Coffee Date No. 10
the making of a home, artsy cats, One Sun Only, and more
Hello dear reader! And happy weekend! Below, I’m sharing a few observations from these past few days, what I’m reading and watching and consuming, and things and thoughts and bits and bobs I’ve explored and savored.
Let’s catch up as I dispatch a few things I have bookmarked this week. I am admiring the floral arrangements of my neighborhood coffee shop and taking a deep exhale from the past week as I dispatch this letter to you.
Savoring the gift that is grocery delivery
I never thought I’d be someone who enrolls in a grocery delivery app. The thought alone irritated me, an enthusiastic aisle-wanderer who pre-baby could easily spend over an hour browsing shelves and getting lost in obscure pantry items. But having a now-toddler who is a ticking time bomb at any hour of the day meant having to quickly readjust my perspective on such apps to a more positive outlook for the sake of my sanity, if not my wallet. So much of life as a parent is seasonal, and in this season, I reconciled myself with the notion that budgeting in a way that factors in a grocery delivery fee can be what one version of having one’s village looks like in modernity, and that it being paid doesn’t detract from the core support that the concept of having a village offers.
Watching Industry
A television series that lured me in because it featured Kit Harington (which I feel betrayed by because by the time he appeared onscreen, I’d already invested too much time in the show to back out of). I understand none of the finance-bro talk, am still trying to figure out what tenets the show stands on, and find myself nonsensically reaching for it despite the full-on, excessive display of moral bankruptcy (if that’s the point of the show, then kudos). This quote from Season 3 I particularly enjoyed: “Everyone is the same person they were at seven. Not even the same person they were yesterday.”
Reading Mary Shelley
Am reading Frankenstein and I simply refuse to let go of this quote:
“Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by disappointments; yet, when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.”
I am pairing the physical copy with the Audible version narrated by Dan Stevens, and it’s been a great adventure. More in a dispatch of book notes later! Side note: the easiest way for me to get out of reading funks is to hear others enthusiastically talk about books (here is Amor Towles).
Went in for a dental checkup, and my dentist asked what I’m up to this weekend. I automatically defaulted to “Nothing really, not much, what about you?” and I instantly regretted being so bland and robotic in my response. The knee-jerk shutdown of an invitation to converse was saved only by my dentist’s reply — a visit to Sequoia was on the weekend itinerary — but by then I was so consumed with my own neck of the woods that I rejected polite banter and started greedily rattling off all the things I have going on this weekend to make up for my lapse. Is blaming the pandemic for my lack of social skills still acceptable? No one needs to know I had this ailment long before then. And because the above wasn’t enough for me to want to ostracize myself from society forever, surely the writer of this piece had me in mind when writing about these two small-talk examples (which close to literally happened to me outside Gigi’s dance class)
“The key thing to understand about “Finnegans Wake” is that James Joyce was struggling to deal with his father’s death on top of his own health problems while writing it.
I have not spoken to an adult outside of my direct family in months and no longer remember what subjects are generally considered acceptable for small talk.”^ the number of times I’ve thought this to myself after chattering on.
“Hey, do you want . . . I mean, if . . . you know . . . [Gestures vaguely toward phone.]
It seems like it would be enjoyable to spend time with you and your family outside of day-care drop-off and pickup, and I would like to get your phone number as a way to facilitate such an encounter, but I have not requested another person’s phone number since 2009 and have no idea how doing so works anymore.”Watched Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights twice. For the life of me I cannot understand all the negativity lodged around her adaptation. Here are my notes on the book + film. (Also watched her Saltburn, and really just have been admiring the gutsy, visceral way in which Fennell presents us unanswered/unanswerable questions).
I will utter this at the risk of having my toddler immediately direct her sword (red crayon) to white couch, but I’ve been thinking a lot about curating a home and living in one. There exists inherent pendulum-swing-esque tension between cleanliness and clutter, austerity and coziness. That is true enough. But it’s in that tension that the making of a home buds and blooms. I aspire to treat my home the way I do books — they are not museum artifacts, and they are meant to show signs of life. In the season of life I am in, that means making room for play, which can be done tastefully, and for which I happily serve the role of curator of beautiful toys and steward for an adventurer-toddler. In my capacity as the former, I may be intentionally strict on what enters the home (sorry plastic toys); and in the latter, I am intentionally lax with letting imagination run wild (sorry antique jar that is now the keeper of crayons). That I get to have my 18 month old daughter make a museum-worthy mess of the eggs as we bake muffins together in the mornings far outweighs the pristine kitchen conditions I would have liked to soothe my eyes upon early in the morning. But my heart and mind know better. This sliver of time I am living through with Gigi is but once.
Speaking of eggs, I’ve been eyeing One Sun Only (love the egg cover), a collection of short stories on contemporary life. Will report back when done reading it.
Picked up a book called Artsy Cats for Gigi when we were on our weekly museum evening date, and I adore its wordplay + visual delight.
Watching interviews (like this one) of directors I’m gushing over lately — Maggie Gyllenhaal, Chloe Zhao, and Emerald Fennell.
Rec request: A good baking/cookbook?
I’d like to add a baking/cookbook to my kitchen countertop, one I can thumb through for inspiration, and one well-layered in the visual and literary. Happy to receive any recs in the comments!
Thank you so much for reading Boundless Being. If you enjoy my work, and if time and disposition allow, I’d be so appreciative of your support:
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Until next time,
Ani