I promised another set of photos of my family’s trip to Italy—after that candid series of us eating last time. I was combing through my brother Zak’s photos today, and I kept noticing the sky, and specifically, the way the clouds or the expanse of blue owned the photos, as though they were the star.
When I’m on vacation, I have a different relationship to the sky. In my daily life, to a surprising degree, I let weather dictate my mood without noticing. Hot days, like today, when it’s over 90 degrees in Portland, and I’m short tempered, easily exasperated, uncomfortable in my skin, and sad. I just accept this as how it’s supposed to be—that I’m an animal and so my body responds literally and emotively to the weather. But when I’m not in any kind of grind, when my brain has more space to wander, I feel differently about the weather and the sky. I feel curious about it, as though it were an animal, too, and we’re in a conversation. (Here’s looking at you, Nope!) I have more power to be delighted, and more power over my response. I spend time just looking at the sky with wordless awe.
The odd thing is, I forget that I do this. Zak’s photos reminded me of how much we all marveled at the clouds during our trip. But when I returned, I didn’t say to my friends: it was a real cloud show!
Weather is a classically insipid conversation topic (which, I suppose, makes this whole enews questionable). It always feels a little sad when I have nothing to say to someone and we share meaningless conversation about the weather. And yet!
Italy, let me tell you: it was a real cloud show! I spent a lot of time with the sky. I miss that sky, but I think what I actually miss is sitting around spending time with it.
On Monday night, Zak and I were driving home from basketball around 10 at night. We left the Hillside court, where we play, and drove down the West Hills, then up and over the Fremont Bridge, when suddenly I noticed the full moon. It was absolutely enormous on the horizon, and the color was a filthy diaper brown. It looked to me like the scoby in an abandoned kombucha bucket, lifted and thrown into the sky. I told this to Zak and he ribbed me, “aren’t you in a poetic mood.” But it was so staggeringly ugly and absolutely gorgeous, both at the same time—so big and immediate and yet translucent and inaccessible. I could have sworn it was bigger than a dinner plate but when I took a photo, it looked so small you almost couldn’t see it! I was snapped out of my routine and, for a second, life felt truly mysterious.
In other news:
My friend Sasha’s book, The Menopause Companion, was just released! I just read her introduction, which made me feel safe, excited, and glad to have her as a guide for whenever that chapter of my life begins. The tone is so thoughtful and inviting! Humans with ovaries, check it out!
From the late 70s to the late 80s, my dad edited an arts and culture paper called the Clinton Street Quarterly. Recently, all the back issues went up on the Portland State University digital archive. I’ve been taking time to slowly go through them, and they are a wonder! Early Lynda Barry pieces, incredible artwork, and, to be honest, my favorite element: the ads of the time. I highly recommend perusing the collection. If you find something that strikes you, please let me know! At some point, I’ll write more on this deep slice of history, now available at our fingertips.
If you want to see some of Zak’s breathtakingly gorgeous, often disturbing, and always stirring animations, check out zakmargolis.com.
AS Zak's mom I do have to say -- yes to disturbing and also to hauntingly beautiful. Right about those Italian clouds. Think I will go out side and look at the clouds now!