Last night was the first real paint-the-ground-white snow.  I always forget how the sky turns lavender on these nights.  The little flakes settle on my tongue when I step outside, clusters dance in the wash of streetlamps, everything gets hushed, even the sirens, even the dogs barking, even the noisy neighbors upstairs who seem to know precisely the moment I begin to fall asleep and start slamming drawers shut.  But not on the night of first snow.

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Recently added to the ever-growing “books-I-am-currently-reading” list:

Zulieka Dobson. Max Beerbohm
In the Skin of a Lion. Michael Ondaatje

In other news/on other notes…

I’m starting to see the word “sustainability” everywhere. I see it, of course, in the work I’m doing for my thesis (it being the theme that’s rather tenuously, and all by itself, holding my essays together)–but not necessarily in the ways I always expect. Initially this was going to be a project, you see, on “sustainable energy”–which meant, I thought, things like solar power, wind power, turning unused lights off, using public transportation to get places.

And in fact it does mean all this. But the thing is–the thing I didn’t realize, initially–is that it means quite a whole lot more. I pictured the word a little like an umbrella (a rainbow-colored one, for some reason), and at the center, huddled round the handle, are industries like “energy”, “power”, “transportation”, and moving out toward the edges of the umbrella are all the other realms that “sustainability” touches. But that may not be the most apt image, because actually, while sustainability means more than I thought, it is also something that can be on a much smaller scale than I thought possible.

Here’s how: I noticed it when I started writing a piece about making lunch for some friends. Not the stuff of a John Grisham thriller (thank Christ). But frankly, I’m more likely to salivate over good food writing than good crime writing any day. And about halfway through the piece, I started to see that I wasn’t writing about sustainability in any grand sense at all: I was writing about something very simple, very real, and very bloody basic.

I was writing about sustaining myself.

I was writing about sustaining myself with food (which is a fundamental human need); but in a way such that my footprint on the environment was as small as possible. What I found out is that eating in a conscious way (making a meal for friends with as many locally-produced goods as possible, as just one example) is more filling than eating any other way: it sustains not just the body, but the soul, the spirit, the bit-of-you-that-wants-to-be-good, the bit of you that craves company and friendship and story (anonymous strawberries from the bowels of Tesco versus the British-grown ones that the cheery grocer hands you, etc.). E.B. White has a wonderful description of this–”peas without pageantry”, he calls those anonymous things.

So “sustainability”, in the sense that I’m writing on it, is about energy sustainability, body sustainability, spirit sustainability. I was in a meeting at work today, however, and someone said the word in a totally different context. My ears perked up like a horse who hears his hay: there is, you see, the issue is of sustainability in the healthcare industry; i.e., on its current track, America cannot sustain her healthcare system. I was listening to a debate on the issue recently, and I’ll tell you what: every single major candidate for president agrees. We’re on an unsustainable track.

I don’t know what the answer here is, but I do know that sustainability is something that extends far beyond the realm of energy. Fundamentally, we humans need to sustain ourselves, and we’re going to have to stop stretching so far, spreading ourselves so thin, and fold inward, relax heavy shoulders, breathe, think. And look for inspiration in everything. All of this is interrelated: sustainable energy (reduce fossil fuel use by buying locally grown produce); sustainable eating (enjoy meals made with foods that are fundamentally fresher, because they’ve had so few miles to travel); sustainable living (perhaps–enter into a generally healthier lifestyle by consuming fresher goods that have been grown without harmful chemicals; reduce pollution in the air by reducing harmful emissions; reduce the need for quite so much healthcare).

This doesn’t solve everything–and it’s hopelessly idealistic, can you tell I’m young?–but at least, for the sake of my thesis, it’s pretty nicely packaged…

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Have been flipping through photographs in my effort NOT to work on my thesis this weekend (goodness knows I have PLENTY of time………..right?). Came across a particularly delightful series taken by a friend…having put them together, no wonder it takes us three hours to cook a dinner and at least six to eat it. Consequently, no wonder we go through at least 10 bottles of wine. And on top of that…we hardly even all fit into the kitchen!

Makes me rather homesick, in a weird way. It’s very cold in my apartment; I would love to have lots of people and hot food on the table and wine being spilled. What I have at the moment is a pile of blankets on the floor and the hum of the refrigerator which will, I suspect, drive me BATTY by the end of this term.

Today was one of those AUTUMN DAYS: clear as anything, cold, crisp, leaves falling from trees. It was hard not to smile (stupidly, really) the entire day. I went for a long walk, ostensibly doing errands but really just finding excuses to a) not work on my thesis and b) stay outside. Couldn’t even bring myself to run because it would seem a shame to go quickly past such a day: I wanted to linger on streetcorners and squint up at the skyline. On such days, it is easy to be captivated by Boston’s charm. It’s a city that looks bleak and rundown through a rainy lens, but positively sparkles on a clear day.

Went to the vintage shop down the road (and found myself wondering, as I always do, how they can pay rent if they’re only open two days a week) where I toyed with the idea of buying myself a pair of 1950s vintage black pumps. They were ten dollars and fit like a GLOVE, but ultimately I told the woman I couldn’t justify such a purchase. But now I find myself wondering if they shall still be there next weekend, and if so, perhaps I can summon up some sort of justification.

Yes, it was THAT kind of day. Also grocery shopping day, which is always, in my view, a good day.

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It’s a strange day here. Hot, raining, raining, raining. The air is so thick with rain that it’s hard to breathe. Even when it stopped pouring for a few hours earlier I could feel the moisture gathering in my lungs. It’s a relief to step inside, where it’s dry, and cool, and the air feels fresh (ish).

Have discovered that the best thing to do when I start feeling really, deeply mopey is to get myself up off the floor (quite literally: this has become my favorite curl-up-and-read/feel-sorry-for-myself spot…a patch of rug near the wall where I’ve set up a few blankets), do some dishes, and cook myself some food. It’s a struggle, but it helps. I very nearly crawled straight upstairs to bed at about 8 PM, but something in me said: no, that’s not going to help, and you know, it wouldn’t have. Soup and asparagus, however, and all my spoons and forks drying in the rack, have cheered me greatly.

I love hearing the rain beating down outside. Especially when I can sit and read with a cup of tea. Which I shall be making forthwith.

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Was Auden channeling Chesterton?

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”

G. K. Chesterton (1874 – 1936)

“A poet’s hope: to be,
like some valley cheese,
local, but prized elsewhere.”

W. H. Auden (1907 – 1973)

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