Fresh links for you below because 1) we should all be respecting the apex Summer Friday and 2) I’m writing to you horizontal in bed (0/10 would wish a back injury on an enemy).
In lieu of a monologue this week, I have assembled this collection of architectural abominations for you to feast your eyes upon. Happy Friday.
Jason Reynolds on Living Restlessly, the Value of Crying, and the Advice Levar Burton Gave Him
By Rachel Martin for Wild Card
Best line: MARTIN: Is there anything in your life that feels like praying?
REYNOLDS: What a great question. You know, my - yes is the answer. My mother is 79, almost 80, and she's dealing with some health challenges. And these health challenges over the course of the last year has put me in position to be a caretaker. And part of that caretaking means that my mother - I have to take care of very intimate things as it pertains to my mother. I have to wash her and I have to clean her. I have to, you know, pull her panties up and do all sorts of things that, to be honest with you, I - you know, I did some of this stuff when I was 18, when she was ill with cancer a long, long time ago, so it isn't that it's jarring. It's that at this age, it feels different. And at this age, it feels - in the midst of its burden - 'cause it is that, if we're being honest. It is burdensome sometimes. It also feels like prayer. It feels like I'm praying at the only creator that I've ever actually physically known, right? I'm...
MARTIN: Your mom.
REYNOLDS: My mother. I'm bowing at the feet. I'm washing the feet of the only God I've ever physically touched. And does it feel like praying? It feels like praying and everything else. This is the hallelujah of all hallelujahs. And I really, really mean that. It doesn't mean it's not difficult. It's painfully difficult. But I'd be lying to you if I didn't tell you that difficulty is only a piece of this experience, right? I went through this with my dad. As my dad was dying, we went through a similar experience, and I felt the same way. And to be honest with you, as a person who's not very religious, I've known prayer - this has been - these two moments have probably been - these two moments, and driving through the desert in Arizona.Which seems so far away from these things, but it's not. In Arizona, it's the mountains and the sky. It's the openness and the emptiness of a world unmuddied by buildings and architecture, and - right? Like, this is God if I've ever known God. To my - in my mother's bedroom, it's a similar thing. It's me acknowledging a vessel that has given me everything that I've become. And as that vessel continues to sort of - to empty, right? It's seeping out. And she's not on E yet, and she's fine, but E is coming. The tank is emptying, right?
And to be there, and to maintain this vessel, to maintain her comfort, to keep - to maintain her dignity by making sure that she's clean and cared for - come on. I mean, what else could prayer be? I - prayer can't just be asking, right?Sometimes, I - it's me saying, I'm so grateful for everything you've given me, that me taking these 45 minutes to bathe you is a very small drop in the bucket of the gratitude that I actually owe you. And I will do everything I can to refill, to pour into this until I can't pour or you don't have a bucket anymore for me to pour into. What a gift. What a gift, honestly. And I - you know, it hurts to say it, and I can feel my tears welling up in my eyes, but seriously, I wish my mom wasn't going through what she was going through, but I'm so grateful to be there so that she don't have to go through it by herself. She can go through it with what she made. You made the thing that is meant to come here and make sure that you're all right in the midst of this process. I'm going to help you slide up on out of here. I'm going to help you transition. I'm going to make sure that there's comfort for you. The least I could do, after teaching me how to be bold, how to be caring, how to be sensitive, how to cry, how to be a person whole and unfettered by the pressures of this life. Come on - the least I could do. That is prayer.
Enough With the Merching of Nostaglia by Gareth Wyn Davies for World of Interiors
Best line: “That’s the awful, excruciating thing about trying to awaken the past: we can’t ever quite make those limbic associations last more than a second or two, though we strain every nasalis in our futile attempts to do so. Like a butterfly or a whiff of perfume, the memories simply hover in the air, just out of grasp, easily stirred but only too quick to vanish the moment we go to pounce. Vamoosh! And they’re off, until the next time. Meanwhile, we cling to the material artefacts – a chipped plate, a kitschy glass ornament, a Picquot Ware teaset – with which we, like latter-day necromantics, strive to summon whatever ghosts. Such is the power of nostalgia, which the American professor Michael Kammen once called ‘history without guilt’, because our reminiscences tend to be idealised and unreliable.”
Why We Need to Bring Back House Parties by Kitty Ruskin for TIME
Best line: “I yearn for the days when we would pile into somebody’s house and mingle with acquaintances and friends of friends, not knowing who we would meet or who some of us might kiss. I miss that limitless feeling of not knowing how the night would turn out and how late we would stay up. I get misty-eyed at the recollection of those next-day debriefs, trading stories and gossiping over bacon and black coffee.
These days, socializing is all very proper: We consult our diaries to arrange the next get-together, sometimes two, three weeks in advance. We agree that we need to be home by 10 p.m. so that we can be in bed by 11, latest. This structure is ever so slightly suffocating. It’s too prim, too predictable. Of course, when we do manage to meet and catch up on each other’s lives, it’s lovely. But we don’t meet to let loose and invite spontaneity into our lives. House parties provided a space to do just that—once you stepped through that front door and into a throng of chattering, laughing bodies, you forgot all about your work deadlines and list of chores. You were just there to have fun.”
Skip the Crowds on These Lesser-Known Islands Across the U.S. by Nicholas DeRenzo for AFAR
Best line: “As overtourism continues to threaten popular vacation hubs, we’re celebrating under-the-radar islands that may lack name recognition but excel in natural beauty and quaint charm. Some are only accessible by boat, many don’t allow cars, and a tradition-bound culture often means that life here feels (proudly) decades or even centuries behind the hustle and bustle on the mainland. Here, a 10-point island-hopping guide for your next American adventure.”
home tour
Tour Actor Michael Shannon’s Moody, Meditative Brooklyn Home
By Zoë Sessums for Architectural Digest
My take: I had the pleasure of attending a party with Mr. Shannon in Chicago some years ago, and he is as much of a delightful weirdo in person as he seems. In a sea of these Open Door tours that don’t seem to match the subject at all, his seems as real and lived-in as it gets.
Best line: “I liked the geometry of the place, the way it was laid out. It felt very cozy. I didn’t want too much space—I’m kind of like a baby, you know? I want to be swaddled.”
Seth Putnam is an editor and writer in Chicago. He lives with his wife, son, and daughter in a 1920s home that is the epitome of a work in progress.
"Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." —Mary Oliver