Well hello. I’ve just finished devouring a white peach for breakfast. A mourning dove is cooing witlessly outside (how else would they coo?) and a fruit fly is flirting with death in in front of my face.

It’s been a wonderful summer. I figured I’d share a few snaps as well as some brain-and-heart nurturing things I’ve enjoyed lately.

I.

First, here are some tunes for you to enjoy.

1. Ry Cooder – I Think It’s Going to Work Out Fine. This song is the sound of how contentment feels in my body. Saving up for an electric these days.
2. Rayland Baxter – Small Worlds. Everything about this – lyrics, production, sound scape, mixing, mastering, vocal phrasing – it’s a beauteous thing.
3. Quinnie – Touch Tank. Fun to scream sing in my car. Lovely and uninhibited.

II.

I came across this essay on Maria Popova’s brilliant site The Marginalian about Canadian psychiatrist Eric Berne’s handbook “The Games We Play”. I very much enjoy the section on awareness, and the discussion around “beautiful friendships.”

We humans are capable of making such a mess, but we are also capable of incredible clarity and connection.

Another worthwhile read – The Power of the Bittersweet: Susan Cain on Longing as the Fulcrum of Creativity.

III.

The other night I enjoyed the film Big Night. It’s a humorous, vibrant exploration of desire, identity, selling out or staying true, and the uselessness of beauty…a look at the true nature of celebration. My love for the early 90s color palette – that saturated, 35 mm tone – made me savor the film all the more (it is set in the 1950s, New Jersey).

I loved a scene in the movie where two women (who are actually in competition with one another, unbeknownst to one of them, over the same man) begrudgingly take solace in their grievances over the inconsistency of men and daydream about moving out West to find wider vistas and predictable loving (“cowboys are consistent”). But even as they mutter over a generalized idea of men as a whole, their tenderness toward one flawed man in particular (Secondo, Stanley Tucci’s character) animates them both and provides a unlikely footpath between them.

Don’t get me wrong, Secondo is selfish and dishonest regarding these women, and he loses them both in the end. But I love that this scene makes evident the fact that we are all much more than our selfishness, jealousy, and dishonesty. Individuals are lovable – frustratingly so. I think that might be one of the central points of the whole movie. Love for the sake of loving, spar for the sake of sparring, eat for the sake of eating, put aside the mutterings for a moment…

***

I remember poring through Gourmet magazines as a small one. In my sheltered childhood, cookbooks and food magazines were my doorway into the sumptuous, the playful, the erotic, the sensual (honorable mention to Brian Jacques and his chapters long descriptions of the feasts at Redwall Abbey). My dad was a tremendous cook and we ate very well. Church, nature, and lambchops were my points of enchantment. For this I am thankful. I wish that every child could experience their first moments of poetic rapture free from the trappings of consumerism, greed, shame, or lust. I wish everyone’s initial experience of eros – which is one of our deepest modes of relating, pervading everything – could be nurtured from the get-go by nature, color, and wonder. It’s a grave failure on many entities’ parts that pornography is often the first experience of unbridled curiosity in a young life. At times I wish I had land with all sorts of animals roaming about so that my boy could see the life cycle as being part and parcel of every other miraculous and mundane activity – as well as recognize the distinctive gift of tenderness that we humans carry. Nothing siloed, nothing taboo.

I believe that deep savoring is fundamentally full of light.

IV.

I also recently watched the series The Bear on Hulu. I think the underlying messaging has the potential to be developed into something profound about masculinity, sobriety & self-awareness, pride in one’s work, and the concept of chosen family. There was a lack of depth and chemistry in the cast, which made certain areas fall flat and/or feel strained. I sympathize with the writers and producers because you can only cover so much ground within a given runtime.

Everyone yelled at each other at all times, and that was annoying and stressful (I wouldn’t last a day in the food industry).

The protagonist of the show puts off the vibe of an emotionally broken and intense hobbit who’s wellbeing depends on risotto – i.e., the type of person I gravitate toward at parties. He wasn’t likable, but he was quasi interesting. Better to be a bastard with a mission than a milquetoast with manners, one hunnerd percent.

I will watch Season 2.

by Ann Wiley

I am happy and thankful for my life, exactly as it is. I recently accepted a new job that’s put me on the fast-track in a field that not only stimulates my creative side but also provides excellent support and benefits. I’ve never enjoyed when people romanticize poverty or disdain the drive for financial success. Money, to me, is not about status. Rather, it represents opportunity and possibility – two things I need to feel invigorated. Opportunities to hold feasts for friends, opportunities to take my child to beautiful places, opportunities to help, opportunities to simplify into elegance. All of my efforts in this regard flow toward the desire to widen my and my loved ones’ repertoire of experiences (and also to be able to buy good shoes without wincing).

I’ve lately been marveling at the the graces and joys and freedoms of single parenthood. I haven’t always felt this way, not by a long shot. A good portion of these last four years has felt like attempting to tread water in a gale wind, and much of it has been lonely and hard-going. Bit by bit I’ve climbed with my kid on my back, believing somewhere deep inside that I would find my way to an expansive, joyous and abundant life. I now know the depths of my grit. I do not wish for another life or circumstance. I am not set against the influx of love in my life, however it may come; but I am thankful for what I have now.

It’s mostly true that people rise to the occasions life brings their way, and there’s no way to compare life paths in any quantifiable way. Had things panned out differently for me, it’s likely I’d still be finding silver linings, I’d be making do, I’d be trying my best – that’s what I’ve always done. But I feel great peace in knowing it is not my path to have many children, to homeschool, to be catholic, to be a domestic goddess, etc etc. I am thankful for the things that have formed me, the things that have not gone to plan – and the enduring simplicities that have remained a constant source of sustenance throughout.

This way of doing things is the only way I know of, so I can’t make a really sound comparison with being partnered for decades and bearing ten children. What I can say of my one experience is that raising a child with a partner I am not romantically intertwined with or emotionally reliant on has been blessedly straightforward, calm, and kind. I have to admit it’s hard to imagine what it would be like having to fit the mold of being everything-to-everyone, as is exulted within some less-than healthy circles, and as I witnessed growing up (it isn’t possible, of course, and it quickly turns into one of the many games Berne described in his handbook on human interaction, mentioned above). The pressure women put on themselves, and that’s foisted upon them, is crippling – and yet strangely rewarded in some sort of subversive way. I’m sure some couples have successfully struck an egalitarian balance, but I wonder if that’s almost a fluke of nature when it happens. Depends on how one defines egalitarian, I guess.

My life is simple and circumstances allow me to take long bike rides through meadows on the weekends. I go alone to concerts in the city and well up next to strangers. I meet so many interesting people. Motherhood anchors me but life continues to inspire me and flow toward me from many directions.

My son couldn’t care less that I hate to cook – we subsist on veggies, fruits, and deconstructed sandwiches. We go to outer-space in the carwash, we exclaim whenever we see the heron, we have limited our use of the word “poop” to only thrice a day.

Not everyone will see the beauty in it, but I am glad that I do.

David Ramirez, World Cafe Live in Philly

I might start a new blog at some point.

Never was, blessed be!

That’s all I’ve got for now.