Yesterday, I watched the governor of Georgia address a member of the media, who’d asked him a simple, relevant, and necessary question, with absolute contempt. Once again, I was put in a very frustrating position: my impulse was to want to see this boor publicly disgraced, at the very least chastened into silence, but for that to happen, he would need to be very, very publicly wrong, which would mean…bodies stacked like cordwood. That’s the last thing I want, so that leaves me hoping the boor is correct. I’m really tired of feeling this way, deep in the pit of my stomach. Contempt, militant ignorance, bloviation, bristling insecurity, crudeness–and the blatant inability to accept and respond, intelligently and knowledgeably, to criticism: these have always been the hallmarks of the small man. They can’t also be the hallmarks of our leadership, can they?
I know this is probably weak-minded, but who liked these kinds of humans in high school? Who enjoys them as bosses? Who likes them between their legs?
Even though we don’t really have a “family” in-house (well…pets), we eat at the table on a regular basis. We almost–almost–did so thrice yesterday; the oatmeal came off the stove right as “CBS Sunday Morning” came on in the living room and we like to watch that live (Note: I am not a fruit eater but Nicole has seduced me into enjoying blackberries, raspberries, and bananas in my hot cereal–one fringe benefit of sheltering). But lunch and dinner were magnificent efforts by the chef: vegetarian enchiladas made with Tortilleria El Patron‘s tortillas as well as Happy Hollow Farm‘s purple radishes and sweet potatoes (of which I’m not normally a fan unless they’re in a pie) for the former, her long-time staple and specialty peanut butter curry for the latter. The windows were open all day, the music was flowing, and no neighbors were screaming at each other.
I understand it’s rather bourgeois to linger too long over food (Luis Buñuel made that point powerfully), but a) I may actually be rather bourgeois–more so than I’d prefer–and b) home-cooked meals have been one of the most sustaining rituals of this mess, and I’m fortunate to live with someone who cooks with love, skill, and imagination. For the record, I always and zen-happily wash and dry the dishes promptly; I seldom use the dishwasher, but as a mercy to my chapped hands and wrists, since the thing began I’ve leaned on it a bit. My goal since we moved in together has been to never allow her near a stacked sink, and to assure her every implement’s clean for her to make as big a culinary mess as she needs to. I’m not very romantic, but those are my dozen roses, I suppose.
I dug Albert Camus’ The Plague out of the basement library in the early evening. How cliché at this point, I know, but that paperback has been with me (physically and spiritually) longer than most of the books in the house. The novel was required reading for a fantastic “Philosophy and Literature” class I took as a senior at what was then Southwest Missouri State, and the prof was superb. I can’t remember his name, but he had long gray hair, a mustache, and muttonchops, and always sported the same cigarette-burned corduroy jacket–Clay Thomas, you recall him, by chance? The Stranger and “The Myth of Sisyphus” were splashier reads, but The Plague seemed much more adaptable to the lived life of a 21-year-old, and warmer (if that makes sense). Time for a re-read, even if (maybe especially because) millions of other humans are also picking it up. I encourage you to, as well; there’s more than one plague we’re dealing with, after all, and this book will help.
Oh, and Tux finally used his $100 house after many months (including a fall and winter) of turning up his pink nose! Instead, he’s turning his nose up at the lunch that he did not eat at our table.
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
This may not actually be the greatest jazz concert of all time, but with Bird on sax, Diz on trumpet, Bud on piano, Max on drums, and Mingus on bass, it is mos def no disgrace.
We said a somber farewell to Nicole’s Grandma Florence Martinez, who passed away at the age of 95 yesterday. She was a strong, smiling presence in her kids’ and grandkids’ lives, and she will be sorely missed. Florence had a mischievous smile and eye-sparkle she would frequently flash that will last forever in my mind’s eye. I try to confront this mess we’re in with an even disposition, but the stabbing way it has robbed humans at the arrival in their lives of birth and death is especially cruel, and makes me just want to loudly lose it a little bit. Adam, Chrisy, Angela, Big Joe and Little Joe, and Cathy, we’re with you in spirit if we can’t be in physical space.
The highlights of a stormy day were simple: Frenchy Treats‘ delicious macarons, which we purchased at the Columbia Farmers Market (they really have their operation together), and a revisiting of a movie we have loved forever, Jim Jarmusch’s Down By Law. Did you know the title refers to a very close relationship, not an oppressed state? My interpretation is, you’re down with someone according to your own laws for a human relationship.
I also was very pleasantly surprised by feedback from two very amazing former students, Justin and Arianna. When you’re a teacher of hoarier vintage, who’s been away from large groups students of students for awhile, you can start picking at yourself, wondering if you’ve still got the knack and shouldn’t consider getting out before you overstay your acumen’s duration. For better or worse, you two, my hand’s still in the game thanks so much to your kind words.
I hate it when I forget to read. I didn’t even read the dang paper. I did read a student’s essay but that doesn’t quite count.
Used to be, the only time my nose ever itched was when my hands were in a soapy sink. Now, it itches every single time I really hadn’t ought to touch my face. I hereby dub this phenomenon “COVID nose.”
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
I’ve noticed on social media that this one of a kind album (even considered in this one of a kind artist’s oeuvre) has been landing in many friends’ lives lately. Perhaps it’s time for you to make its acquaintance if you haven’t already.
A quiet, shoulder-to-the-wheel day. Nicole had three Zoom meetings and I edited two student’ papers remotely. We received a delicious pastry ‘n’ soup delivery from Love Coffee, via our old Hickman comrade Karen Morgan, and ran some books out to our old friends Dennis and Denise Ferguson. Nicole broke up a big (literal) cat fight in the front yard, and we watched an iteration of the political cat fight ploy in an episode of Mrs. America. Finally, after a great five-day run, the big plate of delicious spinach lasagna Nicole baked is no more.
It was our Uncle John Waters’ birthday, but we’ll have to celebrate it belatedly along with Wild Bill Shakespeare’s today. We’d also planned to throw a listening party for ourselves with Charles Mingus’ The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady, revered in this house, but we were too focused otherwise.
To myself: “What day is it?” Me: “It’s all one day.”
We like to meditate with the window open, for the spring birdsongs. Beyond the birdsongs is traffic barreling down I-70. The birdsongs are like a veil; I fight to keep from mentally ordering the next few hours.
My project is moving in the lawn furniture and preparing the yard for our landscaper Deven, then putting out the garden hose and sweeping out the garage. Oh yes, and I really sweep out the basement.
Without the focus of a full-on job, my “ailments” become more noticeable: my tennis elbow, got from sifting litter boxes, is flaring up (I now sift left-handed), the calcium deposit in my palm feels bigger, why does my heel feel suddenly bruised, did I tear a ligament in my thumb, what’s that weird feeling under my rib cage, my nose is running and I have a slightly dry mild cough (it’s allergies)–am I officially old? Wait…also…I have an obtruding zyphoid process and encroaching hammer toes–is it all connected?
I need a nap in the afternoon. Instead I brew some Irish breakfast tea so I can keep reading.
A friend of ours from olden times named Greg used to magically and spontaneously create interesting meals for his family (and sometimes us) by just foraging through the fridge and throwing things together creatively. This is kind of what we do, and it is good, and I suspect it is a popular strategy for this longest of days.
Sharing crazy cat pictures was not enough to provoke comments from one of our favorite young couples, Patrick D and Mary Clare. Worried, we check on them. The future lawyer and current poet and teacher have been predictably laboring and scrambling, and they are OK. We just miss them.
Our series are ending (please put Ozark out of its misery!) or over. What next? Mrs. America–check. What We Do In the Shadows–check (GO FX!). But...the Jordan doc on ESPN? Fauda? Gomorrah? Babylon Berlin? The “Up” films, finally fully available on Brit Box? I feel like I am brainstorming upcoming units for a class.
Speaking of ESPN…I’m doing just fine without sports. Imagine that. I’m not sure I even need another face full of Jordan.
After 12 years of tormenting our sleep, our dog Louis suddenly decides he can crash alone and silent in the living room and hold his bladder for seven hours. A seemingly meager gift, but it is as from on high. Perhaps having his anal glands expressed was the key.
The spills, thrills, and chills of the COVID-19 shelter-in-place shuffle.
I’m sure I’m not the only one striving to strengthen connections with old friends, since I’ve more time on my hands and can’t easily see them in person. Yesterday, I called one of my best and oldest educator friends, Karen Downey, to catch up.
Karen and I worked together for 16 consecutive years as a special education-content specialist team in what was then called “class-within-a-class” mode. One, we planned lessons, assessments and units together to ensure all material could be sufficiently modified for our students who had individualized education programs (IEPs); two, we strove to deliver that material in the classroom in such a way that, if someone dropped in, they couldn’t be too sure who the content area specialist and who the special ed specialist was; and three, we had fun teaching together.
When I first accepted an assignment to work with her at Hickman in 1990, I was reluctant. I was 28, so I thought I knew it all. She also seemed a little conservative, and I worried she would cramp my freewheeling style. Plus–horrors!–she was 10 years my senior, and I didn’t need an oldster slowing me down. Well…10 years wiser, was more like it. In very short order, she taught me 90% of what’s really important about teaching to every kid in a classroom, she brought me closer to the middle (and I brought her closer to the left margin), and her precise historical knowledge and quicker-on-the-uptake classroom (and school building) vision radically enhanced what I was able to deliver to my kids. As a bonus, we became very close friends and quickly found ourselves able to communicate across the room with the flicker of an eyelid. Former students of ours will not only verify this, but also that she was the brains of the operation. With any text or lesson, at her suggestion, we could set up (among other strategies) a politically- or gender-based dialectic that could immediately make the material more interesting and relevant for everyone involved. One of my favorite aspects of our partnership was the visual we presented: I can’t think of anyone less stoic in front of a class than me, or more stoic than Karen! If a kid wasn’t able to connect with one or the other of us, they were probably not trying.
I’ve run on here, but she was the best thing that could have happened to my teaching, and I’m very grateful. We picked up yesterday right where we left off, as we always do. You ought to touch base with someone today who had a similar effect on your career.
We’ve found (it’s pretty obvious) that we’re spending much less money in this mess; we are lucky to have some. We’re also a bit frustrated we can’t get out to physically help to any serious extent. So we decided yesterday to double our monthly food bank donation, contribute to The Homies‘ local effort to feed hungry people and help food service workers survive this, and make a big delivery order from Love Coffee, which “provides job skills training and employment in an atmosphere of love to individuals with disabilities and barriers to employment” (their mission). I don’t communicate this in order to signal our virtue; these are just some pretty easy local things to do that really do help, if you are able to do them.
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
To balance the goody-good and celebrate a wily septuagenarian…
Laughing our butts off at Randy Newman and his wife on CBS Sunday Morning (sheltering in place is bringing them spatial and motivational challenges).
Mixing a couple of tequila sunrises, cranking up the 2-CD Dead Moon compilation ECHOES OF THE PAST, and realizing we were fortunate enough to see the Coles play seven times, and get to know them. They have always been an inspiration to us.
A Zoom session with my parents Ron and Jane and my brother Brian and his gal Myra. We got caught up and enjoyed some great views of Dad’s belly (low-angle camera work). My mom is busy making masks for friends and my dad is out in the shop a lot. (See pic in comments.)
Nicole’s lasagna, made with fresh spinach from the Columbia Farmer’s Market–their operation is a model for these times. And doesn’t lasagna taste even better the second day?
Relaxing with a book, some music, and the windows open, and enjoying a beer on the front landing with our cat Tuxalini.
The not-so-good?
Neighbors. A neighbor of ours already had three dogs they insufficiently controlled, and they recently added a NEW dog and a cat that had not been spayed and now appears pregnant. Yesterday, they gathered in their driveway with (at least) four friends for almost two hours, definitely not practicing social distancing, sharing smokes–and allowing the new dog to run freely in the street (stopping traffic twice) and over into our yard multiple times, though IT HAD A LEASH ON THAT WAS APPARENTLY DECORATIVE. Upon the dog’s last foray, Nicole stepped out and asked them politely to keep their dog in their yard. Response: “I’ll do whatever I want.” Animal Control does not operate on Sunday; a heads-up to the authorities went unaddressed. That unnerved us for the rest of the evening. It is really difficult, sometimes, to sit with things you can’t control. We will get better at it, but Animal Control is now on speed dial.
The good–on the rebound?
Tyler Keith of Oxford, Mississippi, is one of the States’ last dyed-in-the-wool rock and rollers. In the Nineties, he led The Neckbones, which were what the first version of The Heartbreakers (with Johnny Thunders and Richard Hell in tow) would have sounded like if they had been from The Deep South. But Tyler, solo and with his various bands (The Preacher’s Kids, The Apostles), has continued to make barbed-wire, hard-hitting music that’s continued the Southern tradition, most vividly exemplified by Jerry Lee Lewis, of watching the sunrise with God and closing down the bar with Satan. He performed a Facebook live concert last night to celebrate the release of his new album (see below), and that rescued the day for us, in a way. By the way, the album is great.
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
This album has always done us good. Perhaps it will do the same for you!
Note: This entry appeared in slightly different form on Facebook, where I could tag ‘n’ challenge.
To mark our struggle through this first “month” (for some, it’s been longer; others, shorter), I’m laying down a challenge to my brothers and sisters who read, watch, and listen with style: foremost in my mind are Nicole, Rex, Charles, Sadie, Isaac, Joe, John, Josh, Ken, Clifford, Paul, Alex, Susie, Peter, Zac, Kevin, Liz, and Vance. Here it is:
On your Facebook wall, post images of the book, record, and movie/series/show/episode that have made this mess most bearable. If you’d like to succinctly explain your choices, I’d be interested (tag me), but you don’t have to. Also, challenge a friend of your own. You can copy and paste this paragraph if it helps!
Book: I’d only read a few of Mary Oliver’s poems going into March and I’d loved each of them. I’d heard she’d run with John Waters’ crowd in Provincetown in the ’60s, and that also recommended her. But neither prepared me for the consistent brilliance, power, vividness and truth of the whole of her best work. Devotions, over 400 pages, constantly kept me engaged with the miraculous in this world, despite our troubles. Runner-Up: Sasha Geffen, Glitter Up the Dark.
Record: Dr. Mark Lomax II is a scholar, teacher and master drummer from Columbus, Ohio. His work not only celebrates Afrikan culture, tradition and styles, but also seeks to connect us, through music, to the thoughts, feelings, and practices that can deepen our humanity. His Friday lunchtime sessions on YouTube can seriously improve your day. The 400 Years Suite, a distillation of his eight-disc masterpiece 400: An Afrikan Epic, has truly energized me. Runners-up: Bowie’s Berlin albums.
Series: I approached Hulu’s adaptation of Celeste Ng’s novel Little Fires Everywhere, with skepticism; in fact, I was really only wanting to watch it because my lit-crush Attica Locke was involved. It turns out that the performances, fromthe two stars but even more so from the youthful actors, are terrific, and Ng’s vision of the connections between privilege, corrupted good social intentions, and the American racial and class divides is communicated intact. Episode 7 ( of 8 )was a streaming TV landmark. Runner-up: Better Call Saul.
Have fun with this, spread the greatness, and stay safe.
Streaming for Shut-Ins: less than a half-hour of country classics.
Successful grocery runs: Moser’s on Business Loop (Wickle’s replenished!), Gerbes.
Successful Zooms: So long and good luck to my two student teaching interns, Morgan and Kristen. May the opening of public school in the fall be closer to normal for you.
Successful daily goals (we have been a little erratic as the “grit ‘n’ grind phase” has kicked in): meditation ✅; cat time ✅; reading (finished Sandburg’s “Chicago Poems”) ✅; check in on someone you care about (Bob Dylan is apparently live and enigmatically kicking, though the new single that dropped is not brand-new) ✅; hug and kiss Nicole ✅; refusing to let powerful person yelling “Fire!” in a metaphorical crowded theater on Twitter make me give up ✅. Sorry, but this stuff is more important than it might look.
Successful Culinary Experiment: Tried a meatless version of Tony’s Pizza Palace’s great “Zeus” pie–it’s basically a gyro pizza (so rich and delicious, especially with the feta!), so without the gyro meat I call it the “Hera.” Not only was it outstanding, but I got to pick it up curbside, wear a mask, and hand Kristen our money! Why am I excited about that? I am not entirely trustworthy in these circumstances, as I plunge headlong into in-person social interactions, and that tendency can cause me to black out on the new rules. Thus, Nicole has handled almost all of the out-of-house missions. Is this stuff stressful for anyone else? I needed a Tecate and a shot of tequila when we got home.
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
Something to play if you’re eating pizza tonight. Dedicated to my departed friend Bernard Watts, who first played it for me.
One month down–we really started observing different habits on March the 17th.
Checking up on a friend yesterday, I watched a phrase come out of my thumbs, though I can’t remember it perfectly now: “the tug of war between public health and economic prosperity,” or something like that. In straits like ours, one roots for both, but also can’t possibly be blind to the Scylla and Charybdis nature of the bind. When I think about it, my gut churns. Nicole showed me a viral pic of angry Americans in pitchforks-and-flambeaux mode demanding a return to normal doings, in Michigan, I think it was. I’ve also read public figures argue that a few (?) deaths (of seniors, of students) isn’t that high a price to pay for a re-opening. One tries to keep one’s feet on the ground and maintain a stoic visage, but that sh*t is far too real not to feel one’s mask crack.
Sometimes one doesn’t want to get up in the morning to confront the freshest hell. My particular absurd motorvator to rise, especially on a Friday morning, is to check out the freshest musical glory. I chased away quite a bit of anxiety yesterday knowing new records by sui generis hip-hop act Shabazz Palaces, innovative jazz cellist Tomeka Reid (teaming with pianist Alexander Hawkins), (relatively) young god of the saxophone James Brandon Lewis, old god Bob Dylan (another weird, somber single) and Fiona Apple would be waiting for me this morning. I’ve never been a huge fan of the latter, but the advance buzz for Fetch the Bolt Cuttershas me cranking it up as I type and wait for Nicole to emerge from Moser’s, and I’m chanting along, at least: “Evil is a relay sport / When the one who’s burned / Turns to pass the torch.”
We finally set up a family Zoom with my parents (in Monett, Missouri) and my brother and his lady (in Dickinson, Texas). Can you play Five Crown remotely? We shall see.
Streaming for Shut-Ins:
Classical music and African-American culture fans, unite to celebrate one of today’s birthday boys!
The Overeem Farewell Tour: Dispatches from the Public School Trenches 