In other news, it is hot.
Ezekiel and Saskia chillaxing in front of Kate’s fan (thanks, Kate)
The weather is sometimes so boring. This weather—relentless heat, nearly as relentless humidity that finally lessened yesterday—it’s not interesting, but I do believe we are all grumpier for it. To bolster the argument about weather’s impact upon our collective crankiness, my husband pointed out that there’s been just over twice the usual amount of rain since June first, along with all the heat. He and all four kids got colds. Summer colds are kind of offensive all around, yes?
Then, yesterday when it was a billiondy degrees and for some inane reason I got a robocall from Rick Santorum, I thought to myself—I miss New England. This summer channels Philadelphia so much better. I’ve done both kinds of summers and prefer New England.
Needless to say I hung up on the Republican robocall.
I don’t have anything terribly coherent to say about the many things in the world that feel as improbable as they do awful, from the Zimmerman verdict to the Texas state legislature—save for superstar Wendy Davis. To be honest at this moment when so much so close to me feels like it both deserves my better attention and my better attention doesn’t even feel like enough, I kind of go all simple. I don’t quite shrug. I’m moved by the fact that when we put our compassion and our voices together, good things prevail. I remember that anger alone solves nothing anywhere ever. It’s real and it’s necessary and it needs more than just to exist without context or compassion. It pretty much never needs a gun—or a military.
If only I were as clearheaded about my own life as about guns and voices and compassion. I really stick to the life gets lifey mantra coupled with the I’m doing the best I can mantra for compassion toward myself. Both seem as true as it gets.
Three to share right here right now:
A very clearly stated op-ed about how critical our voices are; this is about Texas and abortion, but to be honest it’s about voices and anything anywhere. Social change is this simple—and then there’s more to it.
Closer to home, my ten year-old-guy and his pal Riley made a yoyo video that rocks. I’m not even biased. I am positive it will make you smile and also admire their mad skillz.
In a moment of utter silliness I started a Facebook page entitled “Only in Northampton.” If you’re local or you have become somewhat enamored with our Northern Exposure meets Portlandia little city I say go ahead and like it, just because.
The three (rather frivolous) things I feel grateful for at this minute on a hot and steamy Tuesday morning are Lennon and Maisy Stella’s assignment as series regulars on Nashville’s second season, that my husband loves a certain impossible to find ice pack enough to buy some wholesale, which means we now have 72 of them and were all charmed by his purchase, and that my impulse purchase of the last pair of red star boots at my emergency Old Navy trip last week have made my girl into a human Lilly, a la Julius the Baby of the World.
Arguably, Saskia is way cooler.
