Catnip

Had someone asked me weeks ago if any reader of this blog had ever noticed a thematic similarity between any two of my posts, I would've laughed. I was reasonably confident any redundancy of mine would bypass even faithfully attentive readers. After all, having published almost 2700 posts since March 2011, there have been several instances when I could not recall something I'd written about until some relic had somehow been disinterred from my archives. I suspect the same may be true for anyone who has been at this blogging gig as persistently as I have. Though I use the search engine diligently to help me avoid repeating myself, every tool has limits.  

So, when a recent comment pointed out overlap between two recent posts mentioning my current East vs. West Coast dilemma, what happened? In a span of minutes, I was chastened I'd covered similar territory in a matter of weeks, flabbergasted someone had actually picked up on it, and finally, thrilled that same someone was paying attention. Fragile ego? Guilty as charged. In my defense? Name a single writer - famous or not - who doesn't want their work to reach people, however marginally. Catnip.

Special thanks to that reader for the comment; made my month. 

Focusing on Hope

Although it can be easy to get demoralized about certain aspects of modern-day life - e.g., climate change denial, the mainstreaming of hate by divisive celebrity pundits, the disinformation assault of social media - in the end, doing so is a choice. Isn't it vital to continually remind ourselves that making a choice to focus on things that give us hope is much healthier - for us, for our loved ones, for the world? What did you most recently focus on that lifted you? 

No matter what kind of day or week I'm having, each time I see a streetside lemonade stand being run by a group of children, my heart fills with optimism. How can anyone resist being touched by those handmade signs? How about the way the kids beckon cars and cyclists for business by waving or sometimes even shouting? For me, this kind of innocence is infectious. Even when I'm running late or not thirsty, I try to pull over. Almost always, while doing business with them, I'm beguiled by these young entrepreneurs. And I drive or ride away smiling.

 

My sisters and I had more than one streetside lemonade stand when we were kids. My daughter set one up right in front of our first house when she was in third or fourth grade. Her business partners were some of the kids from the neighborhood. When some kids across the street from my current home began setting up their stand recently - with the same kind of folding table you see almost every time - I began re-living both my own experiences and my daughter's. It felt wonderfully familiar and reassuring. I purposefully avoided listening to the news that day.

It's Complicated (Even with Limited Rainy Days Left)

What word or expression would you say most closely describes your relationship with money? For me? It's complicated. 

My complicated relationship with money began, in part, thanks to an incessant parental refrain I heard from early childhood through adolescence - "Be sure to save for a rainy day!" There's no blame attached to this recollection. Given what my parents endured as teenagers at the height of the Great Depression - hardships I cannot begin to comprehend - their rainy-day mantra was understandable. But when combined with their oft-repeated claim that their biggest disagreements were about money - specifically how to stretch each paycheck while raising four children - the messaging I internalized was bound to complicate my attitude about money. I was also taught - as I'm confident many of you were - that talking about money, especially how much you make, was impolite. More complications. 

Inheriting the legacy of my parent's dire experiences living through an economic apocalypse was only the beginning. With that foundation, I moved into my undergraduate years in the late 60s and, for better or worse, embraced the ethos of anti-materialism that suffused much campus life at the time. Over those impressionable years, I found myself most drawn to folks who treated money as a means to an end, not as an end in itself. All my tribe knew we would eventually have to make a living but we spent more time, more energy, and had a lot more conversations about how to make a life and how to avoid having our things own us vs. the other way around. That idealism informed my decisions back then and continued doing so for the coming decades. A by-product of that? More complications, as mature adult life and the necessity for making enough money to support a child into her young adult years became my highest priority. Included in that equation? A pledge that she would finish college with no debt. More rainy day saving, minimal spending on self, complications.  

At 76+ years old, I want for nothing and can afford to do much of what I want.  And the number of potential rainy days left to me to save for is no longer a factor. Why then does my relationship with and attitude about money still bedevil me? What prevents me - aside from stubborn habit - from spending money on myself whenever the spirit moves me? It's complicated.

Challenging the Big Three, Work, & OPS

How many times have you found yourself in a conversation about food at the same time you were sharing a meal with somebody? I'm not necessarily talking about the food you were eating at the time, but just about food in general. Given the critical social role food plays in our lives, it's predictive for conversations to often go this way. Think about your last five conversations. How many - sharing a meal aside - have touched on food at some point? 

Soon after this exact thing happened recently while having dinner with new friends, I began reflecting on other predictive conversational topics. Asked to estimate, what percentage of the conversations in your life would you say have NOT involved either food, the weather, or family? Which topic would you say occupies the next highest spot after those big three? Work, perhaps? I suspect work could be up there, especially for those of you having a higher-than-average share of troublesome colleagues. I know during my full-time working years - particularly when I supervised people - talking about work happened more frequently than I wanted. 

With my full-time work years behind me and Act Three well on its way, I'm confident in asserting that ailments have taken the place of work as a reliable - if tiresome - conversational standby. Still, there's no question in my mind that ailments of every stripe - what my wife calls OPS (i.e., Old People Shit) - continue to lag behind the big three. How about some of you from my Act Three cohort? How regularly do your conversations travel mindlessly down OPS Road? Have your complaints approached or surpassed the big three for conversational airtime? 

Final questions. Which conversational topics would you welcome being more regularly introduced into your life? The topics you select don't necessarily have to supplant any or all of the big three - I'm guessing that scenario is highly unlikely - but wouldn't you welcome shifting that percentage around a bit? What prevents any of us from doing the introducing?  

A Perpetual Gift

Of the benefits connected to my reading life after retiring, being newly exposed to a large number of great authors clearly tops the list. I'm most indebted to one individual for this significant enhancement in my reading life - the moderator of the first book club I ever joined. Over the sixteen years I've known her, only a handful of authors she has introduced to me haven't earned a spot on my list of keepers. And I've returned to several from that list - William Boyd, Louise Erdrich, Colm Tóibín - multiple times, without being disappointed. Readers: Have you got someone like this in your life? If yes, when did you most recently acknowledge the perpetual gift that person gives to you?

Which brings me to Lauren Groff. Strictly speaking, it was a different reading soulmate who first pointed me toward this prodigiously talented young-ish (born 1978) author. But from there the story repeatedly circles back to my friend of sixteen years. When I mentioned to her my admiration for Groff's 2016 novel Fates and Furies, she suggested we immediately slot it in for our next 1x1 book discussion. Turns out she'd read several of Groff's short stories in The New Yorker and admired them, much as I'd admired Fates and Furies. 

Reflections from the Bell Curve: 21st Century Couples

Five years later, for the first time - at my friend's urging - we violated a norm we'd established at the inception of our book club of two. We picked a novel by an author we'd previously read - Matrix (2021) by Lauren Groff. Wow, what a ride that was. Since then, Groff's name has surfaced several times in our book-soaked interactions, including me attending a short story class my friend taught, extolling Groff as a modern-day master of the form. Did I mention my friend's evangelism compelled me to pick up Groff's collection of stories entitled Florida (2023)? Holy shit. 

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Delayed Empathy

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Darn Her, Anyway

At this point, I'm guessing you'll know who crossed my mind a few weeks back when still another bookworm offered to loan me Groff's latest collection of short stories - Brawler (2026). And as I was being pummeled by Groff's gift, again, who did I think of? If you've got a fellow bibliophile who has brought as much to your reading life as my friend has to mine, I sincerely hope you'll let them know. 

Upcoming Semi-Compulsory Viewing

If you're the kind of viewer who enjoys following a mini-series from its outset, be on the lookout for the debut episode of Ride or Die - starring Octavia Spencer and Hannah Waddingham - streaming on Amazon beginning Wednesday July 15. If you don't mind jumping into a series after it begins or you're not much of a TV person, I urge you to mark Wednesday August 19 on your calendar. That's the night episode #6 of this new series will be shown, if you decide not to binge beforehand.  

I'm drawing your attention to this in the hope you'll celebrate with me as the top name - of three - scrolls by in the opening writer's credit for this particular episode. Like most, my daughter's career has had its share of victories and defeats. And this series - her first experience working in a writer's room after her move to LA a few years back - was frustrating and satisfying in nearly equal measure.

But the sequel to this story is happy enough to make this crowing father even more obnoxiously proud. Today, my daughter and her writing/directing partner started work on season two of Ride or Die, already renewed before season one begins. Keep your fingers crossed for syndication, please. In the meanwhile, I'll keep you informed about which episodes in season two will have her name at the top of the writing credits. Count on it.   

     

Where My Heart Is

"LA's fine but it ain't home, New York's home but it ain't mine no more."

Early in my young adult years as an itinerant musician, I took up temporary residence in Los Angeles, the only extended period of my life when I've actually lived outside of New Jersey. For several reasons, LA and I were not a good fit, which made my return to my beloved home state quite welcome. My unease with LA life in the early 70s also helped to permanently cement Neil Diamond's clever phrase from I Am, I Said into my lyric-addled brain. 

More than a half-century later - with visits to my new grandson in Los Angeles a regular occurrence - that lyric now fits me even more snugly. I like it OK out here - that tired and anodyne adjective "fine" is perfect, actually - but I still have trouble picturing myself feeling settled in LA. Great weather, nice vibe, ocean nearby, what's not to love? And if that hoary cliche is at all accurate and home is where the heart is, at present, LA holds many of the winning cards. 

Still, hard to predict if the desirable elements and those winning cards will persuade us to re-locate. In the meanwhile, this week the little man and I are perfecting drum interludes from Wipeout, analyzing the cinematography of Citizen Kane, and translating The Odyssey from the ancient Greek. Stay tuned for regular updates.