Light and Momentary

In my package

It was a scarf, in a delectable yak-silk blend. I will have to show you pictures when it is not 79 degrees in my living room.

A Present from Tibet

Alex texted me last week to say that he was sending me a gift for Mothers' Day, and it was shipping from Tibet.

"Tibet!" I thought to myself. "Tibet!" 

"I know!" I texted back. "It must be a pet yak."

"Close," he replied.

So I think it is probably a miniature yak, because that is close to a yak without being the whole 1000-pound shebang. Do miniature yaks exist? I do not know, but what a fun Mothers' Day present that would be! I wouldn't have to mow the yard all summer. Or fertilize it! (Not that I ever fertilize my lawn. First time for everything.)

I hope it will be a female yak, so I can try my hand at making yak butter. Will a milkmaid outfit double as a yakmaid outfit, or is that an entirely different ensemble? I must research this pressing question.

Also: will the yak befriend or alarm the neighborhood groundhogs and snakes? Wouldn't it be great to have a guard yak that would keep all the unwelcome critters away? I'm pretty sure guard yaks are a thing.

We will have to have a naming contest. What would you name a miniature female guard yak if you got one in the mail?

No, seriously: have you considered deadlifting?

Today is release day for Casey Johnston's memoir, A Physical Education, and you should buy it. Even though I was given a free version, I bought the book today because I want her publisher to hear the message: more of this, please. 

She writes persuasively about the misery that accompanied her quest to take up less space by means of cardio and calorie restriction, and the freedom she found in getting strong. It's a terrific story, skillfully told. 

My recommendation is not just about the story, which you could mostly get from her author bio. It's really about her voice, which has been an important factor in my own continued willingness to show up in the weight room. You belong there, she says. You can take up space there. You can also take up more space in the wider world. 

Perhaps because I was 50 when I started lifting, my own trajectory has been less linear than the one she describes in this book-- more breaks, slower progress. Even so, it has changed the way I look at myself and the way I move through the world. I keep wanting to say to people, "Have you considered deadlifting?"

An older female relative was complaining about the flatness of her behind after years of aggressive dieting, and I bit my tongue so I would not say out loud, "Have you considered deadlifting?" It is just the thing for a beauteous gluteus.

A friend was talking about how she tweaked her back and had been really limited in her mobility, and I bit my tongue so I would not say out loud, "Have you considered deadlifting?" A stronger back has set me free from all the niggles and pains and mayonnaise injuries that used to plague me.

A woman in an online group for wool& fans was talking about returning a pair of pants because she didn't fill out the seat darts. I did not comment to say, "Have you considered deadlifting?" because I am not going to tell strangers on the internet how to inhabit their bodies. But I did think it.

The BBC tells me about the association between grip strength and longevity and suggests that I squeeze a tennis ball to improve my health. "But wait!" I want to say to the author. "Have you considered deadlifting?"

We live in a nation full of women who have been told that they ought to strength-train but only v-e-r-y carefully: don't hurt yourself, don't get too strong, avoid the b-word at all costs. (That would be the b*lky b-word.) In this maelstrom of madness Casey Johnston offers calm and sanity. She says, "No, actually, you can push yourself. You can do hard things in the weight room, and they will make your life easier and better." The NYT publishes a story headlined "Why Women Can't Do Pull-Ups"; Casey Johnston acknowledges the difficulty of the movement while simultaneously making you want to embark on a pull-up training plan already. 

What are you waiting for? Go! Read this book! Come back and tell me all about it.

April 30

Thirty days, thirty posts, the end! See you soon, friends!

#28 on the 28th

Last night I finished my 28th Trollope novel, Nina Balatka. It is set in Prague, and it is about a young Christian woman who is engaged to a Jewish man.

I suspect that Trollope's treatment of Jewish characters is akin to his treatment of Irish characters: it seems pretty grim to present-day readers even though he is making an effort, at least some of the time, to push back against stereotypes. Ezekiel Breghert, in The Way We Live Now, faces down overt antisemitism. He is so much more gentlemanly than the ostensible gentlefolk of the Longstaffe family.

Nina Balatka is surrounded by people in a hurry to tell her that her engagement is a terrible idea. Like a lot of Trollope novels, this one focuses on decisions about marriage: why do people get married? What are the most important factors in their decisions? Should those be the most important factors? Can we make any reliable predictions about happiness in marriage?

Nina's fiancé Anton is driven to suspicion by the lies of Nina's extended family and their trusted servants, and Nina tells herself she should have known that he, being Jewish, would eventually be suspicious. Trollope seems to be asking an interesting question: how much of a stereotype is self-fulfilling prophecy? And how is it that Christians can behave badly, in ways that clearly violate their own moral code, and still view themselves as superior? This book includes the second Catholic priest I've encountered in a Trollope novel, and he is -- unexpectedly -- much more gentle with Nina than any of her Christian relatives have been.

Spoilers for a book from 1867: Nina and Anton marry and resettle themselves in Frankfurt, which was reputedly more accepting than Prague. The internet tells me that in the 1930s about 5% of Frankfurt's population had Jewish heritage, so let's hope the happy couple and their children found a welcome there. (Let's also hope their great-grandchildren left before things went south, since otherwise their outlook might have been bleak.)

One last interesting note about this book: Trollope published it anonymously. He had written a bunch of novels by the mid-1860s, and he didn't want to rest on his laurels. Would people read it if they didn't know it had been written by Anthony Trollope? The answer, alas, was no. 

Distractions

Joe introduced us to pipes puzzles some time ago, and I've been doing them again recently. The big daily puzzle takes me some time to figure out, but a small one can be a sub-30-second diversion once you get the idea.

I am fond of the Washington Post Keyword puzzle, which is another quick one.

Joe also shared the One Up puzzle with the family group chat. There's only one puzzle a day, and it might be a 2-minute undertaking or a 30-minute undertaking.

I'm sure you already know about NYT Connections, but did you know that the stats will now tell you the number of times you cracked the purple category first? 

What are your favorite online puzzles?

Birthday in the life

7: I sleep a little later than usual and enjoy a quiet first hour of the day, with my Bible, journal, iBreviary, coffee, and then puzzles.

8:15 or so: I prod some sleeping children gently, greeting the birthday guy with jazz hands and warm good wishes. I take the dog out and have a quick shower.

8:45: Gentle chivvying, moving people toward the car. We all pile in at 8:50.

9: Lovely Mass, with 5 of us in the pew.

10:15: Pete has requested oven pancake as his birthday breakfast, and I assemble it quickly with the goal of being ready for my weekly Zoom call with my college roommates at 10:30. (I will have to link the oven pancake recipe tomorrow -- I have set up too many bedtime restrictions to do it tonight.) (Monday update: here's the link to the oven pancake recipe. I never turn down the oven temp these days -- just keep it at 450.)

10:35: Close enough. All 5 roommates are going to be on the call today, so I wanted to be sure to pop in. 

11: I slip away for a minute to grab a slice of oven pancake. Turns out to be the last slice -- oven pancake is always a hit.

11:30: I duck out of the roommate call. Feels a little soon to start our next meal, but it's going to be a full day and I know i should get busy. Maybe...I will just slouch on the couch for a wee minute.

12:15: Time to get moving. I need to make palak paneer and chocolate chip cookies for the birthday guy. Elwood plays a round of Splendor with the kids. I clean up the breakfast dishes and start cooking.

1:45: We are eating at a weird time to fit everything in, and after a bit of a scramble we all sit down. The new palak paneer recipe is good. Everybody makes happy contented food noises. Pete opens presents after we eat.

2:20: Joe and I say goodbye (he will leave while I am gone) and I zip off to church, where I am supposed to meet a pianist at 2:30 to sing for the 3:00 Divine Mercy service. Sandy is sure she should go in the car with me, but I'm not convinced she can sing Tantum Ergo.

2:30: No pianist?

2:35: Still no pianist? I have a moment of anxiety about whether I actually know O Salutaris Hostia well enough to chant it in Latin.

2:38: Pianist texts to say she'll be there at 2:50. I start setting up the daunting sound system but it has so many stupid buttons.

2:52: Pianist scurries in, visibly stressed. We organize ourselves briskly.

3: The Divine Mercy service is so lovely. People are lined up out the door for confession. The music proceeds smoothly. 

4:10: My Sunday afternoon hour in the adoration chapel gets a late start because I was wrapping up music. I read the first half of Joshua and surprise myself by enjoying it. Be strong and courageous!

5:10: Back home! Joe is gone but Pete is still here, which is a welcome surprise. I do the Monday crossword puzzle. We say goodbye to Pete, a little sadly. I miss that boy when he is gone. Sandy gets an evening walk.

6: I sit down at the piano and Stella joins me. We have been singing Easter music together this weekend. We have an animated discussion about the unexpected C-sharp major chord in a particularly earworm-y song. 

6:45: Some snacking happens in here somewhere. We decide to make a Target run. Stella's gym shoes have holes in them.

7:15: Huh, Target doesn't let you use the fitting rooms after 7pm, which puts a damper on Stella's hopes to buy a summery dress. (Stella is a fan of the puffed sleeve/tiered skirt look, but I feel like 1975 was enough of a puffed sleeve/tiered skirt season for me.) We do find shoes for Stella in a sea of weirdly blingy shoes. I find Target a little overwhelming these days (so! much! stuff!) but we make it out in one piece.

7:30: We stop at the ice cream shop across the street for a little Divine Mercy treat.

8:15: Home again. I check blogs and think to myself that I am pretty much out of blog post ideas. Does anyone want to hear about Trollope? Probably not.

9:15: I send Stella upstairs and start this post. Elwood cleans up the kitchen. I wonder whether any children are planning to come home for Mothers' Day. It's so good to have them here. Can you even believe Pete is 20? 

10:15: I scoot myself off to bed. Good night!

Time flies when you're getting old

Turning five in 2010:

Doesn't seem like that long ago.

And then there was one

Pete is coming home tonight to celebrate his birthday: he is turning 20 on Sunday. For the first time since 2012, I will only have one teenager.

I was so worried about having teens, but it turns out that teens are usually pretty great to have around. Now I will have four 20-somethings, who are still pretty great but who are much less likely to live in Gladlyville.

In particular for the intentions of the--

Like a lot of Catholics, I start every day with a prayer called the morning offering. In the last line we pray for the intentions of the Holy Father. I'm trying to remember -- did I notice in 2005 and 2013 that the final line doesn't exactly make sense in an interregnum? Deceased Holy Father? Future Holy Father? 

Hashtag rigid person problems, I suppose.