The Best of 2020. Which will be a reach.

But before I peace out of 2020...

Best Book I Read:

It's funny, you'd think with me having to Stay the Fuck at Home so much this year, I'd have read more. But for some reason my concentration was shot, and I only ready about 40 books this year. And very few of them really stuck out in my memory--which is nothing against any of the books. Some of them were really quite fine and buzz generating! The Girl with the Louding Voice and Shelter in Place both helped transport me. But oddly, it was America's First Daughter--a fictionalized account of the life of Thomas Jefferson's daughter--that I consider the most memorable, if not the best. I read it about a month before the elections, and it was oddly comforting to read about the governmental dysfunction and toxic party politics that seem to threaten our country from the outset. 

Best Purchase I Made: 

If one good thing came out of this shitshow of a year, it's that I cooked so much this year. Like, more than I have collectively in my entire life. Which tells us less about how much I cooked this year, and more about how little I cooked (i.e., functioned as an adult) in the previous years of my life. Anyway, along with the cooking came the acquisition of several bits and bobs of cookware, including this lovely Dutch oven. It's no Le Creuset, but I'm not fancy enough of a cook to need that at this point; this is versatile enough for me. I've made breads, curries, chilis, soups, and pot pies in this, and my god, I do feel adult-y when I'm  hovering over this pot, stirring away.  

Best Recipe I Cooked: 

Am I actually starting to enjoy cooking? Perhaps, although I will never be anything more than a barely-competent cook. However, I don't enjoy meal planning, so I rely mostly on Dinnerly for my weeknight meals. Nonetheless, I've enjoyed finding and trying out new recipes, and the one that I enjoyed the most this year was this (surprisingly healthy) shrimp and veggie skillet recipe. It was colourful and flavorful and rather delicious.

Best TV Show I Binged: 

Back in January, almost a year ago (!!!) when I was laying on my couch, possibly dying of Coronavirus (I'll fight you on this one; I know I had it), I had very little energy or will to live, so finally settled down and binged all of the existing episodes of The Crown. It's a truly magnificent show, and yes, I am biased because I'm an anglophile, but fuck you. It's great. It's beautiful and heartbreaking and thought-provoking (Queen Elizabeth may be a bit of a cold fish, but goddamn, she knows her duty, and you cannot underestimate that, these days), and it's kind of perfect that I was able to bookend the year by watching the latest season in December when I was laid up with a bad back.

Best Song I Listened To: 

Back in early July, one morning I was minding my own business and walking a letter to my mailbox, I suddenly felt my ankle turn. This has happened countless times before, but something about this time was different. Even as I was falling, I was thinking, Oh, this is going to be a bad one. I smacked my head into the sidewalk; my left cheek hit the cement and I heard my front tooth make contact with the unyielding surface. Immediately I tasted blood; I had bitten clean through my upper lip. Somehow, I hauled myself up and posted the letter and walked back to my apartment, badly shaken and tearful and thinking, Not my tooth. Please god, don't let me have broken my front tooth. I managed to actually do work through a lot of the day, but I was legitimately traumatized, and it kickstarted me into one of my spirals. By the evening, I was exhausted, drained, shaky, I had a bruise and scrape on my cheekbone, a busted lip, and a tiny chip in one of my teeth. On top of that, my mind was doing what it always does with even the slightest encouragement (or, rather, discouragement): I'm clumsy and worthless and can't even walk in a straight line and I'm falling apart and I'm an ugly incompetent mess and everything is awful. I poured a glass of wine and sat in bed, and started to listen to the Decemberists song Everything is Awful. I sniffled and wept a little, and then Spotify decided to intervene and move onto another song, unbidden. And suddenly I was listening to a defiant, angry, brave, female voice bellowing...

"And sometimes when you're on, you're really fucking on 
And your friends they sing along and they love you

But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap

And it teases you for weeks in its absence

But you'll fight it and you'll make it through

You'll fake it if you have to

You'll show up for work with a smile

You'll be better and you'll be smarter

And a better daughter or son and a real good friend

You'll be awake, you'll be alert, 

You'll be positive though it hurts..."

I sat there, with tears pouring down my battered face, listening to this anthem, and I have never felt more seen and validated in my whole goddamn messy life. And that night, Rilo Kiley's "A Better Son/Daughter" became my Song of 2020. 

Best Piece of Clothing I Wore: 

Ugh, SPORTS BRAS. DUH.

Best Picture to Sum Up My 2020:

A Very 2020 Christmas: The One Where I Decorate the Tree and Bore You to Death

So, back about fifteen years ago, in early September, I hatched a plan that, in retrospect, was about the most unrealistic thing I could have concocted. I promised myself that if there wasn't a resurgence of the plague come Christmas, I'd drive down to Florida to spend the holidays with my sisters.

Ha. Ha. Ha. (Definitely not Ho ho ho.)

For a number of reasons that should be obvious, this isn't happening. The plague is resurging. I work with people almost every day, and I would rather not put my family at risk. And even though I've spent most of the past year in isolation, it hasn't turned me into a total asshole. The winter is slowly closing in on us here in the Midwest, and since it's no longer easy to socialize out-of-doors, people are doing exactly what anyone could have predicted: they're being dumbasses, inside. 

Anyway. I digress. My point is: Boy howdy, I will sure as shit be home for Christmas. Home as in my Indiana home, not my Florida past-home. 

It's hard. I love Christmas, weird little heathen that I am. I love the decorations and lights and coming up with lovely ideas for gifts, and I love the songs and parties and foods and glittering, glowing, sparkling joy. I even love the rather melancholy, but entirely inevitable, time of reflection that comes along with the lowering grey skies and the year ending, when memories of family and friends who have moved on or passed on out of my life crowd into my head once more. 

When I made the decision not to go to Florida for Christmas, I sulked and stewed inwardly for a second, and resented anything and everything about 2020. And then I thought, "2020 doesn't have to ruin Christmas. I can still enjoy this fucking holiday. If I choose not to, that's on me." So, I decided to lean into this extraordinarily fucked-up holiday season as much as I could. 

One of my favorite traditions is decorating my tree. One day, I'll have two Christmas trees--one of those shiny sparkly bougie themed trees for show in the living room window, and a hodge-podge tree with all of my lovely ornaments and bits and bobs I've acquired over the years. But for now, all I have is a scraggly old tree with a hideous assortment of ornaments. I usually have a friend or two over to keep me company as I put up the various ornaments, who patiently listen as I share the backstory of some of them. This year, of course, I can't do that. 

Except I can. With all y'all!

This is the latest addition--my brother-in-law sent this along
 to me, and if isn't perfect, I don't know what is!

When my sisters and I were wee mites, we would play with the ornaments

on our tree, much as though they were dolls and accessories. Our cousin

worked for Avon, and provided us with a magical treasure trove of Avon-

issued ornaments to aid us in our earnest flights of fancy. One of our favorites 

from this trove was the set of "Nutcracker" characters; we'd spend countless 

hours, over many Decembers,  with these crude wooden ornaments clutched 

in our fumbling, childish hands. Of course, they disappeared during the various

 traumas and upheavals of our adolescence, but about 12 years ago, Eldest Sister 

scored a vintage set on Etsy and brought this magic back into my life. 

Each year, my friends Michael and Anna give me an ornament with

 a picture of their son, my "nephew". These pictures always remind 

me of how we choose our family, and how lucky I am that 

these lovely people chose me for their family, too. 

One of my ex-boyfriends...we'll call him Mr. Robinson...gave this to 

me, back in 1998. It was originally part of a set (with Mickey, of

 course), but Mickey has long since departed. Or perhaps I showed 

Mickey the door, much was I eventually did with Mr Robinson? 

Also, I don't give two hoots about Disney shit, but the boyfriend 

sure did. I'm still not sure why he got me this, but I know why I keep 

it. Mr Robinson passed away five years ago now, and as problematic

 as our relationship was, it feels wrong to forget it, or him. 

Back in 2002, I was living with another boyfriend (John the Saint). It 

was my first apartment; it was the first man I shacked up with; it was the 

first time I had my very own Christmas tree. It was a beautiful (thematic!)

 tree, decorated in silver and white and ice-blue and lavender. This spray

 of stars is the only remaining ornament from that gorgeous tree...and 

close to the only thing that remains of my time with John the Saint. 

Speaking of boyfriends (again), this is an ornament that I purchased 

back during Indiana 1.0, in 2004, when I was shacked up with my boyfriend

 at the time (Mr. Indiana, AKA the previously mentioned Michael.) In the

 great scheme of my life, it was a fairly short-lived relationship, and it

 ended with me throwing out or giving away most of my belongings, packing 

whatever was left in my car, and driving to California to launch my career

 as a librarian. What on earth made me decide, Yes, I will save this ornament, 

but not my pots and pans, and move it with me all the way to California? 

No fucking clue, but I'm glad I did!

Speaking of California...this little dangly, wobbly...crawdad? bay bug? came 

into my life around 2007, given to me by one of the first friends I made when

 I came to California. Kristin and I both had (and hopefully still have) a ridiculously
 absurd and quirky sense of humor, and every year, when I unpack this little guy, 

I laugh as much as I did when I first got him. Damn, I miss Kristin. 

My time in California (along with my marriage) finally and thankfully

 came to an end, and I returned home to the Midwest. I was so freakin' glad 
to shake the California dust from my shoes,  but I still stayed in touch with 
some of the folks I had befriended there. My first Christmas back in Indiana, one 
of those California friends orchestrated a Secret Santa exchange with all of 
her Facebook friends, and I decided to participate...only to be gifted, by some
 well-intentioned stranger, these ornaments. At the time I unwrapped them,
  I maybe shuddered a little bit, but enough time has passed now that when I
 put these ornaments on the tree, I smile and remember that past life and don't
  curse all those who peopled it to the bowels of hell. (Also, they live in 
Palm Springs, so I'm pretty sure they're already in hell.)

Whenever I travel to someplace new (oh, travel! remember that?) 

I like to pick up a Christmas ornament to remind me of my travels.

 In 2019, I journeyed to Australia, and picked up this little guy. 

It's a cassowary. Otherwise known as a Murder Bird. 

The end result of all these ornaments, gathered over various lives within my life. And 

yes, that is a mask you see, dangling towards the bottom of the tree. Fuck you, 2020.

I Got Lost In My Travels: Australia, Part 1

I've never really trusted time. It seems to be one of the most inconstant concepts, you know? You're experiencing something wonderful, and time flies. You're witnessing a catastrophe unfold and 5 seconds can feel like 5 minutes. You're engaged in something absolutely boring and time seems to move backwards. You graduate from college at twenty-two and then five years later, you're forty and trying to figure out how many years have actually passed. 

So? Time? Never to be trusted, in either the best or worst of circumstances. And then there's time in 2020--we'll call it "Plague Time." I've recently started falling into the habit of saying something like, "Oh, yeah, we did such-and-such about seven years ago, back in August." Y'all know what I'm talking about. I've heard a dozen variations of it over the course of the last eight months; I've seen it play out in countless ways. Someone forgets to pay their rent at the beginning of the month because what is time anymore? Someone no longer can find their watch, because they haven't had to be anywhere at a certain time since god only knows when. I've missed more than one meeting, forgotten more than one appointment, and entire months have blurred together for me.     

So it seems a little ridiculous for me to say what I'm about to say, given that Plague Time makes the following statement feel a little impossible: 

A year ago today I was on a flight to Australia, with my friend and travel companion, Brian, headed for an unforgettable Bucket List experience.

Whenever I start to feel a little low, or anxious, or isolated, or completely defeated--which is to say, about once every ten minutes--I remind myself of how, a mere year ago, I was so very lucky and privileged to be able to go on that journey. The timing was freakishly lucky--the Australian Bushfires had already started but had not yet gotten out of hand, and we had about four months to go before the world really went to hell in a handbasket, with the pandemic. Of course, when Brian and I were sitting on that plane, happily availing ourselves to the free booze and trying to figure out which movies to watch first, we didn't think about pandemics and travel bans and masks and crowds and all the ways that our lives were about to get completely upended. 

It was an incredible trip; we spent almost twelve days exploring Tropical North Queensland, snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef, hiking through the Daintree Rainforest, and simply reveling in a land so completely different from what we've known and experienced. And then, in a blink of an eye (that pesky, fickle concept of time again) we were back Stateside, and returning to our homes and our jobs and our cats and the holidays. And what with one thing and another, I never did get around to posting on the ol' blaurgh about this magical trip. 

Well, now that we are in the middle of a raging pandemic, and the weather here in Southern Indiana is turning pretty durned cold and precluding even outdoor gatherings, I certainly have a bit more time on my hands than I used to. So I'll see if I can't take a bit of that fickle time and spend some of it recalling and recording my journey to Australia, and my explorations there. Maybe it will only serve as a memorial for that one time I went somewhere--or maybe it will be an inspiration and reminder that fuck yeah, some day, some time, I'll go somewhere again. 

And you will, too.