Observables #36

on croquettes, writing to save ourselves and hugging our babies

The kids staring at the Spanish food. The tomato toast with a hint of sea salt was a hit. Then they brought us a croquette. A croquette, my friends, is a fried egg-shaped ball with shredded chicken inside. Topped with a slice of salami, topped with a dollop of some kind of bright green relish. Then the fried ball is placed on a blob of olive tapenade. Then, in our case, it is served to a child.

In solidarity with the children, we ordered no wine. So the jalapeño limey atún (tuna) was eaten sans wine. So was the octopus. That’s fine. The biker gang that sat down beside us and laughed real loud—also fine. Everything is fine. Especially the enormous churro at the end. The waiter was a little dour when he asked us if the two churros he had recommended were the “perfect amount.” Elsie, the literalist among us, shook her head adamantly. No, clearly not. She would have liked one all for herself. At which point he walked away in a small huff. His normal ability to read the room was no match for an Elsie.

Yevgenia Beloruset's war journal. She is considered “one of the greatest documentarians of Russia’s war against Ukraine since 2014, winning the International Literature Prize for her work. Her diary provides the news from a different vantage.”

Melissa Febos’ Body Work, a memoir that reminded me why I am so attracted to the form. It’s writing to make sense of our lives. Writing for our own survival. I had never heard it quite like this: “Writing is hard. It is not the most apparently useful kind of work to do in the world. Most of us are not out here saving any lives but our own.”

Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads, which is deliciously somber and fantastical.

Rebecca Davey @BeccaDavey

“If you wrung out any woman’s body, you would discover it was soaked in shame.” From @lethal_heroine’s When We Lost Our Heads.

The hum of the coffee shop. This is my first time working at a coffee shop since things started opening up. I chose the coffee shop down the street from my house because it’s one of the few open on a Tuesday where you can sit inside. (The Junction is confusing like that). It also holds so many comforting memories. Although, as it turned out, a few too many memories. I was so distracted by all the memories, it was almost unbearable. A dad came in with his 3-year-old and I felt like I was staring at my girls. First, they had to park the stroller (yes), then go to the bathroom (of course), then finally order the muffin. I remember all those steps. I wanted to scoop up the little girl and have a chat about her raspberry muffin and see if she liked the zipper on her coat.

The dad told her to be quiet at one point because there were people (like me) working. I considered getting up on my chair and shouting that none of the work any of us is doing matters. What matters is that the two of you go ENJOY THAT MUFFIN. Every crumb. Go find joy. Go now. 

I want my little girls back these days, to watch them open a muffin, to hold them on the toilet, to cradle their heads. Maybe it’s adjusting (again) to post-pandemic life and watching the pictures emerging out of Ukraine, triggering all the other atrocities in the world that have gotten far less attention but continue. All this pain makes me want to hug my babies.

This week on Sister On! Nat and I talk to Dr. Michelle May about eating consciously versus dieting. I asked her if it was possible to eat tacos intentionally. She says yes! There is hope!

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