I’m having a hard time writing today’s blog post because I really want to write about Judaism, about how Parker has become so invested in it and interested in converting, how my dad would love this development, how it feels so unfair that this is just one more thing in my life that I can’t share with him — but I am working on putting all of those thoughts into a “formal essay” that I can hopefully sell to a publication for money and prestige (or literally just one of the two of those things, lol) so I don’t want to write about it too much here and “waste the material,” which is such a silly thing to say, but also feels somehow true. I always tell my writing students there’s no way to “waste” your material because writers are people with obsessions and writing about something over and over again isn’t a problem, because the act of writing into an obsession is art itself and allows you to discover new things.
And yet, I find myself holding back on this particular subject, wondering what else I can write about as Parker listens to Hebrew prayers on the couch next to me, preparing for the Tu B’Shvat seder she’s hosting for our tiny family this evening, something I, as a person born Jewish, have never done in my entire life. Why am I not taking the advice I give to my students? What am I scared will happen if I write about this subject once, then again, then again, then again? Am I not, now, always writing about my dad?
Parker’s mom is visiting this weekend, and she told me she likes reading my blog because it feels like hanging out with us, which I liked.
What would you be doing if you hung out with us this weekend, you might ask. The answer is: Eating a lot of really delicious homemade food, playing many games of Wingspan, discussing how cute Zucchini is, attending synagogue, and going on a couple of neighborhood walks. It’s really fun to witness Parker and her mom together, because it allows me to witness a mother/daughter relationship that I’m not a part of, which is fascinating in the way that learning that Our Way Of Doing Things Is Not The Only Way always is, and also because I get to see how Parker Became The Way She Is. “I didn’t do that,” her mom joked when I said that, “she just came out the womb this way,” and we all laughed, but I don’t think that’s true. It’s so clear to me the ways in which her mom clearly taught her how to be decisive, how to be practical, how to be confident, how to be.
I never thought of myself as particular until I started living with Parker. I don’t know why that word never came up as a way to self-describe — possibly no truer description has ever existed for me, lol — but it is only in seeing myself compared to my future wife that it’s become obvious. Last night we made pizza and I suggested we freeze the rest of the tomato sauce, because otherwise it would go bad before we next had Pizza Night.
“Do I just put the jar in the freezer?” Parker asked.
“NO!” I exclaimed, surprising all three of us with my intensity. “The glass jar might crack in the freezer,” I explained, which did happen fairly recently with some matzo ball soup I was too lazy to move from a glass jar to a plastic tub before freezing, although considering the pizza sauce jar was only half full I knew that likelihood in this scenario was almost zero.
“I always just put it in the freezer in the glass jar,” Parker’s mom said very reasonably.
“I think I’ll just throw it out,” Parker said, also very reasonably. “There’s like, one dollar worth of sauce left in there.”
Again, I surprised all of us with my passion: “NO! Just leave it on the counter babe. I’ll put it in a plastic container.”
She shrugged, and I decanted the sauce, and now it’s chilling in our freezer in a plastic container that used to contain slices of deli turkey with a piece of masking tape on top that reads “PIZZA SAUCE, FROZEN ON 2/4/23,” and the three of us ate our perfect pizzas and played another round of Wingspan and I don’t think either of them gave it any more thought, and now here I am ruminating about it and writing about it, which I guess kind of underlines the point of… everything!
Why am I like this? Why am I obsessed with doing things My Way? Why am I a perfectionist to the point that it often prohibits me from getting things done because if I can’t do it exactly then I don’t want to do it at all?
Parker is relaxed about it (lol, “why am I fixated on this difference between the two of us?” could be the next logical question in the series, or maybe even, “why do I always want to write down the narration that occurs in my busy brain?!?!!”), says we balance each other out. And maybe that’s true. She is so good at doing the damn thing. She is not particular. She is laid back. It’s rubbed off on me a bit. Maybe my particularities have rubbed off on her a bit, too. Even if they haven’t, she certainly accepts them. The Way I Am does not bother Parker; more often than not, she’s actually charmed by it. My old therapist used to say, when I categorized being overly anxious as a solely negative thing, “you just vibrate at a higher frequency, and that’s okay.” What if I allowed How I Am to be… okay? Much to think about.
It’s interesting to see myself through the mirror of a partner. I had a writing teacher once say we all spend our lives on this earth desperately trying to see ourselves — through mirrors, photos, etc — and we never quite manage it. Writing is one more tool toward this goal, she surmised. Those of us who write (especially nonfiction) are doing so in service of trying to see ourselves. Living with a partner, perhaps, is another way to attempt this.
So what else?
Tomorrow I have jury duty for the very first time. I’ve been taking a memoir workshop with Michelle Tea (!!!) and reading other people’s work from the perspective of a student rather than a teacher is so fun. The workshop I’m teaching starts in one and a half weeks and I can’t wait (there are just a couple more spots in it, so if you’ve been wanting to sign up, now is the time!). I’ve been reading a lot — White Girls by Hilton Als, How We Fight For Our Lives by Saeed Jones, After Delores by Sarah Schulman, Syllabus by Lynda Barry — and I’ve been listening to an audiobook successfully for the first time in my whole life — Another Country, by James Baldwin — and I even watched a little bit of TV last week — MILF Manor, which you must watch immediately! Things feel very boring to be honest, which as I noted last week, is objectively a good thing, but makes for a somewhat dry Sunday blog post and for that I apologize.
Maybe after jury duty I’ll have some wild story to report back next week. But with any luck they’ll just let me go after a few hours and my days will continue apace. I’ll let you know if I get that essay about Judaism and Parker and my dad and The Things We Lose Again And Again After A Loved One Dies written and published.
In the meanwhile, I think you should make these brown butter salted chocolate chip cookies. This has been my favorite cookie recipe for years now — probably like, a literal decade? — and if you freeze a batch in pre-rolled balls, you can stick just a few in the oven at a time for 16 minutes and have fresh baked perfect cookies for multiple days in a row, all while impressing your future mother-in-law! You’re welcome.
Writing & Reading Updates:
If you want to take writing classes with me this winter/spring, you can still sign up — there are just a couple of spots left in my Creative Nonfiction Workshop and there are some spots available in my Instant Feedback Workshop, too!
AWP is right around the corner and I’ve decided to go! It’s definitely last minute but if you need someone to fill in on your panel or perform at your reading, I’m interested! I’d also love to meet up with fellow writers in Seattle at offsite events, so tell me if you’re gonna be there and let’s make plans.