All Together Now

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Lately when I wake up, I can hear birds outside my window. And not just one or two birds, but a whole song-shower that rings through the entire neighborhood. I still hear the usual leaf blowers too (can you really say you live in the suburbs if you don’t wake up to a leaf blower?), but the rattle and roar of cars is mostly missing.

An America Robin perches on a brach
Oh, were you not up yet? (Robert Thiemann/Unsplash)

When my family first moved to this area about 20 years ago, it was remarkably quiet–a little too quiet, as far as College Era me was concerned. I was put off by the eerie void of human sounds, with only the wind, leaves, and birds announcing themselves. But now, the empty rolling hills that used to surround us have been developed, covered with waves of houses, divided by roadways that are predictably packed. At some point during the last year, I stood in our backyard and just listened to the traffic, feeling small, and helpless, and sad. As I listened, it hit me that the quiet I had once found creepy was well and truly gone forever—unless there’s some kind of giant catastrophe or something, I thought.

Well.

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Julia Child Is The Hero We All Need

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Over these last several weeks, my priorities have gotten pretty simple. I really only have two: stay [mostly] sane, and eat enough food each day to keep me alive until the next day arrives. Easy, right? You’d think so, but it turns out I need help with both. Thankfully, television has swooped in with the answer. My hero, my head coach, my culinary therapist-in-chief, is the one and only Julia Child. I started watching her classic show The French Chef a couple of weeks ago, and I’m convinced she’s the beacon of awesomeness we all need right now. Why? I’ll tell you why.

  1. Julia Child is the least full of shit person I have ever seen on television—a true blessing during a time when our collective bullshit meter is just about TAPPED OUT. She tells it fully, unrepentantly as it is, on matters culinary and otherwise. And she’s not shy about her opinions, either. In an episode titled “Bringing In The New Year” (S2E4), she shows us a small rolling pin she bought at her favorite hardware store*, and then, proclaiming “This is a toy!”, she slams it into the garbage can—with force, guys. She goes on to explain that she wanted viewers at home to understand that small rolling pins are (and I’m slightly paraphrasing here, but I think she’d approve) totally worthless and should never be used by anyone, ever, for any purpose, let alone baking. This is my kind of woman. The fact that she has no discernable agenda other than stating facts and hyping your own ability to cook tasty French food makes her seem trustworthy and reliable, two qualities that are a major plus during a crisis.

*Side note, a hardware store that also sells cookware? It’s the most quaint thing I’ve heard all day. Julia mentions buying all sorts of things at hers, from the notorious trash pin to roasting pans, cutting boards, kitchen twine, and handy tools of every kind. Do you have one where you live? I don’t, and I’m incredibly jealous of you if you do.

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Bread = Life

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Extremely exciting coronavirus update: I BOUGHT YEAST! Can you believe it? Me, an unassuming, regular person who spends her days doing normal, regular-person things—I am in possession of one of the most valuable substances on Earth. As I write this, yeast is worth its weight in diamonds, gold, and solar panels combined. Yeast is the cool but homely high school girl in the movies who no one pays attention to, until one day she takes off her glasses and puts on a tank top, or in this case, a deadly virus strikes, and suddenly everyone is all, I MUST HAVE HER. And obviously yeast is flattered, but she’s also like, hello? I’ve been here leavening your baked goods for a solid 5,000 years. Maybe this is a lesson in appreciating what’s been in front of you all along? And she’s absolutely right. We’ve been fools, yeast. You are an enduring beauty, deserving of our mindful appreciation. Also, will you go to the (virtual) prom with us?

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Greetings From Quarantine

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Well! When I set out to start a new blog, “global pandemic” was not the atmosphere I was hoping for on launch day, but I certainly can’t complain about a lack of material for writing. Also, although it’s definitely no fun being stuck in quarantine, or lockdown, or self-isolation, or whatever the particular brand of required immobility is called where you live, there is something weirdly uplifting in knowing that at this moment, most of us on earth are muddling through together, all sharing some version of a similar experience. I’m not going to get too excited about it, obviously, but it is a kind of solace. Unity in tragedy, and all that.

Anyway, how are things where you are? Today is a bright, sunny spring day here in the Bay Area, probably the kind of day I should be celebrating. Instead I’m wishing it was dark and rainy, the kind of day where you don’t feel bad for wanting to do nothing but sit in bed and watch the same episodes of Britain’s Best Home Cook with Mary Berry that you’ve already watched at least eight times (it’s no Bakeoff, but it’s pretty good when you give it a chance), and maybe stare at the cover of a book that you may or may not actually pick up and read in a little while. Let’s be honest, spring is a little bit of a nightmare, isn’t it? I mean yes, it’s wonderful to see life zipping back into action after the cold constriction of winter, and the burst of flowers and new leaves is great, amazing, incredible, but it is a lot of pressure. “Spring forward” is way too cute a phrase for a shift that feels like having the covers yanked off me in the middle of a deep sleep, by someone yelling that there’s a huge breakfast waiting for me downstairs–and could I please get my butt to the table now, this instant? Now, I love a big breakfast, almost more than anything, but give me a minute to adjust and wake up before I have to put my napkin on my lap. Let me rub my eyes for a few more minutes, Nature, dammit! And don’t even get me started on allergies.

Right now, though… right now it’s a little different. The comfort of all this sunshine and birdsong and fluffy white cloud-ness is real, and it couldn’t have arrived at a better time. Sure, I’m still wishing it would rain (to be fair, in California this is a constant, unending wish), but there’s a big part of me living in a continual state of weepy gratitude for anything pleasant, refreshing, alive. Maybe I randomly started crying yesterday when I saw new leaves on the ornamental pear tree next to my neighbor’s driveway, I don’t know. As far as nightmares go, the irritating delights of spring are a pretty easy choice over the stupefying reality of coronavirus. Oh, I can potentially die just from going outside and standing too close to another human person? Yeah, that puts things in perspective.

It sounds like a cliché, but I am humbled by the helplessness I feel in the face of forces so much bigger and more complex than me, both negative and positive. There is much we can do as humans to mitigate the toll of this virus, yes, but the fact is we will continue to be visited by pain and suffering for quite a while longer, despite our best efforts. But at the same time, the big wheel of the year keeps turning, and nature is in renewal and abundance mode despite our current state of human tragedy—life goes on, life enthusiastically surges forward with shockingly little effort, even after the deepest, most frigid pause. Those damn flowers just keep showing up, the ducks won’t stop quacking, and wide-eyed cottontails insist on chasing each other around like they think Walt Disney himself is taking notes.

There’s so much to unpack, so much to absorb and digest, most of it happening much too quickly to be understood in this moment. So, today I’m going to go ahead and watch vast quantities of Mary Berry, not because it’s a gray and rainy day like I wish it was, but because the world is upside down and locked behind a heavy door. And at the same time, I’ll give thanks for the comfortingly familiar and plainly beautiful springtime annoyances that I am fortunate enough to endure, and hope that wherever you are, whoever you are, you too have a curving branch of floaty pink blossoms or an absurdly cute little bird to roll your eyes at. And if you happen to shed a grateful, confused, overwhelmed tear while doing so, I am right there with you.