Miscellany I want to share with y'all: In the Darkroom; Two Wolves parable; Nutmeg cat; March for Science

In no particular order of import:

Nutmeg, aka the most delightful cat in the world

Despite the apparent rotundity, we have been SO diligent with Nut's diet, and he has lost 1.5 pounds. I believe fur, loose skin, and positionality are to blame here. Plus, that damn camera adding pounds...

Two Wolves - a Cherokee parable

An old Cherokee chief was teaching his grandson about life...

"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. 
"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.

The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. 

This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, 
"Which wolf will win?"

The old chief simply replied, 
"The one you feed."

In the Darkroom

Friends, you MUST read this book. Written by Susan Faludi, it is ostensibly about after her estranged, then 76-year-old father undergoing sex reassignment surgery to fully transition to a woman. And while it is an incredibly powerful discussion about self and gender identity and the recovery of a parent-child relationship that had long stood on shaky ground, it is also broader than that, taking us through considerations of national and religious identities through the lens of Hungary, historically, during World War II and the Holocaust, and more presently, since the turn of the century on. It's like a riveting history text + a mesmerizing personal tale.

I rationed my reading of it and was truly crushed when I finished it Monday. Tom and I spent some time in Budapest in 2004, just weeks after Hungary had joined the European Union. (Because I am forever talking to everyone) we found that many Hungarians felt deeply vexed about what impact(s) EU membership might have on their national identity. In light of those conversations (which led me to imagine that Hungarians had a long-standing, deeply-rooted, unified sense of what their identity was), I found Faludi's explication of Hungary's fraught history with its sense of self particularly fascinating. 

And for anyone worried about just how bad hyper-nationalistic, pro-Christian, anti-Semitic (and Muslim and Roma and...), anti-LGBTQ administrations can be for a country, just how far down a scary hole those can go, look to Hungary today where an uber-rightist, intolerant government aided and abetted by a far-right propaganda-based internet presence, has, in many ways, driven the country into the ground. Sound familiar? It's alarming to say the least.

Food

Thank god spring is (nearly) here. Grilled bread with ricotta, lemon zest, olive oil, salt and sauteed pea shoots, snow peas, and English peas is fab.

So is grilled focaccia with sauteed mushrooms (oyster, shitake, lion), creme fraiche, and thyme.

Also fab? A homemade birthday cake- chocolate and chocolate-from my mother-in-law. 41 in binary (lit/unlit candles) courtesy of my nerdtastic husband and J.

Science (and knowledge and facts) is great!

Who's marching in the March for Science on Saturday? Jack and I are marching in DC, and last I checked there were 571 satellite marches in the US and abroad. Find one and make your voices heard!

Spring, grilled cheese, and the birthday ball starts rolling

I have meant to write each of the past two nights, but y'all, my yard. I can't even get out of it because spring has sprung and the sun, it has been a'shining.

Tulips turn their heads to the bright sky every morning and open their arms wide to receive the light and warmth. The phlox perks up and stands at attention, the poor hydrangeas dare to bud for the third time since spring started hinting at its coming, and the hostas start their cheerfully aggressive takeover of valued garden space. 

The chosen ones aren't the only things bursting from torpor to life. The weeds and I have been engaged in a full scale battle for a week now- hairy bittercress, clover, the one I never can identify but which sprouts with wild and initially pleasing abandon. I am quite certain that my neighbors must think me obsessive at best, for there I am again, crouched in a yogic squat and tossing uprooted weeds into Oliver's orange plastic sand pail with glee. 

As always, I commune with the worms and roly polys, welcome the birds into the spray from my hose, attempt to save neighborhood bunnies from Nutmeg's innate predatory instincts, and lose all sense of time and other responsibilities. 

Yesterday was National Grilled Cheese Day, and I took a break from gardening to speak to MacKenzie Smith, sandwich expert for About.com and founder of the blog, Grilled Cheese Social. Sara Lee had asked her to concoct some special sandwiches for the day, and I wanted to ask about her favorite cheese combos that Tom and I may not have yet tried as well as to seek advice about convincing my boys that a good grilled cheese sandwich is hard to beat. So far, they are not fans, and to be honest, I cannot understand. 

Anyway, during our brief chat, MacKenzie shared her favorite grilled cheese trio -young goat cheese, muenster, and taleggio (all of which I bought today)- and we waxed rhapsodic about the importance of using full-fat salty butter liberally on a good grilled cheese. She swears by any salty European butter while I go even more specific and vote for Kerrygold. #ofthegods

MacKenzie's three Bs for a winning sandwich include, of course, butter, but also base (a good, thick bread that can withstand heat and melting cheese; she likes Sara Lee Artesano, and I like brioche) and blend (the best grilled cheeses benefit from a blend of cheeses with varying melt points, salt contents, and flavor profiles). 

I know what I'll be having for lunch tomorrow, thank you!

For lunch today, my dear friend, C, took me to the Iron Gate to get my birthday ball rolling. 41 happens Sunday, y'all. 

It was a beautiful day, and we sat in the courtyard, shaded in a perfectly mottled way by a large canopy of established wisteria. Despite a ludicrous drive downtown which culminated in me climbing a ladder OUT of a parking garage WHILE in heeled sandals and then skirting a delivery truck in the drive pad to exit, it was a perfect, lovely, relaxed date.

Heading into the Iron Gate which is mysterious and charming and I want to go back because the interior spaces are even more inviting than the front.

The menu is gorgeous and intensely seasonal. Though I had a hard time choosing, we ultimately shared two dishes -the spring pea bruschetta (OMG) and the beet, black walnut, dill, and yogurt salad- before branching into the gemelli with chiles and swiss chard pesto (C) and the farro, dried cherries, feta, pine nut, and red wine vinaigrette salad for moi. For dessert, lemon curd with meringue two ways, candied almonds, and cardamom ice cream. Perfection!

Happy weekend, friends!

Anne Lamott and other thoughts

Do y'all remember when I blogged EVERY day? For four straight years, if memory serves, I submitted a quotidian offering. How did I do that? And why?

I think I thought I had to, as if daily posts were a precondition for "successful blogging." And in many ways, I am so grateful I wrote with that frequency because, having no formal writing education on which to fall back, committing something to page on such a regular basis taught me that writing is the training of a muscle as well as the fanning of a creative flame. 

It is rare now (minus the February lulls and periods of political malaise) that I sit in front of an empty page without what feels like magic starting to percolate. Even if my thoughts go nowhere or read as awfully mundane, there is some shift internally that draws me always back like moth to light, like me to sunshine.

Last night, I met a group of women at the Strathmore arts center to hear Anne Lamott talk about mercy and grace and present her newest book, Hallelujah Anyway.

I have been an enormous fan of Anne's since first reading Operating Instructions more than a decade ago. It's one of those books that legitimately made me wheeze with stomach-cramping laughter and cause Tom to repeatedly ask, "What is going on over there?" It also made me think and tear up and feel grateful that slightly-zany Anne of the smart, progressive, troubled parents found her way to writing and got clean.

Then I read Traveling Mercies and thought as deeply as I'd laughed in Operating Instructions and highlighted and notated with the mad desire to not forget the wisdom she seemed to be spilling on every page and wondered about her devout Christianity even though she explained it so well. 

Other than the timbre of her voice not sounding precisely how I'd heard it in my mind, Anne was so totally herself last night, and I found that marvelous. Barbara Kingsolver was, many years ago at the National Cathedral, not at all what I'd imagined, and I remain crushed. Because The Poisonwood Bible. 

But anyway, Anne. Her hair was lassoed with both ponytail holder and hair band, but I could nonetheless discern the wild, blond frizz she's described so many times. She talked about Pammy, and her Jesuit friend, and Sam, and Veronica, and I felt myself nodding, as if she were talking about mutual friends. She was funny and deadpan and loopy and candid. She despises Trump and teaches Sunday school and told us to care for the poor more times than I could count. She is smart and anxious and beautifully imperfect, and as through her pen, wisdom spilled from her voice.

It is both powerful and comforting to encounter such an open, authentic being. I felt the sort of gratitude that comes when you can really trust someone, not least someone who has so bravely shared her flaws and fears with the world. I am always drawn to her sort of honesty and lack of pretense. Really, it's the way I want to go about in the world. It seems both efficient and connective, and I appreciate both.

Just before she opened the floor to questions, she read a passage from Hallelujah Anyway about a friend's son committing suicide. I want to leave you with this tonight as I found it a truly profound reframing of what is often considered a heinous, selfish act and also a truly profound use of writing to teach and provoke. 

Then Ann, at peace and in grief, stood up trembling and shared the note he had left for her. Like most suicide notes, it said, I have to do this. I'm sorry. Please forgive me and release me. Don't be sad. And I love you; love you. Then she called forth Jay, in baby baths, at the beach, on a trike, at the prom, and here, smoking and resting among the flowers. She gave thanks for the gestational period of ten months they'd spent together at what turned out to be the end, for the communion and care he received and gave to Ann, for that time they had needed so badly, an intimacy most of us cannot imagine.

In the garden, where he had walked, paced, rested, we were holding him and releasing him, inside the ring of trees, ferns, rosebushes, a cherry plum. ...How could this have happened? How can such pain exist? ...How could doctors not help him, with all those meds and treatments, not help him get free of that bad brain any other way? He was at the mercy of it, of bad brain, yet he held out so long, for Ann, to help her. So mercy has claws, too, that don't easily let go.

...Every release inside us releases whatever energy inside us tethered Jay here, to this realm that was just too awful for him. We were saying, This is hard, but not as hard as it was for you here, weighed down by the anchors of so-called reality. So go now, go, unfettered.

Stunning, huh.