Monday Miscellany: So my belief in magic returns

Notes from the week of May 20 - 26

We got a nice thunderstorm here in North Carolina last night, and as a result, today’s been a little dreary and damp so far—the perfect morning to write an entire newsletter (oops, mental note to work on it gradually throughout the week next time). The sun is starting to peek through the clouds now, though, and after I excitedly shout at you for a while about some books and things, I think I’ll mosey out for a walk around the neighbhorhood. Happy Monday, friends.

Currently reading

How can I even explain All Fours by Miranda July? Perhaps “a middle-aged bisexual woman artist attempts to take a solo roadtrip but instead ends up conducting a several-week-long affair in a nearby motel room, thereby launching into an irreversible and agonizing journey of self-discovery” will begin to scratch the surface? But also throw in: dancing, desire, gender, parenting, perimenopause, friendship, what-ifs, self-doubt, self-expression, redecorating, sex, and, I don’t know, the meaning of life?? There’s a lot going on here, and it’s very weird and good. Also, I only just now, in this literal moment, realized the significance of the cover, and I won’t spoil it here, but wow.

In case you’re thinking that everything I just described sounds too heavy, I will reassure you: Miranda July is an expert at blending humor with profundity. This book made me Think and Feel, yes, but it also made me laugh a bunch. To illustrate, I present a juxtaposition of quotes for your consideration:

But this thing held in by his pants… this was quite sobering. I was moved. I wanted to genuflect and kiss it, or heartily shake his hand in warm and sincere appreciation. (86)

Wasn’t this the great hope and folly of humans? That we were all so influenceable? Not weak or flimsy but actually interconnected at the root level, like trees—we took everything personally because it was personal. (210)

See? Serious and thoughtful examination of human nature, BUT ALSO, comedically formal penis worship. It’s all here. If you need further convincing, I shared a few other quotes in my review on Storygraph.

Speaking of contemplating life as we age, I finally finished Orlando by Virginia Woolf, and parts of it pair quite well with the themes of All Fours.

“Time has passed over me,” she thought, trying to collect herself; “this is the oncome of middle age. How strange it is! Nothing is any longer one thing.” (182)

Aging and art are even more significant in Orlando because Orlando is somehow around for like three hundred years? She sees the passage of several eras in England and the succession of multiple monarchs, and all the while she continues to vibe and work on an epic poem that she’s been writing for much of her life. And she ponders, a lot. This part felt very relatable to me, a person who spends pretty much all her time in her head (newsletter title nod)! Woolf never explains the time situation or seems bothered by Orlando’s lifespan being freaky long compared to all the other normal mortals in the story, so just suspend your disbelief and enjoy the ride.

Since I already wrote a bit about this book in a previous post, I’ll wrap up here and leave you with a couple more favorite quotes:

So my belief in magic returns. (179)

“Hang it all!” she cried, with a touch of her old spirit. “Here goes!” (158)

Currently listening

To be honest, the only thing I’ve really been jonesing for this past week has been that Fire Swimmer cover of “Cowboy Take Me Away” that I shared last time. Listen, the heart wants what it wants. Have you heard it yet? If not, I will make things easy for you:

Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. I’ve also been playing and enjoying Jensen McRae’s Are You Happy Now? (2022), which has indie folk vibes but also moments of more upbeat energy. McRae’s voice is in the lower alto range and I’ve seen people comparing her to Traci Chapman. She reminds me a little of Julia Nunes,* especially when she belts from her chest; there’s a mournful quality that’s really nice. And her lyrics are beautiful, even when they cover heavy topics—like the threat of sexual assault, described in “Wolves”:

Recognized him in an instant
Heard about him from my friends
Thank God women learned to whisper
But I crave a megaphone

*The official version of my favorite Julia Nunes song, “I Think You Know,” is frustratingly not on Spotify and really hard to find online anywhere. Here’s a really old video of her performing it in her bedroom, though (the first four minutes is the song, and you can skip the rest):

Haiku round-up

I’m trying, as always, to live more slowly and be more observant of the small moments that differentiate one day from another. This is a hard thing to talk about without sounding incredibly corny, but when I’m able to do it, to be inquisitive and aware and grateful, it helps me feel more rooted in my life and less like time is hurtling by without me. Here are some little poems about a few of those moments:

Monday, May 20

Clear-eyed explorer,
composing today’s field notes,
tell us what you’ve seen

Tuesday, May 21

A thoughtful past self
wrote down instructions for me
I follow her path

Wednesday, May 22

The discovery,
upon my reemergence,
that hours have passed

Thursday, May 23

Your proposal of
dinner, our couch, and a show
gets me through my day

Friday, May 24

A reminiscence,
then an old friend’s appearance
Have I summoned this?

Saturday, May 25

Fly, my eyes, over
phrases, paragraphs, pages
The month’s end is near

Sunday, May 26

Our one goal tonight
is frivolity and mirth,
our laughter a song

Until next time

Our backyard is starting to really need mowing, but in its overgrown state it is also quite beautiful. I was out there with my camera the other day, making a photo of an especially picturesque patch of overgrown bluegrass that was catching the afternoon sun just right, and as I walked back toward the house, I saw our kitten Louise at the back door, a tiny stalwart sentinel, watching me with curiosity and awaiting my approach. It felt so nice. For her, I imagined, perched on a comfortable rug, taking in the ever-changing view of her small backyard world, maybe wondering what her human was up to traipsing around in the weeds, but patiently vigilant all the same. And for me, returning home from an absence, even of mere minutes, to someone anticipating my arrival. That’s really all I need, I think: the capacity for mind and body to wander, and the promise that I’m longed for while I’m gone, that I’ll be welcomed back at journey’s end.

See you next week, and until then, I’ma keep a big ol’ two right here in this book.