Before I Forget // March

Greetings from Florida! Learn from my mistakes, find a good book, a great recipe lasagna, and a weird pre-teen crush.

The view from here!

You probably already know this, but just in case you don’t, if the massage place says Walk-ins Welcome, you should absolutely walk-in the other direction. Ask me how I know! Or don’t! I’m going to tell you either way.

We’re in Florida and Jeff has taken the kids to his parents’ condo for the day. I’m working a bit in the afternoon but the whole morning is mine to waste and also to catch up on laundry and get my Nana’s place somewhat back in order because when you’re a mom “vacation” is greek for “Same Shit Different Climate.”

On impulse, I decide to try out the breath work/sauna/cold plunge place I see every time I go to Trader Joe’s. It’s amazing, by the way. Totally worth the hype. I leave feeling clear headed and calm and as I’m wandering back to the car in my blissed out state, I see a sign for Osaka Spa (Walk-ins Welcome!) What the hell? I think. I’ve got time! It’s vacation!

So began the weirdest massage of my life. You know when you get a pedicure and they massage your feet and calves and it’s just kind of a grab bag of chaotic rubbing and scrubbing? It was like that. The last time I got a pedicure, the guy spent—I am not exaggerating here—several minutes rubbing my big toe with a firm grip and steady rhythm. I didn’t know whether to say thank you or you’re welcome. All I know is, it wasn’t the Bible he was listening to in his AirPod.

This was the deluxe pedicure of massages and I spent the first 45 minutes berating myself for wasting an hour and several twenty dollar bills and the last 15 minutes practicing gracious ways to turn down the offer of a happy ending. By the time I left, I looked and smelled like that sleeve of Mentos in the bottom of your Grandma’s purse.

Maybe I’m the only one, but I spend an awful lot of my time thinking I’m wasting my time, running out of time, taking too much time, you get it. And I’m thinking maybe the real waste of time is spending so much time ruminating about whether or not I’m using my time right.

If I were one of my clients, I’d ask to know more about that. Gross. I would say back. Can’t we just laugh it off as a quirky little quirk instead? Then once I stopped laughing, I’d say no. No we cannot.

What’s underneath? I don’t really know. A deep seated fear of dying young, certainly. And a first born daughter’s fear of being caught in the sin of enjoying myself too much. Also, that inner seventh grader who can’t bear for you to see how much I care, how hard I’m trying, how much I want.

There’s a quote from The Life Impossible by Matt Haig¹ that I think about at least once a month. I remember hoping no one could see me crying into my lap while I wrote it on a notecard in the school pick up line.

“It's so strange that we don't want spoilers in our stories but we seek them in our lives. ... We want it all mapped out. We want to know everything ends well. We want it all spoiled, with as little mystery as possible. But where is the fun in that? ... Embrace the mystery would be my advice. Embrace the impossibility of it all. Enjoy the not-knowing.”

I thought of that quote earlier this week when I read this line from Still Writing by Dani Shapiro:

“See, the thing is this: you can’t know. You can’t know if it’s going to work. You can’t know if it‘s good, or has the potential to be good. You can spend days, weeks, years, working on something that you will end up throwing away, or, in a more gentle was of phrasing it, putting it in a drawer. It’s a lot like the rest of life, in that way. We want to know. Will this relationship work out? Will our children be successful and happy? Will this risk pay off? We fall in love, we have babies, we take risks. The alternative is cowardice. We show up— for life, for writing. We act like brave people, even when we don’t feel like brave people.”

Again I say, gross. I can’t know. I can’t know what choices changed everything, what time was wasted, what risks were the right ones. I can’t know what will end up in a drawer and what will be good. But by obsessing and ruminating and optimizing I miss out on all kinds of good things right now. A weird massage, the smell of warm beach towels fresh out of the dryer, the sound of my Nana’s familiar voice telling me that story, my favorite one. The one where she made a choice, took a risk and how it changed everything.

READING

Libby Lost and Found by Stephanie Booth — What a unique book. I saw a review that described it as a story within a story within a story and that pretty much sums it up. Quirky, heartwarming, and a little odd. A little long, but overall I liked it very much.

The Favorites by Layne Fargo — What a wild ride. This novel based loosely on Wuthering Heights and set in the world of pairs ice dancing was so good. I read it in 4 days. Which is the parent-of-young-children equivalent of reading it in one sitting.

Heartbreak is the National Anthem by Rob Sheffield — Love Taylor Swift? Read it. Hate Taylor Swift? Read it. If you love music or creativity or pop culture, or, you know, Taylor Swift, don’t sleep on this. The audio version is excellent.

The Book Swap by Tessa Bickers — The thing I love about a debut novel is that if you’re paying attention, you can see the author get better at their craft over the course of the novel. I almost put this down and I’m so glad I didn’t. A sweet story from a promising debut author.

EATING

Made lasagna for the first time, loosely using this recipe and it was delicious, though Lucy and James begged to differ. Not that they have any credibility seeing as they didn’t even try it. I believe that was the night James woke up at 4:00 AM to tell us he was ready for breakfast. Good times.

Ate this high protein blueberry oatmeal bake every morning for a week and never got tired of it.

This beef kafta was fantastic with pita, gyro sauce, and a greek salad.

These barbecue chicken bowls were great for a week night dinner! Don’t sleep on the homemade ranch either! If you don’t have fresh chives, dried works fine.

LOVING

I’m really enjoying the Saintly and Subversive Women series from Monasteries of the Heart this lent. Brigid, Hildegard and Teresa have been the friends and wise guides I didn’t know I needed. So much so that I ordered several prayer cards from The Modern Saints by Gracie to share with friends.

Somehow I completely missed the movie Bohemian Rhapsody for the past seven years? How? I don’t know, but it kind of magically found me at just the right time and if you’re also living under a rock and also maybe had a teenage crush on Freddie Mercury (I promise that’s not even close to my weirdest teen crush), I cannot recommend it enough.

You know what’s not a waste of time? Going down a YouTube rabbit hole of this European choir singing the music of St. Hildegard.

CONTEMPLATING

The Human is a Guesthouse by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

DID YOU KNOW?!

This publication is not written by AI! Who knew things made by real people would become a novelty? Anyway, if real writing by real people matters to you, consider supporting this Substack by sharing this post or upgrading your subscription. It really does make a difference.

1. Show me another book that’s simultaneously SO CLOSE to and also SO FAR from being Catholic. I’ll wait. I mean, The Presence?! It’s right there. RIGHT. THERE.