5 things for friday
what if we can't save the ones we love? plus: a spinoff i can't wait to watch, podcasts on pet loss + grief, the perfect beach tote, and more
happy friday, friends.
(written on thursday afternoon, published on friday morning)
this morning, i came across an injured pigeon. it was early, 7:40am; i know this because my morning walks to bar method are timed to the minute, and i generally cross norfolk and stanton right about then. i stopped in the street, and knelt down to look at him. he was missing a series of feathers, the pink of his skin exposed to the elements, the whiteness of them scattered around the street. he did not run from me, nor did he fly away. i saw that he was bleeding, though from where, i could not tell. he was breathing heavily, panting, almost.
hi, i said to the pigeon. you’re okay. you’re safe. i see you. i’ve got you.
i pulled out my phone, typed “injured pigeon nyc” into google. i found an audubon website that directed me to call the wild bird fund, only to met with a recording that told me they were drop off only, located all the way on the upper west side, and they didn’t open ‘til 10am. another woman approached, walking her dog. she told me she, too, had seen him, had called 311, but they’d been unhelpful. i spotted a maintenance worker sweeping the sidewalk of a nearby building. i motioned to him, asked him if he had a cardboard box. in response, he took his broom and nudged the pigeon—before i could cry no, don’t do that! don’t hurt him! the pigeon hobbled under a set of mailboxes, and it was clear that it wasn’t just that he’d been attacked, one of his legs was injured.
i left a voicemail with the wild bird fund, giving my name, my number, the pigeon’s exact coordinates. and then, realizing i had to be at class in 8 minutes, i hopped a citibike and pedaled away from him, my heart pounding in my chest. after class, i stopped to check on him, hoping someone would have come by in my absence, rescued him and taken him to safety. he was still there, crouched under the mailboxes, his eyes blinking open and closed. this time, i parked my bike. pulled down the kickstand, and kneeled down so that he could see me.
hi, i said again. you’re going to be okay. i’m going to come back for you, okay? i’m going to come back with a box, and i’m going to bring you somewhere safe. you’re not alone. i’ve got you. and if you don’t make it that far, it’s okay, because in heaven, there are dozens of perches, and all the bird seed you could ever dream of. you’ll be so happy there, i know you will.
i had street sweeping at 9, and an interview at 11, and so i could not go back for him until noon. in the meantime, i texted my friends. i posted on my neighborhood’s buy nothing page. i texted with the wild bird fund, who told me that the only way to help him was to bring him in myself.
and so, as soon as my interview ended, i armed myself with a series of old towels and a cardboard box, with gloves. i darted out to my car and scooted out of my perfect parking spot and gunned it back up to norfolk and stanton. but when i got there, he was gone.
i was too late.
years ago, my parents’ dog tovi chased a bird in their backyard. he got it in his mouth, and by the time we got it out, the bird was on its last legs. i screamed at tovi louder than i’ve ever screamed at any human. i put the bird into a padded box, and called local bird rescues, begging the bird to hold on until i could get him there. but for him, too, i was too late.
afterwards, i paced the backyard, keening. looking back on it now, i can’t remember why this particular loss hit so hard. was it that i was stressed? did i need a release? or was i simply struck by the notion that a living thing could be here one moment and gone the next? that a living thing could be here one moment, and i could be too late to save it? i screamed at my moms, at tovi, again, until my mama put a stop to it. enough, sarah, she said. he didn’t know. he’s an animal.
i cried over that bird for an hour, maybe more. i cried until my body was a towel wrung dry, until i had no tears left. and then, together, we buried him in the woods, and said a little prayer.
i couldn’t look at tovi for days. he knew i was angry at him, kept trying to nuzzle his tiny wet nose up against my legs and my hands. but i could not stand the sight of him. i was horrified that he could have done such a thing, that he had taken that tiny bird in his mouth and not felt the snap of crisp bone. i hated him. i never wanted to see him again.
over time, the pain lessened, and i let tovi back in. i knew deep down, of course, that it wasn’t his fault. not really, anyway. these things happen. animals are compelled by instinct. they do not know they’re doing a bad thing.
i thought of that this morning, both at my first sighting of the pigeon, and again when i returned to find him gone. i thought of how i had been shown, yet again, that there was nothing i could do in the face of death. in the face of pain, or agony. i could bear witness, but i could not stop it. sometimes it feels like the entire world is this way. we can bear witness, but we cannot stop the bad things from happening.
i’ve cried a lot of tears about penny over the past week. she’s had two good days in a row, today being one of them, and i am praying that this means we get a little more time. that her little kidneys continue to function, that her cystitis resolves, that she stops having bloody accidents around the house. miracles happen every day! but death does too. and i am preparing, in the ways i know how, and the ways in which i can—whilst also knowing there is no preparing for such a thing, that it will gut me to the core.
there was a part of me that knew, this morning, when i said goodbye to the pigeon a second time, having told him he would be safe and loved in heaven, that he would not be there when i returned. that i couldn’t help him, not really. that it was already too late. and there was a part of me that wanted, desperately, for that notion to be wrong. because if i could save him, maybe i could also save my girl.
but the truth of the matter is that none of us have that power. when our time comes, no saving will stop it. we are not omnipotent, as much as we’d like to be, as much as we sometimes think we are.
i know that pigeon couldn’t understand me when i spoke to him. i don’t speak bird, after all. i know that he couldn’t possibly have comprehended the words, you’re okay. you’re safe. you’re not alone. i’ve got you. but i’d like to think that he felt them. that when he blinked his tiny eye open and saw me peering down at him, seated on the dirty sidewalk, he knew he wasn’t alone.
i hate that i didn’t make it back in time. that i didn’t have a mary poppins tote from which i could pull a cardboard box and a series of towels to pad his journey. i hate that i had street sweeping, and an interview, neither of which i could (both literally and figuratively) afford to skip. but i hope that he felt held by me. i hope that if those were some of his last moments, he transitioned on to bird heaven knowing he was safe.
i mentioned on instagram that i’ve done quite a bit of research on pet loss this past week. i’m happy to share all of the resources i’ve found (please feel free to leave a comment below if you’d like them), but the very best one thus far has been a consult with beth bigler, a pet loss grief counselor with whom i have a second session tonight. i’ll be working with beth on my anticipatory grief around penny, and hope to be part of one of her support groups when the time comes to say goodbye. in our initial call, she asked me to write a letter to penny. a letter that starts, dear penny. this is the story of your life so far…❤️
i don’t feel even remotely prepared to handle the concept that penny might be close to the end. but i am trying, with all of my might and my emotional intelligence and every goddamn fiber of my being, to make whatever time she has left here in her earthly body good, and comfortable, and safe. because while i might not be able to save her—not forever, anyway—she sure as hell has saved me, time and time again.
i hope that when her time comes, i won’t be the keening mess i was for that bird in the backyard all those years ago, but rather, the me i was this morning, seated on the sidewalk in my sweaty leggings, doing my damndest to make sure that pigeon knew he was not alone.
it is what he deserved. it is what penny deserves. it is what all of us deserve. someone to tell us we are held, and seen, and safe, til the very end.
as one of my favorite avett brothers songs—and one i’ve been listening to a lot lately—goes:
and walk through the night, straight to the light
holding the love I've known in my life
and no hard feelings
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on a lighter note, let’s get to our 5 things. shall we?
there are a handful of podcasts i listen to every single week, and second life is one of them. i’ve been listening to it for years, and i’ve yet to tire of hillary kerr’s intelligent and conversational interview style. the episodes feel like eavesdropping on a conversation with two friends—just two very smart, very accomplished friends—and this week’s ep was no different. the guest of honor was gaby dalkin, of what’s gaby cooking fame. as a person who’s been into food blogs since before pinterest existed, i loved listening to gaby’s career journey (even though i don’t follow her specifically!). gaby graduated the same year i did—2008—into the recession, and decided to go to culinary school on somewhat of a whim when the job she’d secured post graduation disappeared. she then started working as a private chef, first for a wealthy family in malibu, and then for a 2000s songstress we ALL know. i really enjoyed the episode, and i think you might too!
i also listened to a handful of episodes focused on pet grief, including this lifekit one, and this set of two that led me to beth of honoring our animals, which i mentioned above.
last week i mentioned that i had started michael cunningham’s new-ish pandemic novel, day, and would report back. well, i finished it earlier this week, and my goodness: cunningham is the type of writer i think all writers strive to be. his prose! my god. as someone on goodreads put it, he is “the most elegant writer in america”—as evidenced by this stunner of a line:
dan is taken by a tremor of scorn twisted up with painful affection, as if they were two names for the same emotion
day is, ostensibly, about the covid-19 pandemic. but the book never says the word pandemic. not once. the book visits a family on the same day in april for 3 years in a row: 2019, 2020, and 2021. when it opens, we meet isabel, a photo editor who’s fallen out of love with her husband and often escapes to the stairwell just to get some peace and quiet from her life and her children. we meet dan, a former rock and roller who’s lost his sheen but is fantasizing about a comeback. and we meet my favorite character in the book: robbie, isabel’s brother, a 6th grade teacher who lives alone in the attic of their brownstone, and who both dan and isabel consider to be their closest friend.
the book introduces us to others, too—characters who graze the edges of the nuclear family. there’s dan’s brother, garth, the woman with whom he had a child, chess, and their baby, odin. there are isabel and dan’s two children. and there is wolfe, a fictional instagram character robbie and isabel have invented, a 30-something gay pediatrician prone cobbled together from stock photos and screenshots who is prone to jaunts to the upstate house the siblings have always wanted and who is not real, but rather, a product of their imagination and longing.
day isn’t a loud, covid trauma story. it is what you might call a quiet book. things happen, but not a lot happens. but it’s beautifully written, and will make you think about your family, and the ways in which you experience the world, and for that alone, i think you should read it.
ps: i saw via becca freeman that the heaven and earth grocery store, one of my favorite reads of 2024 thus far, is getting the A24/spielberg treatment!
pps: if you’re a big reader, follow me on goodreads! i try and rank/save every book i read (and i read about 50-60 a year!)
orphan black is one of my favorite shows, period—so i was thrilled to see that someone had finally conceived of a way to keep its legacy alive, via a spinoff titled orphan black: echoes. the new show stars krysten ritter, and premieres june 23rd on amc, which means i might need to get yet another streaming service (le sigh). if my internet knowledge is correct, the rest of the world got to see this season last year, but it’s only now becoming available to us here in the states. the preview looks as speculative and creepy and fantastic as the original, and while i will miss the inimitable tatiana maslany, who played not one role but fourteen in orphan black, i’m excited to see how ritter brings the new world to life.
if you haven’t watched the original, i cannot recommend it highly enough. maslany is a revelation, you will fall in love with the seestrahs. it’s an excellent binge and a show that i firmly believe never got the media and critical attention it deserved.
have i shared this watermelon salad with you before? perhaps i have—but hopefully it was long enough ago that we’ve both forgotten. it is one of my go-to recipes (if you can even call it that) come summer, and also, one of the simplest. you can eat it on its own, like i often do, bulking it up with quinoa. or you can serve it as a side salad, which i did at my parents’ house last saturday night—it’s the perfect compliment to grilled salmon on the plank and homemade pesto pasta.
what you’ll need:
watermelon (up to you how much, i usually do about 1/2 of one, or 2 pre-cut containers from tj’s)
tomatoes (any kind will do, i did cherry because they’re sweet this time of year, and i like the color variation)
feta cheese (i use the fat free one from tj’s)
olive oil
flaky sea salt
basil
what you’ll do:
this could not be easier. if you haven’t purchased pre-cut watermelon, chop it into 1x1” pieces (approximately—you do you!) and put into a large bowl. cut up your tomatoes, and add. i like to have about the same amount of watermelon + tomatoes, but you can vary this based on your personal taste.
add about 1/2 cup to 3/4 cup of feta (again, this is to your personal taste!) there’s something about the brine-y, saltiness of feta that is the perfect compliment to the sweetness of the watermelon and the acidity of the tomatoes.
drizzle about 2-4 tbsp of EVOO into the salad. this is just enough to get things glistening, but not so much that you have excess oil in the bottom of your bowl.
salt with flaky sea salt (not tiny mortons, the big stuff!) generously. i never measure this, but my guess is that it’s somewhere between 1-2tsp based on the size of the salad. start small, then taste, and add if need be.
and that’s it! truly the easiest “recipe” ever.
i spotted this $10 toiletry case in store and put it back because i did not need it, and i’m trying to be good on the shopping front. then i got home, and i couldn’t stop thinking about it. the brown and hot pink color combo! the perfect size! the sturdy material. it’s currently sitting in my shopping cart along with the matching tote, which practically screams beach day, and is a pretty good dupe for this nearly $200 one from clare v., which i LOVE but can’t rationalize at the moment. i imagine a handful of you feel the same? i have a july trip to the jersey shore on the calendar, along with a few pool days in between now and then, and i think that means i can rationalize a $35 set of goodies.
there are a handful of other colorways in both the case and the tote if this one isn’t speaking to you, but honestly, when does hot pink not speak to you?! it speaks to me constantly. in fact, now that i write that out, i remember that i had a set of beach towels made from beautiful striped (pink!) oaxacan fabric i brought back from puerto escondido. a match made in hot pink heaven.
and that, friends, is where i leave you. if you like this post, it would mean the world to me if you’d hit the little heart icon, as well as consider sharing it with your network—so that the grand weekly can be seen by more people.
that is my favorite salad to make!! the best.
I have a friend who unexpectedly lost her golden, who was like a son, her closest companion. I'm going to share the pet grief, thank you.
I'm currently navigating pet grief after saying goodbye to my best boy, Nucky, last month. I will say the days leading up to his at home euthanasia were incredibly sad and filled with guilt, but now being on the other side I feel like it was absolutely the right time. I read a note from a pet grief forum that "it's better to say goodbye a day early than a day too late" and that helped me come to terms. Our last couple days together were so special, filled with adventure, food and lots of love. I hope you get the same beautiful send-off for Penny when the time comes. ❤️🩹