Sandwiched vol. 1: It's not procrastination, it's pastrami

Welcome to the (slightly delayed) first edition of "Sandwiched," wherein I share frantic missives from the Sandwich Era of life. And delicious sandwiches.

I opened my laptop to write this newsletter a few weeks ago. And then again last week. And then again last night. I can’t remember all the things that interrupted me those days, though I’m sure they were variations of the same things interrupting my writing today. Not procrastination, exactly. Just life.

Today, in my mental calendar, was The Day. The Day I get this Substack back on track. The Day I get myself back in your inboxes after a month-long hiatus. The Day I make good on the words I wrote in my last newsletter, about being more intentional and thoughtful with this space in 2024 (hahahahaaaa).

It’s 1:14 p.m. as I type this. I have a little more than two hours before I have to pick up my daughter and embark on the afternoon/evening to-do list; a little more than two hours to explain myself in a digestible way that you will, fingers crossed, find entertaining. In a way that will keep you reading to the end, a way that will get you to smash that heart button, to like, share and subscribe!

I tried to start (er, restart) earlier today. But then I remembered I’m doing a charity pedal-athon tonight for a dear friend who survived breast cancer. And, for that event, I will need workout clothes that don’t stink. So, I gather up my laundry and go to toss it in the machine for a quick wash. But my daughter (bless her 10-year-old heart) has beaten me to it. Her clothes are already in the washing machine, along with a load of towels in the dryer.

A quick load quickly becomes three.

Photo by charlesdeluvio on Unsplash

Laundry started, my phone’s calendar pings. My mom, who doesn’t drive any more, has a doctor’s appointment today at 10:40 a.m. How did I forget that? I text her to remind her. She texts me back about fertilizer for her mango trees. I count it as a good-enough response, then strip out of my sweaty morning workout clothes and into something somewhat presentable. Not that Dr. Cuna or my mother care what I’m wearing.

Before the appointment, I give my mom her morning meds and a shot of insulin because her blood sugar is high. I ask her why it’s so high. She shrugs. I look down and see empty granola bar wrappers and a half-eaten bag of salt-and-vinegar chips on her coffee table. I make a mental note to watch her more strictly when she’s grocery shopping.

Driving home from the appointment, I remember we have no groceries, which means the kids have nothing to eat while we pedal-athon it up tonight without them. I also have a pair of shoes that have ridden in the back of my minivan for a month waiting to be returned. I pull into the Publix plaza that also has a UPS Store, drag my soooo-very-slooooow walker of a mom out of the car and sit her on a bench outside Publix to spare her the extra steps to UPS.

The UPS Store has a line out the door. I use the time to check my email.

Poor choice.

An editor from a magazine that is very kindly publishing a profile of “The Mango Tree,” has messaged to say that the venue where we’d hoped to shoot photos only allows photographs to be taken of “individuals who publish works that are about or related to” said site.

I write back “LOL Fort Myers gatekeeping Fort Myers, of course,” then erase it and soften my tone. I tell the editor my book actually does reference and mention “said site” often. I promise to send her photos of these mentions as soon as I’m done with a few errands.

She thanks me.

The UPS line inches forward.

Shoes finally returned, I meet my mom back at the bench and give her a Publix cart to push. She grabs a box of fruit snacks, and I grab it and put it back. She grabs a bag of Ritz chips, and I grab it and put it back. She grabs a tin of Piroulines, and I grab it and put it back. It’s fun.

I consider taking my mom back to my house to make her lunch, and then I remember this newsletter — Mom-lunch means no time for newsletter. I check her blood sugar. It’s coming down slowly, evenly. I tell her to keep an eye on it as I unload her groceries back at her house, then remind her that she has a salad with sliced turkey she can eat. She wrinkles her nose. I hope for the best.

I get home, unload my own groceries, then wonder why the dogs are staring at me so intently. I realize it’s their meal time, too. I feed them, shuffle the loads of laundry in the wash, then sit back down to my laptop around 12:45 p.m. I try to think of where to start, of what I can write in 2.5 hours that might make sense. But I can’t concentrate, or even hear my own thoughts over the rumbling of my stomach. I haven’t eaten anything today either. Fuck.

While throwing together a taco-ish salad from last night’s leftovers, I grumble about the limitations of these silly meat-sack bodies we’re forced to tote around. I grab a fancy can of calamansi sparkling water that I hope will motivate me to keep writing, tote it and my taco-ish salad back to my desk and get started.

It’s now 1:55 p.m., and the dryer keeps beep-yelling at me that it’s finished. The dogs are barking at the neighbor’s dog. Someone is knocking at the door (it’s my mother-in-law with the shoes my daughter left at her house last night). There’s a missed voicemail from my mom’s doctor’s office, probably just a robo-followup. And 11 missed texts from my debut-authors group (go MATH!). And an email from Amazon about my return being processed. And a text from Mom asking if I can call Sam’s Club to check if “they has fertilizers?”

“No,” I write back to her (look at me and my boundaries).

I have a little more than an hour to pack stuff for the pedal-athon tonight (I hope my bike shorts still fit), to gather water bottles and snacks and … will they be offering food? I’ll have to ask.

Another message from the magazine editor: “said site” won’t budge, so we’re moving the photo shoot to Koreshan State Park in Estero. I update the plan in my calendar.

It’s now 2:09 p.m.

Wow. Why did I put this newsletter off for so long? All I needed was 50-some minutes of time. In the Sandwich Era of life, when you’re crammed between the needs of kids and parents alike, those minutes just have to be carved out wherever they can be.

Today’s sandwich…

…is this pastrami melt with sauerkraut on a glossy pumpernickel bagel from Stuff A Bagel in Cape Coral. Since Fresh Bagels & More closed in Fort Myers, this might be my favorite bagel spot in Lee County.

Brusque staff, copies of the NY Daily News for sale at the counter, bagels that only last 24 hours at most before turning into rocks — I’m a fan.

In book news

We almost have an audiobook!

I spent five days this week and last week in a studio recording the audiobook for “The Mango Tree,” and while I don’t have a lot of time to get into details (eek, it’s 2:32 p.m.), it has been an enlightening, thrilling and exhausting process.

It’s one thing to write words about your life and your family. It’s quite another to read those words aloud, while trying to embody the people they are about. I knew I’d cry during certain parts of the book, but the tears that came with so many other parts shocked me. I feel for these “characters,” and I hope you will, too.

Barnes & Noble sale

If you haven’t yet preordered your mangos, there’s no time like now. Today (Jan. 25) and tomorrow, Barnes & Noble is offering 25% off preorders for B&N Members (membership is FREE). Use code “Preorder25” for the discount.