Jane’s Calamity

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately: If the first half of life is largely about accumulating things—experiences, skills, relationships, degrees, opinions, tattoos, etc.—then the second half of life is about learning to let go. I mean, yes, you can still also accumulate things. I am still enthusiastically accumulating experiences and relationships, along with wisdom (maybe?), wrinkles (definitely), and the spoils of my mother’s “Swedish Death Cleaning” as she calls it, to my dismay.

And other terrific advice from the 70s, courtesy of my grandmother I write to you in the midst of a clear-liquids-only fast for a certain, delightful procedure that those of us of a certain age and/or with a family history of colon cancer must undergo every few years. Needless to say, I’m really freaking hungry.

I have a habit of using body-of-water metaphors when writing about my life: The crappy little boat trip of my daughter’s cancer. The river of the first 50 years of my life versus the lake of now. (A lake that occasionally goes rogue.) But I’m going to spare you the aquatic imagery this time, as it’s been raining for three days straight. Also: I’ve got a new, much dryer image that I’m digging at the moment—namely the final shot from Hal Ashby’s 1971 cult classic Harold and Maude.

This isn’t what I had planned to post today; I have a whole other post mostly written, about AI and how I’m thinking about and making choices around it lately. It includes a fun account of my brief, co-dependent relationship with my Google Health coach. (He’s not the brightest, but was nonetheless a compelling figure. We had fun.

I am not feeling well at the moment — possibly a virus, possibly heat exhaustion triggered by an ill-advised climbing session in an extremely hot, humid gym, possibly a physical manifestation of low-grade existential malaise. Maybe a 48-hour tumor? The possibilities are endless! But while my limbs are listless, my heart is full: We’ve got both of our kiddos home at the same time again for a few weeks before they go back to college, Clio having recently returned from 6 weeks in Argentina.

There was an opinion piece in The New York Times last week titled “Ladies, We’re Entering our Crone Era. It’s About Time.” I hoped maybe it would be about embracing aging and, you know, normalizing and celebrating looking like this: Instead of this: But as it turned out, the piece was about how it’s great that today’s 40- and 50-something women are demanding help with perimenopause / menopause symptoms, informing each other about remedies and treatments, etc. etc.

It’s so hard to sit on good news for weeks (or longer!) but I wanted to make sure everything was 100% certain before I started shouting it from the mountaintops and the internets. (Mostly the internets.) And now I can: I sold my new novel! Woohoooo! (Apologies to those of you who follow me on the ‘gram and the ‘book or the …. ‘In (?) who already know this.) Trying to find a publisher (sadly, my previous one no longer exists) is a miserable experience.

On Sunday, I saw my 19-year-old daughter Clio off to Argentina for six weeks at a language study program. «Insert tiny sob here» I’ve LOVED having both her and her twin sibling back with us for the past month-ish, and relished the temporary return to what feels normal not “new normal”(i.e. a lake that sometimes goes rogue). More noise, more voices, more shoes. More groceries and dishes, too, but whatever. At the same time, I am thrilled for Clio, and extremely proud.

Yesterday I did something very weird and uncharacteristic: I screamed into the bushes in the park by the pond in the center of town. Not a high-pitched, horror-movie scream. A yell, I guess you’d call it. A gravely roar. It was brief, but very loud. I didn’t hold back. (Not easy for me!) I’d considered waiting until I got home to do it, so as not to disturb / confuse / scare the people or wildlife (squirrels, Canada geese, ducks, etc.) around me.

Observations from our huge—and hugely satisfying—spring cleanout. I’m about to head off to France for a spell and inflict my barely B2 French upon its unsuspecting residents. But I wanted to get a quick post in under le wire about what the Mister and I have been up to over the past week: a veritable maelstrom of purging and de-cluttering. (He has led the charge, God bless him.) We’ve been primarily working on the basement, with little forays into the attic and garage as well.