Seriously, how are you not losing your mind right now? The coming election broods like a storm cloud on my mental horizon, full of dark portents coming closer and closer. I veer between denial and despair, between wishing I could escape and wondering how to face the future. It’s made me think a lot about a past which once seemed so full of hope for women. After all, we got The Pill in 1971, autonomy over our own bodies in 1973, and the right to apply for credit cards in our own names in 1974. We managed to achieve some real milestones while throwing off the old historic millstones around our necks. But now my daughters send me sad, disbelieving, fuming texts almost daily about the rights women are losing. Everyone I know is in one stage or another of mourning, exhausted by gloomy CNN roundtables and Steve Karnacki's agitated polls. But as Prince wrote, Dearly beloved. We R gathered here 2day 2 get thru this thing called life, and win or lose, we're in this boat together. It's impossible to live at a high pitch of anxiety every day, so I grasp at the most mundane diversions to turn down the volume, to keep me sane-ish: Making poetry my prayer book; stress-eating Zapp’s Voodoo Chips; running amok and screaming when a Baltimore Oriole lands on my feeder to eat Welch's Grape Jelly; reading books with improbable happy endings; making playlists for the rowing machine; watching videos of the larger-than-life matriarch, Grizzly 399; taking a virtual tour of the remote far-north Svalbard Global Seed Bank, one of the few humane things the oligarchs haven't ruined, raped or monetized; and practicing 4-7-8 breathing to calm me down when the patriarchy sucker punches me. Oh, and full moons, always full moons. What are you doing to get through life while we hold our breath hoping for a happy ending? I'd love to hear.

 David McCloskey’s beautifully plotted spy series transports me to the world of high stakes hide-and-seek. To date, the titles include his first Damascus Station, Moscow X, and the latest, The Seventh Floor. These riveting CIA novels are loosely linked by the continuing character of Artemis Proctor, a hard-drinking, unconventional CIA operator whose equally unconventional agents are engaged in a game of mortal mayhem and moral dilemmas. I'm so hooked that I want the series to go on and on. Sometimes I read a novel that stays with me for an inordinately long time (for instance, The Butcher's Boy, published in 1988.) and the one that has stuck in my imagination for a couple of months now is The God of the Woods by Liz Moore. It’s being compared to The Secret History by Donna Tart, and I’m still thinking about that one years later. Next up, an earlier book of Moore's called Long Bright River. Have you read it and if so, what did you think? I miss being in a bookclub, so your recommendations are welcome.

A lot of women I know should probably be wearing warning stickers In this current political climate like the ones some vets use on records of problem pets. Particularly useful for facing mansplaining committees, male politicians who avoid their own their own voters, and women in power who collude with the lawmakers who dismiss us. I think the stickers only come in rolls of 500, but I’m sure I could find takers for them all. I’m late to discoverThe Red Clay Strays, a group whose music reminds me of the raw, stripped-back country church of my grandmother (if Hank Williams and Elvis Presley had been in the choir). My favorite from their latest album is “Wanna Be Loved,” a religious-y plaint in stunning rock and roll/country wrapping. They're hard to categorize and insist they're not a Christian band, but the loneliness, loss, and longing for redemption in the voice of their lead singer speaks to the human condition whether you believe in God, or your god looks more like Johnny Cash.

On a past birthday, my daughters filled a pinata with so many tiny surprises it was like opening a treasure chest. It felt especially life-affirming when I’d just made a lucky recovery from a stroke two months before. Whacking it open to be showered with unexpected delights felt like a message that being broken could somehow be transformed into beauty. I love pinatas as objects of celebration and joy, but I’m also obsessed with them as art forms.A master at the medium is Roberto Benavidez, who creates elaborate, fantastical pinatas like this one based on illustrations in medieval manuscripts. A detailed New York Times article explored his art and craft if you can get past the paywall, or you can find him on Instagram (@roberto_benavidez). Inexpensive pinatas for the rest of us are available everywhere, but you have to use your imagination to fill them up. We can use any slim excuse to celebrate right now, and life itself qualifies as a special occasion.