Mindfulness practice is all the rage these days. You've probably heard of the benefits of seated meditation, yoga, and Qigong. But have you tried making dumplings? Nowhere to be, nothing to do— just delicious filling, doughy wrappers, and you.
In two weeks, my band will play our first show since the cancellation of SXSW. A once ordinary experience will be an event as strange and surreal as my new quarantine life felt when it first began. I'll get to rouge my lips and wing my eye-liner out to absurd heights that would make Amy Winehouse proud. I'll get to trade in my oversized sweatshirt for a hot pink vinyl dress and shake what my momma gave me. I'll get to create real music, with real people, in real-time, for the first time in months.
As I'm writing this, tomorrow is Mother's Day. I'm fully prepared to give my mother the sanguine "Norman Rockwell" style holiday that every mother dreams of. We'll walk to her favorite restaurant, grab takeout, and have a picnic in the park. I'll hand her the crochet doll I've been delicately crafting since December. Her grandmother taught her to crochet, and then my mother taught me to crochet, and now she holds in her hands a hand-crafted effigy of this deep maternal bond.
It's a summer evening in Lisbon. The warm and sticky ocean breeze brushes my blushing cheeks as as the setting sun spills out from behind the horizon like rosé champagne. From across the table, my date chuckles at a witty retort of mine and the sound of his laughter coats my heart like smooth honey. We haven't seen each other in years, but with chemistry like ours, it hardly feels that way. We swap stories of career, adventure, and romance. The gleam in his eye makes my smitten brain stutter, but I hide it with a saucy smile and twirl my blonde locks between my fingers before sweeping them gently behind my ear.
Recorded in her house, Fiona Apple's "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" is the paragon of quarantine soundtracks. It places percussive pots and pans at the forefront of its soundscape and features backing vocals from her dogs. It's peppered by Apple singing candidly to herself as if washing dishes or folding laundry. But it's not a record about feeling trapped. It's about the empowering journey of liberating ourselves from our own mental prisons.
Ever have one of those moments when your world starts to shake and suddenly you feel the world spinning beneath your feet and remember that we’re all just milling about on a rock that’s hurtling through space at 67,000 mph? And you're struck by the infinite complexity of the world and feel your consciousness dissolve into the cacophany of the universe? And the world goes black as you stare into the abyss and it stares back at you with the haunting reminder that nothing matters?