mistakes and your mom
[Alt text: Vlisco wax print fabric, in various shades of purple, with repeating patterns of vintage Vespa scooters and motorcycles.]
Last week I wrote about volunteering at a pro se asylum workshop for Afghan refugees. I spent a couple days trying to imagine how all of that could have gone better. Like, how do you help a lot of people at once, without making too many demands on people — translators, volunteers, etc. — with limited time? To use barfy Silicon Valley language, how do you "scale" this work?
I'm not sure you can.
In hindsight, as much as I wanted to complete my client's application, that wasn't the goal of the workshop. It was to get things started, not finished. And "the Lutherans" know what they're doing; they've been doing this kind of work for many years. I put Lutherans in quotes because for all I know the people shushing us were regular immigration lawyers/specialists volunteering their time too.
Anyway, if DC area people want to get involved, here's a link (Lutheran Social Services). There aren't any workshops coming up, but there are lots of other ways you can help.
Several years ago, maybe before the pandemic started, I went to a store in the Bronx that sells Vlisco wax print fabric. The experience was not unlike walking into Tiki Oasis for the first time — so many bright colors and patterns that it takes your eyes more than a few minutes to figure out where to focus. I bought two giant pieces of fabric, thinking someday I would learn how to sew and make the world's coolest caftans.
That never happened.
I took one of the fabric pieces to a local independent framer guy a couple weeks ago. He prides himself on being able to frame anything, "even a dead body." We agreed that it made the most sense to fold the fabric in half, rather than cut it, so that if I ever decide I want to make the caftan, all I have to do is remove the staples.
Folded in half, the fabric is 9 feet long.
A few days later, my uncle drove me to pick it up, because his minivan is a lot longer than my little Honda. (And yet not long enough; we were "driving with the load not properly tied down," to quote from Say Anything.)
I was so excited about having a big pretty thing to hang on a big blank wall that I forgot to think about basic logistics. Specifically, how was I going to get this thing into my 11th floor apartment? I learned the hard way that it wouldn't fit in the freight elevator. And the way the stairwell is configured, tight and narrow with low ceilings, that wasn't gonna happen either.
My genius idea: Tying some rope around it and hauling it up from the outside, through a window. Never mind that this probably violates the terms of my lease because hello liability issue, that 11 floors below my apartment is a busy loading dock, that the guy who works the front desk would probably lose his shit when he saw all that on the security cameras, that I might bang every window below me as I hauled the thing up. My father told me this was a terrible idea. "Yes," I agreed. "And you're going to help me do it. We're both going to jail. It will be fun!"
Luckily, I went back to the stairwell, where I discovered most of my hand could fit in the gap between flights. Sliding the frame up and climbing all those stairs took two people, but we got it done, and a few days later someone helped me hang it:
[Alt text: A large piece of brightly colored floral-ish patterned fabric hanging on the wall over a bed with nightstands on either side. Nothing matches and IDGAF.]
Anyway, for friends who might visit, that's where you'd be sleeping.
Links
Lyz Lenz's piece about Republicans clutching their pearls over Lizzo playing James Madison's flute. (Substack)
Hanif Abdurraqib's tribute to Loretta Lynn. (NYT)
Inside Noah Shachtman’s raucous reinvention of Rolling Stone. In a previous life, I was Noah's band's merch person on a 3-week tour. It's amazing to see how far he's ascended, and how little he's changed. And in case he's got a Google alert set up for his name, I never signed an NDA. LOLOL just kidding. Sort of. (Vanity Fair)
I never thought an essay about constipation would be so enjoyable to read, though good god, this poor woman. (NYT)
Book recommendation: Michael Williams' Scenes From My Life. The writer did a great job keeping it in Williams' voice (or at least what I imagine was his voice). (Publisher's site)
Ball Boy, a new candle with notes of "freshly uncanned tennis balls, cotton sweatbands, and cucumber sandwiches." (Prince)
Goodwill is finally going online. (NPR)
A couple days ago a chiropractor used this thing on my neck and shoulders and it was ABSOLUTE BLISS. If it was in stock I'd buy it and use it on my hamstrings. (Amazon)
I listened to some Twitter Spaces thing where I learned about #Lit16, an effort by some Big Writing Names to bring more attention to other writers they think we should read. Library queue has been filled! I also learned that some white people don't know how to pronounce W.E.B. DuBois' last name. (Twitter)
One of my favorite places, Canned Ham Vintage in Sarasota, FL, got hit hard by the hurricane. I think the ceiling fell in, but they managed to save a lot of their inventory. They could use some support right now, so if you're shopping for vintage clothes, maybe have a look? (Store site)
Meta mother
Please indulge me in a little experiment, especially if your relationship with your mother is or was a bit fraught, maddening, frustrating, or otherwise complicated. Send me a story about her. Just a few sentences, like "this one time my mom did XYZ." I want to take everyone's stories and put them all into one big story, as if it's all about the same mother. I have no idea what this will end up looking like, but since I got the idea, I can't stop thinking about it. You can reply to this email, and if you use names, I will change them and keep everything totally anonymous.
