I apologize if you’re getting this twice!
Here we are on the great ship of the year, listing toward solstice. For me, May was a fever dream, a blurry stretch wherein I fixated on the brevity and mystery of life HARDER. This wasn’t busy-ness, this was something else; maybe the absence of busy-ness, in fact, amid a corporeal form listing toward menopause. I suffered a spate of small injuries—a sprained knee, a finger rubbed raw to blood from tying balloons, an ouchy hangnail, a tweaked back because I…stretched—while my mind hurtled1 through one significant milestone, my kid’s 16th birthday, which led me to google “Sweet 16,” the origins of which are much as I suspected: prepping a girl to be eligible for wifery and housekeeping and hostessing. On a related note, I ask you: Has being sweet ever really gotten a girl anything good?
(And yet, I wanted so badly to celebrate my 16-year-old. I bought balloons. I hurt my aforementioned finger trying to them tie off, after which I gave up on the balloon arch kit. I ordered a special cake. I got gold party hats and feather boas, and a “confetti cannon” we never shot. Not enough and too much, all at once, but in terms of nailing it, here is the Elliott Smith cake that we’ll all remember forever: )
May also catapulted the three of us into NYC, where we high-stepped into June with visits to art museums, proper English tea service, magical pea soup and sausages, ferry rides, the High Line, an old-school white-tablecloth Italian joint in Brooklyn, and the kind of all-day coffee-bar combo joint that Nashville is noticeably lacking. We saw Jenny Holzer’s new show at the Guggenheim. Sheathed in a compression sleeve, my bum knee soldiered through miles per day, though at what cost I do not know. (The internet says six to eight weeks healing time. Have I ruined myself?) Todd got hit on by a dude in a bar. Thalia saw a kid jump the turnstiles. A mariachi band played outside our hotel.
Other small delights burning through the haze of recent days—ones that may pique you, too:
~ The indefatigable Amy Stewart—who has written about flowers, deadly plants, drunken plants, and more—has a new book coming on trees. Specifically, tree collectors. In “TreeStack! In Praise of People who Praise Trees,” she shouts out a number of arboreal-leaning Substacks. Did you know there’s a personality test based on drawing a tree? You do now.
~ Neko Case announced preorders for her forthcoming memoir, The Harder I Fight the More I Love You. I will read anything this woman writes.
~ While reading Shakey, I came across the Fenderman’s version of “Mule Skinner Blues,” which Jimmy McDonough describes as “demented,” so of course I had to see what that was all about. ACCURATE. I then played it for T&T, who reacted just as I’d hoped, with disbelieving laughter and grins. Try for yourself.
~ I learned about a Tiktok neologism/meme, “thought daughter.” The creativity with language here thrills me!
~ Our backyard—and that of the house next door, where no one is living, so the grass is getting rather fluffy—is a bunnytropolis. Bunnytopia. Todd came across a baby bunny in the grass and stroked its back before it sprang away. I am mad that this didn’t happen to me.
~ Friends have been finding fawns curled up close to their homes.
~ Erin Rae released a beautiful new song, “On Her Side,” that takes me back to the June when I fell in love with Putting on Airs.
~ “Dog Days,” by Dehd, is my nominee for bop of summer 2024; it was all up in my head throughout our New York visit. I’m not as wild about the rest of the album, bu a few other tracks have caught my ear.
~ Elissa Altman shared a “What I Know at 60” list. On it: “People will disappoint you. You will disappoint people.”
~ Janisse Ray launched her Kickstarter for Craft & Current. Get you a copy.
~ Other people’s OOO messages: I love them! When I get one, I immediately picture that person smiling in some beautiful setting, with shades on, drink in hand and/or grandeur all around, living their best life. It’s a good vibe.
~ Mary Timony has a new album out, and I’ve only listened to “No Thirds” so far, but I dig it!
~ Someone filed a complaint with the Little Free Library head honchos about our library. The email read:
I forwarded this to Todd (who’d mentioned we had an ant problem out there already). The next day he says to me, “Lots of ants!!!” which has become, for the moment at least, one of his regular silly, around-the-house utterances.
Lots of ants!!!!!
For the record, we have now done some ant abatement (or, really, Todd did; isn’t this why one gets married?) and are closely monitoring the situation. Thank you, concerned neighbor.
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May was also heavy with Neil Young, who carries on with me into June. I’m talking…me and my ride-or-die Neil, my figment Neil, my haunting Neil, prowling about like a panther, dozing high up on the branches of my brain. I am this close to being finished with Shakey. There’s some kind of essay I want to write, and it feels faintly ridiculous and hopelessly sprawling, which is how I know I have to pursue it, tie it down, tie it off.
What a lovely cake you made for Thalia. You're the best of moms and she'll remember...