November Recap!

And another month draws to a close. This will be the last of the monthly recaps since next month will be the yearly one. Finally.

Fitness/Weight! Got back to the gym much more regularly, if you don't count the mini-vacation to Hawaii in the middle. Though we were active every day when we were there so that actually worked out fine. I was down in weight from last month right up until the past few days...hmm..wonder what happened there. It's been a good Thanksgiving. Right now my end of year goal is actually to try and drop this and get to flat for the year. Not at all where I started the year thinking I wanted to be but as you know I'm trying to reach for acceptance now. Oh, and the circuit thing I was trying last month? Yeah, I stuck with it until we went to Hawaii and then when we came back I went back to splits. I lift too much now for circuits to really tax my muscles and my knees are too bad to be able to really hit the cardio hard enough to balance it. So splits it is.

Reading! According to Goodreads I am three books ahead of schedule and I need to read 4 by the end of December basically a book a week. I've still got one more of the Discworld books to read but I've got it on my Kindle waiting to finish The Starless Sea so that will be done as well.

Writing! After this blog I will be one ahead for the year so I'll need 13 for December. Not where I was hoping to be, since I wanted to be way ahead, but it's a totally doable number. I really am hoping for some fun Christmas story ideas to hit, though I don't need the fiction because I hit that goal this month. So with the submissions being hit last month, the fiction this month, I'm looking pretty good on hitting this one for the year.

MasterClass! After figuring out that my subscription will run out the first week of December I made a shift on the one a month to make it 12 overall and started RL Stine the end of October to carryover and become November's class. I never read RL Stine's books, C didn't really read RL Stine either, that I remember, but I was aware of him, of course. I mean the man cranks out books like Stephen King. It was such an enjoyable class. He doesn't really take what he does for a living seriously, I mean, clearly he is a huge success and has a way of writing that works for him, but he's pretty hilarious about it all. After him I took Joyce Carol Oates for my "December" class. She does take writing VERY seriously and as such the class was not nearly as enjoyable for me. I'm a write for fun because it amuses me writer. I've realized this over the years watching other people I know write and how the ones that take it seriously approach it vs. the ones who are like me and just write for shits and giggles approach it. First hint, I won't proof this before I post it let alone rewrite and edit.

Museum/Attraction! I was so excited for this one. OMSI (our science museum) had been sending me advertising for the Gingerbread exhibit for a month and they do really neat exhibits. So we went to this last Sunday expecting to see some really great Gingerbread creations and some things on the science of building with baked goods and...well...it wasn't that. There were four things. That's it. Two were cute, one was kind of lame and one was amazing. For a $15 ticket (since I wasn't planning on seeing anything else in the museum) it was really disappointing. But since we were there we saw the Exquisite Creatures exhibit and that was pretty amazing. So it wasn't what we went for, but it was worth the price. Sometimes that's the way it goes.

Long Term! I ended up choosing to sort the kitchen. I didn't really get rid of much, or even move much around but I did get a quick reminder of what I have and what I felt like I needed to replace. I'm still debating getting rid of a few more things but for now everything is safe.

So what's on tap for December?

Just finishing out the year. I've got a few more goals to hit so I will work towards those. Then on to preparing for 2020 and the no goal revolution. I think it's going to be nice. Maybe. We'll see.

Happy Thanksgiving!

You May Be Right, But I'm Not Wrong...

Over the past few weeks I've had two different friends say "I told you so" in their own ways about the same thing. One from the left and one from the right. One who would lean more towards anarchy and one towards libertarian. Which, let's face it folks, are pretty damn close really.

But anyway...

They both wanted to tell me that they have been right all along about the government, our government, and don't I feel foolish right about now for the years and years that I have insisted they are mostly trustworthy.

And I have to say for a little bit I was like, yeah, you're right, it's a mess. People are awful. It's so much worse than I had ever imagined. Doom, despair, misery...

But then...

Then I thought, well wait, am I wrong?

For those of you that know me well you know that I will admit when I am wrong, but I hate to be wrong so I will look at it VERY closely to make sure I am. (insert giant winky face here...I'm being a smartass...sort of...I do hate to be wrong, but I will admit it when I am and generally I don't struggle with it)

So anyway...I looked again.

And yes, right now looking at how completely messed up the government is it's really discouraging. But the reason why it looks so bad, why it's so hard to take is because it mostly worked before the past few years.

And yes, I can hear both of them screaming and gnashing their teeth at me right now, that it's only because I didn't KNOW what was going on that I THINK it wasn't this bad and that it's always been this bad and Epstein and the Clintons and Deep State and...

Shhh....

One of the biggest takeaways I've gotten from the Trump administration is how many of the things we all thought were rules and laws were merely formalities and we've always done it this ways. Trump has disrupted the system by refusing to follow the norms. Which a large group of people actually love about him. The same large group that will say "play stupid games, win stupid prizes" when someone gets hurt not following a rule, or "just do what the police tell you" when someone is killed for selling loose cigarettes...but I digress...

Anyway, the rule and order party is populated by a lot of people taking great joy in someone not following rule and order is what I'm saying.

But what that means for me, is that we can get back to a place where the norms are decent behavior. Where the standard is being a little more respectful. Where diplomacy is actually favored. If we were there, we can be there again.

I don't think it will be easy. Not at all. I think Trump is the culmination of years of standards slipping. Of people nipping around the edges of decency. And I don't think he's the worst there can ever be. I mean we've seen worse run and get elected, and re-elected, Steve King, I'm looking at you. So yeah, we should be paying a little more attention than we have been.

We should also look at making some changes in things that have been "just always done this way" and see if the need to be "this is now a law." Which is REALLY going to make my left and right friends crazy. MORE LAWS?? ARE YOU CRAZY???

Maybe.

Or maybe I still have faith that most people are decent and if we can just encourage the decent behavior again we can get to a place where the system isn't the worst. Where people are able to do good for others. That a career in service is an honorable thing.

You may be right, but I hope I'm not wrong.

A Life Story...

She looked exactly like he had always imagined.

The sun was coming in the windows behind her, framing her in a halo of light. Her wedding dress was the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. She had never looked lovelier to him. Her smile, the one that he recognized as her very happiest smile, lit her whole face. No nerves, just joy radiating from her. 

His whole life he had been dreaming of this moment. 

Or most of it at least. 

The first time he saw her he knew that she was going to be the one he married. When he told her she had laughed and told him that she didn't want to get married. Understandable, considering they were four at the time. But he knew. He felt it in his soul. She was the one.

He brought her flowers, weeds really, picked on the way to the playground where he hoped she would be waiting. He brought her colored rocks he found when out on hikes with his Dad. He shared all of his best toys with her. He made sure that he saved the swing she liked best when he got to the playground before her. Anything he could do to make her smile he did. 

But it wasn't one sided. It wasn't just him bringing her gifts and saving her space and laughing at her jokes and listening to her tell her stories. Oh no. She had given him many things as well. He told people without embarrassment that she had made him a better person.

In first grade when the teacher had asked each of them what was important to them everyone had a variety of 6 year old answers. Cookies. Mom and Dad. Maybe a sibling. A favorite toy or action hero. She had said it was important to be kind. Mrs. Youngston had loved that answer. And so had he.

So he had tried to always be kind. 

In fifth grade he had overheard her talking to her friends about the new boy, James. All of the girls had loved James. He was from California and had that floppy blond hair that Californians seem to be born with. He was a practical joker and made all of the kids laugh. But she hadn't had a crush on him like her girlfriends all did. She said he was funny, and he was cute, but he wasn't smart and to her smart was important.

So he had studied hard and made sure his grades were always good. 

In high school he was going to take French for his foreign language, but she said that she was taking Spanish because she wanted to travel in her 20s and more places spoke Spanish than French. She also wanted to do humanitarian work in Mexico in her gap year and so Spanish made more sense than any other language. 

So he became fluent in Spanish. 

Thinking about high school reminded him of how gorgeous she looked at prom. He remembered seeing her that day and thinking that the only time she would ever be more lovely was on their wedding day. They had gone to prom with a large group of friends. Renting out a stretch limo and pretending to be wealthy scions of society. Trying on accents that they thought made them sound rich. James said something in French and the girls all swooned. Or at least almost all of the girls. 

After graduation he had told her he was going to spend a year volunteering with Doctors Without Borders. They had advertised for interpreters who could stay in an area for a few months working with the population, answering questions, helping them get the care they needed. She had actually clapped her hands when she heard the news. "I am so PROUD of you!" He had held that sentence like a beacon in his heart. She had decided to save her gap year for after college.

They wrote to each other that entire year. He told her all about the people he was seeing. The differences that were being made. How he was thinking about medical school. About how his formal Spanish was helpful, but he was learning the regional language was very different. She told him about college. About the weather. How the classes were harder than she had thought they would be. How her roommates were only interested in parties. Then about the sorority she was pledging because she had heard that those connections would help her professionally for years. She was always thinking of the future.

So was he. 

When he came home that summer they met at the playground. She was sitting in her favorite swing. He had brought her presents from a market in Mexico. They had talked all afternoon. She had already been in the sun enough that she had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She had 9 freckles. Four on one side and five on the other. She always had. He thought of them as the sign of summer. They came out in June and wouldn't start to fade until October. Just seeing them made him think of watermelon and pool parties. 

That Fall she gave him a tour of her sorority house. Via Skype. He was going to school in another city with a better pre-med program. It had been a hard decision, but he knew it was the right one. He would do his undergrad studies while she finished her degree, he was confident he could finish in three years, then she would take her gap year while he got settled in med school. She could start work while he finished school, or get her Masters at the same time. He had the money and scholarships to pay for his school and so any student debt she had they could manage as soon as he started practicing. They could travel like she had always wanted. Especially with the volunteer work he planned to continue.

He was confident. She had taught him what was important and he had agreed.

He looked away from her for a moment to take in the congregation. So many familiar faces reflecting her joy back at her as she walked up that aisle. He recognized many of her sorority sisters, some there with their own husbands in tow. There were many friends of theirs from high school as well. James caught his eye and winked. He smiled back, he hadn't been sure he was going to make it in for the wedding. James had his wife by his side. He had met her at USC and they had married right after graduation. Already the parents of two little cherubs with that floppy blond Californian hair. 

The minister began to speak, "Marriage is a blessing. How more fully blessed is the couple that has the support of their family and friends as they begin their new life. Who has the honor of presenting this woman to this man as they begin their journey together?" He watched as the tear formed in the corner of her father's eye. "Her mother and I, on behalf of all of those gathered here today, and those who could not be here with us to celebrate this joyous day do."

It was just like he had always imagined the wedding would be. 

Except he had always thought the marriage would be to him. 

Intentionally Goalless...

So a few months ago I made the decision that 2020 was going to be the year I really did it. No goals.

And of course as soon as I decided a little part of me started to panic a bit. And another part of me started to fill in "these aren't goals, merely suggestions with timelines" and then the part that originally decided was all, "Shh! I told you! No goals!" said like Edna says "No capes!" which then amused the part of me that never made it past 7 and started to imagine a goal cape you could swish around when you completed a task...

I tell you, it's very busy up in here.

Anyway...

I'm still in the no goals mindset. And I know that part of the reason is because the last few months I've been very much meh about finishing out 2019 goals. I just don't really have my motivation for them. And I know and I get it, it's because of Mom dying and that has thrown a monkey wrench into my pond of self, BUT...it's still a thing that happened. But to be fair the no goals thing was bouncing around in there with all of the other mixed metaphors before that happened.

AGAIN ANYWAY...

Last month while in the throws of the no goals mindset I bought my calendar for 2020. Yeah, not going to do stars and goals but I still need space to write down my to do lists because cleaning the bathroom or running an errand that needs done doesn't really count as a goal, but it's a must do thing and I like having a written space. I remember things more if I write them down. I can put a reminder in my calendar on the phone (and often do both) but writing it down just sticks a little more.

SO ANYWAY....

I bought my 2020 calendar and somehow instead of a smaller one than I had I bought a HUGE thing. It's got all of this space for writing down detailed plans and checklists and timelogs and what the hell was I thinking? This is much more than I have now and I am running 8 goal checklists a month! What? I'm going to need to find a different calendar that is smaller and more in line with my no goals year.

But...

I keep looking at this monster thing. It has cool quotes and spaces for notes and a place to write down daily gratitude and space for reflection on the day. And...

Well...

Okay.

So.

Apparently my no goals year is all well and good but my subconscious is not super comfortable with an aimless year. Which I am down with. Not the aimlessness, but the not being aimless. I can tend towards sloth if I'm not careful. Even if I am careful I have to budget sloth time in or I feel cheated. But I could see sliding into sweatpant wearing, bon bon eating, six months of the year is gone and what...pretty easily. Especially with the grief nips all around the edges.

And really, I mean it, I'm fine. Mostly. I am not wallowing. I am not catastrophically sad. I was ready and prepared as much as I could be and I would say that 80-90% of the time I am perfectly fine. But what I don't want to happen is to merge grief and a small depressive swing and end up reliving 2015-2016. That would be no bueno.

SO ANYWAY....

What I'm getting to is that 2020 will be the year of living with strong intentionality. No goals, no end game in mind, but not drifting. The weekly and daily plans will be just that, what needs done today? This week? This month? And then really paying attention to those things. When I am doing them, I am really there, doing them. Not thinking, oh okay, after this blog I need to write 16 more (just as a random example).

Intentionality.

That's the theme for 2020.

That and #BlueNoMatterWho  ;-)

What Are You Going to Do?

I don't tan. I burn if I'm in the sun for any amount of time at all. The best I can do is a light beige by the end of the summer, if I'm outside almost every day. I wear a sunblock. Not a suntan lotion, or a sunscreen, a block. YOU SHALL NOT PASS! Block.

I get ill in the heat and humidity. Like sick to my stomach, pounding headache, can't do anything, ill.

I get seasick. Doesn't matter how choppy or not choppy the water is, if I don't take precautions I get sick. And then I'm down for the rest of the day. It's big time sick, not a little queasy and done. But heaving over the side of the boat, then to bed for the day. Out.

I tend to get Mal de Débarquement Syndrome. That's a fancy name for extended sea legs. If we go on a long sailing trip (long being anything over a couple of hours) I have that the boat is rocking feeling for a long time after. As in we went out on Monday and I still have it today. After our Alaska cruise I want to say it was almost a month before it was completely gone. Bedspins without the alcohol sort of thing.

I'm super not graceful. Any sort of physical activity is going to leave me covered in bruises. Some I know how I got (I have three in a row on my leg from the ladder on to the boat where the wave came when I was still half on), more that I have no clue (the dark, almost black one that Brent pointed out on my leg that I would have missed otherwise).

Each and every time shopping for and finding a bathing suit that fits is an exercise in humility, and settling for good enough, and remember when you used to be hot (even though, honestly, suits didn't fit back then either).  Followed by the actual wearing of it which turns into a tug, tug, shift, tighten, loosen, tug, fidget experience of making sure my bits are covered and nothing is floating away (suit or bits).

I am absolutely not made for tropical beaches.

And yet...

I love to sit on the beach and listen to the waves crash on the shore. I love to watch the roll and break and wash of the water as it comes in and then goes back out. I love the hiss of the water as it hits and as it goes back out to sea. I love the smell of the salt in the air and the feel of the mist on my face. I even love watching from a balcony above the surf, just sitting out on the lanai with a book and looking up every few pages to watch the waves is a perfect afternoon.

There is a popping clicking noise that you hear underwater swimming over a coral reef. It's the fish chomping at the coral. clickclickclickclick There is almost nothing that makes my heart feel as full as that first moment I hear that.

Except the sound of a humpback singing. Listening to a hydrophone pick it up makes my eyes tear up each and every time. Being in the water and feeling the vibration of the song in my chest? I don't have a word for that feeling. And I have a lot of words.

Swimming out in the ocean with Brent and each of us pointing out things so we don't miss the cool things. The manta ray eating breakfast, the eel swimming after the school of fish looking like an old man chasing them off of his coral cave, the sleeping honu, the swimming honu, the blue fish, the green fish, the rainbow fish...everything is the cool thing. And we are just out there looking at it. And pointing.

Stepping off of the plane in Hawaii it feels like Brent and I shed a coat, no matter what the weather is, a heavy coat and we are just lighter there. Part of it is that it's vacation, sure. And it's actual vacation not Intel vacation. But it's just different. Like the salt water is buoyant so it holds us up with less gravity.

We talk about retiring there. I picture a life eating fresh fruit and swimming almost every day.

But then I wonder how long you have to be there before it just is normal? When we went to Oahu we were stuck in traffic going from Pearl Harbor to Waikiki and wondered how quickly it would change from "Sure you're stuck in traffic, but you're stuck in traffic in Hawaii" to "I'M STUCK IN TRAFFIC AGAIN!!" A few years ago on Kauai we were there for a week and it rained almost the whole time. Almost everything we planned got cancelled. Flash floods, high surf, trails washed out. And we still had a great time. It was still Hawaii. We found other things to do. Including one of the things I recommend to EVERYONE who goes to Kauai. (Lydgate Farms) But how long would that last?

I know I experience it here. Every once in awhile I am startled by how beautiful it is. I notice again. Fall is gorgeous. Spring is breathtaking. But summer and winter are awfully lovely as well. But on the day to day? It fades into the background. It's just where we live. If I'm not showing it off to someone it's just...well...home.

Where I can wear my sweaters and my boots. And the weather rarely gets too hot. And we have access to concerts and plays and sports. And beautiful hikes and a gorgeous coastline.

And a direct flight to Hawaii.

Because Oregon might be home, and I might be built for the PNW, but I've always been contrary and no matter how much I'm not made for Hawaii I think I should be.

What are you going to do?

All By Myself...

"He once tried to justify cheating on me by saying I had left him."

"Wait, that seems like a valid reason to me. It wouldn't even be cheating at that point it would be..."

"I left him to go to work! Like literally I was gone for 8 hours at work!"

"Oh no!"

With that the whole table started laughing. Nobody was going to be able to top Jenny's worst boyfriend ever story. No one ever could. And the horrible thing was she could win this every time without ever repeating bad boyfriend stories. She had just had the worst luck ever when it came to men.

"At least you can laugh now right?"

"Sure, I laugh now because once I gave up it all seemed very funny to me that it had ever really mattered."

"You gave up? What do you mean you gave up?"

"I don't date anymore. I haven't had a date in five, I think five years. Let me see, the last date was for Em's Halloween party up at Mt. Hood. Was that five years ago?"

"Yeah, that's about right. She and Mark just celebrated their fourth anniversary and that was the party where they met so that seems right. What was so monumental that that was where you called it quits?"

"You just said it."

"What?"

"Mark was MY date!"

"Oh god...that's right! I'm so sorry! I totally forgot that!"

"It's fine really. It was only our second date, we weren't a serious couple or anything and as soon as he and Em saw each other it was clear that was that. I feel worse for the guy Em had been dating. I mean they had been going out for months. He had no idea what happened. I was used to disaster by then."

"But to completely give up?"

"Yep. It's clear that I am not meant to be part of a couple. There is something wrong with me."

"No...you are...."

Jenny laughed and shook her head, "No, don't try to jolly me out of it. I mean it. Something in my psyche around relationships is just broken. I have a bad picker. A monumentally bad picker. I can find the neurotic, the asshole, the co-dependent, the mommy's boy, the emotionally unavailable, you name it, if there a relationship breaker I've found it. If it were just one thing I would say, okay, I have a tendency to find X problem so I need to fix that in me but it's not one issue, it's relationships as a whole. I have found too many new and unique ways to make bad matches and I'm done."

"Have you ever had a good relationship?"

Jenny thought for a moment. "One."

"One?"

"Yes, one. There was a guy in high school. He was great. Really smart, really cute. Interesting. We had a lot in common. We had a great time together."

"And what happened?"

"I broke up with him. Dumped him for a popular jock."

"Ouch."

"Yep. Broke his heart I guess. He pined for me for months, trying to find out what he had done wrong. I told him he just wasn't what I thought I wanted. He wasn't cool enough for me. Ended up killing himself on lover's leap."

Everyone was silent.

"His mother was a gypsy and put a curse on me that day. I was never to find true happiness again. If his soul was restless mine would be unloved." Jenny looked around the table and then smirked. "No. That never happened. I have never had a decent boyfriend. Not even my imaginary high school boyfriends were any good."

"Bitch. I believed you!"

Jenny shrugged and they all laughed.

They wrapped it up soon after that. Jenny walked to the bar to close out their tab. "Did you win again?" The bartender asked.

"Always. Nobody can top my 'he's the worst' stories."

"Someday you and I will have to play head to head. I have a lot of 'she can't really be that bad' ones myself."

Jenny laughed. "You're on. Name the time and the place and we will have a relationship off."

They lingered chatting while the bill was tallied. Making elaborate plans for their big bad date-a-thon. Both of them thinking maybe there was something else there. Maybe what they each needed was someone who had just as bad of luck. Maybe broken pickers were meant for each other.

But then both deciding they liked each other too much to ever risk finding out what was wrong with the other.

Besides there is no way someone would want to take a chance on someone as broken at they were.

Cycles...

"How was your day?"

That's the standard question when I pick up Brent from work. He always asks me how my day was. It's really nice. I generally feel a little badly because I don't have anything really cool to tell him. My day is some combination of chores, writing, reading, maybe visiting with a friend but pretty much the same sort of day. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly content with my days but I do wish I had something unusual to tell him.

But last week I picked him up and he asked and I told him, "Not good." And it hadn't been a good day. He, of course, wanted to know why and when I told him, "I just wasn't happy today. It was a not happy day" that made him really concerned. I am baseline happy. Most of the time I am happy. I am a happy person. I can find things to be happy about in the oddest of situations. Genetically I am predisposed to happiness and I also choose happiness whenever I can. So to not be happy is worrisome for him.

I told him it was just the first year. The first year is the hardest.

Which relieved him.

Not that I was sad about my mother dying, but that it was a perfectly normal thing to be sad about.

First years are the hardest.

Grief is difficult. It's a thing we carry with us forever when we lose someone. But in that first year it is still floating at the top of the cup. It hasn't settled down into it's permanent place yet. It sneaks up on you. This past week was a slow sneak into a full on bum rush.

Good reasons and bad.

One of the good ones was that my niece sent me a lovely note thanking me for something I did at Mom's service. Some of you might remember I had to apologize to her after Dad's service for being an absolute bitch so the thank you made me feel like I hadn't fucked it up again. Grief is a valid reason for not acting like yourself, but it's still a miserable excuse for hurting someone else who is grieving along with you. This time I didn't. Whew.

Another reason was this book I started reading. I talked about it on Facebook. It was a really good book. I'm really glad I read it. But...(spoiler alert if you are going to read Maybe You Should Talk to Someone you might want to skip ahead)...I'll wait.

Spoiler section: 

So, it's a book about a therapist and one of her patients is dying. She has cancer. Now, she's very young, it's not the type of cancer Mom had, it's completely different. But...it's the same. Cancer is like grief. It's always different, it's always the same. So anytime she would touch on this woman's story and sessions it was rough. There are other really rough sections as well. You are basically in therapy with four different people and it's brilliant and...anyway...it was rough. I cried a lot. Then today...

Well, I thought it was bad until today. Today we reached the end of her life. She was tired of being sick. Tired of dying. So she stopped eating. Yep. Just like Mom. I had to put my Kindle down, take my glasses off, and just sob. I haven't cried that hard since I got the first call from Susan that Mom had decided to die. It was the type where you hurt afterward, physically hurt, because it's such a wrenching sob.

It was beautiful though. The book, the end, the choice. It was all really beautiful. But man it hurt.

END OF SPOILER SECTION!

Right after Mom died there was an ad in my feed for a Christmas ornament. It's a sparkly owl. It was just so Mom that it took my breath away a little. I tried to find it last week and couldn't and then it popped back up in my feed and I realized I had been looking at the wrong company. So I ordered it. It came yesterday and I haven't been able to open the box yet. I know what's in it. I know that I am going to love it. I know that I really wanted it. But I can't. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week.

So yeah, the first year is the hardest. It's all still really fresh. You haven't figured out just yet how you are going to deal with it on the daily. You have really long stretches of just fine followed by not at all fine. This has been a not at all fine week.

It's all part of the cycle of grief. Perfectly normal. Perfectly fine. Then really hard sometimes.

For three months since I got the Mom's dying call I think it's all as good as it can be.

The first year just sucks.

It Depends on Who's Asking...

She was looking for the perfect stone. She needed one that was clearly heart shaped. If it was pinkish in color that would be a great bonus, but that wasn't really necessary. As she walked the trail through the woods she kept coming across discarded pumpkins. They hadn't been brought there and smashed, just left, so her guess was someone leaving them for the animals in the forest to have a snack and not from a group of rowdy teenagers grabbing and smashing jack-o-lanterns on Halloween night.

She was glad to be done with Halloween. It was such a frustrating holiday. Unlike most of her sisters she didn't resent the misrepresentation. The green faces, the hooked noses, the warts. She honestly liked those costumes better than the influx of "Sexy Witch" that started with the teen set. Those set her teeth on edge. Patriarchy in action in the most inappropriate place.

But no, what she really hated was the question asked of the little girls dressed up in costume, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" Or more correctly the question asked of the girls who chose "Pretty Witch" the precursor to "Sexy Witch." Nobody ever asked the green faced, wart nosed ones if they were good or bad. People just assumed they knew.

"Are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

"Well, that depends on what you mean now doesn't it?" She would think to herself.

"I'm a very good witch. I can do things that would curl your toes.

Literally.

If I set my mind to it I could curl your toes. Permanently."

But then wouldn't that make them think she was a bad witch? Curses are in the bad witch territory. What do good witches do? Well steal shoes and withhold information if The Wizard of Oz was any indication. But what people wanted good witches to do was act like Fairy Godmothers. Go around granting wishes or doling out love potions. And now, of course, there were the "wiccans." Gods save her from the wiccans! They were all about saying that witches weren't what people imagined them to be. No broomsticks. No spells. No cats.

Well maybe cats.

They did still like cats.

But they were nature lovers really. Just intune with the goddess. Got a horrible reputation that isn't true at all.

Bullshit.

She hated them more than the Sexy Witches puking in planters near the college in the early hours of November 1.

Wiccans.

Save us all.

She was a witch. A good witch. A really good witch. Her mother had been a good witch, her grandmother had been a good witch. Her great grandmother. On and on down the line. Good witches all of them. To be perfectly honest they were closer to great than good. Not a single one of them with a hooked nose, a wart or a strategically cut out costume with a completely impractical tutu skirt.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened them again she saw exactly the stone she had been looking for. Heart shaped, pink veining throughout. This would work perfectly. Tonight she would cast the spell her client had asked for, one to harden her heart to her ex. The one that kept coming back around and convincing her to take him back. The one that had cheated, lied, stole from her, not just physical things but her self esteem. Tonight she would create a talisman that would help her to see him as he was, not how he kept convincing her he would be. Then she would be free of him.

She would also add, free of charge, a little bonus action. Some retribution for him. Something so others would see him as he was as well. Maybe a few warts.

Are you a good witch or a bad witch?

Depends on who's asking.

First One...

Today is the first of the holidays. Those are always the worst.

Yes, technically yesterday was Halloween, but I grew up in a household that didn't really celebrate Halloween. Not really. There was a Harvest Festival at church and the Great Pumpkin would leave me a treat, yeah sorry, Linus, he came to my house every year. But I didn't trick or treat until I took my nephew when he was like 3.

But today? Today is Día de Muertos and it's all about remembering those we've lost so there was no way to avoid this one. I don't "celebrate" it usually either. I'm from New Mexico, and there is a Marigold parade every year and people paint their faces and there are sugar skulls and butterflies and...well..okay, so yeah, it's always around. But honestly Sugar Skulls and Marigolds are around all year long. My home town is big on that all of the time.

And I don't celebrate just means I don't go to a parade. I don't go to the cemetery. I don't build an ofrenda. But I do take a moment to remember. Especially since both of our fathers passed. I take time and remember them. Think about them.

Saturday was the service. That was for Carol and for John. Mom hadn't wanted one at the end. She was pretty sure nobody would come. Her peer group had all passed on or were in homes or just not healthy enough to make it. She just didn't want a big deal made for nobody. Carol and John vetoed that. Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living. A way of getting closure. Of saying goodbye. Or marking an end. I don't agree that they are needed. You all know that. But it was important to at least two family members and so Mom agreed that fine, we could have one.

That's the odd thing about deciding to die. You are part of the planning of the funeral. At least just a little. She didn't really do much else other than agree that it could be done. The rest was left to us. And by us I mean Susan and Carol and Jeff. Denny too ended up having some say over what was done. The rest of us just took our places and did our parts. Brian was called upon to lead the music. He had to sing a solo at Dad's funeral so this, I think, was easier for him. Carol wanted people to talk so she did, I did and Ann did. I already talked about that part.

Then there was a fellowship portion. There were photo albums for people to look at. My mother was so gorgeous and my dad was incredibly handsome. No wonder they ended up together. The rest of Iowa must have looked so plain by comparison. And then there were people who wanted to talk to all of us, tell us how they remembered Mom and Dad as well. They were a matched pair. Always.

After the service we went back to her house and looked through her jewelry. Susan and David had sorted it all out, I posted a picture of part of the collection on Facebook. There was a lot. A lot. So much. I would wander in and look at it, pick things up, talk about memories of her wearing certain pieces. Then I would wander back out. There was so much stuff it made me tense.

And all I wanted of hers was an owl.

She collected owls, among so many other things. But owls were her thing. Her spirit animal. I had asked her last year which she identified with most, the owls or the hummingbirds (also a lot of those collected over the years) and she said OWL. Then said, hummingbirds are pretty but I am the owl. So all I wanted was one of her owls. One that meant something to her, one that seemed perfect to me to represent her. I couldn't choose. She had a lot of them but none that were smallish (I wanted it to match Dad's ring in size), none that seemed more loved than the others. None that really worked. I kept picking one up and putting it back down and I thought about it, because it couldn't possibly be the one, and finally chose a salt and pepper shaker set that were cute.

Then we collected our ashes and left.

Yes, collected our ashes.

Each of us took a package of Mom and Dad's ashes to spread. As we put first Dad and then Mom into my bag I said, "They aren't the same color." I sort of meant it to be my inside my head voice, but it didn't work out that way. It was interesting to me. They were both cremated at the same facility, cremation is done the same way, but they weren't the same. And to really make it odd to me Mom was darker than Dad. Everyone assumed my dad was native. That's how much darker he was than my mother. Especially during the summer. He was golden brown, she was lily white. But now? Mom was a darker gray, and more fine. Dad was a lighter gray and kind of rough and gritty. I held the bag and looked at the layers. Mom and Dad together again. The same, yet different.

The next morning the boys and I headed up to the east side of the mountain. This is where she wanted to have them spread. Years ago she had talked about being spread in the ocean so she could surf without worrying about getting her face wet so I had thought about taking some to Hawaii with us. But once Dad died she had settled on the east side of the mountain. She even had dreams/visions of Dad waiting for her there with their three children who passed before them. So east side of the mountain it was.

I had picked a trail earlier in the week. I needed one that wasn't going to be too busy, wasn't going to be too steep (we aren't acclimated to hiking in New Mexico) and was on the east side. I didn't want to go all the way to the peak, though I thought about it. I didn't want to go to Doc Long's though I thought about that too. We spent a lot of summer afternoons picnicking at Doc Long's. But I thought it might be too crowded. I also had an image in my mind of where I wanted to go. Where I would leave them, but I knew that wasn't likely to happen. I haven't been hiking on the mountain in 30+ years, so there was no way any place in my head was even still there.

So we got to the trailhead I had picked out and started walking. And...there it was. The spot in my head. I got goosebumps. And not just from the wind and the cold. But it was what I had seen. Two trees growing from the same spot. Joined at the root, but seperate trees.

I thought I got a better shot of this, but there must have been something in my eye.

The view that Mom and Dad would have had sitting under that tree together.

I spread their ashes around the base of the two trees. And then in a heart. And then in a little more design. And then I realized that what seemed like a small amount of ashes in the bag was a significant amount of ashes on the ground. I laughed. Which seems fitting. I also cried. Which also seemed right. Then I spread some pine needles over their ashes to keep them from blowing away and to keep the hikers that would follow us from wondering why there was a lot of light gray ash in the dirt. 

Then we headed up the mountain to take in the rest of the views and to give me a moment to collect myself again. My parents lived on the west side of the mountain but she always wanted to be spread on the east. I had to wonder about that. I hadn't before. When I could have asked. Which is what happens so often. We just know things but we don't think to ask why. But as I stood and looked at the view from the east side of the Sandias, the view that doesn't seem to stop I think I understood why.

They are limitless now. 

Then I went back to my family's house and picked up the owl I had picked up and put down 50 times the day before thinking it wasn't the one. It couldn't be the one. It was just a little wooden thing she had obviously pulled off of a flower arrangement. There is still moss on the back of it, for goodness sake. But it is colorful. It's covered in glitter. And she had liked it enough to pull it off of a flower arrangement for goodness sake. My sister said, "That one? Really?" and I could only shake my head in disbelief as well. "Yeah, this one. This is the one."

So today is the day. We think about those we have lost. We remember them in our hearts. I think of Jack and his loping walk that somehow Christopher inherited. And I think of my parents. Together again. The way they would want to be. Sharing a view after sharing a life. And today I tried my hand at something I probably won't ever do again, but it seemed appropriate this year.

The butterfly and the marigolds are made with Mom and Dad's favorite candies. If I were more talented, like my siblings, it would look better, but then it wouldn't be mine.

Happy Día de Muertos to us all. May your memories be sweet. May your love be strong. And may you always keep them in your hearts.