What's Bringing Me Joy When I'm Melting [179]

Hello from Phoenix,

The whole family is here for Eva’s volleyball tournament, which is the last tournament of this club season. Even my parents came, since they are visiting from Taiwan for the whole month. We are melting, but it’s not going to get up into the 110s until the day we leave. Perhaps we are blessed that it’s only 106 or something? I’m counting that as a microjoy.

The family spent the previous week in a desperate search for our beloved tuxedo cat of the last nearly seven years, Abraham Lincoln, aka, Abe. Abe is such a treasure; the most brilliant and crafty kitty who was among the 18% of cats who could (and enjoyed) playing fetch. He also opened doors with his face, reluctantly put up with the dog, and fashioned makeshift litter boxes for himself in the vet’s office when he needed to poop. (An indoor cat with outdoor access, he eventually freed us from needing a litter box at all because he always did his business in the bushes outdoors.)

Twice this past year he brought me birds to show his love, one time absolutely terrifying me by leaving one on my pillow. He brought us constant love and companionship, really. He gave us so much joy and comfort all through COVID, my divorce, moves, and all these years of LA living. He entertained all my guests, socializing with friends when they came for dinner or parties, slept each night at my feet, snuggled with all the sisters.

Desperate for answers, I bought two pet psychic readings on Etsy on the advice of a friend in Manhattan Beach. Both psychics independently said that Abe had not “crossed over” and that he’s alive, but if he is, where is he? I fear we must live with the mystery. And the profound and constant grief.

The American family is at a breaking point. Taiwan’s all night rave scene. Even Texas Senate candidate Ken Paxton’s criminal defense attorney is backing his opponent. The pork industry sneaked a provision into the 2026 farm bill that would nullify ballot measures that improve animal welfare, while helping Chinese companies torture American pigs. An 89-year-old Los Angeles man is training to summit Kilimanjaro for his 90th birthday in July, which is more proof we should live by my life goal of “peaking when I’m 90, then die.”

On my nightstand: Whistler, by Ann Patchett, which Alisha Ramos already inhaled and raved about. I interview Ann Patchett (for the second time this year, because I am #blessed) about this new novel, next week!

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My microjoy is a subtype of art, I suppose: back-of-the-car paparazzi photos of British notables. Prince Phillip in the back of the car used to be my favorite, until Prince Andrew’s. Now my dream is to not just own a bookmobile, but to include a traveling exhibit of these British pap photos ON my bookmobile.

I’ve been told I give off a “get up and go” vibe, but I actually thought I did pretty well hosting a few episodes of The Nightly, Hatch’s nightly sleepytime podcast for grownups. (I linked to an episode where I happened to discuss Abe, not knowing he’d disappear a few days later.)

Jena and I discussed the origin of our Epstein Files Book Club show and the quest for accountability with Cristen Conger of the Conspiracy, She Wrote podcast. I got to discuss the “Republic of Wasia” discourse and wax nostalgic with NPR alums Ari Shapiro and Audie Cornish on their new CNN show, Engagement Party. Get to know the TED podcast hosts, a video feature from TED:

And I wrote about sharing a mentor with Scott Pelley on this Substack.

I’ve been doing so much reading that I’ve yet to watch what everyone seems to be raving about — Widow’s Bay, featuring my favorite actor Matt, Matthew Rhys. And now, The Bear is completing its run with one more season to stress us out. So I’m totally open to YOUR recommendations for viewing that maybe won’t stress me out so much? And that aren’t Love Island? (Daughter Eva’s on the Love Island train and far more culturally conversant that I am as a result).

All right. That’s it for this one, and I’ll be trying to process my heavy June, maybe through an essay. Thanks for your correspondence (and your support) as always.

Hugs,

Elise