#8 Newsletter

Happy Wednesday (It’s ACTUALLY Wednesday???)

First of all, did you guys know that gnarwhals, sometimes referred to as unicorns of the sea are not mythical but are in fact, real? News to me, and my life has become so much better after this discovery. These things are so magical, I actually can’t think about it for too long without crying. Secondly, did you know that poppies open their petals at the start of each sunny day and close as the sun sets or the clouds roll in? Once you pick them, their petals almost immediately fall off. THE METAPHOR WRITES ITSELF. *For my Brits in the house, look up golden poppies because they are different than your red ones okurr. 

Anyways, I started this newsletter during a torrential downpour near my wall heater in Oakland, and I finished it on a sun-filled day on the beach in Santa Monica, and I think that’s what I love most about Spring —  how damp and cold and boggy it can be but how quickly that mud can give way to flowers you’d never expect to grow there —  beginnings from endings and new life from old earth. 

The past month & change has been an era, okay? I have been jotting down things I wish to share, and as the list got longer, the newsletter got less and less existent, but I told myself I’d only continue to write this if it felt like a privilege instead of an obligation. And maybe that makes it feel better to read, that I’m not giving it to you because I think I have to or because I think I should, that I’m not writing bullshit just so you can have something in your inbox every second Saturday or whatever. Maybe it helps you trust that these words strung together are done so with care, and that whatever fraction of a feeling you have reading it, I experienced writing it as well. 

Anyways, it’s finally here so… LONG STORY SHORT, I watched The Last of Us in March and decided to drive six hours north to learn knife skills from my eighty-year-old grandpa because I too fear the fungi-pocalypse. LONG STORY LONG, I didn’t learn any knife skills beyond how to sharpen a pocket knife that I don’t even own (yet,) but I ended up on a series of very empowering solo road trips through forests, valleys, beaches, and back roads where I thought about the beauty of solitude and the power of love and how fortunate I am to feel moved by both.

While visiting my grandfather at his cattle ranch in Lassen County, I found the seasonal transition impossible to ignore. The air, much cleaner and crisper than that of the Bay Area, encouraged me to breathe deeper, drive slower, and pause whenever I was moved to without agenda or pressure.

My grandpa and I talk a lot about the pace of things, and the slower movement of the country is why he moved up here in the first place. To rise with the sun and hang your hat at dusk allows you to feel a part of something: you’re living with the day, even when you’re alone. My grandfather is nearing 80 and lives alone on over a thousand acres of ranchland, and yet I have never felt loneliness in him. He watches the birds, elk, and deer with his binoculars, checks on his trees and powerlines with his ATV, shoots coyotes from his back porch, and encourages the cattle to go this way and that with his slightly overweight Boarder Collie, Foxy. 

“Do you know why all those deer were crossing earlier, all together?” he asked on our morning drive to town. If I’m honest, I hadn’t really stopped to think about why deer do anything. 

“They sensed the storm,” he said. It had lightly snowed the night prior, and I had awoken to the ground, my car, and the caps of the mountains blanketed in white. 

“They were searching for food before it came in.” I asked if they smell it, the storm. 

“No, it’s not a smell,” my grandfather replied. With more than sixty years of hunting and tracking experience, I tend to trust most things he says about animals and how and why they migrate, forage, and scurry. 

“It’s a sense. It’s a pressure thing, I think. They are in tune with the pressure of the atmosphere and they can sense when that pressure changes and big weather is moving in.” He paused before continuing.

“We are part of the natural world too. Some human beings who are really in sync can sense it too. My parents used to predict the weather, you know some people can feel it in their knees. I thought they were crazy, because it would be such a sunny day. But low and behold, if it didn’t start raining that night.” He smiled, as he often does talking about his parents, who he only lost a few years ago. He waves and says hello out loud from his pickup truck each time he passes the cemetery off 299, and in these moments he seems so much like a little boy, and the distance between us doesn’t seem so great. 

He calls me Flatlander and City Kid, but teasing is our love language, and he’s never let his judgment of the big city dilute the curiosity he has about who I am. He makes us ice cream sundaes, and he asks me about teaching, and we talk about the results of Rodeo Austin and if Beau Cooper really broke the barrier. We look at old pictures, and he tells me stories about being young and uncertain, about advice his father gave to him, and how different things could have been had he made different choices. 

I don’t have memories of him and my grandma in the same room, but here in the kitchen he calls her my first wife instead of your grandma when his friend leans in closer to see the photograph, and I smile at the connection he draws between just the two of them, this acknowledgment that there was a time before all of us when they were just a couple of kids in high school who fell in love and tried to give it a solid go. I never remember either of them disparaging the other, or blaming the other for clipping their wings; they just wanted to live differently than the other one did, and they both chose themselves in the end. If I’m honest, it gives me permission to do the same. 

My grandpa’s friend comes to visit and they drink coffee and Baileys at his kitchen table. My grandpa teases his friend about his daughter’s dog being too small for a ranch, and they relive their stories of rodeo — of falling in love with women and catching big fish and grieving the loss of their horses— crinkling their eyes at how quickly the time has seemed to pass. They make each other’s lives easier, my grandpa and his friend —  You need it? I got it. You like it? I’ll make you one. You going? I’m comin’ with you. They know each other, and they love each other, and they show it by the way they weld each other’s fences and bring each other leftovers, just because they know the other one would like it. They think about the other when they aren’t around, and they laugh harder when they are. It’s old love, but it doesn’t age as they have. It’s a love that allows them to still feel young, still feel a part of something because they knew each other when. As I reflect on my friendships, I am reminded that my closest ones feel just like that. We may be twenty-eight, thirty-five, forty-seven, but our love feels youthful. Not haggard or worn, it’s what allows us to feel the pulse of sixteen without having to revisit its fear and uncertainty. 

I find this youthful love present even in the friendships I’ve made long past my teen years. 

How is it that we didn’t grow up together? I could have sworn you were there… 

Or…

How different I would have felt if you were there then…that I wouldn’t have had to carry it alone. 

I think we meet people sometimes whose inner child speaks to ours and creates a childhood all our own, no matter the age we are when we meet. We show each other our rock collections and invite each other to our birthday parties, and we find ourselves some trouble to get into long past grade school. And it heals something there that we didn’t know was bleeding. Maybe I didn’t have someone who was so excited to hear my ideas at eight. Never had a pal who grabbed my hand and loved me without complication, but here you are now, asking me about the bugs I saw and if I feel it in my stomach too, all the sadness. 

To find friends who find you interesting, who want to hear the weird shit you dream and know the embarrassing shit you say and support the bulky shit you carry without you having to constantly prove you are worth the investment is… peace. I hope to be a friend like that to the pals I’ve got. I hope they trust that I will be intrigued by them until my last breath, that I’ll want to know everything and be there for all the moments because I love them just that much. To experience that kind of love and to witness that kind of friendship deep into a person’s seventies is a balm on so many cuts & bruises of our youth.  

*    *    *

I leave my grandpa’s ranch in this county known for its dirt roads, fishing rivers, waterfalls, and rodeo with an understanding of how comfortable I can get distracting myself from certain truths. 

1. I am a person of this planet, not just a worker in this world. 

2. There is so much here that we did not make that we are lucky enough to witness if we can slow down, be patient, stay quiet, and look. 

3. It’s not too late to build love. 

So, on this solo drive up through the old highways of California, through snowy pines alongside logging trucks and flooded pastures, I let it all take my breath away. I allow the newborn calves, fluffy in their new fur, to make me cry. I let the sky open me up, and I let the snow chill me. It is all big and unknowable, and I let it be just that. 

In a tunnel of trees, Hozier makes me feel like I’m underwater and in the earth at the same time, and that everything I’ve ever known is buried with me deep and safe. I let music crack me open, and I let myself leak out —  the grief for all I have lost and the luck I carry in my pocket to be alive for this right now. 

It’s okay to make a moment important, and it’s okay to be afraid of how you will feel when it ends. Beginning and ending are so much more similar than we allow: different ends of the same thread that holds its length like a secret. Let it all break your heart and allow it all to stitch you back together. We were born to break and bend, and we were never meant to last. Make the most of the thread you got and let it matter. You are the love you make, so make mistakes and make ‘em count :) 

I hope you enjoy these next bits as much as I have! Until next time :)

Listening Round-Up

🎧New Spring (playlist by yours truly)

This is a playlist that chronicles my Solo Spring Roadtrips™ (so far) up to Oregon and down to Temecula. Some songs feel as cold and isolated as the Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway that snakes through the snow-covered mountains of Shasta Trinity National Forest and others feel as warm and bright as the golden-poppied hills of Diamond Valley Lake. Shrike to Strawberry is the spectrum, lads. Happy listening! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

🎧 Inhaler (Live Show, setlist)

My hip, young friend (yes, the one who drank the Hot Dog Shot™ if you’ve been following this newsletter for some time) sent me this band on tiktok and said we had to go see them live. Actually she said “stop my mental illness is acting up idec who this is but idc IM CRAZY” which I knew loosely translated to, let’s get concert tickets! She was already planning on going with our other hip, young, genius friend who’s getting her PhD ever so casually, and we met up at the Wiltern in LA. 

What everyone failed to mention is that this band is very popular with very young (read: not yet adult) people. Like…there seemed to be a section exclusively for the parents of all the tweens and teens in love with the progeny of Bono. Though nepotism may have allowed Inhaler to get their start, they have been making quite the name for themselves in their own right far away from their native Dublin, securing spots to tour with the likes of Harry Styles and the Arctic Monkeys. 

We got overpriced drinks, woo’d with young people who told me you look good for your age! and danced the night away. I have never felt older but was just happy to be involved. Rock on, kids. Rock on. ⭐⭐⭐

Watching Round-Up

🎬 The Lewis Capaldi: How I’m Feeling Now (Documentary, Netflix)

Before watching this documentary, everything I knew about Lewis Capaldi came from funny soundbites and tiktoks that had come across my For You Page. Honest observations riddled with swear words wrapped warmly in a thick Scotish accent, Lewis Capaldi’s perspective on creativity, fame, identity, and mental health was refreshing to see. He’s easy to love because of his candor and sense of humor, and though the documentary chronicles his issues with anxiety and Tourrettes Syndrome, his disposition never allows you to pity him. I found myself rooting for this hilarious boy who writes the saddest of songs. ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Reading Round Up

📚 Normal People (Fiction, 2018)

Have I written about Normal People before? Honestly, I may have? But that just goes to show how obsessed with it I am. This is a book I won’t defend. I won’t get caught up in a debate of whether it’s worth the money or the time or whether the writing style or themes are…whatever they are. It’s one of my favorites because it is. End of story. 

Set in Ireland and various parts of Europe, Connell and Maryanne are two very smart, critical thinkers who grow to care deeply for one another while questioning absolutely everything else. It chronicles the relationship between these two people from when they are seventeen to when they are twenty-five, as well as who and how they become who they are with and without the other. If you are a plot-driven reader, this book may not be for you. But if you relish in the dialogue between two people, their body language and how they learn one another, you will love it. 

It has been one of the most realistic portrayals of intimacy I have seen and speaks to the ambiguity and assuredness we all feel as young people trying to figure out how to be in love while also attempting to discover what we want for ourselves—  the feelings that arise when those seem to be at odds and the sweetness of the fleeting moments when all of it coalesces. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Cooking Round Up:

🧁Black Bean Sweet Potato Kale Tacos

This is my go-to meal when I have girlsnight sleepovers w/ my one and only, Devon. She met Emmanuel at the farmers market in the Mission in San Francisco and quickly put me on to Bolita, the Bay- Area based wholesaler & pop-up of all things maiz he runs. He sells masa, tortillas, tamales, and salsa, and the masa we get from him makes the best flipping tortillas. He does pop-ups at different stores and markets, and if you’re lucky enough to sign up in time, I’d recommend going to one of his workshops where you can learn to make your own! If you’re in the Bay, you can order for pick-up here

Ingredients:

Tortillas: 

• 1 package of masa dough (2 oz ball of dough - medium tortillas makes 10-11 tortillas ) 

• *If you are making the dough from scratch: 

  • 2 cups of instant corn masa harina- flour

  • 1/3 cup all purpose flour 

  • 1 1/2 cups + 1TBSP room temperature water 

• Plastic Wrap (to cover your tortilla press)

• Tortilla press

Filling: 

• If you’re not making tortillas from scratch, just get corn tortillas

• 1 can of black beans

• 1 can of green chiles

• 1 head of dino kale

• Cheddar cheese (I like extra sharp)

• 1 sweet potato (you can also use butternut squash if you hate potatoes)

• 1 avocado, cut in slices

• Your favorite salsa (I like a smokier red salsa with these flavors :)) 

Directions:

• Preheat oven to 450 degrees. 

• Wash / chop the kale

• Cut sweet potatoes into cubes

• Coat sweet potato cubes in olive oil, salt, and pepper and roast for 25-30 minutes (until crispy or, however you like them)

• While the taters are cookin, sautee up your kale with just some olive oil and salt until it stops being so tough (you don’t want it to be super wilted but you don’t want it to be tough, ya know?)

• Drain your black beans and rinse them (so you don’t fart a lot) and add them to a pot with some green chiles and whatever hot sauce you like? Or just do them plain, whatever you want. Heat them up over medium heat until they get warm. 

• Make the tortillas in the pan (or heat them up if you bought them pre-made)

  • Watch this video if you are making them from scratch!

• Assemble tacos: kale, black beans, cheese, avocado, sweet potatoes, and salsa!)

• Enjoy ⭐⭐⭐⭐

So-Cal Round-Up

While visiting my sister in LA, I ventured to a few iconic places that y’all would have a blast at! Check ‘em out :) 

🔨Pasadena Flea (Rose Bowl, Pasadena, CA)

This place is HUGE! It’s a vintage flea market that wraps around the Rose Bowl and snakes through various parking lots. Bring a little old lady cart or toes on totes. There are stalls and stalls of great clothes, furniture, trinkets etc. Highly recommend! Bring sunscreen and snacks if you don’t wanna pay 20 quid for a Gyro. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

🔨Wildflower Hike (Diamond Valley Lake Marina, CA)

NOW IS THE TIME TO GO! Poppies and wildflowers of all kinds are in bloom after historic rains in So-Cal. Though this was 1h48 minute drive from Santa Monica, it was worth every minute. The lake is a stunning turquoise (if you like to fish, you can but no swimming is allowed) and the hills are covered in flowers. It’s very popular on the weekends, so just be aware of that. Parking + a ticket for the hike isn’t outlandishly pricey but bring your own water & snacks. It’s gorgeous. PS Stay on the path, don’t be a douchebag to nature etc. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Ending Note:

I’m sure a missed a bunch of things I meant to say, but I’ll save them for the next (hopefully not-so-far-away) edition. As always, please tell me if you took up any of these recs and what resonated with you! I love you all. As a reminder, if you want some snail mail, I am still running my postcard project. Sign up here! 

XO,

M