To answer the question from yesterday’s blog, yes I am using my sick kid to procrastinate. Half the day has gone by, and only now am I getting around to do the stuff I need to do.
I started the day on the right foot, though. I was up on time, and sat down on the couch and got about twenty good minutes writing in my journal. I hashed out all the stuff that had happened yesterday; sick kid, pediatrician visit, lack of production, and also I got stuck in a death spiral of thinking about all the mistakes I made five years ago, and how much of an idiot I was and why I just can’t let that shit go, you know.
Then the kid got up. She didn’t look good; low fever, headache, sick to her stomach. We sent her back to bed with some children’s Tylenol. In the quiet two hours that followed, I could have got some work done, but again, I found myself on my phone. I did the dishes, but honestly, that was another delay tactic on my behalf.
A minute ago, we sat down and did her homework together. I mean, I was sitting next to her while she did it. It was more like overseeing homework. If she wanted some screen time, then I said she needed to get the majority of her work done, which she did. We only have to do thirty minutes of reading, and I intend to read the latest New Yorker short story.
But I want to make chicken stock, so I have the base to make potato leek soup for dinner tonight. And I haven’t sketched in a while, so it would be nice to tackle that today was well. And that one flash story got rejected from another magazine – that would be the piece that I have been trying to rewrite for a week now. Yeah, I think this is the sign that I need to do the rewrite.
I had plans today, but the kid got sick. Well, she got sick at school and I had to go and pick her up. I mean, she woke up early and wasn’t feeling the best, but she said it was only a headache and she could deal with it. Then, when she got to school, she started feeling worse, and her teacher called me to say that I should come and pick her up.
Which I did. And she didn’t look good when I got her. Real pale, and whimpering a little, too. Just a sad sack. When we got home, she took a nap right away. She never takes naps, so the fact that she took one leads me to believe that she actually wasn’t feeling good.
As for my plans… they’re shot to hell. I got the laundry done, and I will get a blog out today. Yet, I doubt I will make it to my journal, and there was this rewrite of a flash piece that I wanted to complete.
But… We just watched an old David Tennant Doctor Who episode. That was kind’a cool.
But… I’m still not getting my work done.
At some point I have to start asking myself if I’m being a good dad, or am I rationalizing my procrastination? You know, using the kid as an excuse.
I feel like I should be doing more, creating more, and then I also have this feeling come over me that none of this really matters. It is a fool’s errand that I am on; somehow thinking that any of this amounts to something.
If it gives me purpose? If it means something to me? Does that have value?
You know, following my bliss only seems to lead me introspective questions.
I wrote about receiving our BBQ smoked turkey yesterday, and it still smells amazing in our freezer. Looking at the calendar, we don’t have much time left until Thanksgiving. I still have one batch of chicken stock to make, and then I need to knock out some mushroom and turkey stock next week. This weekend, we will start formalizing the menu as well as making the first round of shopping for non-perishable food. Every family has their “holiday,” you know, the big one that gets all the attention. Most people it’s Christmas, but in our house, it’s Thanksgiving. Everyone likes to eat, but we do love the prep and the cooking. From the breakfast, to the nosh-y lunch, to the final meal at dinner time; it’s a production. And then the day after, we make the turkey stew out of the leftovers, as well as some savory pies. We try to make Thanksgiving as relaxed as possible, and not stressful. We hang around in our pajamas, we have a few drinks, watch some football, do some dishes, and enjoy a day together.
Hey NBC/Universal! If I’m paying for Peacock so I can watch the Premier League, why is it that you keep showing matches on USA which I can’t watch through Peacock? And I know why you do this; You want me to go out and pay for USA, because it’s a marketing trick, and it clearly work because you keep doing it. But honestly… I want to see the market research that says that it is a good idea to antagonize your customers. I say all of this because I cannot watch Tottenham play live this weekend because I don’t have cable. And yes, I hate clouds, too.
You know what I did yesterday? I walked 12,000+ steps. You know what else? My hips and knees really hurt this morning. I know that I am getting old, and things don’t work the way they used to; that’s just life. But I was a bit taken aback by how much they hurt. I run at the gym two to three times a week, and I’m trying to be more active. According to my phone, my daily average of steps this year is 8,000+ as compared to last year’s 6,500+ average. So, I’m moving more, which is good, right? Right, yeah, and the more you move, the more your body should get used to it… But, it really just makes me want to sit on the couch and drink coffee and read. Hey, self-care is just as important as exercise. Right? Yeah… I’m going with that.
Today, the smoked turkey we ordered for Thanksgiving arrived. It came from Greenburg Smoked Turkey, Inc on the recommendation of my sister-in-law. When we opened the box, it smelled like a Texas BBQ, which is exactly what we were hoping for. The bird is now sitting in our freezer awaiting the big day, while I’m waiting with great anticipation for the day AFTER Thanksgiving, so I can make stock from the turkey bones, and then we can make the best turkey stew.
The Texas I grew up with doesn’t exist anymore. It wasn’t all cowboys and guns, and MAGA conservatives; but it was about individualism and independence. And in a very weird way, for me, Texas bar-b-que is what can remind me of that. See, long ago, just about every small town had its own BBQ joint, that was no frills, and pretty damn amazing. There is a very specific mesquite wood smell to that BBQ which was unlike anywhere else. And when you smell it you know it’s Texas. And these little joints were all about that smoked mesquite. It’s best to think of Texas small town joint BBQ like pizza; even when it’s not good, it’s still pretty damn good.
Anyway, opening up the Greenburg box, boy, did it ever smell like Texas smoked mesquite BBQ! And it just reminded me of long road trips to Lubbock, or heading way out to El Paso. Make stops in Fredericksburg, and or the Turkey Shop in Abbot, TX. I guess I miss home more than I thought.
(The short story “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich appeared in the November 13th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by James Lee Chiahan
You know, and I’m not stepping out on a ledge here, but there should be more stories about mothers and daughters. For centuries, the literary cannon is filled with stories of fathers and sons – even a couple of religions revolve around that idea. So, when I see a story that is about mothers and daughters, like Clare Sestanovich’s “Our Time is Up,” I look forward to delving into these relationships, which sometimes can be very dramatic and enlightening.
This story revolves around Angela, who is entering the first stages of middle age, and beginning to wonder about the decision in her life. Her yardstick of measurement is her mother, which leads to uncomfortable comparisons. Angela is relatively happily married, though her and her husband, Will, are in couple’s therapy. There are a host of issues they are addressing, such as if to have children, and Angela’s aging parents. There is a slight hint of depression in Angela, an unwillingness to move forward on some of her issues. The story takes Angela and Will to Angela’s parent’s home, which needs to be cleared out as it is becoming a hoarder’s house. They also explore, by taking a tour, of putting Angela’s parents in assisted living. Some more tangents are sprinkled in the piece, so you can see that there is a lot going on here.
Which leads me to my chief criticism of this story; there is too much going on which doesn’t allow these details to be fleshed out. I can see that Sestanovich was trying to make the point that Angela’s life is complicated and busy, and she has trouble giving each person and issue, let alone herself, the time that they need. The way this is presented leaves some characters flat, while other situations feel rushed. Will, the husband, plays only one note in the story, with no depth or insight. The father is barely present, having only one job which is to fall thereby starting the conversation about assisted living, and then he serves no other purpose. There is the cleaning of the hording house, which seemed like it was primed for dramatic action, but is just breezed over.
I say all of this because “Our Time is Up” doesn’t feel like a short story, but the first chapter of a novel. There are so many wonderful places that these characters could go to be fleshed out, giving them depth and authenticity. Especially Angela, who in this story, is more like a middle-aged person who just wonders why things happen to them, and never makes a decision or choice. Even the climax of the piece, a coffee mug made by her mother which breaks in Angela’s luggage, is a situation of something happen to Angela, and not Angela taking an action or making a decision.
And I was rooting for this story. As I got closer to the end, I kept expecting a dramatic or revelatory action to take place. (I will credit Sestanovich with avoiding the cliché of someone dying, which I think is what most writers would have done.) But it doesn’t arrive. I was also expecting Angela to grow in some way, but she seems to end in the same place where she started, which left me feeling unsatisfied with the story. It’s too bad, as the writing is very good, and the quiet insights of Angela’s life are intriguing. And if there was a second chapter, then I would very much want to read that novel.
