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Spanx for the Memories and Absolutely No Other Puns but Maybe a Couple of References to Pie
May 2024 Month in Review
Greetings, fellow snarklings.
Does “I was tired” count as a review? Probably not, but it does explain why my recommendations this month are as thin as a caffeine-free latte and mostly limited to “Get some sleep.”
Normally I feel a small weird panic if these reviews don’t magically appear* within 48 hours of the month ending. As if reflections have a cosmic expiration date. As though if they’re not served fresh, they’re compost. Four or five days into the month feels like the Ides of June (not these guys), which means it’s practically autumn, and wait, am I writing this from the future, circa 2027?
*as if I don’t have to write them
How we’ve conditioned ourselves to immediacy. Time is an unforgiving overlord. Here you go, Time, take the wheel. Knock yourself out.
This is all just to say that it feels like we’re functioning in the interstices May grudgingly doles out.
Let’s get into it, even if I’m a few days late. Maybe time is a poet, sweetening like a fine wine, sharpening like a cheddar, chunking up like old milk.
(Time may be a poet. I am not. Unless you want a poem about old milk.)
Anyway, here we are, tardy but with all the juicy details:
This time of year is a cocktail of achievement, exploration, wrapping up, recognition, and proving oneself. It’s a whirlwind of scope, sequence, pace, and sugar highs. When your whole family feels burned out by May 2nd, you know it’s going to be a long month. The world was like an angry blender — whirring and sharp and loud. AP tests, finals, placements, end-of-year celebrations, countdowns, more tests, competitions, nationals, baseball, track meets, concerts, performances, meetings, and good grief! It was a family endurance test, and my role was mostly snack duty and stress management.
Note: “You’ve got this” is less appreciated when accompanied by an inadvertent spray of half-chewed Ritz crackers.
This seems an appropriate time to give a hearty HALLOO and THANK YOU to all the adults in the kids’ lives who guided them to this particular finish line. You are excellent and I hope you can spend the next few months living in something other than 42-minute stretches.
Looking forward to a moment’s respite before the summer fully grabs us for a good do-si-do…oh wait, no. Just got an email with the subject line “Are We Doomed?” Better return my tray to the upright position.
Here are some splashes of marvelous from May 2024
(i.e. things I enjoyed that you may also enjoy or possibly not if you are feeling contrarian and cross.)
- I got to be helpful this past year, a little bit, in places like my boys’ school and other community organizations. I can only hope my kind of help wasn’t the kind Shel Silverstein poked at, presented here from the Free to Be You and Me album for our first pie reference and also to meet our recommended daily requirement of Tommy Smothers:
- I’m sneaking a family wedding into this month’s review, even though it technically happened in June (but the rehearsal dinner and travel were in May.) I visited Kansas City for the first time. Quite an excellent place. The rehearsal dinner was held in Union Station. Is there anything more filled with all the big human emotions, history, and excellent ceilings than a train station? I dare say, no? I DO DARE. The wedding itself was glorious, thoughtful, and beautiful. Maybe someday I’ll share more once the happy couple gets to tell their story first. (Guys, they sent us home with some of this barbecue sauce. IT’S AWESOME. I may or may not have been sticking my pinkie in there to get every last bit. Ok, I may have. I totally may have.)
- Dr. Pepper Strawberries and Cream is turning me into a 12-year-old. That’s fine.
- Shopped for the aforementioned wedding. Needed blue — not navy — heels. These shoes came up in the search. Alas, I did not get them, but I really want to get to know the person who does.
I already know the type who wears these:
(It’s me! Ask me about my neuroma!)
- The best thing I can say about The Super Mario Bros. Movie is that it tapped into wellsprings of antipathy I didn’t realize I had. Except for Jack Black. I’m no monster.
- Speaking of being behind, I’m watching Gilmore Girls which somehow escaped my attention the first go-around. Now I’m catching up and enjoying it along, apparently, with the rest of the world. Go Team Zeitgeist!
- I need to accept that my husband does not take good photos of me. Maybe it’s the height difference, or maybe I operate under the mistaken belief that I do not look like a bridge troll. Or maybe I do in fact look like something out of Neil Gaiman’s nightmares, — in which case, excellent photography skills, honey. And if any of you jokesters are thinking of asking to see said photos, I SAY NAY.
- Losing Alice Munro was a blow to writers and readers everywhere. Having her words still with us assuages the ache. Here’s an interview.
- This is perfect and also a little flaky.
- I leave you with this, someone who needs neither introduction nor Spanx. Probably. I can’t be sure.
Klappe zu, Affe tot, May. I’m off to look for some rhubarb to start on one of these:
Sushi, Queen Elizabeth’s Spine, and Becoming One with My Car
A Scrawl of April Delights and Wonders
April, that slippery trickster, played peekaboo with my sanity and my word count, yet here I am, wrestling it all into a monthly wrap-up blog post.
The dungeon of delights I toss stuff into (i.e. a crummy little computer file called “Cool Stuff!”) is ever-burgeoning.
I also have a file called “Can You Believe This Shit?”, a cavernous pit of my more epic fails — those are usually what I serve up here once I’ve pulled my face out of the mud of life, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of my own clumsiness. But let’s sidestep the slapstick for a moment, shall we?
Here are some splashes of the marvelous from April 2024 :
- I got to hear author Julie Otsuka (of When the Emperor Was Divine, among other gems) speak at an event. She talked about the musicality of her prose as a guiding force. It was revelatory to me as a writer, who gets so worried about writing well that sometimes I forget about writing with beauty and whimsy and lyricism. The Swimmers is next on my list to read.
- How lovely is this piece about the creative seasons by Austin Kleon? (peek here).
- Ever feel like you’re in someone else’s movie (picture of definition of “idiot plot”) and it was a movie written by a coked-up background muppet whose Mahna Mahna has slipped off its cracker? I mean…
- I’d absolutely demolish Le Crookie, a sinfully delightful pastry mishmash taking Paris by storm. (Feast your eyes on this madness).
- It was my daughter’s birthday on April 8. We told her we moved heaven and earth for her, and that’s cool and all, but don’t expect that every year, kid.
- Having kids has completely reshaped my understanding of time, especially when there are milestones. It’s like living in a real-world example of relativity: they’re at once newborns, teens, young adults, and everything in between, while I just steadily decay.
- And then the routine chaos: proms, concerts, sporting our way through life. The husband and I morphed into glorified chauffeurs, hauling our offspring hither and yon.
- Our sports pilgrimage included track meets in Arctic temps and baseball games called by some marvelously colorful umpires — can you say, “turkey, chicken, duck”? Because one umpire sure could every time there was a foul. Games and meets are long, is what I’m saying, and I have a lot of time to enjoy things like that. Except for the Arctic temps.
- My bookshelves are screaming under the weight of an ever-expanding TBR pile. So many books, so little time (and this doesn’t help).
- While I’m shedding no tears — except for the workers affected — over Oberweiss flirting with bankruptcy, I’m totally drooling over Jeni’s ice cream (I mean, have you tried it?). If I indulged as often as I’d like, I’d be experiencing regular cardiac events while living in a cardboard box — but what a sweet, sweet home it would be.
- Discovered joy with my husband at a new sushi joint that actually knows what spicy means. It’s our new “our place,” because let’s face it, my usual place is inside my own head. It’s cluttered in there and there’s no sushi.
- Kudos to The Crown for reminding me why posture matters (thanks, scoliosis). Also I AM WELL AWARE OF HOW BEHIND I AM. I DO NOT OFTEN HEAR THE ZEITGEIST OVER THE SOUNDS OF LOCAL LEAF BLOWERS.
- Hat tip to Redditor thewelfarestate who, in a thread about not (over)using adverbs in writing, said, “Adverbs killed my father… meanly.”
- This is also good writing advice:
- Dove into k.d. lang’s “Constant Craving” and “Hallelujah” on repeat because her voice cools the burn of a world that can get too loud and cruel.
- And not to bury this or anything, but this happened a couple of days ago. More next month.
- Here’s a poetic butter rum lifesaver to enjoy until my next update (peace out with this poem).
(and also, I love this flavor, in case you’re wondering. And this one. And this one. And this one. Also this. And I cannot forget this.)
May we all come into the peace of wild things.
And may we wild things bring peace to you.
Jackie Pick 