Schools returned to New York today and a family dynamic began: a great relief to have the children out of the house, immediately followed by a tenuous but persistent hunger to bring them home.
It never ceases to amaze me this contradictory impulse that one has regarding their children. These are anxious times, but it was like this before Covid: Parents, stressed out and late for work after leaving them, still, in spite of themselves, hanging on the bars of the school doors for one last look , one last time. consolation – OK, bye, bye, I love you, bye! – like I fired them on evacuation trains in the 40’s. It’s partly the sterile appearance: they look so small, lined up 6 feet apart on the playground, big bags like jetpacks, spinning in the bitter wind to walk single file toward the school buildings.
It’s partly to blame: at least one out of every three days, in our house, getting to school on time involves a staggering amount of yelling and crying.
And it’s partly what basic programming feels like. Wherever they are and whatever they do, these people inevitably take up most of my hard drive. I walk home through the freezing air, annoyed that they are only in school until 2 PM, wishing they had more time, as I missed them, before stopping to watch the news on my phone. Rudy Giuliani has Covid.
Images of Maggie Keenan, the world’s first recipient of the approved Covid vaccine, and William Shakespeare, the second, are on every cover in the US, generating rare feelings of national pride, especially in our ability not to accept names. things seriously. Look at you, Great Britain! The Splash in the New York Times! And not just Britain, but the NHS in particular. Suck yourself, private health.
There is something very moving in the story that these two defiant and ordinary old men are doing, as in the figure of May Parsons, the nurse who administered the vaccine and then addressed reporters with a combination of pride and instinctive deference to the team. However, to my surprise, it is the widest television images of the country’s vaccination program, with exterior shots of the great London hospitals, St Thomas’, Guy, that breaks me and I spend the day watching them and crying little ones (but not in the weird Matt Hancock way).
I’ve been dealing with negative feelings about Reese Witherspoon for a while. I have tried to overcome them. I have told myself that there is nothing to be gained by trying with this woman. She championed Cheryl Strayed’s book, Wild, which was great, and she made the movie, which was great, too, and while I’ve found most of what she’s done since very irritating, come on, it’s actually not that bad.
Yet it is. On social media this week, there she was, Witherspoon, posing in matching “Christmas sweaters” with her daughter, Ava, smirking at that “I know, I A.M For real Beautiful, right? “Form her as she announced the clothing brand that pissed off many teachers earlier this year.
It is improper that you do not like someone simply because of their style; On the other hand, he put Ava at a debutante ball in Paris and chooses many books for his book club with titles like Where the Light Shines in and The Memory of Rainfall and Maud Goodbody Is Have a Bad Day, in which women They are quirky with dark pasts but still find true love.
Every time Witherspoon makes a new choice, she posts a photo of herself lazing around in adult jumpsuit, looking at a book with a wry smile that says, ah yeah, all human life is here on these pages, plus cute. that I am. look at this monkey? And now with the sweaters.
I can’t take it anymore and text my friend Claudia. “I’m finally doing it. I’m going to say something about Witherspoon. “
“Oh thank goodness,” he responds. There I said it.
News of Nigella and the microwave reaches New York, to the bewilderment of many Americans. On its website, New York magazine publishes the story under the title “Nigella Lawson’s pronunciation of ‘microwave’ is damn strangeAnd for a second, I have my hopes that you’ve had some kind of exciting malfunction on TV.
But no, nothing of the kind has happened. On further investigation, it’s just the English habit of pronouncing words outlandishly and wrongly, like the All Bar One chain in its Italian form, Allbarony, and how I do every night when I call my kids to the table, or tahblah, as I call it, as my mother did before me. “Why do you call it that?” say my American children, blinking without a hint of a smile. “Because it’s so much fun and you have to get on board now or you won’t be my son.”
There are rats at my local Chipotle branch, which shouldn’t be news, of course there are rats at Chipotle, except one tried to bite a staff member and, like every other living thing in New York, has developed a taste . for avocado. Meanwhile the temperature drops to 29F (1.6C) and inadvertently I press play on a shorten of Don Jnr screaming on Fox News. It’s a chilling end to the week.
There aren’t many consolations, but one is Ted Lasso, Apple’s good-hearted television show, starring Jason Sudeikis as a goofy football coach hired to run a fictional premier league team. After bingeing from the first season, I find myself crying for the second time this week, over the sweetness and kindness of the show and Sudeikis’ moving performance. He’s a male Lesley Knope, Amy Poehler’s wide-eyed heroine in Parks and Rec, and as I run to find the kids, I’m briefly elated. There we all are, more than twenty parents at the door, waving, shouting, pushing each other to see them for the first time, like teenagers at the door of the stage. Relief is never less and impatience less fierce: they are where we left them, in one piece and ready to go home.
Digsmak is a news publisher with over 12 years of reporting experiance; and have published in many industry leading publications and news sites.