Spoiler alert: I have not become a zookeeper or some modern-day Dr. Dolittle. But there have been a lot of (imagined?) animals in my life of late. Speaking of zoos, if you’ve never seen the movie We Bought a Zoo starring Matt Damon, it’s a great one.
I feel like I just wrote my monthly-ish roundup, and thus have no clue where the last five weeks went or what I did while those days were passing…absolutely no freakin’ idea. Now I’m “forced” to rattle my aging brain and hope that what I have doing eventually shakes out.
So while I wait for the hippocampus to finish its processing and for my frontal lobes to get the rust off, I’ll tell you one thing I did recently…I slept out back.
Wait. Out back as in “in the yard?”
Yep.
You well may be wondering, “Why the hell would you do that?”
And it’s a legit, excellent question.
If you’ve ever been to the house in the late Spring/Summer/early Fall on a perfect day that’s gone perfectly dusky on it’s way to what is sure to be a perfect night, you’ve probably either seen me “resting my eyes” in sheer bliss stretched out on the couch or the anti-gravity chair (and maybe even mid-conversation) or heard me talk about how glorious I think it is and how I dream of sleeping outside. That dream lasts until I picture waking up nose to nose with an angry raccoon, annoyed that I’ve unceremoniously taken over their space, a thought that’s enough to perish the thought of being one with the outdoors overnight. Until the next time I’d be outside, I’d think the same thing, and have the same fear…over and over. I mentioned this cockamamie longing to some friends a while back and when we saw them recently, they handed over the miracle I needed. This past Sunday night was the night. I did it. Checked the weather. Put down the bottom couch cushions, popped the tent, and added the ottomans to prop the overhang.
I’ve read about the myriad benefits associated with sleeping outside…re-setting the circadian rhythm, stress release, reduction of brain fog, mood and immunity boosting, etc. All things I could benefit from, so why not give it a try?
Nothing to lose, right?
After darkness fell I said my good nights and goodbyes, changed into my outdoor slippers, and set off for the patio with all my supplies—sleeping bag, extra blanket, pillow, phone, charger, headlamp, and a hat—just in case global warming isn’t real and the temps plummeted unexpectedly during the night. I unzipped the tent, contorted myself around the fire table, wrestled with the sleeping bag zipper and managed to get myself in it without flipping the couch over or falling off it and without pulling anything, so…strong start.
This strong start lasted for about 8 or 9 seconds until it hit me that I had nothing to lose…except my life! There have been all of those bear sightings on the South Shore of MA all Summer after all. But I should be ok. There wasn’t any food outside. Or were there some paper plates with food remnants in the outside trash can? Oh, crap. Anyway, bear or no bear, I wasn’t about to get myself back out of the sleeping bag, out of the tent, and into my slippers to check the trash. Because then I’d have to get myself back in.
Or maybe I should get up and check to be on the safe side…and I can go to the bathroom again while I’m up.
Nah…just breathe…let it go…soften the forehead…aah…drop the shoul…wait…what was that sound? Why is it so loud out here? Why is it so bright? God it’s getting muggy; get me out of this sleeping bag. What in the holy hell is making that awful noise?
For crying out loud…just sleep.
But what if the sprinklers come on?
Did I mention how light it is?
And seriously what is that god-forsaken sound? Like there are some really f-cking weird sounds out here. I feel like if I turned my headlamp on I well might see Noah next to me loading up his ark with a menagerie of suburban yard vermin.
Breathe. Relax. Breathe. Let your skin slide off your bones. Breathe. Re…wait! If my skin slides off my bones won’t that attract wildlife? And if I get eaten by a bear won’t my friends who loaned me their tent feel terrible?
Maybe I should go inside after all.
So it went like that for quite a while, as you might imagine, until ultimately I did fall asleep. I registered a “good” sleep score (72, the result of some tossing and turning and a long runway between when I started and when I actually did zonk out) and a “fair” readiness score (due to the aforementioned sleep issues and an elevated body temperature, because I was trapped in the sleeping bag under the blanket).
Long story short, I’m glad I did it. I might even be inclined to do it again, so long as I applied the lessons learned. I’d move the couch away from the fire table so that getting in and out would be easier. I’d sleep on top of the sleeping bag and under a blanket so that I didn’t feel so constrained. I’d choose a cooler night. Maybe I’d play some soft soothing music. I believe sleeping outside might provide the life-enhancing benefits I listed earlier…if, like with all improvements we seek to benefit from, we put in the time, consistently for a period of days and weeks and months.
That said, it felt great to be back inside Monday night, in my comfortable bed in my quiet and dark bedroom. Go figure.
And don’t even get me started on getting the GD tent folder back up into a petite perfectly shaped disc. If it’s so simple, the instructions shouldn’t tell me to watch the how-to video several times. Essentially, you are supposed to take the burrito of a tent, contort your arms and blink three times to turn it into a taco, then, provided you’re double-jointed, you do a few small writs contortions, all the while minding the very high tension that the poles are under, and—voila!—you’ve got a cute little tortilla chip round you can travel with anywhere. 🤣 🤦🏼♀️
Anyhow, here’s the once-every-five weekend roundup:
The written word…
Finished Nick Offerman’s Where the Deer and The Antelope Play, and fully enjoyed Offerman’s style and sensibility. It was a bit off putting for me at times as he walks a tightrope between Everyman and a privileged Hollywood stud. (I get it—you own a ridiculously expensive trailer with your wife, Megan Mullally. And I know shes your wife because you mentioned it like a thousand times. Or a dozen. But it felt like a lot.) Anyhow it reminded me of Ben Shattuck’s Six Walks in that regard. Ok, you’re an essayist and a celebrity and you’re also married to one…but even so I need you to bring it home for me…something…anything. It all needs to come together somehow. I also kind of got the same slight annoyance from Isaac Fitzgerald’s Dirtbag, Massachusetts, which also found me searching for a point, even a dull one. But I learned a lot reading each of them and enjoyed being along for the ride, or in most cases the walk. The pieces were great but I had only a vague sense of a whole and the fact that they didn’t all hang together in some way was a bit disappointing. But I quibble. All three of them (…Deer…, Six…, and Dirtbag..) were very worthwhile reads.
I then blasted through Mad Honey and Pineapple Street which I had grabbed from the local library as I endeavor to break in my new Kindle. I’d never read a word of Jodi Picoult’s before now and I only knew of Jennifer Finney Boylan from both the NESCAC world and the reality series I Am Cait, but the exuberant recommendations I was getting on it plus it’s availability made it irresistible. It was a great story, a remarkable collaboration of artistry, and the kind of reading experience that gives one hope for better, more accepting days ahead. Loved it. Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson was a fun read and a good story of a family’s pieces and parts. While I’m not going to go all “you have to read it” dramatic, it’s a good “beach read” and I like the notion that sequels are a possibility. I’m recommending it, but I’m not raving about it.
I’ve definitely been reading a bit on the lighter side of late, much of which can be attributed to this new job. My brain feels like it’s in a vice most days so when I log off, there isn’t much oomph left for heavy lifting above the shoulders. Anyway, I’m trying to decide what I want to take on next—but have plenty of options both on the Kindle and on the pile.
On the small screen…
After getting several hearty recommendations to watch The Bear, we finally started watching. We’ve got two episodes left in Season 2 and have enjoyed it tremendously. It’s pretty intense and very nuanced, so if you start watching, put your phone down and pay attention. If I allow myself to be distracted, I always miss a critical detail. Like at any fine restaurant, the show proves that no detail is too small to be meaningful. And while it is listed as a comedy on Hulu, I wouldn’t call it that. Granted there are some exquisitely funny moments—some plain old funny, others ironically so, others still poignantly so. But I wouldn’t call it a comedy. It’s moody and broody and brilliant and dark and bursting with the possibility and promise that is life. The characters are flawed and good and bad and beautiful. They fail and grow and are redeemed and then stumble again, like we all do. I could go on…but just watch it already.
I watched the Sinéad O’Connor documentary, Nothing Compares 2 U. It was gripping in general but even more so knowing she is no longer living among us. Like her music? Highly recommend.
RHONY is a train wreck in the making. But that’s the RHO franchise for you. One question to those who watch is this: why do they rarely call her “Jenna” and almost always “Jenna Lyons”? Is she *that* famous? *That* much and a bag of chips? It’s like they can’t decide whether they are in awe of her or can’t stand her.
Weinished up Charity’s season of The Bachelorette. Now that I have accepted the that the premise of the show is ann utter farce and thus very unlikely to end in happily ever after, I can watch it without getting as keyed up. But since the outcome of the show is very unlikely to deliver as promised, why not turn it into more of a dating show that focuses on long-term happiness and not short-term notoriety? Anyway we’re ready for the Golden Bachelor and Bachelor in Paradise to premiere in late September.
And speaking of the small screen, anyone else think that newscasters need to go to improv school if they insist on “witty” banter between segments? If you can’t freestyle, don’t. I’d rather dead air than some of the inanity my ears are subjected to (especially during the morning news, it seems, and exaggeratedly so on weekends). Newscasters say the dumbest things. Except Ron Burgundy, of course.
On the radio…
See The Bear, above. The soundtrack is off the hook. It definitely has a vibe, and you can tell that each song is chosen just as carefully as each word in every episode is written. It’s a mix of both gems (songs by Van Morrison, Counting Crows, Psych Furs, etc.), and some great new/old or old/new (either by release date and/or new to me) stuff (like “Oh My Heart” by REM (2011) and “The Crane Wife 3” by The Decemberists (2006). Oh, and my fave new old song, the brilliantly moving “Throw Your Arms Around Me” by Neil Finn and Eddie Vedder (2013). If you like music, check it out, but I imagine it’s better if you know the show too. Because the show also has a vibe, together the show and the music are so, um, whatever the word is for something that is beyond sublime. That’s what they are. Beyond sublime. If there’s a word for that, let me know. Oh, ok…and because I can’t keep it in, T.Swizzle is on the soundtrack too. Love Story! Baby just say yes!
I’ve also been in a real groove with my 80s Jams playlist lately. No big surprise since the Earth, Wind & Fire gem “Let’s Groove Tonight” is a track on it. That said, I’ll groove any time of day.
Anyone got any hot leads on new tunes for me? Any great Spotify playlists to share?
In the kitchen…
Every now and then I feel supremely confident in the kitchen and I was feeling it when I totally freestyled on some Greek shrimp and brown rice last week when I had a friend for dinner. I wanted shrimp. I wanted something that was easy to cook so I could enjoy the visit. So I read a few recipes that didn’t quite fit the bill, trusted my gut, and whaddya know? It was a winner!
I also finally got around to trying the (locally) famous Super Beef sandwich from Brothers…and it was indeed super. My only beef (see what I did there?) is that I would enjoy the sandwich more had there been a few hots or banana peppers…but even so…it was delicious.
The other night I whipped up a giant batch of Harvest Salad, which is great hot or cold, any time of year.
That said, because of the brussels sprouts in the aforementioned Harvest Salad, and because I forgot to set out a small bowl of vinegar before roasting them, and after waking up many times during the night feeling like I was going to die from inhaling noxious fumes, I’ve also been simmering vinegar and water on the stove, hoping that remedies the situation. The good news is it seems to be working! And more good news—there is no bad news, at least not right this second anyway. 😂
We also ate out last night, a long-overdue dinner with a fave aunt and uncle. We went to a local Italian joint at their suggestion and it was just the kind of meal that sounded good to us—but honestly we could have fun in a parking lot. And now that I type that I realize that we have had fun in a parking lot, and more than once. 🤣🤣🤣 But every now and then an old-school Italian dish with red sauce washed down with a red wine is just what the doctor ordered.
Before I close out this food segment let me say this: one thing I am not cooking is chicken thighs. I know they’re all the rage in some circles, and it feels like *every* chicken recipe calls for them, but I just can’t. Is it just me?
In real life (IRL)…
Other than sleeping out in the yard, since my last Wednesday check in I’ve gone to three baseball games: a Sox game which I talked about here, one in KC, and one this past Friday. I love baseball. But I love the experience of the games most of all, and I have Papa and that ticket he and Springy gave me for my 7th birthday to thank for it. A couple weeks back we went for Kerri’s corporate Summer outing, and we landed at a table with two very nice young (early 20s, one an Irish intern) men she works with. That youthful energy and enthusiasm is the best! In KC I went to the game with a colleague who I met for the first time in the lobby of the hotel when we were waiting for our Uber to the game. He loves the experience too, so we “splurged” and got the $39 seats that ended up being in the front row, a bit past first base on the way to right field. We saw an inside-the-park homer and the Royals win on a walk-off squeeze play. It was a great game, and he’s a great guy…so yeah, it was a pretty great night.
Then most recently, I went to see Mookie Betts’ return to Fenway, this time with Kerri and my friend who is actually the son of one of my besties. He’s just back from an adventure in Rwanda so it was fun to hear all about that over dinner and beers at Time Out Market (new fave pre-Fenway spot for us). And then the downpours that plagued us all day gave way to a light mist and a rather pleasant evening, besides the outcome of the game itself. We sat next to a father-son Dodgers fan duo, and talking to/ribbing them was an added bonus. Reminded me that life would be so much more pleasant if we focused on community over competition. Since life is not a zero-sum game, the intense competition makes no sense. At least not to me.
The bottom line in my talking about these three ballpark experiences goes back to some very important somethings I know I’ve mentioned here before—it’s so important to have friends from multiple generations, it’s important to be open to making new friends, and there’s something beyond special when you befriend your friends’ kids.
Anyway…
I finally played Pickleball. That’s something I hadn’t done since high school gym class. I never thought I’d ever say that Mr. O’Leary and Mr. Janino (sp?) were men ahead of their times but what do you know? They transformed the WSHS gym into a very lively Pickleball arena, many decades before this craze. Kerri’s sis gifted us with a 2-hour learn-to-play session at the local place, Pickles, so a few Saturday mornings ago we made our way to Hanover and we learned to serve and dink and stay out of the kitchen—it did not disappoint. In fact, it exceeded expectations. I can’t wait to play again, though I hope my skinned knee heals by the time I next take the court.
I played nine-holes of golf, scramble format, as I noted I was planning to last week. It was a gorgeous day, and this particular event is always so fun, so no surprise that this year was no exception. I also played pretty well (and not just relative to how I typically play, but more in general—I hit way more legit good shots than I normally do and waaaaaay fewer sh-tty ones), so it was nice to contribute more than a shot or two for a change! And the night ended in me getting that tent that I mentioned earlier so if that isn’t the cherry on the sundae I don’t know what is!
I have also been thinking, a lot. Maybe even more than usual. I can’t pinpoint exactly what is triggering it (thought I have my ideas), but I can feel it with pinpoint acuity. This round of rumination was spurred in part by reading something Mary Oliver wrote, “The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.” I wonder if my work stifles my creativity in a way I’m finding unbearable, and I wonder if I can find a way to remedy it. Put this next to these words from Maya Angelou—“There is no greater agony than bearing and untold story inside you.”—and maybe you’ll get a sense of the struggle I feel, perpetually and poignantly…as if I’m always leaving something undisturbed and unsaid, and that in turn leaves a kind of void in my psyche and my soul. But I haven’t the faintest or foggiest notion as to how to go about acting and speaking in ways that fill that hole. As I get older, I feel a greater urgency to figure it all out…it’s like there’s a tiny part of my soul that’s tortured somehow and I either need to make peace with that piece or just free myself of it. I guess it comes with the territory when one is predisposed to pensivity. Sigh. And so it goes…maybe one day I’ll find my own untold story…or maybe not. That’s life, right?
Anyhow, thanks for being here with me, as usual, and if you have any ideas to help me figure it all out, hit me up. But I love you being here with me whether you have ideas or not—I like the company in any case.
Hope you’re having a good week, enjoying the end of August (gulp!), and have plans that make you happy for the upcoming long weekend. Enjoy! But don’t ask me where the hell Summer went, and yes, I know we officially have a few more weeks of it!
Gotta run…every fifth post here bumps up against my weekly Wednesday post there, so I’m off to find a bit more fresh material. (Also feel free to check that one out and here’s where you can get a bit of an explanation about what it is all about.)
Love you too.
Really enjoyed this one Nicky. You are such a great writer. I’m proud of you spending the night out.