Astrological PSA: Full-Frontal Mercury
Mercury retrograde ends today. I’d say amen except the ending of retrogrades are often exceptionally dramatic–chaotic, even–because everything that’s been stagnant comes crashing through the door. In this case, Mercury is conjuncting cathartic, take-no-prisoners Pluto, so I smell confrontations, ground-breaking legal decisions, and Dear Johns galore. We’ll be acquainted with what we’ve lost but also with what we can gain. Make no mistake: A lot will come to the surface this week, and when things go back to normal, it will be a new normal for sure. Strap on those boots!
A Tesseract for Grant
Last night, as the snow fell and the city grew powerfully quiet, I sat by the window and thought about my friend and former next-door neighbor Grant Huang, who died unexpectedly last week on his partner Tamara’s (and my) birthday. Years ago, in a similar blizzard, the two of them saved me from my sadness at this very window with their characteristic, un-showy kindness. Now it weighs on me that no one could save Grant the same way. Sadness always lives side by side with joy but winter in particular seems to render us all orphans in the storm. Especially for those of us who felt unseen and fundamentally unrescued as small people, that cold darkness triggers a bottomless belief that we’ll never be found again. I wish fervently that I could create a tesseract in which Grant could be kept forever in the bright cheer of his kitchen that night he rescued me; I wish fervently that time was not so unbearably linear.
Oh, how tenderly we must find each other, watch each other, hold each other–like a tiny abandoned kitten we might discover on the street and automatically adore. Like my Grace. It is so important that we keep each other warm.
The Arithmetic of Snow
Here on the East Coast we are in the midst of a good old-fashioned blizzard. I’m not sure if that’s the official word but the snow has been coming down for 15 hours; the sidewalk, stoops and street outside my apartment are covered in two feet of snow; and everything and everybody has been cancelled. That’s a blizzard even to this Masshole. (I’ve lived in Brooklyn for 23 years but once a Masshole, always a Masshole.)
I’m been the queen of preparation this round. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about living alone, it’s that gender coding is an ill-advised luxury; when you have to cook, shovel, clean, and fix everything from hems to technology to radiators yourself, it’s a bad call to get the vapors or cry caveman. Bundled in a wearable sleeping bag, face mask, and two scarves, it’s impossible to tell whether someone is a man, woman, non-binary gender person, or a “Revenant” bear, anyway.
So yesterday after reading distressing weather reports, I headed over to Red Hook Fairway, where I bought enough food to stock my refrigerator and freezer for two weeks (which is how long it’ll probably be before I’m able to safely drive Minerva again). I bought wonderful things: thick pork chops, lamb, dried apricots, pistachios and pecans, crushed tomatoes, ricotta, extra virgin olive oil, thick Greek yogurt, a roasted chicken, challah bread, a jug of organic cream, rosemary, mint, kale, and copperhead salmon. My enthusiasm was only mildly hampered by the fact that, even at 9 am, the store was clotted by Park Slopers who didn’t feel it appropriate to reign in their free-spirited children as the rest of us tripped over them. Continue Reading →