“I love a broad margin to my life.”
– Henry David Thoreau

I lived a whole summer in June. I finally learned to front-load the season before we inevitably drop into the time warp of July — summer is going so fast, GOD is it over yet?, was that only last week?, I’m so sweaty, I couldn’t find a place to park, there were too many people, I haven’t seen the beach in a month, I’m going home, can we get a seat?, no I’d rather stay here, we’ll do that in the fall, when do they leave? July I endured. But June, June I treasured.

Patiently building my skill set, I finally moved to the “hard-boiled” level in my Murdle puzzle book. Each morning you’ll find me sipping my hot beverage mumbling through the logic out loud: “Principal Applegreen did NOT bring a toxic blowfish so that means Secretary Celadon brought the trained monkey.”

I’ve also started doing my morning puzzles with a silver Blackwing 140, which feels like graphite butter on paper — smooth, velvety, completely supportive of hard pressure and serious mark-making.

My greatest joy and soul-crushing worry this summer was co-parenting baby robins I discovered as tiny blue-green eggs in a nest just off the deck. Rock and Scissors. (Paper disappeared. We don’t talk about Paper.) I moved the umbrella around all day to ensure the babies were shaded, filled the water feeder, and left bits of jelly and blueberries for the parents. I witnessed Scissors’ final nest-bound moments teetering on the edge before he launched into the air (that part I actually missed, but I assumed that is what happened when I checked back five minutes later.)

All varieties of birds whizz by all day, barely missing my head as the treehouse deck is in the flightpath of many a flighted angel.

The maple tree — oh, how I love that maple tree! — is towering in a way that is both inviting to birds to rest and intimidating as the resident Shady Bitch of the Back Path. She sends out YOU SHALL NOT PASS vibes to any interlopers into our life-filled sanctuary.

Every morning I ask Stephen which supervillian lair ambience video we should chill out to that day, the ones where super modern rooms are carved into a rock cave with a giant waterfall and tropical foliage just outside, a deep blue green plunge pool spanning the two spaces.

My seedlings have long graduated to their higher calling and are competing with each other for Biggest Blooms and Most Improved. The tomatoes are taller then me — I’m terrible at pinching off the suckers so the plants are a towering mess. The eggplants, peppers, and sesame are all bearing almost-ready fruits and pods. And this year’s what-the-hell-let’s-see-what-happens project is two patio watermelon plants who are taking over the deck, tiny melon shapes hidden amongst the vines.

Things have gotten overgrown in the yard and I am too lazy and too much in nature’s corner to cut back it’s enhancements this year. I like things jungle-y, just short of Grey Gardens-level. Sometimes I do wonder how close I am to prancing around in head scarves waving objects I found in a box in the house.

I moved my textured rock collection outside for the summer. The layers and grooves and pitted moonscapes taking on the sun and rain anew after wintering in the house.

I’ve started making table forts for Stephen on the deck. My sensitive boy who somehow survived the humidity of the Louisiana swamps before being rescued as a pup reacts to even a tiny bit of heat. He’s a heartworm survivor and has fibrosis in his lungs. He is the center of my world and my toughest taskmaster. I live for his side-eye and sugar-frosted face and cupcake cheeks.

I watched a female oriole try and try and TRY to land on the hummingbird feeder to drink the nectar. I cheered her on from inside — “Girl, you are smarter than him! You can do this!” And when she did, I jumped up and down and fist-pumped the air.

Once again, I’m plagued with the earworm extraordinaire: “It’s gonna be a Subaru Summer!”

I drive a pre-surveillance state 2015 Honda CRV with 54,000 miles on it that I affectionately call Batty G (for Battlestar Galactica, the spaceship that saved humanity because it was old and not plugged into the network.) She’s a solid Cape Codder who makes it work even when surrounded by fancy cylon cars that threaten her from all sides in the summer.

On our regular drive to Hyannis for my mom’s cancer treatment, we discussed our preferred expletive to yell at terrible drivers who piss us off. The mom who drives decided hers was “shithead.” I was certain mine was “jerk.” I discovered the next day on my plant-buying excursion that it is, in fact, “DOUCHEBAG.”

I indulged in some minor purchases that have thrilled my little heart, quelling that ache inside that longs for that little snail mail buzz of not knowing exactly what is coming and when: a monthly riso print club + a subscription to The Cloud Report, written by a crossing guard and artist in Vermont + the summer issue of The Yale Review + subscription to Oh Reader magazine.

I also bought two fidget clickers — one clicky, in a green transparent plastic that LIGHTS UP, the other thocky in the palest milky green hues.

Cleaning out my boxes of stuff, I rediscovered some treasures — my Zwitscherbox, which plays bird song, and my wooden bird whistles. I’m using both to torment the crows who I witnessed stealing baby birds from nests last summer. My trauma is infinite seeing those little legs sticking out of their beak as the bird parents desperately chased after the flying murderer. Crows also recognize human faces and hold grudges so I am hiding inside with my sound weapons.

I now own a rather large, weighted stuffed black dragon. Since this is likely the only time I will ever be able to name a dragon, I am taking my time finding the right one. So far, “Drakkar Firebreath Van der Noir” is the front runner. I also briefly considered “Pistachio.”

My niece was home for a bit. Well, her old home, her new home is across the pond. There are few people in this world who I can have a real conversation with and she is one of them. When she was 5 or 6, we took her birthday cake and hid behind the couch while the house buzzed with kids and parents and family and activity and noise. She’s that person to me — peace and quiet and good conversation with shared treats.

“Kiss the joy as it flies.”
—William Blake

Whispers of Yes

• Heartstopper Forever. And ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.

• The concept of a “snuggery” and how much that pervades my entire ethos in life.

• The Mary Oliver: Saved by the Beauty of the World documentary. I was sobbing by the time we got to the TITLE credits. John Waters at his best. Provincetown at IT’S best. It premieres on PBS on August 25. Look for it!

• This year’s Special Edition Cape Cod Potato Chips flavor: Lemon Herb. We’re squirreling away a bag to eat with lobster rolls.

• Women Who Travel podcast episode, “Dorthe Nors on escaping to her idyllic Danish cottage.” Sounds divine! // The Overthink podcast episode about “Coolness.” As a raging fangirl at heart, I am the opposite of their definition of cool. // Merve Emre’s interview with Sheila Heti on The Critic and Her Publics. Mind-blowing (and terrifying) discussion about Sheila’s interactions with early AI.

• Local sales. Booksalefinder.com. Find your local library book sales on this site. // EstateSales finder. I was always curious how people knew about these. Cape Cod estate sales are particulary intriguing — traditional New England bits with weird-ass stuff. // Local art supply stores. Independent art supplies, just as important as buying at local independent bookstores.

• Linen from head to toe. I’ve collected quite the thrifted collection of linen shirts to wear all summer long. I’ve been a shorts-and-tshirt kind of girl all my life, but in middle life, I wear linen.

• Roadside stands. Buying food and flowers from your neighbors is one of the most perfect exchanges you can have these days. One of my goals this summer is to make a map of all the roadside stands I have discovered on the Outer Cape.

• The shuffle button on the Public Domain Review.

• “I found a stranger’s journal. Its contents changed me.” Lovely!

This month’s Pleasure List (inspired by the Substack The Pleasure Lists) —

• a sprinkling of sugar on my buttered toast in the morning

• my adorable frog nightlight — he has giant eyeballs and lights up when you squeeze his head

• a stretch of hours unencumbered by obligations

• being in my brain uninterrupted

• Tilamook chocolate chip ice cream sprinkled with sea salt and eaten with a large handful of Cape Cod Dark Russet potato chips

• a new Japanese eraser that reveals a snowcapped mountain over time as you wear it down (I love to make mistakes now!)

• a well-made pastry with layers of lamination

• a packet of neon Risographed patterned paper bits I found at my favorite local stationery shop (where they handwrite each item on a receipt pad and give you the carbon copy — such a treasure!)

• everything, but especially the Caesar salad and the olive tapenade at Baedaga (GO if you are in Ptown!)

Algorithm-breakers for Early Summer.

I’ve started making a semi-seasonal list of intentional cultural consumption. Along with a small totem stack of books, past journals, pamphlets, zines, and art books I select for dipping and diving, they form a rich replacement for spoon-fed content. Its like a spa day massage for my brain. My creative spirit — which I picture as an actual whispy phantom flying about outside of me — is so grateful to be unleashed.

This one is written in my summer journal. It may seem long, but consider what you encounter against your will in a given week.

• MUSIC. The 1986 and 1988 albums of Book of Love. Cause and Effect’s Another Minute album from 1991. The full catalog of Electronic (Johnny Marr and New Order’s Bernard Sumner.)

• MOVIES. Arco. Some Kind of Wonderful (on DVD.) The Last Guest of the Holloway Hotel. Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gotlieb. Makoto Shinkai’s films. Starman (documentary). Jacques Tati’s 1968 Playtime.

• TV. The House of Dragons (I have no idea what is going on or who all these people are. Just here for the dragons.) Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End. The World Cup. Square Pegs (on DVD.)

• ARTICLES. Ruby Tandoh’s Bake Off article in the New Yorker. Articles I’ve saved regarding: birds being more afraid of women than men + what it’s like to slowly go blind + trad wives in Boston + Japanese coffeehouse culture + the history of the malady where people believe they are made of glass + the effort to save seeds in war zones

• INTERWEBS. Widow’s Bay theories — because someone needs to explain this to me. Garland Magazine: the stories behind what we make. Oblique Strategies PDF. The rest of the Throne of Glass bonus chapters. Any and all interviews and thoughts with and of Kit Connor and Joe Locke. Also the social media accounts of Caro Claire Burke, Loretta Rothschild, and Zara McIntosh.

• NEWSLETTERS. The Crisp Packet. Breccia by Ruth Allen. Nina Stibbe’s Diary. Collage Mind. Paper/Cuts (for my Crescent City read.) Back posts of the Moon Lists.

• PRINT. My Dune Shack journal from last summer. Long Shore Drift Vol II. The Salt House. Devotions by Mary Oliver. Riso Art: A Creative’s Guide to Mastering Risography. The Unreality of Memory. Zines: The Cloud Report + Commonplace.
  FICTION. Yesteryear (A crisp UK version passed on to me by my niece.) Crescent City (Ignore people who say it’s hard to understand. I was hooked immediately. I’m already well into the second book.)

• ART. Leslie Finn. Alice Fox. Revue Collé. Media Diet at Twenty Summer’s Stanley. Persistent Curiosity: Charting the Rippled Fabric of the Sea | The Center for Coastal Studies 50th Anniversary at PAAM. The Weird Show.

A quick note: I used to spend hours creating links to all the things I mentioned in my newsletter. Most of you don’t click, I discovered, so I’ve stopped doing that. If you are really interested in something I mentioned, your brain and your spirit will love doing some non-AI-assisted research.

First, about that trip …

Amidst threats of security lines hours* long, my sister and I went to London last month in search of an Americans Decidedly Not in America experience with my niece who moved there in September. While I understand that the English are viewed as the OGs of oppression (my Irish-blooded husband holds an Irish-sized grudge,) it felt like freedom there. Relief from the circus and the embarrassment and the unending reports of What He Said Today. A place that felt civilized, orderly, world-embracing. With halloumi.

(*Note: it took us less than 30 minutes from the front door of Logan to the gate.)

And beyond the teas and the Royals and the double-decker buses, I noticed:

• There are dogs EVERYWHERE — in restaurants, on public transportation, in the stores. They are so integrated into life there that I found myself feeling resentful of the American “health codes” that prevent us from experiencing this in our day-to-day lives. Stephen needs to go to the pub!

• You pay for everything with your phone. Boop! Paid for lunch. Boop! Paid for the tube. Boop! Bought my weight in books. Boop! Boop! Boop! It is unbelievably convenient and easy. However, my American Decidedly Not in America Spidey-sense was tingling — are they scanning all my shit on this phone? Have I just given them my entire life? Access to my bank account? Did they just steal my photos to scan into AI? I am uncomfortable! BOOP! Here’s a matcha.

• There were healthier, fresher food options every single place we went. All those banned chemicals that we pump into our food here are absent from what is offered there. I want NICE THINGS!

• A plethora of mocktail and LOW alcohol options. Something that may surprise many of you: I rarely drink these days. I was so thrilled to have light fancy potions to select.

• Being able to bring your food to the theatre (not theater.) The default capitalistic No Outside Food or Beverage rule isn’t in practice there.

• Clear signage and directions. London is enormous, but there were signs everywhere — where you are now, how to get there, instructions for what to do, explanations of what is around you.

• QUEUEING. My anxious self appreciates an orderly line and rules which everyone follows. No pushing or shoving to get to the front. No deepening rage at the injustice of being dismissed by the loud man who just stepped in front of you.

• Not being inundated with city noise. Even though there were cars and people everywhere, the sound level was nowhere near that of NYC’s. I think I noticed one car honk. It was almost like being at a golf tournament.

• Factual facts reported on the news. In a calm manner with appropriate side eye.

I bought a lot of paper bits and bobs in London. Vintage erasers from the 1960s. Parakeet and Moomin stickers. Notebooks with specific purposes — a numbered, limited edition of a little album for collecting fruit stickers, one for drawing tiny maps, and one for archiving my days. Olive green pens. Risograph prints. A book all about London bookshops.

They were packed in my mini Daunt Books tote for weeks, living together as a happy clan. I did not want to separate them. I feared feathering them into my regular life would dilute their relationship with each other and they would stop being my London trinkets. And the trip would be officially over.

(Note: I have a pretty nifty story saved on my Instagram if you want to see more of London. My account — @juniperdisco — is locked down, but send me a note here if you need access.)

On a morning when the news was particularly apocalyptic, I learned: there is a seahorse that resembles Snuffleupagus + my birth month tree is the ash tree, which needs room to spread out (no crowding allowed!) + Scandi countries are so successful producing energy from wind that electricity is sometimes FREE + it is difficult to find vintage Ranger Rick tshirts (still on the search for that).

This time of year it takes an air horn, a canister of pepper spray, a Nordic walking stick yielded like a lightsaber, and two hypervigilant dog parents to protect our Stephen from the neighborhood coyotes who are roaming around in the afternoon looking for food to feed their young.

I am popping my collars like it is 1986. And listening to Interpol on my metallic green iPod mini. I’m rewatching Felicity. Living in any timeline but this one.

This spring was cold. In the half-dark mornings swirling with birdsong and the running water of my hydroponic garden, I was dreaming of painting my walls a bright summer moss green and hanging plants from the rafters to cocoon myself in a faux outdoors.

I started using the special map paper I bought in London to make maps of where I find lilacs on my walks.

Recently I switched from morning meditation and it’s optimism (and pressure) to have a perfect day to an evening meditation where all you have to do is make peace with the day and let it go.

I sorted through 30+ years of my beach rock collection. I marveled: of the thousands and thousands of rocks I’ve seen, THESE were the ones I chose to pick up. Themes through the years: heart-shaped rocks, pink-hued rocks, rocks with holes, glittery rocks, rocks with stripes, long cigar-shaped rocks, square-shaped rocks, and tiny, tiny round rocks.

After weeks of stomach pains, I had a meal in Boston before my annual scans that was so soothing — herb-crusted cod with a heavenly mix of roasted potatoes + snap peas + fiddleheads + tomatoes + fava beans in a green goddess sauce. I vowed that night to learn how to feed myself like this.

In Boston, I feel the eyes of young women on me, on other women, on everything. I told my husband I guaranteed him that every woman in the restaurant knew exactly what every other woman there was wearing.

I miss having things that you can only get from one geographical place. When I was in high school, the “it” tshirt was from Fred’s Tavern in Stone Harbor, NJ. You could only buy them there. Mine was purple.

My summer approach this year is inspired by a young child I met at the beach this week. Wild, curly sea-salted hair blowing in the wind, she was wearing only a fuzzy sweater with daisies on it and she was peeing in the sand. If ever there was a child born of this place, it was her. So while I will be wearing pants, I will be giving no fucks this summer.

“Kiss the joy as it flies.”
—William Blake

Whispers of Yes

• Shigeo Sekito’s Special Sound Selection — The Word. A true algorithm-breaker that transports me to the sub ground-level roller rink that my Nana used to take me to at the Park City Mall (Not a Mormon. Not Utah.)

• Off Campus (Prime.) The binging I binged with this show! Favorite couple: Garrett and Hannah. Sorry, they are adorable. And for the record, I do think Josh Heuston can play Xaden. // Suzume (Netflix.) I’m making my way through all of Makoto Shinkai’s animated films. This is the third in his disaster trilogy and was inspired by the 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

• Justin Bieber singing in his OG voice. My algorithm won’t let it go and neither will I.

• I saw an older couple sitting at a picnic table next to Blackwater Pond the other day. They were having a lovely little picnic lunch, both seated on the same side of the bench facing the water. And they brought a large VASE of daffodils. My heart!

• “Human-made” ambience videos on YouTube. I can’t believe “human-made” is a search term I need to use now, but if you are opting out of that AI BS, this search gives you options for your background setting for your reading hours.

• Whoopie pies for breakfast. A long-held Groff family tradition. (No, I am not related to Jonathan Groff, but we grew up in the same Pennsylvania county where Groffs are like Smiths.)

• The We Can Do Hard Things episode, “Our Most Hilarious Episode EVER: Embarrassing Stories.” I HOWLED. I also felt embarrassed and uncomfortable but mostly, the howling.

• Washingtonian newsletter. The subtle cheek with which they report the day’s calamities in “Here's some administration news you may have blocked out” is exactly the right touch.

• This month’s Pleasure List (inspired by the Substack, The Pleasure Lists) — the sensation of holding my green, textured pencil bag and zipping the oversized zipper open and close + the smell of the lilacs blooming all over town + the smugness of scoring the entire Friday Night Lights 19-disc DVD collection for only $8.50 + the Scrooge McDuck feeling I get when I survey my small collection of zines, chapbooks, and small independent press books (weird stuff definitely made by humans)

Whispers of Yes (The British bits)

• Percy Pigs — What enchanting sweet chewy magic is this?? I am partial to the Pals version with all the flavors. Cola cows!

• Halloumi — Cheese as a main course. Cheese as a topper like lettuce, tomato, and onion on sandwiches. Cheese as an appetizer.

• Picky bits — I mean. There is no better Britishism than this! Cheese as a picky bit!

• British book covers — They are categorically better than ours. WHY?? At least Blackwells still has free shipping to the US and NO ridiculous tariffs. Also, paperbacks released at the same time as hardbacks. AND THEY ARE CHEAPER. Nice things, people, we need NICE THINGS!

• Sunday Roast. Yorkshire pudding and crunchy-ass potatoes.

• Wild parakeets — Someone, somewhen let their parakeets loose. And now they are flying all over London parks, singing away, and landing on people’s hands for little snacks. (Note: they are really rather large green parrots, not those little colored birds you used to find in pet shops in the mall.)

• Kit Connor about to be everywhere again — Photos leaked from the Eldenring set (we were at the Royal Naval College mere weeks before!), Charles Melton’s prank call to him (could Kit be LOVELIER??), and the Heartstopper movie out on Netflix on July 17.

Also, super thanks to everyone who contributed to last month’s Whispers of Yes. Consider this a standing open invitation to add yours. I’ll keep adding them, if you keeping sending them. If you missed it, here’s a link.

Those colossal apocalyptic fireballs. People behind lecterns gesticulating wildly, yelling things so animatedly that spit is flying — a tactic to convince us, and themselves, that what they say is true. The nonsensical blabber from the seated one. My middle finger has developed a Pavlovian response to his face. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. My face is in a perpetual WTF scrunch, single eyebrow raised so high it’s about to pop off my head.

“The times,” as we are calling it, have turned me into Linus. I’ve started carrying a very soft, very soothing blanket with me around the house. My need for comfort is just below my need for oxygen and cheese. So for this edition, we are going to share as many Whispers of Yes as we can.

What is keeping you buoyant? We’d all love to hear, so please share yours with us in the comments (or send them to me and I’ll add a compilation.) Here are 20 of mine.

“Kiss the joy as it flies.”
—William Blake

Whispers of Yes:

• The 100 Day Project.
  Since mid-February I’ve been working on my own little bit of art almost every day. I’m collaging my little heart out, turning my bits of collected paper nerd ephemera into new curations.
  
  Things I’ve learned:
  I love arranging the bits into tableaus that are pleasing to me. I like flat color, grids, squared edges, and geometric shapes. And I hate gluing them down.
  
  It is amazing to see what other people are working on in this project and I encourage you to flip through shared posts at #the100dayproject on Instagram.

• Moon Lists.
  I have bought every single item they’ve ever sold (except the tshirts and some of the collaborations with limited access.) I cannot tell you how much I love everything they do. Their prompts help you to notice and consider — my favorite kind of thinking. The latest version is “Prompts for the Morning” and I highly recommend getting your hands on it before it inevitably sells out.

  
  Here’s an example of the kind of prompts you’ll find in Moon Lists:
  ”NARRATIVE HICCUP
  A pink plastic shower caddy. A vanilla cupcake-flavored lip balm. A case of Diet Fresca in the back of the fridge. What’s something you’ve purposefully obtained that’s decidedly…off-brand for you?”
  
  SO GOOD.

• That “Personal Curriculum” trend.
  This is for all my fellow Ravenclaw/Erudite/Scribe Quadrant friends! The youngsters have branded and romanticized following your curiosity and I am all for it.
  
  I have a large notebook where I keep notes on the things I’m interested in — the writing it down part is the key. In a cute notebook. With stickers and doodles. And a favorite pen.
  
  Some of my research topics: Risographs + what does a music supervisor do and how can I be one + how to make a zine + writing systems (alphabet vs logograms vs syllabaries) + women’s diaries + the concept of “uncanny valley” + lofi music.
  
  Related: There is a FREE HarvardX course, Tangible Things: Discovering History Through Artworks, Artifacts, Scientific Specimens, and the Stuff Around You, which I will be adding to my personal curriculum later this year.

• NASA Citizen Science.
  Inspired by the Artemis II adventure, Project Hail Mary (which I saw on a 70mm IMAX screen at the BFI in London!), and/or the latest season of For All Mankind? We may never be astronauts, but we can DO SPACE SCIENCE. There are 42 projects that anyone can participate in. I’m doing the Space Umbrella project and the Planet Hunters TESS project.

• The “Whimsy” trend.
  My original tagline for Juniper Disco in 2010 was: “I’ve never been a black umbrella kind of girl,” which is pretty much the same thing. Ordinary life experiences and objects can be amped up, romanticized, made special by adding a bit of color, a twinkle light, a special mug. My favorite example is Loretta Rothschild’s red socks. She ONLY wears those red socks.
  
  Caveat: buying things you don’t need just to be whimsical feeds the capitalist beast. So make something, alter what you have, thrift, trade, or just use what you have.

• The Analog Bag trend.
  My analog stuff wouldn’t fit in one bag — it’s more of a lifestyle, especially for us analog OG’s in GenX. But I fully endorse collecting things you can do without connecting to anything over the interwebs. I especially love a good puzzle book (Threads and Sudoku are my current faves.)

• The Numinous Network.
  I found this community when I was struggling with my father’s death and standard grief counseling was not working. They offer a Moral Injury course, which helped me process the deep well of anger I had towards the perpetuators of the lies around COVID that lead to his death. The monthly offerings are based in somatic experiences — very collapse-aware, very trauma-sensitive, very witchy, and very intuitive. I have not found anything even remotely close elsewhere.

• My Morning Hour.
  I never skip a day. I can do it in 20 minutes or I can take the full hour. Sometimes I don’t start it until 4:30PM. The practice consists of little rituals like lighting a candle, putting out my crystals, pulling an oracle card, filling out my daily tracker, doing meditation, doing Moon List prompts, working on a brain puzzle, and journaling. No matter what is going on out there, it grounds me.

  

• Sharon Astyck’s Doom Zoom.
  Sometimes you just need to gather with people as freaked out by things as you are and go visit the darkness with them.

• Steven Soderberghing my cultural consumption (or some people call it a media diet).
  Last year’s attempt was a failure. I got overwhelmed and stopped. This year I only record when I finish something I watched, read, or listened to.
  
  A few observations from the first few months: I watch a lot of reality TV. I binge shows in the background of what I’m actually doing. I don’t watch many movies. These are all things I’d like to change.

• The Sunday Letter Project.
  A simple commitment to write an actual letter to someone or to yourself every Sunday. And you don’t have to mail it, but it’s much more fun if you do.

• Public art.
  One of my great loves! There is nothing like the jaunty kick to the senses one gets from finding a human-made thing intentionally placed in the environment. Luckily, I live in a very arty town that has a Public Art Foundation, which sponsors new art every season. Go on a hunt to find what’s in your local spaces.

• Making a Day of It.
  My intention right now is to organize and release unnecessary objects, things, processes, and baggage from my life. So I am making a big deal out of very mundane and very painful tasks. I’ve scheduled an Email Purge Day, a Book Collection Weeding Day, a Paper Sorting and Filing Day, a Saved and Queue Clearing Day, and a Closet Cleanout Day. There will be outfits and playlists and snacks. And a specially selected reward for completion. (WHIMSY!)

• Neurographic Art.
  It’s doodling in a prescribed way with purpose and with reflection. Soothes my firebrain. I use a Neuro Art Journal I found on Etsy.

• Springy Spring Possibility List.
  I live by my seasonal lists. I made the coziest Deep Winter Hibernation List. I didn’t do many of the things on the list, but having it there in my daily off season journal to review made me feel like there was so much possibility even in the quietest of months.
  
  On my spring list: A local library day at each of the Outer Cape libraries. Designated Eavesdropping Days (there are some good conversations to listen to in this town.) A cafe crawl down Commercial Street with my books and writing journals in tow. Truro and Wellfleet beaches with Stephen before we get kicked off for the summer. Breaking out my digital camera and my iPod mini for walks.

• Commissioning personalized gear to rep my favorite things.
  I have a Kit Connor hat. And a Smiths hat. A sweatshirt that says “Sgaeyl” in small print. And one that has a green pennant with “Dragons” emblazoned on it. My aesthetic is very specific and I can never find exactly what I want so I hop over to the Etsy artists to create it. Wearing something that only I have feels very good to the Teenage Missy in me who went to great lengths to have things no one in my little rural area had — the perfect combo of self-expression and pettiness.

• Animation.
  I watch my own version of Saturday Morning Cartoons every week instead of starting out my weekend with the news. I’ve loved these lately: Nocturna (Kanopy.) A young boy faces his fears and saves the stars. My heart. Green Snake (Netflix.) Beautiful animation. Hilda (Netflix.) I’ve been working my way through these. So imaginative and fun. Zootopia 2 (Disney+). The banter is fantastic and I laughed a ton!

• Trip and Excursion Planning.
  I just got back from visiting my niece in London — thoughts are currently incubating and will be shared. I highly recommend leaving the country for a reset. I feel excited about the world again! (I also feel very lucky that we planned and paid for the trip long before all the nonsense happened.)

  
  Short of that, just having a change of scenery can breathe new life into you. On my list currently — Chicago to visit my gay husband, a solo Boston trip, my next reading retreat, Cuttyhunk, a day trip to Sandwich, an expedition to find all the OG kitschy places on Cape Cod, a pottery trail to discover new-to-me local potters on the Cape, and a day in Yarmouth with afternoon tea + a walking tour of the sea captain houses + my annual visit to the Edward Gorey House.

• Things that make me cry.
  A guaranteed way to unfreeze the numb. Chapter 89 of Kingdom of Ash. The entire Boys of Tommen series. Chapter 25 of Exodus in the Ravenhood Trilogy. Episode 8 of Heartstopper, season 1 when Nick comes out to his mother. This scene:
  

• And a few random things I loved lately:
  staying in bed in the morning just to enjoy Stephen curled up against my legs + the return of birdsong in the neighborhood + Freakier Friday — as a personal rule, I never, EVER use “LOL,” but, girl, was I LOL-ing on the plane watching Jamie Lee Curtis! + The Laguna Beach Reunion + The END (sob!) of Heartstopper. I’m a member of Alice Oseman’s Patreon so I’ve been reading volume 6 as she’s published it page by page. She just posted the entire 38 page epilogue. And it is perfect. + Eliza Raine’s Flame Cursed Fae series about a Valkyrie training school + “Dracula” by Tame Impala + this Comet in Moominland digital story (I went to the Moomin Pop-up Shop in Covent Garden and bought all the Angry Moomintroll stuff I could find!)

So whatcha got? Please share in the comments. I’m also happy to post a list of anything you send directly to me.

“I knew winter cold like the nuzzle of fjords at my thighs.”
— Seamus Heaney, “Bog Queen”

We lost power for three days. After piling into the bed Charlie and the Chocolate Factory-style, I gleefully dove into my word puzzles and logic twisters and moonlists and art collages and books. I tend to my introversion with great care and in situations when the outside world is unreachable, I thrive. I also own many sweaters.

Every day, I go outside to do a sky check and to take a deep inhale of crisp air. The winter sky is sometimes so subtle it takes me a full minute to absorb. Go outside. Look out a window. What does your sky look like?

I asked for oranges for Christmas. Eating each of these citrus globes, freshly picked and delivered from a ranch in California, felt like an act of defiance. A little “Fuck you, I’m eating an orange. Stop me.”

The birds tuned in to some invisible signal from the brightening days and have started singing again — the true sign of Imbolc and the shift towards the spring. Stephen and I stop on every walk at the unofficial corner of Sparrow and Starling where they gather and trill and chirp and click and belt like contestants in a song contest. Stephen just wants to chase them.

I’m finding ways to reclaim the things they take from us, like the term for frozen water. Some much-loved icy things:

• the beautiful rings of Saturn — 99+ percent pure water ice! And did you know those rings weren’t there when the dinosaurs were around?

• the crystal critters in The Last Jedi and the light glass bell noises they make as they move

• the ice chandelier below the North Pole (see the final episode of Pole to Pole)

• “Glacier” by Claire Wahmanholm (Montreal International Poetry Prize)
  “I am trying to say it’s too late without making them too sad. It’s like how you can’t take the blue out of the white paint.”

• the sliding-gliding action over the ice in curling and the amazing shoes that make it possible

• The Ice Palace by Tarjei Vesaas — real and metaphorical freezing in a frozen waterfall in the Norwegian fjords. “It was a room of tears. The light in the glass walls was very weak, and the whole room seemed to trickle and weep with these falling drops in the half dark.”

I have a burning acidity in my stomach at all times. Literally. I take daily meds. All of my cracked emotions are centered there. All caused by the corrosive 45/COVID pandemic/47 poison salad sandwich we have been forced to digest. There isn’t enough omeprazole in the world to counter living with the consequences of his decomposing brain— every misfiring synapse a toxic idea brought to life in our lives. Each a stinging stab to my belly.

I watch or read something related to space every day, a small rebellious act that reminds me of how small and inconsequential they are even when it feels like they have all the power. I, too, may be small, but so are they. So. Are. They. This universe is magic and it’s forces ruled by science. How lucky we are to be on THIS planet while it can sustain life.

When things get really grim, I take off my glasses and stare at my twinkle lights. That magical blur of bokeh when I cover my left eye is so beautiful, especially when it reflects off the windows and the disco balls that occupy every corner of my home. Beauty in imperfection — a gift perfect eyesight could never provide.

January goals: Rest. Silence. Stillness. Nurturing routines and rituals. Every single medical appointment I had for the month was cancelled. Dead battery. Very sick pup. Subzero windchills. Snowbanks up to my thighs. The universe telling me to stay home.

February goals: Write. Make collages. Plan our trip to London to visit my niece. Clean out the boxes and drawers and cabinets. These are also my March goals, plus preparing for two major medical tests and a trip to Boston. March-marching towards the active months.

I borrow unabashedly from Gen Z, creating cozy hobbit holes all around the house, wearing only things that make me feel hugged, curating the visuals and the sounds that soothe. I read accompanied by an animated hedgehog in grey Woolen socks and a tufted-eared red squirrel in a turtleneck sweater seated by a fire in cozy armchairs. Or in a gothic cathedral in space with a large spinning planet outside my window. Or in an impossibly large library with snow falling on the distant mountains.

I sleep in weird bits, deeply or not at all. My senior dog barking at midnight pumping adrenaline into my fragile system, followed by hours of existential dread-driven awareness. Instead of counting sheep, I’ve:

• determined in which order and by what method my enemies will meet their demise

• visualized scrubbing my brain with soapy suds to cleanse it of all the muck (the right side loving the spa treatment, the left resisting and giving me side eye while mumbling WTF under its breath)

• rewritten my college experience on a patriarchal campus giving the women all the power (that guy who broke into my friend’s room to terrorize her getting a special revenge arc)

Every morning I listen to a guided meditation (on Insight Timer, by Katie Valentine) that asks me to list three things that I am grateful for, three things that would make today an ideal day, and to recite three phrases: “I am supported. I am allowed to take up space. It is safe to love myself.”

You are supported. You are allowed to take up space. It is safe to love yourself.

What does the sky look like now? Go look.

“Kiss the joy as it flies.”
—William Blake

Whispers of Yes:

• Qless crossword solitaire game — The small flare of joy I feel when I successfully make words from the letters on the 12 dice I just rolled is the highlight of my mornings.

• Nova: The Planets (Kanopy.) I will talk to you endlessly about this series! I own the DVDs and I will watch the Saturn episode over and over. So powerful, so expansive, so awe-inspiring!

• Shrinking (AppleTV.) I love Liz. I love them all. But I love Liz the most. + Great Pottery Throwdown (Roku.) There is something about pottery that brings out the best in people. + The Pitt (HBOMax.) I have to watch most of it with a pillow over my eyes, but I LIVE for the Dr. Mel King moments. Scene. Stealer. + Seven Dials (Netflix.) I really enjoyed this Agatha Christie adaptation. I want more Bundle!

• Even If This Love Disappears Tonight (Netflix.) It’s a sad story, but, oh, will it grab you. This one is for my melancholy girlies. + Elio (Disney+.) Sweet animated movie with fantastical space characters (watched as part of my Saturday morning cartoon routine.) + Donkey Skin (Kanopy.) Yes, the story is a fucked up French fairytale where the king is trying to marry his daughter, but the COSTUMES and the sets from 1970 are incredible! Not one bit of digital anything makes it even more remarkable.

• “How to Stay Sane and Useful in Chaos” on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast. I sobbed my way through this. Again, Abby and Glennon know exactly what we need to hear in the moment.

• Claudia Winkleman on the Dish podcast. I howled out loud at everything she said. An absolute GenX legend!

• The signature lobby scent spray from the Lenox Hotel in Boston. I’ve been spritzing this on my pillow every evening. There’s is nothing more uplifting than whatever magic they put in this potion.

• The Sarah J. Maas interview on Call Her Daddy. I always pictured her as this flowy ethereal woman with wide-set eyes and precise language. Nope! She swears a lot, doesn’t finish her sentences, has a history of panic attacks, harbors deep anger towards situations where men sucked, and clearly pulls from a deep well of strength — all the things I love about her characters! And she blessed me with enough time to read the Crescent City series and to do a quick audiobook revisit of the ACOTAR books before the next one comes out. Also, if we could harness the book girlie fandom energy, we’d take down that patriarchy in a nanosecond.

I haven’t written anything publicly and very little privately for close to a year. It’s been a month since I wrote the following annual reflection to capture the overall feeling of 2025 – an act of self-agency to record my personal experience in a world that wants to erase such truth-telling. I wrote it for myself.

But in that one month we saw things that left me asking what I can offer. If the people of the Twin Cities can put their bodies in harm’s way, I can certainly publish these words. I suspect I will burn to a crisp if I don’t.

So we will start again.

I was vaguely aware of the transition of power taking place on the TV over my head while sitting in an oppressively tight hospital room with my family while we kept my mom company. Things were not going right while the rest of the country hit the gas towards the cliff in that direction.

Since then, I’ve been in a deliberate state of retreat, gathering my belongings and my loves as I go, an effort to keep from sliding off this planet.

It’s been a year of pulling a metaphorical blanket over my life — staying low, staying small, staying still. A year of foundational shuddering. A year of mourning and letting go. A year of moving backwards and sideways, but never forward. A year of crouching deep and weathering the attacks. A year when my brain and soul screamed NO!! with such regularity that even in my dreams at night I could hear the alarm.

I downloaded and deleted my way through the year. I emptied the corporate-owned spaces of my content, my life, my photos, my existence and invested in hard drives and old tech, pens and paper. I shifted to encrypted this and encrypted that. I ditched my tracker and started wearing a ten-year-old Swatch on my wrist. I retreated to the quiet corners of the interwebs, erasing and covering my tracks behind me.

I changed where we shop for almost everything. Changed what we use and how we use it. After getting hit with a surprise tariff charge in the midst of the ongoing flood of proclamations, I stopped ordering anything from outside the US.

I also filled my book sanctuary with used copies of books they threaten to take away from us and collected used DVDs after one streaming service after another failed us. I bought directly from independent writers. I added more analog games and puzzles from small businesses.

I collected and curated all the medicines and potions and balms to carry us through these decidedly unmagical times. I started wearing my Medusa ring and a dragon nail decal on my middle, left finger. I carried twinkle lights in my purse. I watched cartoons every Saturday morning. I disappeared into dark books that ripped my heart apart in a million pieces. I read books with dragons and magical creatures. I read books where women dramatically and decisively save the world with their strength and courage and infinite wisdom.

I grew food for my family and started perennial seeds that could be used for medicinal purposes. I expanded our reserves of necessary supplies. I also hoarded jars of olives, Korean face cleanser, Sharpies, and scented liquid hand soaps. I kept 10 lbs. of Kerrygold butter in my freezer at all times.

I paused to record bird symphonies on my walks, just in case they ever stop.

We learned to tell time in two time zones. Four people I know moved to another continent, including my niece.

We battled fleas. We raged at the television. We nursed my beloved Stephen through two surgeries. Both successful. Both benign.

We struggled against cancer. Again. We felt the hope drain out of us watching the obliteration of the science that one day would have allowed us to breathe a little in this fight. We felt the impact as appointments became harder to get, as communication became less robust.

I suppressed my rage. Shoved the inferno as far down as I could. These words the first pressure release I’ve had.

And in the midst of all of that, a nurse told me that I have “the blood pressure of a serial killer.” Calm and even, that inferno condensed into a cold rage fueling me as I sliced through the ever-piling muck.

There were good things. I saw the aurora borealis from my back deck again – twice (lifetime count: six.) I survived a week without indoor plumbing, power, and running water in a shack in the dunes by myself. I cheered on my niece as she lived out her dreams. I soaked in the incredible energy around Rebecca Yarros at Fourth Wing Night at the Red Sox. I had a summer full of tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers. I spent a whole week with my bestie. I finally dressed up as Princess Leia for Halloween. I had a fucking epic reading year. I found joy and awe watching Flow and Scavengers Reign and I obsessed over Celebrity Traitors UK. I created a cozy nest with black flannel sheets, a textured weighted blanket, twinkle lights, a galaxy lamp, and a projector filling my walls with dragons and castles and deep forest creatures.

The world is devastatingly cruel, terrifying, violent, morally eviscerated AND it is beautiful, fascinating, amusing, delightful. Navigating the “And” leaves me so confused and feeling like we are one Zone of Interest* away from being just as monstrous as the devils we oppose.

I’m choosing whispers of “yes” over screams of “no” even if I can barely hear them. Opening the doors and windows for fresh wintery air every day. Making things with my hands. A week watching all the Criterion Channel movies I can fit into a free trial. Fires in the fireplace in the mornings. Reading more than scrolling. Spending more time in the flow state. Eating oranges.

Fighting the attempted erasure of our lives with every whispery “yes.”

I always look to stories for guidance. Here are a few that have kept me clear-minded about what I believe is true, just, and worthy. If you do nothing else, spend a few minutes clicking on the links:

• *The Zone of Interest – to remind yourself of how ugly it is to be complicit

• Masters of the Air – to remind yourself what was sacrificed

• The Hunters, Season 2, Episode 7: “The Home” – to remind yourself of the choices others made to help (Extremely violent. Entire series is worth your time, but this episode is independent of the narrative of the rest of the show.)

• Battlestar Galactica – to remind yourself to guard your brain, your free will, and your agency

• Throne of Glass book series — to cheer on bad ass women in all forms taking down empires of darkness
  
  

This is my last Substack post. I will be going dark for awhile. You may have noticed I unpublished most of my writing here, took down my web site, archived most of my Instagram photos, deleted Facebook, and have been erasing my presence on many previously abandoned socials and online tools. Even the first home of Juniper Disco is gone.

This choice is about protecting the people in my life who are in the cross-hairs and making sure I am in the best position to help them.

I’ll still be writing, just not publishing — at least not in this way right now. Captain J. Disco, his rainbow dragon floatie, Miss Missy, and their friend, Magenta Chicken, will be back. Another time. Another place.

Godspeed to all of you. Take care of yourselves. Stock up. Grow some food to share with your neighbors. Get a VPN. Lockdown your digital footprint. Wear masks. Go to the dentist. Get your vaccines. Support the scientists and the cancer researchers and the weather forecasters and the park rangers and the people who process your parents’ social security checks. Don’t give your money or your time or your attention to the Big Jerks. Read something spicy. Watch cartoons. Hug your dog. Call your parents. GO DANCING.

The last word, a choose-your-own-adventure activity evocative of the current timeline:

1 … according to Twin Tribes, a dark send-off into the void, with Xaden Riorson vibes:

2. … according to John De Sohn, more of a GO-DANCING-into-the-end-of-the- world-and-together-we-might-just-make-it vibe: