Archive | Weather Matters

The Church of Plato on a Rainy Afternoon

Yesterday, my friend B and I were having a long talk at Chelsea’s Cafe Grumpy. Because it had just rained, we had the backyard to ourselves and were using that rare private outdoor space to discuss topics that basic NYC etiquette prevented us from inflicting upon others: healthy grieving, ethical dating, spiritually conscious fucking, the heteronormative construct known as marriage, the queasy fundamentalism known as atheism. We were going off. If you saw us through a window, you might have concluded we were on a date, and a good one at that. A man and a woman of roughly the same age, talking animatedly, not touching but paying close attention to each other. She in a sheath dress; he in a tweed jacket.

In the middle of our second coffee, a man poked his head into what by then felt like our turf. “Helen?” he called out tentatively and looked at me. Rather than shaking my head, I grinned, and he raised his eyebrows, mistaking my glee at not being Helen for interest. After a beat B began talking again, and the man—who was peaked but not bad-looking, with a lanky frame and a long, pale face that bore the scars of a rough adolescence—disappeared. A bit later, while standing on the bathroom line, I noticed him again, this time looming over a woman placing an order. She was wearing a brown shirt and what we used to call slacks when we were mocking our parents in the ’70s. The outfit was so drab that it took a minute to register her bright face and surprisingly good figure. “You have nothing that is dairy-free that also does not have nuts?” she was saying with a grave, almost scholarly precision as the barrista searched the pastry case. Continue Reading →

When We Talk About the Weather

I’m aware it’s wicked predictable that I’m obsessed with the weather, me hailing from Massachusetts and all (pun intended, always). But still: I don’t get the people who weren’t wasted by this last spate of swampy days; who aren’t deeply relieved by the cooler temperatures of today. When it grows as muggy as it did over the weekend I turn into a dirty, hot, wet towel who simply cannot think–let alone answer emails, be clever at dinner, or, yoiks, don grownup-lady clothes and lipstick. There’s a reason we always talk about the weather, and it’s not that we have nothing else (polite) to discuss. It’s because weather matters even more than we controlling humans care to admit.  A cigar may never be a cigar but what we really talk about when we talk about the weather is, in fact, weather.

New Moonshine, New Spring Soil

I woke up glad Pharrell wrote an anthem of freedom and joy. Glad Louis CK performed an amazingly on-point SNL opening monologue last night. Glad Lena Dunham shares her smart voice about growing up and creativity. Glad for the work I do. Glad for the worlds it introduces to me. Glad for the lilies blooming by my bed. Glad for the frittata I made yesterday. Glad for strong coffee with cream. Glad for dear friends. Glad for red wine to share with them. Glad for my sweet-as-pie kitty. Glad—very glad—it’s a new moon today. And glad—very, very glad—to release what no longer works.

So here’s to a reboot. Pick up a shovel. Sow your blessings. Fertilize’em with your shit. And then dig some more. There is joy in turning new spring soil.

 

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy