Rituals

Sometimes to get through, we just ... continue.

We have been absent. I’m sorry about that. I don’t have much in the way of explanation except that the election happened, and the ramifications have freaked me so far out that it became impossible to do something creative or new. It’s been my “turn” on the Stack, and Oma reports that she’s fine with the dormant period. Worry is such an unproductive weight.

Analog Mix is in part about staying grounded in the physical world in a time of absolutely massive changes, which have taken place largely in the Nothingsphere. So I suppose it’s on brand that, to get through these weeks, I’ve been leaning on rituals I have already built, that carry me on the current of muscle memory. I was thinking this would be helpful to share. So around the circle we go, using that sweet gravitational pull of what has sustained us before and will, fingers effing crossed, continue to do so.

Such as getting this burrito from Fernando’s, which is so structurally sound that it stands on its own.

I suspect I’ll continue leaning on ritual into the new year, when we will wake to the daily certainty that our nation is owned and operated by the wealthiest among us, whose best interest is not often the health and welfare of the people. Our mix of joyful, analog grounding tactics may seem small and trivial in the face of this. But they remind us that despite the 1s and 0s of the tech bacchanalia, we are alive, and our daily motions and physical interactions with one another are more real than anything else.

Such as visiting the local library pick-up window; its hours expanded during COVID, which I count among the few blessings of that time. The window is filled with plants and populated by a helpful person who likes to chat before handing me a stack of good books, like this one. Plus, when necessary, dog biscuits.

So anyway, I’m trying to find these ways to walk forward despite self-doubt, which extends to a whole universe of doubt, and crosses paths with my concern that experiencing fun and joy will continue to be lacking. Not to be grim, but to be analog is also to be real. Today, the ultra-regular pulls me forward, especially while there is no sun in the winter sky. I’m planning a meal, and even though I don’t necessarily need to, I’ll go to my favorite market to pick up some nice bread made by bakers on the south side, and visit with my friend Nevres who’s in charge of the wine section.

The next ritual on the agenda, maybe tomorrow, is baking something. I have to pick simple bakes that seem to be foolproof; my attention tends to wander and sometimes I change ingredients based on what’s in the fridge. So I need a recipe that can handle being deeply messed with and still it turns out okay—helpful information for my brain in this current moment, and possibly delusional, but at least there’s dessert at the end. We’re told not to eat our feelings; this is terrible advice.

Such as this apple cake, double the apples. The recipe is easy, with basic ingredients, but it tastes so good with ginger tea. And yes, this is a bad picture. Reminder: You don’t pay for our Substack.

More rituals are tied to the cake: I will probably share it with my neighbor, Nancy, who was one of the first to collect her holiday luminaries. I help with this Christmas Eve ritual, in which everyone in the neighborhood lines their driveway with candles in white paper bags weighted down with sand. It sounds corny, but I’m here to tell you, it’s great. Neighbors light for neighbors who for any reason at all can’t do it that year. People drive and walk the streets to see it. The vibe is simple but hopeful.

But somebody’s got to organize all those candles and bags and the payment for same. Which means you have a lot of paper bags and candles sitting around your front door in a generally chaotic time of year (or Carolyn does, my best neighbor and partner in crime in this endeavor). It’s also a dip in the ole bank account because the volunteers have to pay the broader neighborhood HQ for each street’s candles and bags. This is all an excellent exercise in “I have to keep moving forward because the Stubbs still owe me $9.” My cinematography is lacking, but hark anyway:

In this way we just keep keeping on. Things are tough as hell for many people here in the middle. There’s this low-energy miasma similar to dawn fog, but more foreboding, and one has the urge to burn it off, as naturally happens over time. And you know that starting fires seems to be a theme.

Such as here. We tracked down this wood stove with my dad in Decorah, Iowa, a long time ago. Crack the sticks, pile in teepee formation, add the little starter brick. It lights quickly and puts out more heat than the guy from Gladiator II, who frankly was robbed of People’s Sexiest Man Alive. Pictured here with one of the aforementioned library biscuit eaters.

Once you notice these tactile repetitive motions, a kind of friction begins to happen, which can make heat, and a little energy. This is my hope anyway. Assembling a cup of coffee. Doing the easiest yoga possible without being accused of just stretching (with this app, which is free, and it’s the best thing). Clicking on the reading light. The regular Wednesday phone call with college friends. Adding a dollop of peanut butter to the dog food.

One thing after another.

Relying on memory.

Letting the mind rest.

Which feels like the right thing to do. For now.