Saturday: I don't have anything to write about right now, but it's a day, and I try to write every day. So here I am.
OK, here's something. I bought a travel handbag. There is no reason on earth for me to buy another handbag of any type whatsoever. But I thought about what I wanted to bring with me on the plane, and then pictured those items in each of the many bags that I already have. None of them worked in my imaginary plane scenario. So I bought a new one, and then learned that it was far larger than Aer Lingus's "personal item" size limit allows. So I returned it and bought another one. The old ones are all mad that they don't get to go to Ireland. But they'll get over it.
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Sunday: The freezing cold has returned, after a short reprieve. I went walking/running this morning, thinking about how the beautiful thin January sunlight makes the cold bearable, and even a little pleasant. And then I realized that it's February, and has been for some time. It's always later than I think.
I just finished reading Emma Cline's The Girls, a really good, though disturbing novel, a fictionalized re-imagining of the Manson murders. The titular girls are devotees of the novel's Charles Manson figure, Russell (his last name is mentioned once, and I cannot remember it). Like Manson, Russell manipulates, abuses, and drugs the girls until they gradually surrender their humanity and willingly commit a horrific crime. The author does a very good job of illustrating Russell's control over the girls, without excusing for one moment their choice to remain with him and do his bidding.
The Girls is told in the first person from the point of view of Evie, a 14-year-old hanger-on who doesn't participate in the crime. That's not a spoiler; you learn about 10 pages in that Evie wasn't present on the night of the murders. The surprise comes in how that came about. Evie is an American archetype-- a young, affluent, neglected child of divorce so desperate for family and belonging that even a filthy band of drug-addled and depraved hippies will do. But she's also a very emotionally complex and compelling character.
The adult Evie tells the story in alternating chapters--early 21st century, and 1969. In 1969, Evie, the granddaughter of a famous movie star whose mother inherited her wealth, is adrift as her newly divorced parents pursue new relationships and fail to notice their daughter's loneliness and alienation. Present-day Evie moves haphazardly from job to job and relationship to relationship, mostly remaining anonymous but occasionally running into people who remain fascinated by the murders and who know about her past. Knowing better than anyone the intense vulnerability of a young unprotected girl, she tries to save the teenage girlfriend of her former boyfriend's spoiled and heartless son--not from physical danger but from self-destructive devotion to a man who doesn't care about her. We don't learn the girl's fate.
Though we know exactly what happened (in the actual Manson murders) and so almost exactly what will happen in The Girls, it's still suspenseful--intensely so during the last 20 pages or so. It's also filled with amazing writing--vivid (often horrifying) description and uncomfortably close observation of the worst in human nature. It's not something that I would want to read again, but I'll probably at least re-read some passages. This one will stay with me for a while.
Monday: I watched the news for a few minutes but had to turn it off to demonstrate my utter disdain for the social media scandal du jour. Of course, I think that Trump would make fun of the Trail of Tears, but I don't think he did. He was referring to the campaign trail. He probably doesn't even know what the Trail of Tears is. All of the Democrats--all 50 of them or however many are running for President--are going to have to do so much better than high-horse faux outrage over every stupid tweet and every stupid identity politics offense. Because if they don't, he'll win again.
Meanwhile, let's talk about something important. Let's talk about my second unsuccessful handbag purchase in as many weeks. I want something utilitarian, but not ugly. Is this too much to ask? Apparently, it is. So I'll try one more time, then I'll give up and carry one of my old ones.
*****
Tuesday night: It's hard to believe that it's been almost a year since I wrote this but it was and here I am again. It's 6:45 PM and I'm just one of the milling crowd, waiting for the cluster concert to begin. It's my son's last cluster concert, so I'm a little verklepmt.
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| Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic. The Cluster Concert: Both a Cluster and a Concert. Discuss. |
The auditorium filled quickly when the doors finally opened. The high school musicians will make their customary grand entrance, after spending a few minutes watching from the corridor outside the auditorium, marveling at how young the elementary and middle school kids look.
It's cold and rainy today, just a few degrees above the freezing temperatures that would have given my sons a much longed-for two-hour delay this morning. I almost never drink coffee after noon but I had to stop at the store to buy snacks for the bake sale and a hot drink seemed like just the thing. So I went to Starbucks and got a latte. I always say that I can't afford a three-dollar coffee every day so imagine my dismay which I found that a Starbucks latte actually costs five dollars now. It's been a while. Again: It's always later than I think.
I just finished my coffee. Now the young musicians are taking the stage and the lights are going down, so it's time to stop blogging and behave like a respectful audience member.
*****
Wednesday: The concert was lovely, and over by 8:15. Meanwhile, today is another day, so I have another handbag. My handbag habit is one of the many reasons why I can't afford a five-dollar coffee every day of the week. This latest one is almost exactly what I wanted: just the right size with a narrow, but not skinny strap; enough pockets, but not so many that I can't figure out what to put in them; reasonably durable and waterproof, and pretty. So I'm going to keep it. With that decision out of the way, I only have to figure out what else to bring to Ireland. I thought for five minutes about going carry-on only, but that's crazy talk. We leave in just over a month, so I have time to figure it out.
*****
*****
Thursday: Valentine's Day. Every year, my husband gives me a Whitman's Sampler, my favorite-ever boxed chocolates. The boys also received their own Samplers, and the three of us have been trading for our favorites. Come to Mama, Cashew Clusters.
After the rather grueling experience of The Girls, I'm now reading I'm Judging You: The Do-Better Manual, by Luvvie Ajayi. I usually lose patience with hilarious-blogger-turned-author books very quickly, but this one is OK. Ajayi has a voice and something to say, and I'm enjoying her company. I'm also reading Martin Stannard's Muriel Spark: The Biography. Muriel Spark will require a separate post.
*****
Friday: I ate too much chocolate, as I always do on Valentine's Day (except for last year, when Valentine's Day fell on Ash Wednesday). It's 6:30 PM, and I'm making soup. A lot of stuff happened in the world today, but that's all I have--too much chocolate and just enough soup. And a three-day weekend, just in time. Maybe I need a rest.
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