⧉ Constraints
Welcome to the thirty-ninth issue of OVERLAP ⧉
Constraints
On Sunday afternoon, I decided to start a little gardening experiment on my minuscule astroturf balcony. I had soil, seeds, and a few pots. I did not have garden gloves, a trowel, or a watering can — so I improvised with dish gloves, an old takeout container, and a juice pitcher I found in the back of my cabinet.
When I came inside, I saw a message from my brother. He had stayed up late the night before, making a massive fort out of cardboard and scrap wood as an Easter surprise for my nieces and nephew. They were squeaking with excitement when they showed off their new “castle.”
Dispatches from friends display a similar range of ingenuity: face masks made from tote bags and old leggings, new recipes from fridge remnants and pantry provisions.
In a way, these pandemic-induced constraints feel familiar. When you grow up in the middle of nowhere, you can’t run to the store every time you need something; resourcefulness is a way of life. (A classic country mantra goes something like “If it moves and it shouldn’t, use duct tape; if it doesn’t move and it should, use WD-40.”) But there’s something about our current hacking that goes beyond just getting by. There’s a feeling of lightness — maybe even relief.
This is my third spring in my current apartment. I brought empty pots with me from my last place, and every year around this time, I think I should fill them with something. Every year, until now, I haven’t. Usually it’s because I realize I’ve forgotten something and the idea of running another errand is just … too much. This time around, I knew I didn’t have everything I “needed,” but it didn’t really matter. Making do with what I had on hand was enough. Actually, it was more than enough — it was liberating.
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I still haven’t mailed quaranzines — if you’d like one, reply with your mailing address. I’ll send them anywhere in the world for free. (Until I run out of paper and/or stamps.)
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Auntie Jess recommends:
“The spectacle of New York without New Yorkers is the result of a communal pact.”
“I was just shocked that anyone would want to leave. I’m not leaving. In fact, I feel that I am like the designated New Yorker. Everyone else can leave.”
“There is no balm to the soul greater than planting seeds.”
“So when will you know it’s time to dig into the foods that you’re keeping in cryogenic suspension? I want to say that the answer is never — because things will probably, almost certainly, be fine in the end.”
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Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear from you — hit reply or send a message through my website to tell me about your favorite quarantine hacks, New Yorker sentences, or anything else that’s on your mind. You can also forward this to a friend or two and invite them to subscribe. If you missed a previous issue, all the archives are online.
Until next time,
Jessica
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