In Sickness

On September 9th, 1987, my mom and dad sat on a floral laden couch and looked into the lens of a propped-up camcorder. My father said to me through bleary eyes, “I just want you to get to know me, Julienne.” Two months later, the cancer took him.

I was only 6 months old when he died. Without memory of his vibrancy in life or witnessing his dignity in death, a brilliant, peculiar, captivating man was at risk of becoming an outline to his daughter. A whisper of existence without complexity or shape. Thankfully, my father is enshrined in story. 

• As a child he walked the garden every afternoon with my grandmother, popping tomatoes from stem to toothy smile.

• As a teen he shot himself in the foot, his little sister tending to his bloody big toe.

• On the day of his graduate final, he carried a bale of hay to sit on and simultaneously pissed off his professor and aced the test.

• Many of his last mornings were spent repotting orchids with me strapped to his chest, both of us up to our elbows in dirt. 

• He was a compassionate doctor, a loyal brother, a devoted son, a thrilling friend, a generous husband, and he and my mother filmed 40+ hours of home videos so that I could know him in life and in death and so that stories would etch memory into a fully formed man.

Thanks to Johnnie Jones I am in love with stories. Because though our days are fragile and brief, stories make love known and make love lasting.

Movie: Other People

I spent the last week watching movie after movie trying to find a well-crafted film about terminal illness that affects me as intensely as Other People. But in a cinema landscape pocked with style over substance (Challengers, Salt Burn), Other People’s filmic normalcy allows for the minutiae of sickness to take a genuine, complicated, eloquent form. Chris Kelly’s 2016 semi-autobiographical film stars Jesse Plemons before the screen fully grasped his acting tenacity, but it is co-star Molly Shannon who carries the wholehearted tenderness of it all. The structure is formulaic and the jokes are easy, but broad brush strokes are overshadowed by lived-in, precise emotion. I saw this movie 3 times in theatres, desperate to know the frustrating, cheesy, agonizing, predictable, painfully normal story of parental loss.

Affecting. Sincere. Sweet.

Short Film: I think this is the closest to how the footage looked

Directed by Yuval Hameiri, this 9 minute short won a Sundance Jury Award with just a handful of inanimate objects, a camcorder, and no more than 90 seconds of archival footage. Hameiri re-enacts his mother’s final day using a tube of paint, a door handle, a coffee grinder, a tiny figurine - each making the intangible tangible by imbuing objects with memory. The quietude of the film hollows out the emptiness felt in a loved one’s passing. The simplicity of the filmmaking illustrates the power of creating with very little.

Experimental. Minimal. Stirring.

Art Book: The Ward

In 1993, photographer Gideon Mendel spent weeks in the very first AIDS ward of London. He captured the heart-rending moments of the time, of the disease, of the universal experience of tending to someone as they slowly slip away. The book showcases the bravery of the patients and their families, not only in their journey through death, but also in their willingness to share their story at a time of immense stigma. The touching images are accompanied by short essays and anecdotes from all that cared for the patients. The photography is gentle. The essays are profound. Together, this collection demonstrates the vitality of love.

Poignant. Intimate. Illuminating.

Snack: Going Out

There is nothing more comforting than a thoughtful, home-cooked meal by someone who loves you. Care turns into carefully chosen spices, hands cradle each ingredient, affection nourishes the cells that hold every joy and pain of living a rich life. It is the ultimate act of tending.

But sometimes, you just want to be surrounded by strangers who don’t know what the fuck is going on. Going out can be a portal to a liminal space between love and loss. A momentary cap on grief gives way to crying recklessly and laughing freely. So here are a few places where the air is thick with loved ones’ names, the bar is stained with tears, spots where I have held and been held.

Anonymous. Expensive. Worth it.

• Porters - Bellport, NY

  The quintessential vibe for a caesar salad and french onion soup. Take a shot for Bill - I’ve had many.

• Mid Hudson Buffet - Kingston, NY

  Don’t snooze on the Mongolian BBQ. You’ll feel simultaneously in control and taken care of.

• L&S Diner - Harrisonburg, VA

  A perfectly anonymous place to speak well of the dead, ill of the dead, or not speak at all. Get the biscuits and gravy.

• Little Dokebi - Brooklyn, NY

  I actually don’t remember what we ordered, but everything was delicious and I know they have wine. They definitely have wine.

• Bunna Cafe - Brooklyn, NY

  Eating with my hands thrills me. I feel like an animal, like a child, I morph into my deepest ancestors and I am free of life’s expectations. It would be insane not to have the feast that includes all 9 dishes. Then continue eating with your hands wherever you go.

• Mas Tacos Por Favor - Nashville, TN

  Every Holiday my mom gets the Christmas tamales, packs them in a cooler, and totes them to whatever state we’re traveling to that year. I’m not sure we’ve cried here, but it holds many stories of Johnnie Jones.

To stories that last,

<3 Julie