When there is no calling the manager...Week 10

Hilton Als, White Girls, banana bread & troubled relatives

This week I had the honor of seeing Hilton Als at the Huntington. I made my 12yo go with me and he didn't even complain all that much. Als writes about culture for The New Yorker and other places. It’s his 2013 book White Girls, though, that I want to mention. The book is a collection of essays that paint a complicated portrait of “White Girls.” As a Black, gay man Als suggests he’s been a close observer. (But being a White Girl isn’t just about skin color or gender. Als covers people like Truman Capote, Michael Jackson and Flannery O’Connor — all White Girls to his way of thinking. He even riffs on Britney Spears and Eminem.)

Als’s point is to delineate how white women in America have been given — and taken— an outsized influence on culture (this is changing, of course!). When I read the book in 2013, I was obsessed. I told everyone to read it, but most people didn’t seem interested. Years later of course the topic would be unavoidable when the “Karen” thing took off. This is probably nuts, but here’s a link to an unpublished, unedited essay I wrote related to this topic for a writing workshop. I re-read this essay today and I can’t believe I was talking about Nevertheless, She Persisted even then.

What struck me when we saw Als at the Huntington, though, is his allegiance to advocating for looking at the world through the lens of love and unity rather than bitterness. Talking about his life and work, it seemed to me his message was to recognize the many forms of love and doors tend to open. Get lost in your bitterness and divisiveness and the opposite happens.

Recipe

Now what says love more than banana bread? I was talking with some of my Sunday morning hiker friends recently about using almond flour in my banana bread. So here is my recipe, which is a hit at my house…

Banana Bread

1/2 c. butter, softened

3/4 c. sugar

2 eggs

3 ripe bananas, mashed

1/4 c. milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 c. white flour

1 c. almond flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

pinch of salt

Preheat over to 350F. In a mixing bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Beat in eggs one at a time. Stir in banana, milk and vanilla. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Pour into greased loaf pan and bake 60 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. (Or use two mini-loaf pans; baking time may be shorter)

Family Matters

I’ve been mentioning my oldest half-brother Gary who was diagnosed with a mental illness in his twenties (and used plenty of illicit drugs before and after). I was the youngest of five and he was the oldest. He married very young. Gary had a job, a house, a beautiful artist wife and two adorable children (kind of makes me think of a Talking Heads song). And then things fell apart. He had to come back home and live with us. I recall many times going with my mother to visit him in mental health facilities when I was young (and my kid only has to go with me to Hilton Als!). At times, it was scary. But mostly I’d describe it as merely a part of life. What I mean is that I learned the people I met when we visited were not unlike anyone else. In fact, they were in general kind, often funny and vulnerable.

Sometimes back at our place I’d stay up and listen to Gary’s stories. He made a lot of sense and could tell a great story. He’d always been an extremely smart kid — the kind who skipped ahead in school. But by this time, he was troubled. So sometimes the convo was good and then sometimes he’d start talking about the CIA implanting a device in his head when he worked at the Pillsbury grain elevator. That was when his medication wasn’t right. Along with Gary, my other two older siblings were also sort of problematic…but more the hell raiser types instead of device-planted-in-my-head types. There was never a dull moment.

I was probably a tween when I was having some discussion with Gary. I must’ve looked concerned because he stopped and abruptly said, “Hey, we’re this way because we want to be. There’s nothing you can do.”

Journalists are trained to look for the systems that lead to things like deaths of despair, poverty, addiction, mental health issues, etc. And that’s a good thing. (FYI…this is part of what NPR reporter Sandhya Dirks calls “the narrative power edit.” Check it out if you’re interested.) It would not be acceptable to write a story about someone experiencing mental health and addiction issues and conclude “Gee, they’re this way because they want to be!” But living a real life is not writing a story. Yes, there were most likely many systems at play that lead to the scenario where many of my family members ended up with early deaths, yet there were also lots of opportunity for help. They didn’t take the help or, sadly, the help wasn’t enough somehow.

Monica Potts’ The Forgotten Girls (mentioned previously) pins some blame on religion in her small town and how that victimized women. I can’t say that about where I grew up or my family. In fact, my only sibling who is still alive — my second-oldest half brother Ron — married the daughter of a minister and is living a great life in Iowa where they are active in their church. I don’t consider myself religious per se, but I wish my other siblings had gotten into church rather than drugs because they’d probably still be alive (though there’s a good possibility they wouldn’t vote the way I do and that would suck).

Which leads me to prayer. Sort of. Way back then, Gary had somehow already clued me in on what I’d end up hearing time and again from best-selling authors, religious and spiritual folks and meditation/intuitive pros (Buddhist nun Pema Chodron is one of my faves and in coming weeks I’ll speak about Laura Day). The overriding message: do what you can do to help, but at some point you have to accept what is. It’s really anti-White Girl: for life’s most troubling situations, there is no calling the manager. Sometimes all you can do is pray (it’s not crazy, scientists research this), send healing energy, good vibes — whatever you want to call this. And try somehow to live the best life you can. Next week, I’m going to have Julie Kundert, one of my yoga teachers, chime in. She has a lot of experience in this area.

Yes, I know that I’ve gone from Hilton Als to banana bread to self-destructive relatives. That’s the beauty — horror maybe!— of not having anyone edit me. But, then again, it’s really a Love, Eat, Pray post.

Which reminds me that Linda sent a link to the great Elizabeth Gilbert (EAT PRAY LOVE) announcing she’s starting a Substack! I’ll certainly subscribe. Thanks for sending this, Linda!