7 Distracted Takes

Last updated on: September 29, 2017 at 8:41 am by Anne Kennedy

7 Distracted Takes 2017-09-29T08:41:05-04:00 Anne Kennedy

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It’s Friday so that’s Takes.
One
Looks like they’re narrowing in on a diagnosis for my dad–a huge answer to prayer, though possibly a botheration that requires more than a pill to cope with, I’m not sure. He’s being very well looked after by some top physicians in their own fields, and his insurance company sent him a large bouquet of roses.

The miraculous thing for me, right now, is WhatsApp, which is free for me and for my mom and dad and allows voice calls and all manner of easy texting (with full emojis) and lends the whole crisis a perverse air of banal normality. Still, I’m anxious and require your prayers for my dad, for my mom who is daily driving across Nairobi in hideous traffic without good headlights, and for me to know when it’s the moment to leap on a plane so I can be the one to put on the kettle. Wisdom, that’s the word I’m reaching for–for doctors, for people in traffic, for me.

Two
Needless to say, I am extremely distracted no matter what I am doing. When I’m trying to read something aloud to the children, I look to the end of the line, keep saying the words, and glance at my phone, and then try to catch my eye back up to the line. It’s like this nice sort of sweeping, lilting of the eye across the page to the phone and back. And it makes for a curious cadence of reading. Longer, more pregnant pauses, a restful stillness where I try to find my place again.

Then, in some kind of fit, I took a twenty minute long quiz on Facebook to find out how smart I am depending on how many books I could fake that I have read. I managed to read out two chapters of Swallows and Amazons, punctuating each line with a lie that I had read Plato, anything by Maya Angelo, and Dostoevsky. I got a 91% for my efforts, and was informed that I must be in the process of getting a PhD.

Three
Also, I tried my hand at fish tacos. I wandered into my filthy kitchen, pushed some dishes out of the way, and desperately and fanatically hand made flour tortillas and a sort of green chili black bean concoction. Then I breaded and baked a whole lot of cod. All the time gazing desperately at my phone and cursing the darkness. It turned out pretty well, I think. Except that, basically, whenever I’m attempting Fexican (fake Mexican) I always ladle on so much cumin that it all ends up tasting the same no matter what. But when I don’t put in so much cumin, Matt comes in and adds more. I think I need to try some actual recipe that doesn’t call for cumin, and see if I can break out. Or maybe, actually, I will not worry about that right now. Maybe I will pause writing this to look at my phone again.

Four
To heighten the sense of trauma, whenever I’ve been wandering around in an anxious stupor “cleaning” or “cooking” I’ve been listening to Oliver Sacks’ The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, and Jeff Bottoms’ Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World. The brain is such a strange and wondrous organ. It is a nice contrasting experience for me to be listening to both these books while I stumble around, trying to fight against the various hormone baths of adrenaline and panic, trying to will myself to do various tasks I don’t want to do, trying to get a handle on the thing that’s right in front of me. The mysterious properties of memory, and learning, and the mind–we think we can be god, but we don’t even know a half of the depth and breadth of the human person.

Five
I’ve also been slowly rereading The Weight of Glory, which isn’t very long, instead of the two or three books I’m supposed to be quickly plug through. Which, if you’re scrolling past lots of articles and quotes about Hugh Hefner and the deep and troubled pool of sexual confusion that this culture is luxuriating in, might make you feel calmer. Writes Lewis, “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” Yes.

Six
I’m on the hunt for bad religious “art” for a little project I’m working on, in my “spare time.” I really would welcome all your worst links, especially stuff I could buy for cheap. To me, it feels pressing, but of course it’s not. Still, it’s weighing on my mind.

Seven
Go check out more Takes. There’s already lots up to read.

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September 28, 2017

Hugh Hefner, Polyamory, and the Mercy of God

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