Skip to main content

What I Will Miss

In the spirit of Nora Ephron, not because I'm dying, but just because these lists seem useful to me:

(1) Almost the entirety of the Mariah Carey Christmas album (the exception is "I Miss You Most on Christmas Day," which seems to have been written by committee).

(2) The opening of "Ramona the Brave," where Ramona thinks that she is assisting her sister and is in fact making a small problem worse. This is the story of my life, this idea of seeing oneself one way and then being confronted with objective truths. Also, I like that Ramona imagines that having an unwieldy nickname might be "interesting." Problems--bits of drama--often *are* interesting, though we don't want to admit this.

(3) Meatballs--which you can make in a Crock Pot. Additionally, I'll miss almost any Crock Pot recipe that requires five ingredients or fewer.

(4) My husband, in part because he occasionally invents bizarre, seemingly pointless stories--for fun. This is what goes on, sometimes, in the one or two hours before dawn, in my marriage.

(5) Basically anything involving Nicole Holofcener and/or Catherine Keener.

(6) Barbara Stanwyck's "Christmas in Connecticut." Even if I haven't watched it recently. Just knowing it exists.

*P.S. Tide pens. Even if they don't work well, there is something therapeutic about jabbing, hopefully, at your stains, with a little pen. So there's that.

*P.P.S. Peppermint pie. Never had it, but I eagerly await our first meeting.

*P.P.P.S. The culinary one-two punch that is: dinner at Arturo's, dessert at Village Ice Cream Parlour (Maplewood, NJ). Sometimes, there is God so quickly.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...