Pertinent to my Interests

Documentary reviews, body neutrality, parenting, Jupiter, piano, cats, European history, ghosts, rodents, the collapse of civilization, and if this goes on long enough I'll probably end up cataloguing my entire smushed penny collection.

  • Margaret

    I bring my kids to swim lessons on Monday afternoons. The swim school is great but overwhelming: too many harried parents and chaotic, wet children.

    There’s a toddler and father pair who are always there at the same time as us. The little girl must be around two years old and her name is Margaret. “Come on, Margaret!” her father repeats over and over as he tries to get her showered, get her dry, get her changed into clothes. “This way, Margaret! Over here!” She toddles along slowly behind him examining the other children, their shoes, the tile on the wall, the fuzz on her sock. “Come on, let’s go, Margaret!”

    My grandma was Margaret. She was ninety years old when she died in February and I only ever knew her as an old person. But time seems to fold when I hear “Over here, Margaret!” It’s my great aunts’ and great uncles’ voices calling to a young Margaret, the last of eleven children, in the yard of the old house on the farm. She probably ignored their commands too, or at least took her time in responding. I would only know her much later as a purveyor of fudge and apple sauce, a hilarious, happy woman who never worried, never hesitated to yell at her children and grandchildren, loved to travel, and always had ice cream in her freezer. But she too once toddled through life with the same brand-new curiosity of this little Margaret.

    It’s a strange thing but when I drive away from that swim school on Monday afternoons, I feel just a little bit closer to my grandma. Especially when I have to yell at my own freshly-showered children who are punching each other in the backseat of the car.

  • Spring Cleaning

    I’m doing some spring cleaning around the house. This is the first time I’ve ever done an intentional deep clean in the spring, and I am largely motivated by our time spent at a Disney World resort last week. This place is a real dump compared to Saratoga Springs!

    It’s amazing how much time this takes. Yesterday was bathroom day. I was a young woman listening to the first song (Anti-Hero) on the Taylor Swift Essentials playlist when I started. By the time I finished I was nearing the end of the playlist (…Ready for It?) as an old woman. And I only have two bathrooms!

    I am also appalled at how much crap we have managed to squeeze into this little house. It’s tempting to blame the kids (I threw away an awful lot of plastic junk toys this morning), but I can’t quite figure out a way to blame them for the six bottles of expired calamine lotion I discovered in the basement bathroom yesterday.

  • Happy Little Hops

    My kids are eight and ten years old. They both have this strange habit of adding in happy little hops as they walk. Four steps, hop, five steps, skip, three steps, hop.

    It’s very cute, and I know it won’t last. I would like to remember this.

  • Hot Topic

    One day you’re twenty-two years old and walking out of Hot Topic for what must be the last time.

    And all of a sudden, you’re forty and walking back in to buy a Demon Slayer shirt for your anime-obsessed kid.

  • Documentary Review/ The Pez Outlaw

    High on entertainment value but largely lacking in depth, I enjoyed this quick peek into the life of Steve Glew, the “Pez Outlaw.”

    Steve Glew spent many unhappy years working as a machinist in Michigan before he began importing European Pez dispensers to sell to US collectors in the 1990s. His rise to Pez infamy is of course followed by a fall from grace, but Steve is eventually reborn as a minor Pez celebrity.

    I enjoyed Steve Glew’s frankness about how much he hated his pre-Pez job as a machinist. He repeatedly stated how depressed he was to have to go to work every day, and how he felt like he was in a prison. The transformative power of money is made clear when the Pez profits started rolling in and Steve and his wife, Kathy, get to quit their jobs and start doing what they love instead. For Steve that meant buying and selling Pez full-time, for Kathy it meant getting certified as a horseback riding therapist. They were able to build a new house on their property and pay for their daughter to go to college. Money allows us to be the best versions of ourselves.

    I also appreciate Steve and Kathy’s honesty about Steve’s struggle with depression and OCD over the years, and his eventual diagnosis with bipolar disorder. There is no shame in their voices when they talk of it; it is a simple fact, just like Kathy’s Parkinson’s diagnosis.

    The Pez Outlaw is enjoyable and well done. The reenactments–which I normally hate–were irreverent and often made me laugh. Steve Glew is a multidimensional hero surrounded by engaging supporting characters and a likable wife. This is not a life-changing documentary, but it was a solid ninety minutes of entertainment.

  • Documentary Review/ Torn

    Emotionally raw and superbly edited, you don’t have to be a fan of climbing culture to enjoy this documentary about family, grief, and love.

    Alex Lowe, arguably the world’s best climber, was killed in an avalanche on Shishapangma in 1999, leaving behind his wife, Jenni, and three young sons. Alex’s best friend and favorite climbing partner, Conrad Anker, married his widow Jenni just a few years after Alex’s death. Torn was directed by Alex’s oldest son, Max.

    I read Jenni’s book Forget Me Not several years ago. Jenni strikes me as both deeply emotional and extremely pragmatic, an unusual mix of strengths. I love her. She speaks very frankly in this documentary about the difficulties of raising three boys alone while Alex was working in the mountains, how she coped with the grief after his death, and how her romance with Conrad blossomed after that.

    Jenni’s ability to move forward in life and love after Alex’s death is contrasted against Max’s inability to move forward. When Max questions Jenni about how quickly she and Conrad became romantic partners, she replies: “In part, Max, it was a validation of my love for Alex. I’m not going to let the painful end to those years with him be the end of me opening my heart to love someone else. It’s worth it.” To this Max can only respond “Why?”

    Max was ten years old when his dad died and is the only one of the boys who has solid memories of Alex. Max has carried an emotional burden that the other boys have not, and remained adamant for years that his father was still alive. “I was frozen with Alex,” he says. More than the other boys Max has struggled to accept Conrad as his father, going so far as to keep his last name as Lowe when the rest of the family converted to Lowe-Anker years ago.

    “For all intents and purposes, Conrad is our dad,” Sam, the middle brother, says. “Maybe less so for you since you had four more years knowing Alex.”
    “You think Conrad is aware of the comparison?” Max asks.
    “Yeah, I know he’s aware of it,” Sam says, slightly uncomfortable. “We’ve talked about it a lot.”

    Seventeen years have passed by the time Alex’s body is located on the mountain. In a dreamlike sequence we follow the Lowe-Anker family into the Himalayas. The boys are young men now; Jenni and Conrad have grown old. It feels as if Alex is coming alive with every step they take, only so that he may die again. The family cremates his body there in the mountains, in the Tibetan tradition of fire burial. “You never think you’re gonna have to confront the body of your hero in that state,” Isaac, the youngest brother, says.

    Putting his father’s body to rest allows Max to finally begin dismantling the wall that has existed between him and Conrad all these years. In a touching penultimate scene in the kitchen of the Lowe-Anker home, Max finally acknowledges Conrad as his father. One father has been lost but another father has been found.

    “I hope this will help you accept that you can lose someone and love someone else,” Jenni says to Max.

    Grief and joy, always in orbit together.

    I love this documentary. It’s a beautiful memorial to Alex Lowe, the father who died, and a moving tribute to Conrad, the father who stepped in. The story is told through phenomenal editing; the music and scoring are particularly effective. I love the honesty of the family, especially Jenni and Conrad’s vulnerability. This documentary–like all the best documentaries–gives us a greater understanding of what it means to be human and is not to be missed.

  • Fatty on a Treadmill

    I signed up for Facebook in 2004. Back then it was still new, and slowly opening up to various colleges across the country. I navigated the site on my trusty Dell desktop computer.

    I noticed that an acquaintance of mine had joined a new group, something along the lines of “Hey Fatty Get Off My Treadmill.” The group description was full of hate, a tirade about how disgusting fat people are, and how they belong at home with their many packages of Oreos, not taking up space at the gym.

    I’ve thought about this a lot in the last nineteen years. This hate group’s screed has stuck with me through several years of gym memberships, many hours of Jillian Michaels* workout DVDs, and too many months of dieting. I was working hard to make my body smaller, to earn their approval. I was going to deserve my spot on that treadmill.

    Years went by and my weight crept up and culture started to shift just a little bit and I started to have some very radical thoughts, which is not something I expected in my mid-30s.

    A list of radical thoughts:
    1. What if my health and my body size are actually two separate things?
    2. What if I started eating salad every day because it makes me feel good and not because I’m trying to lose weight?
    3. What if I exercised just to get fit and not to lose weight?
    4. Maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe the guy who started that group is the problem. Maybe the people who joined it are the problem. Maybe I can choose not to participate in their culture of fat hate.

    I just started at a new gym this month. I am 5 feet 6 inches tall and almost 250 pounds and you will probably think I’m lying when I say this but I am not currently trying to lose weight.

    But I still deserve to be here.

    It’s 2023. I am the fat person on the treadmill. And I’ll be back tomorrow morning whether you approve of my body or not.

    *I adore Jillian Michaels and her workout DVDs. More on that later.

  • We’re going to Disney World.

    We’re going to Disney World next month and instead of turning into a proper Disney Adult I’ve turned into a Disney Monster.

    Ask me about my attractions spreadsheet. It’s color-coded and notes whether or not the queue has air-conditioning and if the ride is going to give me motion sickness.

    Ask me how many times I have checked the current wait times for various Magic Kingdom rides today. (It is 11 AM in Orlando and the current wait time for Haunted Mansion is 45 minutes.)

    And ask me how excited I am to meet Chip and Dale at EPCOT.

    I just don’t know that my reputation as a cold-hearted, unexcitable, type B vacation planner is going to survive this trip.

  • Lines I Like

    I am currently reading George V: Never a Dull Moment by Jane Ridley and am very much enjoying it.

    Ms. Ridley notes that within George’s childhood household it was normal to refer to people and places as “dear little” or “poor little.” She quotes Marie, Queen of Romania, who wrote that this practice made it seem “as though life would have been very wonderful and everything very beautiful, if it had not been so sad.”

    And it’s true, isn’t it? Life would be very wonderful and everything very beautiful if it was not also so sad. This is one of those things I would like to cross-stitch for display but I know I’ll never actually do it.

    Dear little Jane Ridley must have enjoyed this line as well because she also quoted it in her earlier book about George’s father, Edward VII.

  • The Grammys 2023

    I don’t usually watch the Grammys but my girl Brandi Carlile was up for a couple big awards this year and my other favorite, Kacey Musgraves, was scheduled to perform so I grudgingly stayed up past my 9:30 PM bedtime with the rest of the nation so as to enjoy the outfits, the performances, the bad jokes, the awards.

    For almost two days now I’ve been considering the most subversive moment of the entire show: Lizzo’s statement in her acceptance speech that “I’d like to believe that not only can people do good, but we just are good. We are good, inherently.”

    What is it about that statement that really makes me uncomfortable? The fact that I haven’t considered it before.