it!). The dovetailing lesson sparked an interest in helping with the bookcase project. And the two of them embarked upon a weeks-long build together, which produced this beauty:
I don't want to exhaust the geometry metaphor here, but sometimes POINT A and POINT B are just lone points, existing in isolation on the family graph. It is no small feat to connect the points, and I am so grateful for Dave's approach to life, for his inspiring example. For his strong geometry skills.
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
Damn It!
Damn it!
I just read this great piece in the Washington Post travel section. This young, intrepid reporter decided to show up to the airport twelve hours early for her flight, just to hang out in the airport for a day and write about the experience.
Swear to god I've thought of doing that and writing that (though I would not qualify as a young, intrepid reporter--more like a slightly doddering, indefatigably plucky wannabe travel blogger).
I know that my experience in an airport for twelve hours would be different from hers, but it still takes the novelty out of the execution. Which means now I am forced to come up with a new construct under which I can pretend I have a uniquely compelling need to blog something that requires me to travel to a location that I have always wanted to visit. Or have never thought to visit.
So my new travel blog idea is to pick a random city (in the US... for now) and just go there for two days. No research. No reservations. No contacts. Just a flat-out adventure with no preconceptions and no schedule.
To add to the fun (because this DOES sound fun to me!), I will impose a (loose) budget on myself so that it doesn't turn into Kim's Wild Spending Spree (which would be a fun tv show if I could get some network to agree to back it).
You might be thinking that this sounds a lot like that travel show that used to be on the Food Network-- "Rachel Ray: $40 a Day", where she went to a big city and spent an entire day, eating and being a tourist, for under $40, which was the whole goal of the show. My idea is not that. Yes, I'll have a budget (I mean, I'll really try to have a budget--no hard promises on my success keeping to it), but that would not be the focus of the travel. This would be more "Kim Explores". The focal point would be figuring out what to do--talking to people, checking out suggestions, making decisions on the fly.
The thought of going somewhere completely unfamiliar and winging it sounds electrifyingly heady to me. Making decisions in the moment based completely on my own initiative, with no input from TripAdvisor or Hotels.com, with no pre-paid tickets to events or locations, with no agenda guiding my moves... uncharted territory for me, the consummate planner. Which is what makes it a thrilling prospect.
I could start small. I could drive a few hours and I'm sure I'd end up somewhere interesting that I've never been. I could spend a day there--just the day--and give this unplanned madness a go and see what happens. Then it's an Amtrak. Then it's a Southwest flight. Then it's-- you can see where this is going... a trip to Italy (transparency is a virtue; I think it's in the Bible somewhere), to some tiny town too small to make the travel books.
But just the right size for me to explore :)
I just read this great piece in the Washington Post travel section. This young, intrepid reporter decided to show up to the airport twelve hours early for her flight, just to hang out in the airport for a day and write about the experience.
Swear to god I've thought of doing that and writing that (though I would not qualify as a young, intrepid reporter--more like a slightly doddering, indefatigably plucky wannabe travel blogger).
I know that my experience in an airport for twelve hours would be different from hers, but it still takes the novelty out of the execution. Which means now I am forced to come up with a new construct under which I can pretend I have a uniquely compelling need to blog something that requires me to travel to a location that I have always wanted to visit. Or have never thought to visit.
So my new travel blog idea is to pick a random city (in the US... for now) and just go there for two days. No research. No reservations. No contacts. Just a flat-out adventure with no preconceptions and no schedule.
To add to the fun (because this DOES sound fun to me!), I will impose a (loose) budget on myself so that it doesn't turn into Kim's Wild Spending Spree (which would be a fun tv show if I could get some network to agree to back it).
You might be thinking that this sounds a lot like that travel show that used to be on the Food Network-- "Rachel Ray: $40 a Day", where she went to a big city and spent an entire day, eating and being a tourist, for under $40, which was the whole goal of the show. My idea is not that. Yes, I'll have a budget (I mean, I'll really try to have a budget--no hard promises on my success keeping to it), but that would not be the focus of the travel. This would be more "Kim Explores". The focal point would be figuring out what to do--talking to people, checking out suggestions, making decisions on the fly.
The thought of going somewhere completely unfamiliar and winging it sounds electrifyingly heady to me. Making decisions in the moment based completely on my own initiative, with no input from TripAdvisor or Hotels.com, with no pre-paid tickets to events or locations, with no agenda guiding my moves... uncharted territory for me, the consummate planner. Which is what makes it a thrilling prospect.
I could start small. I could drive a few hours and I'm sure I'd end up somewhere interesting that I've never been. I could spend a day there--just the day--and give this unplanned madness a go and see what happens. Then it's an Amtrak. Then it's a Southwest flight. Then it's-- you can see where this is going... a trip to Italy (transparency is a virtue; I think it's in the Bible somewhere), to some tiny town too small to make the travel books.
But just the right size for me to explore :)
Friday, January 3, 2020
Dinner with Ed and Kelly
I realized after I named this post that I misnamed it. It really should be called "Dinner with Ed and Kelly and Dorian and a Lot of High School Kids and Their Parents and All the Patients Staying at Hope Lodge". But that seemed a bit unwieldy, so I'm sticking with my original moniker. I am, however, going to be sure to cover all who were in attendance, not just our dining companions Ed and Kelly.
Let me set the scene for you. It's the first week of December in New York City. Freakin' brrrrr. It is cold outside, with a capital C. It is the week of the annual lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. It is also the week Dave and I are in NYC for my radiation treatment.
We were staying at Hope Lodge, which is run by the American Cancer Society. It's like a no-frills hotel for patients of MSKCC who are undergoing treatment. Except, it turns out, there are frills.
One of the big frills is that there are lots of groups (businesses, non-profits, clubs, social groups, etc...) who volunteer to cook and serve dinner to the patients at Hope Lodge so that they don't have to cook for themselves. I could just get lost in that one sentence for many, many paragraphs. People give up their valuable time during what is billed as the most joyful and busiest season of the year to come to a building filled with people who are, among other things, depressed, angry, nauseous, scared, exhausted, homesick, frustrated, unwell, appetite-challenged... you get the idea. These volunteers come to cook. And to serve. Which is such an intimate thing to do for people. Especially for people who are missing home during the holidays. It's very generous of spirit.
OK so dinner! It was Tuesday night, the night before the Rockefeller Tree Lighting, and our Hope Lodge schedule said that dinner would be cooked, served, and provided that night by Dorian's Seafood Market. But not just that. It also indicated that it was a special evening, with an annual tree lighting ceremony. How festive! There was ZERO chance that Dave and I were going to brave the elements (and the crowds) the next night to go to Rockefeller Plaza at 9pm, so this was going to be as close as we came to a tree lighting.
I will add in at this point that I wasn't initially 100% in on going to this dinner. Or any of these dinners. I had a picture in my head not just of what it would be like to sit at dinner with dozens of sick people, but also to have to talk with dozens of sick people. It meant mentally allowing for the fact that I belonged here, with these people. Tough stuff. But it did sound like it could, potentially, be not horrible. How's that for optimism?
Dinner started at 6pm. Dave and I wandered down to the large kitchen/dining area around 5pm just to scope out the situation and found a bustling hive of activity. In the middle of it was Dorian, a petite blond woman in her 40's who was a bundle of energy. She introduced herself and we ended up chatting for a solid fifteen minutes, during which time she told us about the seafood market she owns, how she came to serve this dinner every year for the past dozen years, and what was on the menu for that night. I'm going to concentrate first on what was for dinner, because this was no seat-of-your-pants half-assed effort. This was a gourmet dinner, made with great love by a grateful daughter.
Dorian and her crew, which consisted of her teenage kids and many of their friends as well as the kids' parents, had prepared poached salmon with cucumbers and fresh dill sauce, steamed green beans with butter, two types of green salad (caesar as well as kale-based), homemade rolls, pasta, shrimp with cocktail sauce, and this amazing fresh avocado salad. And dessert--coffee, cookies, and homemade cannoli. This was all freshly prepared. For us. It was beautiful and delicious. Here is a picture of what the poached salmon with cucumbers looked like; the cucumber were sliced paper thin and made to look like scales:
The high school kids took our drink orders (sparkling water? still water? juice? coffee?) and brought us refills. One young woman played Christmas carols on the piano throughout the entire dinner, and seemed genuinely embarrassed when we all clapped for her. The parents generously dished up the food with big smiles and did all of the cleanup with equal enthusiasm.
We spent the evening at a table with Ed and Kelly, who I introduced in an earlier post. For someone who was dreading having to talk to other people during this dinner, I had a great time. We did talk medical stuff, but only for a bit. Then we moved on to where to find great Korean food nearby, what our kids were all up to, what we were looking forward to in the coming year, and at some point the restaurant Hooters came into the conversation, for reasons that now escape me. But I do remember making some sort of "known for their hot breasts as well as their wings" comment and Ed repeatedly telling me how funny I was. When the dessert plate arrived at our table we all tried various cookies and Ed had to convince Kelly to try one of the almond-flavored cookies, which turned out to be an amusing exchange as she resisted and he prodded and we laughed. They were just a typical couple, squabbling over typical things. It made me really happy in that moment, to be able to sit with a few people and have a fun, normal conversation in a place that did not necessarily lend itself to any of that.
After dinner, Dorian told the dining room about her eighty-plus year old mother, who years ago had been diagnosed with stage 4 oral cancer. Memorial Sloan Kettering had treated her. And she now works for Dorian at her fish market, still going strong. This dinner and tree lighting, Dorian told us all, started as her way to give back in gratitude.
Dorian plugged in the lights, the tree lit up, and so did the room. It was like holiday spirit burst its way through a door and filled a room that might have just as easily have locked it out.
It was a lovely evening. I'm so glad we went.
Let me set the scene for you. It's the first week of December in New York City. Freakin' brrrrr. It is cold outside, with a capital C. It is the week of the annual lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. It is also the week Dave and I are in NYC for my radiation treatment.
We were staying at Hope Lodge, which is run by the American Cancer Society. It's like a no-frills hotel for patients of MSKCC who are undergoing treatment. Except, it turns out, there are frills.
One of the big frills is that there are lots of groups (businesses, non-profits, clubs, social groups, etc...) who volunteer to cook and serve dinner to the patients at Hope Lodge so that they don't have to cook for themselves. I could just get lost in that one sentence for many, many paragraphs. People give up their valuable time during what is billed as the most joyful and busiest season of the year to come to a building filled with people who are, among other things, depressed, angry, nauseous, scared, exhausted, homesick, frustrated, unwell, appetite-challenged... you get the idea. These volunteers come to cook. And to serve. Which is such an intimate thing to do for people. Especially for people who are missing home during the holidays. It's very generous of spirit.
OK so dinner! It was Tuesday night, the night before the Rockefeller Tree Lighting, and our Hope Lodge schedule said that dinner would be cooked, served, and provided that night by Dorian's Seafood Market. But not just that. It also indicated that it was a special evening, with an annual tree lighting ceremony. How festive! There was ZERO chance that Dave and I were going to brave the elements (and the crowds) the next night to go to Rockefeller Plaza at 9pm, so this was going to be as close as we came to a tree lighting.
I will add in at this point that I wasn't initially 100% in on going to this dinner. Or any of these dinners. I had a picture in my head not just of what it would be like to sit at dinner with dozens of sick people, but also to have to talk with dozens of sick people. It meant mentally allowing for the fact that I belonged here, with these people. Tough stuff. But it did sound like it could, potentially, be not horrible. How's that for optimism?
Dinner started at 6pm. Dave and I wandered down to the large kitchen/dining area around 5pm just to scope out the situation and found a bustling hive of activity. In the middle of it was Dorian, a petite blond woman in her 40's who was a bundle of energy. She introduced herself and we ended up chatting for a solid fifteen minutes, during which time she told us about the seafood market she owns, how she came to serve this dinner every year for the past dozen years, and what was on the menu for that night. I'm going to concentrate first on what was for dinner, because this was no seat-of-your-pants half-assed effort. This was a gourmet dinner, made with great love by a grateful daughter.
Dorian and her crew, which consisted of her teenage kids and many of their friends as well as the kids' parents, had prepared poached salmon with cucumbers and fresh dill sauce, steamed green beans with butter, two types of green salad (caesar as well as kale-based), homemade rolls, pasta, shrimp with cocktail sauce, and this amazing fresh avocado salad. And dessert--coffee, cookies, and homemade cannoli. This was all freshly prepared. For us. It was beautiful and delicious. Here is a picture of what the poached salmon with cucumbers looked like; the cucumber were sliced paper thin and made to look like scales:
The high school kids took our drink orders (sparkling water? still water? juice? coffee?) and brought us refills. One young woman played Christmas carols on the piano throughout the entire dinner, and seemed genuinely embarrassed when we all clapped for her. The parents generously dished up the food with big smiles and did all of the cleanup with equal enthusiasm.
We spent the evening at a table with Ed and Kelly, who I introduced in an earlier post. For someone who was dreading having to talk to other people during this dinner, I had a great time. We did talk medical stuff, but only for a bit. Then we moved on to where to find great Korean food nearby, what our kids were all up to, what we were looking forward to in the coming year, and at some point the restaurant Hooters came into the conversation, for reasons that now escape me. But I do remember making some sort of "known for their hot breasts as well as their wings" comment and Ed repeatedly telling me how funny I was. When the dessert plate arrived at our table we all tried various cookies and Ed had to convince Kelly to try one of the almond-flavored cookies, which turned out to be an amusing exchange as she resisted and he prodded and we laughed. They were just a typical couple, squabbling over typical things. It made me really happy in that moment, to be able to sit with a few people and have a fun, normal conversation in a place that did not necessarily lend itself to any of that.
After dinner, Dorian told the dining room about her eighty-plus year old mother, who years ago had been diagnosed with stage 4 oral cancer. Memorial Sloan Kettering had treated her. And she now works for Dorian at her fish market, still going strong. This dinner and tree lighting, Dorian told us all, started as her way to give back in gratitude.
Dorian plugged in the lights, the tree lit up, and so did the room. It was like holiday spirit burst its way through a door and filled a room that might have just as easily have locked it out.
It was a lovely evening. I'm so glad we went.
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