Rachel 1 month ago: "[May] is already full of plans: spending Mother's Day weekend with my family to celebrate my brother's college graduation, defending my thesis proposal, getting together with my childhood best friends over Memorial Day weekend, spending my last few weeks with my precious ninth graders, and furiously writing every Saturday I have free."
Rachel this month: "Why did I say that?"
I said it, of course, because I had plans, and I was excited for my plans. Some of them worked out as expected. I did indeed defend––and pass––my thesis proposal. I did have a great ending to the school year with my ninth graders, although I have yet to finish all my grading. I did spend Mother's Day weekend with my family. But the month didn't look like I thought it was going to.
During dinner on the evening of Monday, May 3rd, I missed a call from my dad. When I called him back, he told me the news: my papa had died. I hated hearing it, and I hate writing it now. This is the first time someone close to me has died, and I am learning all kinds of things about death I didn't know and didn't want to learn. I don't believe those lessons ought to be processed in this space at this point, which is why I haven't written about the funeral or the burial or who my papa was to me or any of those things. But here is one thing I have learned: death has a way of making life seem insignificant.
I look at the oranges still in my produce drawer, which I initially purchased to make a birthday cake for my mother. I look at my hastily rearranged teaching plan from the second week of May. I look at my family's group chat, which had been filled with chatter about who would host our Mother's Day lunch and who would bring what, now clogged with messages about funeral arrangements and time off work. I look at my cheery words from just a month ago, and I think about how trite and petty it all seems now. You know not what a day may bring forth, so what makes you think you know what a month holds for you?
I wish I had the mental and emotional capacity to develop this idea. I could wrap it in a metaphor to make it presentable or turn it into a neat little takeaway, but I can't quite think of what that would be. Life is sad sometimes––not because it is ugly, but because its beauties are so transient. Our eternal souls long for an eternal life. What else could satisfy us?
As you can imagine, this hasn't exactly been a productive month for me. Nevertheless, here's what I read, cooked, and created in the month of May.
What I Read
Beauty: A Very Short Introduction, Roger Scruton (★★★★)
Black, White, and Southern: Race Relations and Southern Culture, 1940 to the Present, David R. Goldfield (★★★★)
This Is My America, Kim Johnson (★★)
On Harper Lee: Essays and Reflections, Alice Hall Petry (★★★★)
To Kill a Mockingbird in the Classroom: Walking in Someone Else's Shoes, Louel Gibbons (★★★★)––reread
Teaching Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird from Multiple Critical Perspectives, Marie Y. Smith (★★★)
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith (★★★★★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
A good, easy chicken thigh recipe. I served this with polenta and roasted Brussels sprouts.
I decided to make the steak sandwiches from January (as an aside, I made the horseradish sauce this time, and it was absolutely amazing), and these seemed like a good side.
For reasons I can't articulate I don't love potatoes cooked in a crock-pot, but Mitchell sure loved them. They were easy, which is obviously a huge plus.
What I Created
Nothing of note beyond the slides for my thesis proposal defense
I am no longer so foolish as to think I know what June will hold. So I think I will just say that I hope it is kinder to me than May, whatever it brings.