crows have eyes 2
on neighbors, crow and human
May is my birthday month đ and as a special present (omg SO sweet of you to think of me!), I am asking for you to please take <5 minutes and donate $5+ to families trying desperately to evacuate Gaza through Operation Olive Branch. If scrolling is too overwhelming, I randomly selected a few GoFundMes that are linked directly here, here, and here. Every contribution, no matter how small, counts. đ Thank you friends.
Free Palestine.
Iâm not much for gardening, but Iâm becoming more much the older I get. I masochistically savor the manual labor and the satisfaction of a job well done, the turned soil and full compost bin of weeds reflected in aching muscles and dirt streaks on my face. As far as chores go, itâs one of the more enjoyable ones - itâs outside in good weather, good smells, potential treasure to find amongst the loamy soil, etc; but itâs still a chore, so I resent it a little, and often procrastinate it, until I canât stand to look at the overgrown beds anymore and spend an entire evening ripping out weeds until the sun sets.
I am lucky enough to rent in a neighborhood I love, walkable and bikeable and on major transit routes. I can walk 10 minutes down the hill to get vegan ice cream in a homemade waffle cone, which feels like a childhood dream come true, one I didnât even consider possible because it seemed too utopian. Best of all, we are surrounded by good neighbors. Neighbors that host a block party and manage a listserv and let each other know when they have a package or left a car window rolled down. I am reminded of this especially each spring, when I hit my limit and suit up for a garden manic episode in overalls and gloves, usually with earbuds in hand(ears?) to make progress with my current Libby audiobook (because why not better myself while I do a chore?); but then end up putting them away, because I keep having lovely conversations with passersby. Literally, people passing by, on the sidewalk as I kneel in the dirt, vigorously raking back the grass that takes over the blueberry patch. Kids are older than I remember them from early fall, new dogs are added into the mix. We ask how itâs going (or howzit goin), remark on the weather, the yard. I donât know everyoneâs names, but itâs okay, we are all forgiving about having chatted 10+ times and still squinting at each other as we reach for the right words, because life, pandemic, etc. It lessens the chore-ness of gardening; and it sounds cheesy, but it really does fill my cup.
One night last week, around the time of night where the robin in our backyard starts warbling, we were out front weeding, and we noticed a crow getting close, picking grubs out of the beds, then hopping away to enjoy their sneaky snack. Remembering that crows can recall specific faces and how you treated them, and also maybe hoping to receive a shiny gift, I grabbed the next grub I found, showed it to the crow (now perched up on the utility wires), and placed it on the street. THE CROW FLEW DOWN IMMEDIATELY AND ATE THE GRUB. My partner and I looked at each other in shock and awe and I had one of those I-love-being-alive moments. And then I spent the next 24 hours thinking about how birds and gardening were things I had no time or patience for in my 20s, and how glad I am, that I outgrew that.
good things on the internet
Lyz Lenz continuing last issueâs conversation on social media ick, with a focus on âthe enshittification of dating appsâ đ©
Emily Gould on the secret shame of smoking moms (so much good stuff to unpack here) đŹ
Volcanic lightning đ€Ż
How something called the chicken tax has led to larger cars & less safe roads đ
currently reading
Mythos by Stephen Fry: A delightful romp through Greek mythology guided by Fryâs passionate storytelling and dry wit.
Celine Nguyen on Agnes Callard & aspiration:
âItâs so embarrassing to try and be someone youâre not. It makes you a tryhard, a poseur, a pseud. The problem, of course, is that when you aspire to be better than you are, thereâs no other way to do it except by starting. Youâre always faking it at the start, always doing things badly. Youâre pretending to appreciate things that you can only dimly discern the value of. Youâre not a writer yet, youâre not even someone with a legitimate writing practice, youâre just someone returning over and over to that Ira Glass quote about taste, telling yourself that itâs okay to be terrible at writing, as long as you keep on tryingâ
Anne Helen Petersen on perfectionist cleaning: This honestly healed a bit of my cleaning anxiety.
âThe equation of cleanliness with morality solidifies existing societal hierarchies and creates so much unnecessary shame. Just because cleaning âcomes naturallyâ or âreduces anxietyâ for you doesnât mean it works the same for other people â and âtrying harderâ wonât change that. The cult of perfectionism is a distraction. It keeps us in constant, passive competition, constantly striving (or in constant shame) instead of working towards change or justice.â
this weekâs jam
This is indeed what I would dance to if I found myself in palace gardens at 4 AM.
 photo of my cats
