First things first. Sound the happy alarm, whatever that’s called (the bells?). This is the 200th post of The Pedestrian Pundit.
On Monday, October 26, 2020, I published my first one on a fairly well-thought out whim…then published a post each successive (week)day to explain the construct for and themes for my (cockamamie?) weekly-rotational-day schedule.
Then, in the over 3.5 years since, the Pundit has been coming to you once a week…with two exceptions when I delivered “Extras,” one for the Uvalde school shooting and another for a 9/11 reflection.
So…happy 200th postiversary to me.
I’ve recently thought about stopping…because, really, what’s the point? Some mornings I’m like, “F-ck. I have to write.” And it’s 7am and for whatever reason I feel like I have to post by 8am. Today it will be after 9 and before coffee, without a doubt.
All these made up rules and conditions that I impose on myself in the name of discipline. 🤦🏼♀️
There’s pressure where there should be coffee and deep breathing.
For a hot minute, I toyed with the idea of stopping, or taking a break, despite the fact that it’s one of the things in my life that brings me great joy. I even verbalized as much to Kerri who asked why…and when I had no good answer, I had my answer.
I think because when I worked, this was my outlet…and now I wonder whether it’s an obstacle to me finding work—should I be spending more time on that? Rationally I know it isn’t and I shouldn’t, but…I’m not always *that* rational. But it’s not like it’s taking up days of time or even hours. 🤦🏼♀️ (And Lord knows there’s lots (LOTS!) going on in my head.)
Then I was recently asked what the point of this is, what my intent is, and I couldn’t really answer much beyond saying, essentially, that the point of this is that there really is no point. It’s a place I come to share my thoughts and to work on my writing…no more, no less. Though sometimes more and other times less. 🤷🏼♀️
(That said if any literary agent or magazine editor or other such types or or any connected types thereof, I’m very interested in putting in the work to turn these 200+ pages of “stuff” into something else, like maybe an essay collection (?). So hit me up!)
Anyhow…that’s where my head’s at in general with this, as I contemplate post 200…though in this very moment, I’m quite calm about life, albeit with a touch of stress about getting this uploaded when it’s done…and offer apologies in advance that I won’t be applying any formatting conventions (like bullets) to help with readability. No can do on my iPhone with very (VERY!) sketchy cell service. Probably will be more typos than usual too. 🤷🏼♀️
I’m currently sitting on my ass, as I have been since late last week, in the place that fills my senses, rejuvenates my spirit, fills my heart with love and belly with laughter, and provides calorie-free but emotionally nutrient-dense soul food, this wondrous island on this peaceful lake…with this as my morning vista, the first thing I see when I peel back my sleep mask and my eyes open to a new day:
It’s a different kind of quiet here. A different stillness. A different darkness. Any light at night is natural not ambient. The gentle lapping of the water at the dock is interrupted by the occasional call of a loon, a chattering merlin or squirrel (in two similar but different sounds that I now can discern between), songbirds of many songs, the beating of a hummingbird’s wings, an occasional thrumming motor of a passing boat, and a less occasional seaplane or helicopter zipping up the lake. (Not to mention the threatening buzz of the voracious vampire-toothed deer fly, but I’m not focusing on anything unpleasant here, and I’m also trying to ignore the excruciatingly itchy bite on my right foot. 😬)
The dark, the quiet, and the stillness go deep…freeing the mind…opening the soul…filling the heart…replenishing the spirit.
Make no mistake. I love it here. ❤️
We drove up on Thursday and the the solo first leg up to the meeting point (3 hours for me, 4 for my driver/host) was uneventful, pretty in spots (Franconia Notch, NH for example), great music, the road shared with others clearly intent on getting away too. At the park and ride in VT we threw everything but my backpack (because of the passport!) in the Thule on top…setting the stage for almost 5 hours of worry about it blowing off in one of those vacation-gone-awry stories that you hear of happening to other people and hope stays that way. I also observed far more precarious loads on other vehicles, much of which looked to be secured by not much more than one of those paper-covered wire ties you’d see on a load of bread. (I sure hope those kayaks and boxes of aluminum siding overloaded on that small trailer made it safely to their final destination, wherever it was.)
And so today I report from the screened porch of the cottage on Poplar Island on 31-Mile Lake, in Gracefield, Quebec. (For some recent history on my travels to this perfectly perfect place, you can start here, then check this out, then this, and lastly this. The earliest photographic record I can find of being here is 2005…which I guess feels about right. Back then I drove here the whole way alone, following hand-written driving directions on a piece of paper that I kept on my lap…and there was no cell service here at all. If I recall correctly, back then it was my Blackberry that had no signal. A Blackberry. 😂😂😂 iPhones weren’t even a thing. Time—and technology—sure flies. In fact the carousel of progress ticked a notch earlier this week when we transitioned from a pour over coffee system to a regular old brewed pot—so much faster and easier. In any and every case, lots of exceedingly happy memories live here for me.)
Anyhow…I really need to get to business, because in the five weeks between when I last wrote on a Wednesday and now, there’s been a good bit going on:
In and around the kitchen aka food and bev…
Hosted breakfast not brunch for my sister’s birthday last month and the main dish was these Migas. What the heck are those? That’s what I thought too. But it was one of those intriguing recipes that spoke to me. So they had to be made. And were they ever tasty. Will definitely make again.
Also made these Coconut Lime Scones, the ones that I first mentioned here. They are so good. I wanted to make them here one morning but alas no Coconut Extract at Metro. (WTF, Canada?)
Sadly, I have no pics of that breakfast. The food went right from the kitchen out back, where it immediately was enjoyed by all. (Leftovers were excellent too.)
I love hosting a good breakfast or brunch.
I also recently made (and we enjoyed) these Stuffed Peppers with Chickpeas and Cheese. A touch on the spicy side but that works for us—and you can adjust accordingly. Worth mentioning here is that an NYT subscription is so worth it for cooking and games. The news, meh…but the “entertainment”!
I also made a chopped greek salad, hold the lettuce, and reminded myself of how good they are. Red, orange, and yellow peppers, red onion, tomato, and cucumber, tossed it all together, added some feta cheese and a homemade dressing and boy was it tasty. And the leftovers were (chef’s kiss). Which is part of what makes it so great—no soggy lettuce, ever.
On the drive up we stopped in Ottawa for a night and there I got this Popcorn Old Fashioned:
That was a tasty one, with a maple popcorn garnish and popcorn simple syrup (which is maple syrup, butter, and water apparently)…sweeter than a regular old fashioned but very Canadian! (As they say, “when in Canada…”) The bartender was slightly under-attentive to serving us in general, though he was very attentive to under-pouring the whisky, a *very* chintzy pour, coming in slightly under the top of the jigger every time. The drinks were delish just the same. I love me a good nightcap!
Before heading to our final destination the next morning we had time for brekkie at the 24/7 Elgin Street Diner where I enjoyed the Tater Tot Poutine special which was tots, eggs over easy, hollandaise sauce, and some bacon crumbles. Perfection on a plate. If you count this bowl as a plate 🤣:
Up here I earned a fraction of my keep when I made (kind of) this Sheet Pan Eggplant Parmesan:
I say “kind of,” because I couldn’t find fresh mozzarella (WTF, Canada?) or sourdough bread (WTF, Canada?) so I had to freestyle a bit…fortunately, it was a success, as measured by the fact that all five of us had seconds (which I believe was because people thought it tasted good and not just because it was edible and we were hungry 😂).
Most recently (Monday) I earned another small fraction of my keep when I went with an old reliable recipe that I have mentioned before, Crispy Sheet Pan Gnocchi with Sausage and Peppers. It’s definitely one of my faves and I mention it again because if you haven’t made it yet you really should. Highly (HIGHLY!) recommend.
On the TV…
There was a lot of press about the Andrew McCarthy documentary Brats, telling the story of the 1980s-era “Brat Pack,” and we both were dying to see it so we watched it right after it was released. Spoiler alert: what a colossal disappointment. If you’re a product of the 80s you’ll probably still want to watch—and while I won’t die on the hill trying to stop you, I may say “I told you so” later. Your call. Clearly the project was required therapy for Andrew, so from that perspective, I hope it worked for him. Not a huge Malcolm Gladwell fan so could have done without his bland opining. Timothy Hutton could pass for any upper middle-aged man in rural New England now…and he was so cute then. Demi Moore seems to have had a face transplant, and I’m not sure there’s a polite or PC way to say this but is it me or is Rob Lowe half girl now? Andrew clearly *had* to do this movie…he seems to be the only one bitter about the “brat pack” label, so I hope it brings him peace.
Speaking about movies that are getting a lot of attention, there’s a good bit of hubbub about Inside Out 2. Kerri thought it was a travesty that I had not yet seen the first Inside Out, so we made a point of watching that. Very cute. I’ll watch the second for sure.
A while ago on Today the hosts were talking about what alarm sound they used to wake up. Lots of “the default” but then Hoda Kotb suggested “Seedling” as a soothing alarm sound. I’ve been a loyal “Harp” sound user for years (thanks to my dear-departed friend, Damon, RIP) because it’s soothing while getting louder gradually. First time I used “Seedling” it woke me up briefly, tricked me into thinking I was at a spa, and the next thing I knew I had been snoozing for an hour+ and had only an hour to get ready for the birthday breakfast I mentioned earlier. Needless to say, I am back to using “Harp” for those occasions when I need to get out of bed. (And how is it that Hoda has never seen the movie Grease??? That’s another recent fact I learned.)
Been watching lots of WNBA now that everyone’s caught on to the fact that women can ball and thus there’s been lots of it on TV. It’s been fun watching the game I played poorly so long ago elevated to this level.
That f-cking train wreck of a debate. As you know, I’m in Canada as I type. So if I disappear, well, don’t worry. I’m safe. But I’ve defected.
Where to even start?
When two grown (old) men are sneering and snickering and fighting about golf handicaps it's ridiculous enough…but when it is part of a presidential debate and not during some poolside happy hour at a condo complex in Florida in January it skyrockets to new levels of preposterousness and absurdity that I’d have been fine never witnessing.
But here we are.
Joe looked like he was stroking out. For 90 minutes. How many people watching hit 9-1-1 on their phones so they only had to hit the green button to call for help if the guy keeled over right there on national tv? (And afterwards, when Joe said he “made a mistake,” well if you misspeak once or even twice (or maybe even thrice) ok, but you don’t make a mistake that persists for 90 minutes. And can a prolonged blank stare ever be called a mistake? 🤦🏼♀️)
On the flip side you’ve got the Cheeto spewing lie after lie after lie without batting a caterpillar eyebrowed eye. I was relieved to read Heather Cox Richardson’s Letters From an American on 6/27/24, when she wrote this: “It went on and on, and that was the point. This was not a debate. It was Trump using a technique that actually has a formal name, the Gish gallop, although I suspect he comes by it naturally. It’s a rhetorical technique in which someone throws out a fast string of lies, non-sequiturs, and specious arguments, so many that it is impossible to fact-check or rebut them in the amount of time it took to say them. Trying to figure out how to respond makes the opponent look confused, because they don’t know where to start grappling with the flood that has just hit them.”
Beware the Gish gallop, folks. It’s as dangerous a weapon as any.
The whole thing raised more questions than answers for me, and I’m positively flummoxed by how many people take Drumpf’s words at face value even after they have been fact checked and proven untrue. Also, what exactly are “Black jobs” and “Hispanic jobs” (the jobs allegedly being taken by illegal immigrants, per the Cheeto)? As someone who cannot—despite graduating from an institution that is oft-listed as one of the best liberal arts colleges in the country, despite receiving an MBA (and being inducted into the Beta Gamma Sigma biz school honor society), and despite having 30 years of diverse, cross-functional experience in for-profit and nonprofit spaces—get a job of any color, I’m perplexed, sure…but also infuriated by this characterization by this moron. (And when I call him a moron I’m being charitable.)
After the debate you’ve got the recent two-time club championship winner (🤦🏼♀️) caught on camera bashing both POTUS and VPOTUS. Is a little respect too much to ask??? Yes. Yes it is. Some might say they don’t deserve respect. And the fact that saying as much would command cheers from his supporters is totally disgusting.
Layer on the recent questionable SCOTUS decisions and it makes the upcoming election even that much more important, with two appointments likely on the horizon. As Donny himself said after one such decision, “if you don’t have immunity you just have a ceremonial president.” Um haven’t we fairly successfully had only one kind of president since the late 1700s, and not a ceremonial one??? Law-abiding ≠ ceremonial. Hello‽ What we legally can and cannot do and can and cannot change continues to befuddle me, as we seemingly travel backwards. But what do I know?
(And since when does Jill Biden get so much of a say? Who cares who she thinks is best suited for the Oval Office? She’s more Jill Bias than Jill Biden. And she is not the voice of the party so why is she acting like it?)
We’re definitely in a “lesser of two evils” situation…but since one of the evils is literal and the other is “only” figurative, I have no crisis of conscience…but I do have a ginormous pit in my stomach about it.
I’m petrified that Joe’s seeming paralysis on stage is going to afflict many of the more blue-leaning voters on Election Day, that they will stay home and skip the polls altogether. Paralyzed by a kind of indecision, they won’t vote for Trump, and can’t vote for Joe with a clear conscience—so they won’t vote at all. Meanwhile, both the diehard “regular” Republicans and the Trumpublicans will pledge allegiance to their party or their pig and democracy will be f-cked.
Please vote in November.
So, despite all the “WTF, Canada?” moments at the grocery store noted previously, I may be staying here indefinitely. Because seriously, WTF, USA???
The Karen Read trial concluded in a most befuddling mistrial. I’m honestly not sure how there was reasonable doubt and apparently there’s been quite a bit of controversy since I’ve left the country. I’ve been alerted about it by several fellow trial-following friends but I have not been able to keep track of things. In any case since time is money and I am a MA taxpayer, that first trial cost me a lot. I wish they would put a retrial out to a vote. (And I am on pins waiting to hear what happens next. So. Much. Drama.)
I’ve also been watching (and playing, as you may recall) pickleball. The other night we were flipping to see what was on tv for sports and we caught about 20 minutes of the end of a pickleball match. Thinking it might be fun to watch and inform our play we both sat there almost dumbfounded by the speed of play and the amount of movement. It was fun to watch but at the same time I have no idea what I was watching. 😂😂😂
Reading…
Finished reading American Dirt and liked it very much. With all the infighting about immigration and immigration policy here, reading a different perspective (even if it’s fictional) makes me think a bit differently about those so desperate to get to the States. We’re smart. We can figure it out if we stop being a$$holes.
Master Slave Husband Wife: An Epic Journey from Slavery by Ilyon Woo. Clocking in at over 400 pages, I’m grateful this one’s on my Kindle. The story is intriguing, and my main issue is that because it’s written as nonfiction there’s a lot of supposition…someone “may have” or “would have” or “perhaps” seen or done or said something…I think this story might be better as historical fiction, with the author putting more of a stake in the ground to fill gaps in the historical record. But maybe it’s just me. Anyhow after more than a week I’m only 31% done (unless there are lots of end notes and the story part ends sooner as sometimes happens with these truth-telling tomes 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼) but at least now the main characters are traipsing around New England and just spent time in both Abington and Hingham, towns that border my beloved Weymouth. 😂 So that’s got my interest piqued at least.
Cranking over the speakers, inside and out…
Edge of the Earth by The Beaches which I Shazam’d when I heard it on XM36 Alt-Nation recentlya d immediately liked it. It led me to a lot of other songs and artists, some which are on this playlist; I think it will give you a pretty good sense of where my musical tastes are gravitating to lately, for better or for worse (FWIW it has gotten a few good informal backyard reviews):
I’m also getting some exposure to some new artists and albums through OPP, other people’s playlists, so that will be fun for me when I get home and have a stable network connection. 👍🏼👍🏼
Other things…
I’ve been sitting out in my backyard, a lot. It’s my favorite place in the world. No matter what I’m doing or who I’m with, there’s just something about it out there.
Prairie life is heating up. I left Kerri with strict (verbal and written) instructions about watering and picking. After reviewing them, she replied, “we don’t pick—we harvest.” I felt like I left things in capable hands, and it was looking good the morning I left. (See for yourself. Zoom in. You’ve got peppers and tomatoes and peppers and flowers and all kinds of blooming stuff. Kerri, if you are reading this please water and/or harvest if necessary! Thank you!)
I went to the eye doctor for the first time since 2017. I had LASIK in 2008 because I was—as people were described back in the day—blind as a bat. At the time there were some people who (rudely) reported “I like you better in glasses” (too f-cking late), it was life changing, for the better. Anyhow I went back in 2017 because I couldn’t see as crisply as I could immediately after the surgery (got glasses for when I needed them, mostly for things like sporting events, concerts, and driving at night. This time I went because I was overdue and wanted to make sure all was in order. Everything was fine. I got a slightly different prescription, which I could fill or not, for distance or for reading or for both at once. “Whatever you think, for your quality of life” the doctor said. Huh? Do I need new glasses or not? (I’m maintaining the status quo for now as my quality of life is favoring not spending money needlessly.) I also saw the dermatologist last week for my annual once over, which I add here so I have a platform to stand on to promote preventive care. Please get yourself poked, prodded, scoped, and scanned. You are worth it and early identification of problems is key to getting them addressed. Get comfortable with the uncomfortable and get things scheduled. Please.
And because I’ve been to some doctors lately I have been dealing with the insurance carrier, namely Anthem BCBS. Jesus H. Last week I was on the phone then texting for over close to two hours and without resolution. My claims under my new insurance (since February) were being denied because my old insurance was still active despite coverage terminating at the end of January. And then apparently (because Anthem and BCBS are only the same company when it’s convenient for them) I had to get it all sorted out myself when I was supposed to be packing for this trip. Not sure why they won’t bill the insurance as submitted if it’s an active policy but what do I know? Call to BCBS. Call to Anthem. Text with Anthem. Email to BCBS. Document from Anthem is password protected but can’t be. Need to get that fixed and re-send. Woman from Anthem insists I have no active coverage despite BCBS saying the coverage is fine, “just” the old policy is blocking claims. App shows active coverage. Anthem woman is like a dog on a meat truck certain the opposite is true. Meanwhile instead of packing I’m putting more in the “to pack” pile while I’m on hold/waiting to text, and the pile quickly got unwieldy. Meanwhile I eventually got ghosted by the Anthem rep after sending her my group and member info for the fourth time. I’m still not sure what’s up with that but hopefully when I get home there won’t be a line of creditors at my door. And my packing really suffered—my suitcase contents are almost tragic. But here I am.
Tomorrow we were supposed to be going to the Ottaawa Bluesfest but instead we’re not and I’m stewing about Neil Young and StubHub. Neil Young and Crazy Horse cancelled, and they were replaced by The Offspring, Cancer Bats (???), and a third act whose name eludes me most likely because I’d never heard of them before. Because we bought the tix via StubHub we can’t get our money back. Because the Bluesfest hasn’t been cancelled we’re screwed. No matter that they subbed for NYACH with a completely different musical genre and vibe (marijuana vs molly), we’re the ones left holding the bag. Ticketmaster refunded their purchasing customers, StubHub didn’t—their fan satisfaction guarantee is a bunch of hooey. And the Bluesfest bears no responsibility because the fest wasn’t cancelled (just the artist we bought tickets for 🤬). I need to simmer down, I know. I get heated when I’m cheated. (And don’t even get me started on the f-cking StubHub fees.)
But anyway…
Been playing lots of games up here, namely cribbage, cross cribbage (that was a new one to me, very fun in a confusing kind of way 🤣), Rummikub, Fantan, and this classic/vintage edition of Scrabble (note the stamped price 🤣):
Ok…
…I’ve carried on quiet enough for one day/week, so I’ll bring things to a close.
A few of you have been here from the beginning, 199 posts ago. You have all of my heart, and I hope you know it. I think you do.
To those of you who have joined us along the way, I can’t express my appreciation enough.
To all of you, I am infinitely grateful that you continue to find this time to spend here with me. I suspect many times it feels like an overly aggressive game of Chutes & Ladders…full of highs, lows, victories, defeat and—I hope—a little fun and a few laughs.
Sincerest, heartfeltest thanks.
Love you too.
PS. Because I’ve be spewing emotion here and also talked about Inside Out earlier…I leave you with more love…and more joy:
Happy 200!