Pandemic postcard #32: In search of a clean slate

Last week, I promised a story about what I was doing on November 9, 2016. I'm pretty sure that whatever happens next week, it won't be any weirder than what I lived through four years ago, both because this year's election may take a long time beyond Tuesday night to resolve and because Tom had his stem cell transplant the morning after the last election.

 

The 2012 election was one of only a few in my adult life that I wasn't working in either a newsroom or for a campaign on election night. I felt at loose ends and nervous about the results, so I went to a movie. I was one of a handful of people who attended a showing of Argo at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland. I stopped in the restroom afterward and heard two women sharing the news that President Obama had won re-election.  

 

When someone gets a stem cell transplant, their immune system is wiped clean and they are home-bound for many months afterward, so Tom and I thought a movie date night sounded like the best way to spend election night 2016, too. We were staying at a hotel near the hospital, and we walked a few blocks to see Moonlight. The night held lots of promise: We’d had a Black president for eight years and we’d soon have a woman in that role. Love and demographic destiny seemed ascendant in America, and Tom would have a new lease on life the next morning.   

 

I knew something was amiss when we left the theater and walked toward a bar on the next corner. Several people were crying on the sidewalk outside, big-screen TVs flickering in the windows behind them, swaths of red slashing across the maps. Despite being far behind in the polls, Donald Trump had won several key states where balloting had already closed. Yet the night was still relatively young for those of us on the West Coast. Things could change. 

 

When we got back to the hotel, I tucked Tom into bed so he could get a good night’s sleep. I stayed awake a few more hours and saw more states—and ultimately the election—called for Trump. Dazed, I climbed into bed and slept badly before waking Tom for our pre-dawn appointment with the transplantation team.  It was a strange morning for everyone, but it was also a relief to have something to take our minds off the news, at least for a few hours. And for Tom, this was the first day of the rest of his life, however long that might be. We still had that fact to celebrate.

 

Six months post transplant

Tom's stem cells gave him about 15 months of remission before the cancer came back in early 2018. Running out of options, we began a clinical drug trial that didn’t go well, one that saw Tom in and out of the hospital for blood transfusions and other interventions. In June of that year, we got married on Tom’s 62nd birthday, our family crowding into the hospital room to wish us well. It was another day of possibility and within days, Tom’s doctor sent us home for a brief honeymoon.

 

It was a risky gift, with Tom’s white blood cell counts still low, yet it was one we embraced. On the fourth night at home, after Tom collapsed twice while trying to get to the bathroom, I knew the honeymoon was over. He died in the hospital two days later, but not before his children and their mother had a chance to visit with him on what would be his last night on Earth. We'd hoped to go home with hospice care the next day, but that was not to be.  


 

I miss Tom every day.  I have no idea what he would have made of what we’ve endured as a nation in 2020, and I am especially grateful that his final months did not come amid COVID-19. But I understand that his brother, who lives in a swing state and usually votes Republican, will vote for the Democrat this time. “This one is for Tom,” he has been saying, and this gives me hope. All of us alive in 2020 have seen our ability to bear the unthinkable bend to the breaking point—and when it comes to discarding old opinions and habits that no longer serve us, breaking free is an act of courage. 

 

There will be no election night movie for me this year; I'll be working for my county elections office as a drop-box attendant. Your vote is your voice, so if you haven't yet made your voice heard, please do that by Tuesday. 

 

Visualize what it will be like to have a clean slate for our nation. I'll see you on the other side.    

Pandemic postcard #26: Practicing for winter

It's been nine days since I've been outside for more than about five minutes. Six months ago, I stayed home on March 13, the day the seriousness of the pandemic really hit home in the United States. But once I knew that it was safe and even smart to continue walking outside every day amid COVID-19, I did exactly that, every morning--until the middle of last week, when the air quality here in the Northwest became too dangerous to venture outside.

The first few days of the air-quality quarantine were the worst, but as I heard more about what was happening in Oregon, I could not feel anything but gratitude for what I have: for the roof over my head, for food to eat, for breathable air inside my apartment--and for plenty of time to read, think, and learn. I've had that all year, of course, but making the best of this homebound week-and-a-half, I've leaned into it a bit more.

"I am fortunate because I have been able to spend my life in the study of the world," says Alma Whittaker, the main character in Elizabeth Gilbert's The Signature of All Things, which I read with uncharacteristic speed over just a few days this past week. Indeed, that is why I became a journalist: because I am curious about just about everything. I, too, am an avid lifelong student of the world, and while I may not be getting paid for my curiosity very often these days, I can indulge it more than ever.

Online conferences, webinars, classes, lectures, and concerts have helped me get through these past six months, and I've taken especially great advantage of them during these recent smoky days. Since last weekend, I've attended three online church services, a real-time film screening and post-movie discussion, a lecture on the presidential race, a virtual walking tour of Seattle's Denny Regrade, and a "Moth"-like program of stories about the pandemic and the fight for racial justice.

I have relished personal connection, too. A college classmate has convened a Zoom happy hour every few weeks, and it's been fun catching up with a fascinating, opinionated group of folks, even if everyone but me is in the Eastern time zone, ready to raise their glasses when it's still mid-afternoon in Seattle. I've talked with a few friends on the phone, including one whose daughter-in-law is the acting ranger on one of the hardest-hit forests in Oregon. I haven't seen anybody in person since my last shift volunteering at the food bank two weeks ago, but I don't feel as isolated as I might.

It sounds like the rain will start tonight and we may have clean air again sometime tomorrow. I look forward to walking outside and to opening my windows again.

Autumn arrives in a few days, and lately, it's always been a season of introspection for me, ahead of our long, dark, wet winters in Seattle. I know this pandemic winter won't be easy, but after the past nine days, I feel better prepared for the many months of interior life ahead.

 

Pandemic postcard #10: Holiday in Pandemia

My church had its annual Coming of Age service last Sunday. It's one of my favorites, the culmination of a year when our ninth-graders spend a year thinking about life's big questions. Of course, the service was online, and it was still wonderful. "Joyful but realistic," one woman described it in our virtual coffee-hour gathering afterward.

From Easter and Passover and Ramadan to Mother's Day and graduation season, we've checked off nearly all the spring boxes. I love the congratulations-and-stay-strong signs honoring graduates all over my city, and it's been fun to listen to online commencement speeches by everyone from President Obama to Awkwafina to ... Donald Trump? And now it's Memorial Day Weekend, the unofficial start of summer. On Monday, when we pause to recall those who have died fighting for our country, let's remember the most recent casualties: the doctors, the nurses, the cashiers, the meat packers, the beloved grandparents.

It doesn't feel like summer. The steam heat in my apartment came on again yesterday amid a Seattle cold snap. The ballparks are empty, from the biggest stadiums to the forlorn sandlots, now given over to dogs and their people playing fetch. Concerts and sleep-away camps have been canceled. And yet ...

Italy? Mexico? Seattle!

I am not sure where or even if I might travel this summer. Except for a few recent forays to state parks open for day use, I haven't gone beyond a two-mile radius of my home. Still, it's been dawning on me anew that I live in a place that people from all over the world visit on vacation. Now that we can venture out a bit, I want to spend some time in my bigger backyard, the Emerald City. I want to wander through a nearly deserted Pike Place Market, see the murals that have popped up at Pioneer Square, and maybe hear a busker play in Georgetown. I want to spend some of my unemployment pay at local restaurants and shops in Ballard and Columbia City. And if I'm feeling really brave, maybe I can meet a friend for a socially distanced picnic or a cup of coffee, or even go to a movie once the neighborhood cinemas reopen. I would totally do that.

In many ways, the new normal is feeling pretty old. Since the pandemic is going to be with us for a while, we might as well try to have fun, safely and responsibly and with thanks to the people who are willing to serve us. We ought to be realistic ... but joyful. This is our life right now, all of it.

Pandemic postcard #3: Reality sets in

Hello again. How are you this first Friday of April? Wasn't it interesting that April Fool's pranks seemed in short supply this year? We definitely need moments of levity, but foolishness seems out of order in these very weighty times.

For me, this was the week when the reality of the pandemic--and its accompanying economic crisis--really hit home. As I write this, the world COVID-19 case total has passed one million and people are dying at an alarming rate. I was especially sad to learn we have lost songwriter Adam Schlesinger, whose smart work with Fountains of Wayne and snappy title tune for That Thing You Do! have brought me lots of joy over the years. If I need a smile, as I did when I got this news, I need only watch this scene of a band hearing its song on the radio for the first time. Talk about joy. Thank you, Adam. (And please hang in there, John Prine.)

I mentioned last week that a longtime magazine client of mine had abruptly shut down. This week, I confirmed the not-unexpected news that my top editorial client--another travel company--has no work for me for the foreseeable future. I haven't yet joined the official jobless roll; my state's jobless benefits site says it hopes to have information on how self-employed people can apply by mid-April. Meanwhile, I plan to start volunteering at my local food bank next week. They really need help and I have too much time on my hands. They are having people work six feet apart, and you can only volunteer one week at a time to limit any possible exposure to COVID-19. It feels a little risky, but I am healthy and it is a way I can be useful.

Meanwhile, I have also opened an online bookstore through Bookshop.org, a new venture that just launched in January, primarily as a way for small independent bricks-and-mortar bookstores to have a website, but also for authors and other lit lovers to buy and sell books. I have named my shop The Optimist, and its featured selections are books that I have personally enjoyed over the years--"timeless books and books for these times,"as I put it. I'm also featuring some of my photography on its pages. So if you are looking for a good read, please have a look. Your purchase will help me weather these tough times and it will benefit indie bookstores across the U.S., too.

Here are a few other things that got me through this week:

Long walks, as always. I average four miles a day.

Plenty of sleep

Lots of time to read (and spending a little less of it on the news and social media)

Mariners classics baseball, often accompanied by a solo game of Bananagrams

A concert-from-home by Josh Ritter

Online church each Sunday

Watching the classic movie Groundhog Day (An aside: It's only been a month or so, but I miss movies in the theater.)

I mentioned above that reality hit home this week, but here's something else we all know: As bad as this pandemic is right now, we will get through it. Stay safe, be well, and be kind. See you next Friday.

Another kind of food pantry. Pinehurst, Seattle, March 2020

Feet first

Giving walkers safe passage in Shoreline, WA

No, I didn't plan to walk six miles round trip to the movie theater yesterday. My intention was to walk there and take the bus back, but I stayed for all the credits and used the restroom afterward--and there was the bus I meant to catch, pulling away across the street just as I walked out the door. 

No worries. Having missed the bus, I decided to walk back a different way from the one I'd come--and on the way, I got to visit two new-to-me city parks and found and photographed some cool public art. (If you love street art, you might want to follow me on Instagram.) It was sunny and about 62 degrees. What could be better?

I'm currently researching a magazine article about people who are driving less to save money. There are so many options to forgo or supplement car ownership these days: transit, car sharing, ride hailing, bike sharing--and my very favorite (and the cheapest option), our own two feet.

After past experience in car-free living, I do have a car these days (thanks, Tom), but I go days without driving it. As a writer and editor, I mostly work from home, of course. I use my feet and the company-provided transit pass (thanks, Mariners) to get to my part-time job. I plan my ballpark commute and many of my errands around the five miles or so I try to walk every day, but the best walks of all can be aimless ones where I set off with only a vague idea of where I am going.

Plenty of factors keep people from walking as much as they'd like, but spring is a wonderful time to walk as much as you can, whether that's around the block or for many miles. The weather is wonderful and new life is blossoming everywhere you look. And yes indeed, I spent several hours of an ostensible workday going to a movie (the gorgeous Cold War) and walking there and back, but here's the thing about walking: If your work--or any part of your life--involves thinking, you can actually get a lot done on a walk. As I meandered, I mentally outlined the article I mentioned above, and I thought about contacts who can potentially help me find sources for several other projects. But mostly, I enjoyed the fresh air and the sunshine and the fact I wasn't stuck in a metal box on a glorious spring day. 

Walking is good!

Reel life: My take on the 2019 Oscar nominations

Although I'm a major movie buff, it's a rare year when I've seen all the Best Picture nominees before the Oscar nods are announced. That was the case for 2018-2019, though, and I saw them all on the big screen. Here are my brief impressions of the nominations announced today.

Black Panther: Great storytelling and the year's best ensemble cast. It's gratifying to see a superhero/fantasy film finally make the cut. I saw this with Tom at a packed Rose Theatre in Port Townsend--the only one of the nominees we saw together, on our last real weekend getaway. It was actually our second choice that day; we'd been hoping to get tickets to the documentary California Typewriter playing at the Rose's tiny Starlight Room, but it was sold out. We agreed we were happy it worked out that way. This is the only Best Picture nominee that came out before Tom died in June. I'll miss watching the Oscars with him this year.

BlacKkKlansman: Lots of stylish and suspenseful fun, with an unexpectedly but appropriately sobering end. So glad to see Spike Lee get a directing nod and Adam Driver land the acting nomination he should have had for Paterson. I saw this with my daughter Natalie in Boise at the Edwards 21 on a 100+ plus degree August day that was made for sitting in a cool theater.

Bohemian Rhapsody: Really? It was enjoyable and definitely a crowd-pleaser, with moviegoers rating it far higher than the critics. I'm not sure how it slipped into the Best Picture ranks, though. I saw Bohemian Rhapsody twice, first at Regal Thornton Creek in Seattle with the gimmicky ScreenX treatment (admittedly a good fit for this movie) and again with Natalie at the big Edwards in Boise.

The Favourite: Yorgos Lanthimos' aggressively weird world view is about 180 degrees from my own, and I hated The Lobster--but I have to admit his latest mindbender belongs in the running for Best Pic. (I'll be pissed if it wins, though.) Olivia Colman's Best Actress nomination is deserved, and Emma Stone and Rachel Weisz seemed to have the time of their lives. I saw this at the AMC Oak Tree in Seattle.

Green Book:  I liked this a lot, though--as with Bohemian Rhapsody--I'm a little surprised to see it crack the Best Picture ranks. Viggo Mortensen showed great range for his second Best Actor nomination in three years, though this wasn't the equal of his astounding turn in Captain Fantastic. Mahershala Ali was such a presence, rising far above supporting status, so it is good to see his nomination. I saw this with my brother Jeff and his husband Kevin at the Metreon in San Francisco.

Roma: Hands down my favorite movie of the year, gorgeous to look at, with an engrossing story and packed with memorable characters--though none as luminous as Yalitza Aparicio's Cleo. I am absolutely thrilled to see Roma get a Best Picture nod; I thought it'd be relegated to the Best Foreign Film category, where it actually is nominated, too. I've seen Roma twice at the Landmark Crest in Shoreline, one of a few places where it's had a theatrical release, and I may get back for a third viewing before it leaves. Viva Mexico, in all its beauty and complexity, and thank you Alfonso Cuaron.

A Star is Born: As manipulative as Roma is meditative, this movie ripped me to shreds in the best way. Bradley Cooper knew what he wanted to do and he did it very well. It'll be fun to watch where Lady Gaga goes from here as an actress (though I'd have given her nomination for this to Thomasin McKenzie, in Leave No Trace). I saw A Star is Born alone at Regal Thornton Creek not so long after Tom passed away, thus its emotional punch--but I think it would stand up as strong on another viewing

Vice: I really loved The Big Short, eagerly awaited this, and finally saw it Sunday at the Mountlake Terrace Cinebarre. Christian Bale is so good depicting Dick Cheney from his misspent youth to his Machiavellian prime, and Vice makes a compelling argument that Cheney was an even more destructive force to democracy than the current occupant of the White House. It's a sledgehammer of a movie, but director Adam McKay's creativity and several great performances (Amy Adams and Sam Rockwell are super, too) earn it a Best Picture nod.

What's going to win? I have no idea, but I'll be cheering for Roma, which soars above the rest of the nominees for its artistry and humanity. And on those grounds, I'd be happy with a Black Panther win, too.

A few more notes:

What a great crop of animated features we had this year. I found Incredibles 2, Isle of Dogs, and especially Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse all fantastic fun.

I just saw If Beale Street Could Talk the other day and am a bit surprised to see it get only a few nominations. Its cinematography was especially lovely.

The year's most overlooked feature was the understated, little-seen Leave No Trace, which suffered from a summer not-so-wide release. Ben Foster and Thomasin McKenzie were brilliant as a father and daughter onscreen together in nearly every scene, and--although I haven't seen the Best Director-nominated Cold War (Pawel Pawlikowski), I wonder whether his nod--or actually anyone's but Cuaron's--could have gone to Debra Granik. As usual, women filmmakers have a rough time getting noticed by Oscar voters. This was a Best Picture candidate in my book and may have made the cut had it come out in the fall.

Also, how did Won't You Be My Neighbor? miss out for Best Documentary? I need to get busy with the documentary nods--RBG is the only one I've seen--but it's hard to believe they're all better than this timely and gentle film about the life of Fred Rogers.

Living with death

Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. I don't like to play dress up and I'm not drawn to the macabre; when my daughter and I visited Paris, the catacombs were high on her to-see list and I couldn't have cared less--so I skipped them, took a walk while she waited in the two-hour line, then sat in a sunny park and read a book.

I tried to go back to church in August for the first time since Tom died. I was doing OK until a woman wearing a black-and-white skull motif sweater materialized in front of me and suddenly I had to follow her along the narrow path--a person going to church, in August, wearing a sweater with skulls. Some people really like Halloween.

But not me. So I didn't plan to watch A Ghost Story last night. But I did, and I'm glad, and if you miss someone you loved very much, you might like it, too.

A 2017 release, A Ghost Story is directed by David Lowery and stars Casey Affleck; the two of them teamed up again this year on The Old Man & The Gun, which I saw earlier this week. There's a lot to like about The Old Man & The Gun: its attention to detail, its occasional meandering talkiness (since the character played by star Robert Redford is the taciturn sort, sidekick Tom Waits gets to deliver the movie's best monologue), and above all its meditative quality--yes, a movie that's ostensibly about robbing banks is really about knowing what makes life worth living.

I looked up what else Lowery has made, and I remembered hearing that there was more to A Ghost Story than its title and Halloween-costumed title character. I decided to watch, and I fell into it immediately. Imagine the most perfect moments you ever had with the person you loved, and how those perfect moments lived in an imperfect love that was still far more than enough. Imagine trying to reclaim those moments and--along the way--being of comfort as your beloved deals with your loss. This is what A Ghost Story seems to be about.

I went to bed right after watching A Ghost Story. A soft Seattle rain fell outside the window, and I could imagine having Tom there with me, curled up together as we had been so many times, just like that.

It'll never happen again. What matters is that it happened.

Holiday feasting ... and films!

Two timely thoughts heading into Thanksgiving week:

I love this article from today's Seattle Times about a local cookbook author whose book has blown up in Japan. Bethany Jean Clement recounts how Kathleen Flinn's book, The Kitchen Counter Cooking School, was published in Japan with the hilarious title The Magic Cooking Classroom that Changes Bad Girls' Lives. As Flinn told Clement:

My editor and translator’s take is that in Japanese culture, women are expected to be able to do it all — have a career, be an immaculate housekeeper, a fabulous mother, a diligent daughter and an amazing individual with extensive hobbies, and a talented cook,” Flinn says. Dryly, she observes, “This may sound familiar to American women.”

I am not much of a cook, but this story is funny--and it makes me think even I might want to take a knife-handling class at Tom Douglas' Hot Stove Society. (Flinn has another book titled The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry.) The article also has five tips for fearless holiday cooking, so if you are in charge of the holiday feast and feel some trepidation, you'll feel better after reading it.

How to be a survivor

The sun is setting as we leave Sacramento. I am happy to see this day end, happy to be on an airplane heading home after this double gut-punch of a day. 

Morning started quietly, the golden California light spilling into our hotel room. We'd flown south to watch the Mariners play their last game of the season, and although we lost, we'd seen another MLB park, met up with some fellow fans, and enjoyed ourselves. 

With a few extra hours between our hotel checkout and flight, we planned to go to a movie. But first, breakfast. At home, I never have the TV on anytime close to breakfast and I don't watch cable news. On the road ... is there a hotel breakfast room anywhere in the United States without cable news? At least the sound was turned down as we saw grave-faced Las Vegas officials speak behind the headline at the bottom of the big screen: 58 dead and more than 500 hurt at a music festival. 

My first thought was of the woman we'd sat with on the flight south who was joining her brother and other family and friends in Las Vegas to celebrate his 50th birthday. My second thought was of the other violence at concerts and dance halls and movie theaters over the past decade, and how it's become almost routine to hear of madmen targeting people out for a good time. 

We stuck to our plan and went to the movie -- Stronger, about Jeff Bauman, the Boston Marathon bombing survivor who loses two legs and eventually gains a spine through his ordeal. Josh Ritter's yearning, determined "Homecoming" plays during the credits. I feel a little better. Then, as we leave the theater, Tom learns via an email on his phone that Tom Petty has died. Yet another dose of heartbreak -- and of course, I take it personally. 

Those of us who remain must wonder how many more senseless episodes like this are ahead of us. I say something to Tom about not feeling too sure how many more years of this world--as messed up as it is now--anyone might reasonably want to endure. 

And he says the perfect thing, the only thing. He says it's yet another reminder to be mindful and grateful every day. Of course it is. 

One of the most horrible things about Sunday's shooting was how it maimed 10 times as many people as it killed. These are the people who could reasonably question whether they'd rather be dead. Jeff Bauman had something to say to them via his Facebook page the other day: 

To those who lost friends and loved ones—I’m so sorry. I know there are no words that can bring comfort but please know that the world is behind you.

To the victims waking up in a hospital right now wondering how life will ever be the same... I know your pain. The most important advice I can give is to remember that healing your mind is just as important as healing your physical, visible injuries. It took me too many years and dark moments to realize that and it is so, so important. You will walk again. You will laugh again. You will dance again. You will live again.

Please consider making a gift to the Las Vegas Victims Fund. Support like this is what got me through-every little bit counts in the days ahead.

If you are reading this, you are a survivor. Maybe the key to living through times like these is, indeed, to give. Some will give money, others will share words or hugs or comfort. It all matters.

Southern California coast, October 2017. Photo by Julie Fanselow

A small nod to the elephant

I'm voting today. After several sessions spent filling out my ballot in the leisurely, considered manner afforded us here in enlightened Washington state (where we got our ballots in the mail two weeks ago), I'll walk to the drop box outside my library later this morning and officially exercise my franchise. Then as best I can, I hope and plan to tune out this election until sometime late Tuesday night, or maybe even Wednesday morning.

Isn't it ironic that the already-protracted, hyper-agitated 2016 election will fall on the latest possible date it can? (It needs to be on the Tuesday after the first Monday in November.) If I could, I'd be in New York City to see Hamilton, one of the only shows-that-must-go-on Tuesday since it's sold out (and seriously, what better way would there be to spend Election Night 2016?).

But that's not an option, so here are three ways I've been avoiding the elephant in the room. Perhaps you'd like to try them, too.

1) I've been limiting my media consumption, traditional and social alike. A little NPR in the morning goes a long way. Social media at night is an especially bad idea for restful sleep. Set a timer. Walk away.

2) I'm listening to music. Really listening. Music as meditation. Nine minutes and 23 seconds of So What is both soul balm and mental floss.



But if you need something more topical, try this on for size.



3) I'll watch a movie or two on Tuesday night. In 2012, I was one of about a half-dozen people who watched Argo at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland, CA, as an effective means of avoiding election returns for as long as possible. This year, I'd recommend Dr. Strange, which my sweetie and I saw on its opening day Friday. This marvelous mind-warp isn't any weirder than anything we've seen in the news this year, and it's far more more fun.

May the force be with us, America.

How may I help you?

The 2016 Seattle International Film Festival is winding down. Among several good films Tom and I caught this year was Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You. This new documentary had a big take-away for me beyond its entertaining look at Lear's genius as a pop culture provocateur. The a-ha moment came as Lear described why, in 1981, he pivoted from his focus on producing hit TV shows to founding a political advocacy organization, People for the American Way. As he tells filmmakers Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady, it was simply time to exercise some different muscles.

I can relate. As I near the midpoint of my 50s, I'm close to the age Lear was when he felt that pull. After three-plus decades of work in communications, I find myself wanting to stretch different muscles, all while I keep my writing and editing mojo working, too.

My customer service muscle is the main one I'm working like never before. When I decided to leave my magazine editing job, I timed the departure for late winter for one big reason: I wanted to work at the ballpark this season. I left my job on Feb. 26 and successfully interviewed with the team on Feb. 29 (leap year, baby!), and now I'm a seating host in one of the most beautiful yards in Major League Baseball.

But wait, it gets better: I work the sections right behind home plate and my home team's dugout. A fan said to me last night, "You must have a lot of seniority to get to work where you do." No, I told her; I'm actually a rookie this year, and I'm just lucky.

Yes, I do get to actually watch much of each game. Mainly, though, our job as seating hosts is to be sure that all our guests have a great experience. We lost last night, as we've done quite a bit at home (despite having one of the best road records in baseball). People were naturally disappointed, but as I said farewell to folks on their way up the aisle, most had smiles on their faces. Our star had just struck out with two men on base, true, but he'd clobbered two homers earlier in the game. We win some, we lose some, and there's never a truly awful day at the ballpark.

I got to tie a baby's shoe. I got to talk with a proud dad whose son is playing college ball. And while it's true that I'm making way, way less money than I did as an editor in chief, I'm having a blast. I like customer service so much, in fact, that I've taken a second part-time job at a bookstore that also sells travel gear. Nearly everyone who comes in is excited about a trip they have planned, so it's a fun, energetic place to be.

Of course, these jobs are also giving me a renewed appreciation for how hard people are working at or near the minimum wage, and how many people work multiple jobs to make ends meet. That's another post, perhaps for around Labor Day, but I'll put in a plug here for the book a college classmate of mine wrote about her detour from journalism into the floral department at Kroger. Best $6 you'll spend this year. 

I've also been stretching my inner artist muscle. I'll write about that next post, or the one after that. Meanwhile, thanks for reading, and keep seeing the bright side.

Make time for magic

At  the Cineplex Odeon theaters in Canada, they've been showing this short video before feature films. I caught it on a visit to Vancouver last weekend. Take 2 minutes to watch it. You might want to keep a few Kleenex handy.

Beautiful, yes? Thanks to everyone who made this little reminder to take time for things (and people) we love. Special thanks to vocalist Adaline for breathing new life into the classic Genesis song. (Here's a short "making of" clip.)

One of my life's greatest pleasures is going to the movies, and I especially love going with my sweetheart. Last year, we went to 42 movies together. I know because we kept track on a calendar. (Here's part of the page from August.) 

We like smart movies, movies that tell stories, movies where we recognize bits of our better selves, as well as the struggles and heartbreaks -- but mostly the joys -- of being alive.* And while watching movies at home is great, too, there's nothing like sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers and watching the magic unfold, larger than life. (I also love this clip for the Regal chain, even if it's selling Coke.) 

Here's to magic, and another great year at the movies.

*Some of my favorites from 2015, in alphabetical order: 

The Big Short, Brooklyn, Diary of a Teenage Girl, Dope, The End of the Tour, Grandma, I'll See You in My Dreams, Inside Out,  The Martian,  McFarland, Mistress America, Room, Seoul Searching, Seymour: An Introduction,  Shaun the Sheep, Spotlight, Steve Jobs

(We haven't seen The Force Awakens yet!)