Good evening, friends.
Last Wednesday, the day after I sent Issue 80, my panties were in a wad.
The story was good, but the writing and typos were not (in my opinion). I straight-up didn’t finish a sentence! and I tripped several times when re-reading it after it was too late to fix.
Unacceptable!
Or is it? While I try to make and ship a product you want to consume, I don’t claim anywhere on the product that it’s made without mistakes. Nothing here says perfection. Nothing about me or anything I write does. So if I approach it like art, it’s exactly as it’s supposed to be—perfectly imperfect.
This reminds me, I worked for a Bay Area company called Heath Ceramics for many years. They make ceramic tableware and tile, both with exquisite character. In describing the tile, I’d write, it’s perfectly imperfect—known for its imperfections as much as its beauty. Hand-made looks that way. Written-by-ear sounds that way. A mix of refined and unrefined is a compelling combination, if you can strike it.
For context, let me give you an idea of a typical Tuesday newsday at my house:
The kids are at school. I’m working for clients, writing this newsletter, or both. Emma gets a ride to sewing from friends after school. I pick up Owen at 3:45 pm at the car repair shop by school, after he and the entire middle school swarm the nearby Starbucks.
We go from Mill Valley to Corte Madera where he spends an hour at the gym jostling about with fellow teens with bellies full of Takis and frappuccinos (take that in).
I wait in the car, using my phone as a hot spot, making headway on the newsletter you’re reading now.
Owen’s exercise ends and we head back to Mill Valley to get his sister at sewing. It’s 5:00 pm and we most often go to Joe’s Taco Lounge for a very early dinner. We chat with the owner (Hi, Gabe!), gorge ourselves on chips and other Mexican delights, then stumble to the frozen yogurt shop across the street to top ourselves off. We’re home by 6:00 pm.
It’s homework time. Reading time. Pick up random-shit-that’s-lying-around-the-house time. Luckily, it’s not making-dinner time.
Depending on how the evening has gone—how many fights the children have had since 5:00 pm—I may or may not implement sibling time. “Sibling time” is 30 minutes of mandated time with your sibling, no electronics, and no parent interventions.
I came up with the idea when I thought I was fresh out of ideas. Separating them wasn’t working. Perhaps the opposite would—forcing them together. Remember this idea, dear reader, when something isn’t working, try the opposite. It will defy convention, and feel like a horrible idea, yet it just may turn out perfectly.
This worked (and continues to). When the referee-me rings the bell and calls “sibling time,” the kids step out from their corners and meet in the middle. Often they jump on the trampoline. Sometimes they talk football. Other times they watch TV (yes, the actual TV, on the wall). I know I said no electronics. But television is like pour-over coffee, it requires some patience. (I don’t drink pour-over, by the way.)
My kids are 5.5 years apart, different genders, and they bounce between two homes. None of these factors encourage them to get along. In fact, other than frustration over their “relationship,” nobody has shown them how to be harmonious. What a miss!
That’s what sibling time is about. Forced harmony. Surely there’s nothing wrong with that :) I find it perfectly imperfect, and apparently so do they.
While the children frolic, I make progress on the newsletter—but do I? Sort of. I bounce around the page. I start the first story. Soon, ADHD takes me to the next. Then, the next. Then the sign-off, your prescription. Then, back to each story like a bird pecking at seeds. Over and over, bit by bit. This is how I get it done. This is also how mistakes are made.
At roughly 8:00 pm, I start the bedtime stroll with Emma and it’s not until around 9:00 pm that I am free to sit back at my keyboard.
If I had my way, I’d be in bed by 8:30 pm. Ahhh, but I do have my way. We all do. If we want it, we make it happen. Alas, I guess I don’t want it that badly—yet.
While I write, I’ll ask myself, “Who cares?” “Is this too much about me and not enough about them?” I turn over sentences this way and that because there are hundreds of ways to say everything, I could finesse forever. How could this sound better? Which tense does this belong in? What does that word mean? Who cares?
Naturally, the word finesse deserves a link to the early-80s hair commercials–sometimes you need a little finesse, sometimes you need a lot. The jingles back then were priceless. If only I knew someone in advertising, I’d tell them to take us back to these times in future ads.
Around 10:00 pm, I text Stephen threatening myself with words like, “If I don’t finish in the next 15 minutes, I have to…” I never hit my deadline and I never follow through with my punishment. It’s perfect.
Finally, I slap a title on her, hit send, and sleep like an angel. Well, I do sleep like an angel, but the other parts aren’t quite that easy. You get the idea, and it’s bedtime anyway.
Warts and all, I thoroughly enjoy writing this newsletter. I hope you enjoy reading it.
Thank you for being here. 🙏
Falling Toward Grace
Stephen and I hiked to Alamere Falls in Point Reyes last Thursday to commemorate my mom’s passing two years ago and to deposit a portion of his father’s ashes. 13 miles of beauty, excellent company, and we made it out without poison oak.
Alamere Falls was on Stephen’s bucket list. Together we crossed it off. ✔️
Guess what? Out of the over 7,800 documented waterfalls in the world, there are only 31 known waterfalls that empty directly into an open ocean or sea (as opposed to a river, stream, inlet, or fjord).
Alamere Falls flows year-round.
Last stop—the Pacific Ocean.
Watch It
I’m a heavy stand-up comedy watcher. No joke, Baby J does not disappoint.
Check It
This is your tech neck reminder. Get up, and do some exercises. Teach your kids about tech neck. They won’t care now (in fact, they’ll hate you), but they’ll thank you later. Isn’t that parenting in a nutshell?
After dropping Owen off near school one morning, I watched every pedestrian at the crosswalk exacerbate their tech necks, in unison. Since I knew he was looking at his phone, I gave him a gentle reminder to check it before he wrecks it.
Yours truly, madly, deeply, Simone
This took me down a Joe's Taco Lounge website detour.
And I loved this:
"Joe was a non-practicing Jew (or a practicing non-Jew), Marni a devout Canadian, and Gabriel and Luciel were born in India, raised in a cult, and schooled on classic MTV, which of course depleted their attention spans toward anything ecclesiastical."
Also, Owen's "Ok" response made me giggle. So did his cat contact photo.
Ok
I didn’t even notice your typos and whatnot. So that’s something good, right?!