For there is always light
Walking eight miles on wintry evenings. Plus: must-read reporting on the insurrection; an Austen-like soap to binge; and the little lights illuminating my century-old closets.
Word on the street (and by street, I mean meteorologists) is that Chicago is in store for its biggest snowstorm of the season this week. Which isn’t saying much, seeing how we’ve maybe had a total of three inches of snow all winter… But if it does materialize, I welcome it. I’ve gotten sort of used to much more time inside during the winter, and at least if I’m stuck inside while there’s a snowstorm, it’ll be pretty to look at.
Late last week, however, I was feeling insanely restless, eager to get out of the house in some way for some nice long stretch of time. Thankfully, temps warmed up enough on Thursday that I met a friend for a long (and I mean loooooong) walk along Lake Michigan. We just so happened to time it so that we wandered along the beach at golden hour, the pinks and golds of the sunset hitting the horizon over the lake like something out of a watercolor painting.
All told, I walked nearly eight miles that evening, and it was glorious.
Stay Informed
I’m not terribly interested in dwelling on the past; the nation has turned a page in our leadership and the sun seems to be shining all the brighter these days for it. That said, I’ve been fascinated by the reporting emerging from the events at the Capitol on January 6, coverage that evolves as journalists have more time to review and investigate the buckets of media recorded by participants and witnesses that day. Two pieces particularly stood out to me for their depth and attention to detail, breaking down the event in ways I didn’t quite fully comprehend while it was happening or shortly thereafter.
Writing for The New Yorker, Luke Mogelson was on hand at the rally that preceded the insurection and then followed the rioters into the Capitol. His first-hand reporting, from what he saw to what he heard, is chilling. Read his piece
In the days following the attack, the Washington Post pulled together as much information as they could to create a timeline of events from the rally to the invasion. This podcast episode has the benefit of hindsight to look back and review exactly how what happened happened.
If that’s a bit too much of a downer (which I totally understand), boost your spirits by perusing the Biden Administration’s plans to respond to COVID-19 (and try not to imagine how different things would be if this had been in place a year ago…).
Stay Lit
I live on the first floor of a 100-year-old brick two-flat; it’s a classic Chicago look—spend enough time in the city and you’ll notice them everywhere. I love a lot about my place, including the hardwood floors, the original doors and the fact that I’m not in a building with twenty other units. It’s just me, my upstairs neighbor and my landlords who live in the carriage house above the garage.
One less-great aspect of the apartment is that it clearly wasn’t made with modern conveniences in mind, like lights in closets. For over a year now, I’ve rifled through my cubby-hole of a closet trying to find what I want while squinting to see which black dress or which pair of jeans I’m pulling out.
But no more! It finally occurred to me to see what kind of stand-alone lights might be available for such a space, and I found these LED bars that are quite perfect for the space! For one, they’re small and focused; I have them attached to my shelving and they shine down on the hanging clothes, making everything easier to see. Best of all, they’re on a motion sensor, so they flip on when I’m reaching for clothes and switch off shortly after.
A random share, I realize, but I’m so pleased with them that if you have a similarly shaded space, you might be interested in bringing it into the light with these gadgets!
Stay Entertained
Starting Thursday, I’ll be “attending” Sundance Film Festival; last year, the annual January event was one of the last major festivals to happen before the national lockdown. It’s now virtual, like everything else, and while I’ll miss the mountains, I’m excited to carve out time at home to watch some of the films we’ll be talking about for the year to come. Even from my dining room table, it’s a work event; I’ll also be setting up meetings and representing a few clients in the mix to hopefully help even more great films find their way to you.
If you’re not (metaphorically) headed to the mountains but still looking for a bit of an escape, might I recommend a Netflix binge of Bridgerton? Little more than a soap opera set in Jane Austen’s England, it’s a colorful, saucy adaptation of a series of romance novels about the Bridgerton family and their ilk as relationships are forged and fractured, as scandals break and secrets are revealed. And yes, I’ve already watched it once and rewatched it a second time.
This week, I reviewed another Netflix new release, also a book adaptation: The White Tiger follows a low-caste servant in New Delhi who scrapes and steals to get ahead (it’s…fine.). Read my review
Not on Netflix but definitely worth seeking out (it’s streaming via virtual cinemas) is Identifying Features, about a mother in Mexico who goes looking for her son after he disappears on his way to the U.S. border. It’s a quiet film, but one that packs quite a punch. Read my review
Stay Inspired
Lots about Wednesday, January 20 was inspiring, even as the Inauguration seemed so quiet, without crowds on the Mall or lining the parade route. From watching the first woman take the oat of office as Vice President to the stirring musical performances, it was a day to reset the national tone and focus on what’s possible together rather than the bitterness of division.
Absolutely key to the day was poet Amanda Gorman’s inspired work “The Hill We Climb,” read with the kind of confidence and grace that is rare in anyone, let alone 22-year-olds on a national (global?) stage. I urge you to take six minutes to watch her, then maybe take another six minutes to watch her again. It’s worth it.
For there is always light
if only we’re brave enough
to see it,
if only we’re brave enough
to be it.
Until next time,
Lisa