Wrap It Up!

And here we are, the last day of 2023, can you believe it?

I'll do a monthly and yearly wrap up altogether here. 

Reading: For December I was going to do a combination bio/self help to make things easier then ended up picking up Barbra Streisand's biography which was SO LONG so the bio/self help just became the self help and then last week a book I put on hold at the library way back in the summer when I was running out of self help books to choose from came available and so I read that as well. Ended up making it harder instead of easier, but that's sort of my way. I might write a piece about that book next week, but maybe not since it wasn't really part of the challenge, I just felt like I had waited so long on it, and it had been so highly recommended that I should go ahead and read it. 

I also ended up catching up with the monthly Fantastic Stranglings picks. I had that one month where it wasn't available until the very end of the month so I was technically reading one month behind on those from that point on, but this month I finished the November pick the first week of December and the December pick I am pushing to finish today to make sure I have a clean break between read in 2023 and read in 2024.

I did the breakdown that I wanted to with bio/auto/memoirs, self help, Fantastic Stranglings and free reading and hit those. Which will end up putting my reading at 93 books for the year. The original goal was 60. For awhile I was going in and adjusting it up but then at the beginning of this month I went ahead and set it at the original goal. So that goal was 155% completed. The part that didn't really budge was clearing books off my Kindle. I would read one and add two it seemed so I'm not really ahead on that, but THIS YEAR I feel it. I'm sure people will stop publishing new books and give me a chance to catch up. Right? Maybe not...

The goal for writing was 208 blogs and writing more days in a week than not with 52 fiction and 156 nonfiction as well as getting a piece to Dana every other week (though that could be a double dip and was 8 times). As of today after I hit publish I will have written 243 blogs 56 of which were fiction 187 non fiction and gotten those 26 pieces of fiction to Dana, 18 of which weren't double duty. So I actually wrote a total of 74 fiction pieces, either short stories or chapters to a work in progress. I clearly wrote more days than I didn't as well. I'm calling that one a giant win. Especially considering about half way through the year I thought I had totally run out of things to write about (and some of you might argue I had) but I wrote anyway. 

And that was it for hard numbers for the year. I was already sort of setting my mind toward letting go of goals like that, and I set some more nebulous ones. 

Fitness was that I wanted to find a balance between workouts (weightlifting, cardio, and flexibility) and also get my weight back into a happy knee range. Well...you all know I've been battling a myriad of injuries and such this year. Sciatica, a different nerve impingement in my hip, the whole elbow situation. So no, I did not get back to a balanced workout and my weight is actually a little higher than it was, but my knees aren't as angry about it because I got the nerve issue unissued.

BUT...I did run this year. I have never been a runner. And to be honest run is sort of misnomer, I jogged slowly, but still both feet off the ground at once propelling myself forward. And I didn't hate it. Once I realized I could "run" without going any faster (and actually slower than my speed walk rate) I kind of liked it. It's a lot bigger cardiovascular push than just walking. And that was going pretty well until Covid. Which slammed me right back to walking, and barely that, for awhile. But still. Even with the health issues I kept working on maintaining my fitness as much as I could so I'm calling it a win. 

I was going to pull all of my photos off of Facebook and also was going to finally get completely settled and unpacked. Yeah, no. The photos are still so daunting I haven't done it, but it's still on the list. I really do want to try and save what I can there. I see all the time that Facebook has deleted another album of mine and I know that if I don't pull them off I'm going to lose even more. It's just a case of sitting down and doing it. 

The house we did make some strides on, we bought shelves, finally. Put out some Halloween and some Christmas decorations on them and over the next couple of weeks I will set up their normal displays. So even though we've been here for ages and I'm still not done I'm closer than I was and that's okay.

The overarching goal for the year was to find what works. What does a good day look like? And I think I made progress toward that. Enough that tomorrow's blog won't be a set of numbers I'm trying to hit over the year at least. 

And I also thought that it felt like 2023 was finally going to feel like a progress year for all of us. Not just 2020 part three. And even though I did end up catching Covid, I do think that it did. I mean, I know for a lot of people the year sucked, but it sucked on its own merits, so that's progress right? Or something...

But here we are. Ready to step into 2024 (or already there for some of you). 

Thank you, as always, for being here with me and my random pursuits and side jaunts. I really do appreciate all three of you. 

Happy New Year! 2024, please be kind!

Resolutions...

Her news feed was full of helpful hints on how to be the very best possible her in the new year. How to make resolutions that stick. How to hack your genes to become "healthy." How to think and grow rich. 

Work out more.
Eat less.

Get a thigh gap by Valentine's Day.

Stop smoking.

Start vaping.
Stop vaping.

Read more. 

Read better books.

Listen to books instead of reading them.

Invest in yourself. 

Invest with us.

On and on and on. 

So many voices telling her that she was not enough. That there was something else she should be doing. Some other better version of herself that was just waiting to be released.

It was all bullshit. 

Just the world trying to make a buck off of insecurities that wouldn't exist if someone wasn't out there trying to make a buck off of them.

She was tired of it. 

This year she was making new resolutions.

So far her list was: 

I resolve to find the people who write New Year, New You! articles and make them wish they had never been born.

I resolve to photoshop every photo of an influencer showing off a thigh gap adding horrific Lovecraftian monsters in the space where there should be thighs.

I resolve to post my stats about how long and how far I could run if I were chasing them on every article shaming people for not being as fit as this new 30 Day program could make them. 

I resolve to post the amount of money people are making off of selling you get rich quick schemes. Showing that the get rich part is them, off of you. 

I resolve to support people who want to quit smoking or vaping. (She actually believed that was the right thing to do, she just didn't want to send people selling stupid craving cures money)

I resolve to do evil to those perpetuating evil when given the chance. 

She looked over the list and felt it was a good start. 

Now off to find some pictures to photoshop.

No rest for the wicked in 2024, not as long as she could help it. 

House Hunting!

We're going to look at 4 houses today.

Not for us, for Katie. 

She's decided to move back up here. They had been talking about it for awhile and almost did when their last lease was up but her girlfriend wasn't quite sure she wanted to. She was raised in Bend so leaving it a little harder for her. Their roommate is from Kentucky (I think, I could be remembering wrong, but I want to say Kentucky) and so was up for moving where ever. Katie, of course, if from here so moving back here feels comfortable to her. 

But she wants to buy a place, not rent anymore. On one hand I think it's a good idea, rents have been going crazy here lately. There aren't enough places and so rates keep going up. On the other hand I'm a little worried. Places here are so expensive and it will be a chunk of her nest egg she inherited from her Great Grandmother, and interest rates are still pretty high and all of the things I worried about each time we bought a new house but double worried because it's my baby, not me. 

But she's an adult making her own decisions and I have to trust that the benefit of owning versus renting is high in her mind.

However, no matter how much of an adult she is, she's still living in Bend while the houses she wants to buy are in Portland so I'm stepping in for a preliminary look at things. 

I'll have to adjust my looking eyes to is this something Katie would like instead of is this something I would like. The places will be smaller and multiple levels, for instance. And she's looking at condos and townhouses whereas we were looking for stand alone places with yard space. 

The other piece is that we (Brent and I we) had started entertaining the idea of moving out of state. It's expensive to live in this area and if we were to sell our place here and move to any number of other places it could mean Brent retiring years earlier than he could if we stay here. I know I've mentioned it before but his father died at 58 from a massive heart attack. At 55 that is a factor in looking at how you want to live your life.

The problem, of course, is that we like it here. And we are limited in where we can move because of the political situation. Anyplace wanted to outlaw my daughter's existence is off the list, clearly. And speaking of our daughter, now that she might be moving back to the area it makes it all that much more difficult to entertain the idea of leaving. 

Things to think about in the coming months for sure. 

But today we are house hunting again. It will be interesting looking to spend someone else's money instead of our own. I might be a lot more forgiving of things that need remodeled. Or I might be less since we all want what's best for our kids right? 

Just spare a thought for Patty. Just when she thought she was through with the picky Mastenbrook family we drag her back in....

It's Been Two Weeks...

 ..since they stabbed my arm...

Okay, so maybe not a catchy pop tune but, it's been two weeks.

It seems like a lot longer and I have to keep telling myself it's only been two weeks. Mostly because I had really unrealistic expectations. I think I had it in my head that it would work like a cortisone injection, where you get it, it stings and BOOM! it's better. 

This is not that. 

And I think because of the tear he found it's going to be even longer than the 12 weeks he talked about before. I've done some more looking into the process but with tear instead of strain and it could take a year to reach full healing. Which is closer to what the strain was without the injection, the whole reason I opted for the injection, because I didn't want to wait a year.

But I keep trying to tell myself not to get too far ahead of things. It's only been two weeks. And because of the holiday I won't even have my second physical therapy session until the end of this week. It's okay that it still hurts. Hurts worse than the day I got the injection done actually. Though that was a really good day, before the injection. If it had always only hurt that much I wouldn't have gotten the injection done, but that was the problem, some days it was just a little annoying and some days it was super painful. And no days could I actually use that arm to lift heavy things or pull even not so heavy things off of shelves. SO...

It's been two weeks. It's okay. 

I just wasn't prepared for it to take more time. I wanted cortisone quick results with the permanent healing that PRP therapy provides. 

And that's the other part I keep telling myself. Cortisone would have masked the pain, which would have been great, right up to the point that that tear in my tendon became a complete rupture that I had to have surgically repaired. I just have to be patient with this.

Which is so my strong suit. Patience. Especially with injuries and taking it easy. Especially with Brent pulling way more than his share of the work around here because of it. I mean all of that is right up my alley.

Yes, I'm bitching. And no, I'm not really looking for any sort of comfort. I know I'm doing the right thing. I know it will take time. I also know it's only been two weeks. And I know that not everyone even gets the healing from this so I won't really know for a good while more if it worked. I just have to wait it out. 

But sometimes I'm going to bitch about it. 

And for this week at least it will be a blog bitch. Because I can pretend you all are curious as to how it's going since I had the injection and also we are in the last week of 2023 and I'm padding my numbers.

Next year, next year is the no goal year. 

Christmas Eve Eve...

Merry Christmas Eve Eve!

I hope you are finished with the doing part of the holidays and well into the just being part. 

We are on our own this year. Katie came home for Thanksgiving but her girlfriend doesn't celebrate Christmas so they are staying in Bend for this one. 

Not going to lie, it's weird. 

Which it shouldn't really be. It's not like we do much for Christmas. We watch some movies, we get soup dumplings and candy at the mall. We lounge around in soft clothes and have a big meal, like Thanksgiving but with soccer and World Juniors over the holiday instead of The Game. We don't exchange gifts. We don't go to church. It's all very low key. 

But it's still been the three of us for 30 years and this year it's just two. Weird. 

Happy Festivus to me, I guess Katie not coming home counts as my airing of the grievances. 

Oh yeah, another tradition. Festivus jokes. Usually followed by Katie rolling her eyes at Festivus, but it amuses me and her rolling her eyes at things that amuse me has never once stopped me. To be fair, anyone rolling their eyes hasn't stopped me. 

No real Feats of Strength this year. Elbow is still healing, and it's going to take much longer than I had originally thought, so maybe add that to the list of grievances? 

But tonight Brent and I will head out for soup dumplings and some candy shopping and will air some more grievances in the parking lot, I'm sure. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day will find us, where the kitties scheme, we'll be home for Christmas, but only two not three...

Solstice...

The snowflakes fell softly on her face. The big, fat, fluffy, ones. Christmas snow a few days early. 

Solstice was her favorite. Winter solstice to be precise. Summer solstice seemed like a celebration of excess. So much daylight. Such a long day. Who needed that much sunshine? Darkness was necessary. Resting. Cozy moments sharing warmth. Darkness was important. 

A dark cold day was the most romantic of days. August was the month with the most births. Nine months after there was more dark than light to the day. More quiet than noise. More warm fires and snuggly blankets. 

The snow continued to come down. 

The world entering that in-between time that happens after a big snowfall. Where everything is muffled. Where time seems to pass at a different rate. Where even the light is new. The world looks different under a blanket of snow. It sounds different. It covers a lot of things we don't want to look at. A walk down a familiar path is suddenly new and something to pay close attention to. 

The snowflakes kept falling. 

What would the Juul feast be like this year? Would the bonfires even light under this heavy snow? Or would this be the year that all of the celebrations were inside? A yule log laid on the hearth. Heat filling their homes. The celebrations adding light and warmth where there was none. 

She liked that too. 

Make your celebration. Add winter berries and greenery. Trees with lights. Candles to electric. Ornaments. Pine cones to glass balls to collectible action figures. She wasn't one to judge. 

The snow fell softly. 

Deep in her chest she felt the rise and fall of the little ones. Sleeping soundly in their cozy burrows. Waiting until the thaw. She would hold them close all winter. Though she did wonder what they would think of seeing their world not green and lush as they expected but white and cold. Would they react with joy or with terror? If she could wake them only for a day and whisper to them that it was all okay she would. But instead she held them gently and whispered lullabies in their ears. 

Winter solstice was her favorite. She knew most thought spring meant new life, but she knew it started here. In the cold and the dark. Those who were awake adding their own light and warmth to the mix. 

The snow kept falling on her face.

Looking Ahead...

Brent and I were talking last night about me wrapping up my goals for 2023. He said I'd have to bump my numbers for 2024 on a few things. 

I told him, Oh no. I'm not setting goals for 2024. It's a year of just doing the stuff I do without having numbers attached. 

He asked what the over under was on how long I'd make it without setting goals. 

Which is sort of a goal so I declined to name the odds. 

But he's right. The closer we get to the end of the year the weirder it is for me not to be sitting down and pencilling out my numbers. And looking back at my goal setting for 2023 the things that were more esoteric, I didn't actually do. I stuck with the things that were solid, do this this many times. Which is how my brain works. And also part of why I want to try something different next year. 

I tend to prioritize the things I've attached numbers to. Even though none of it really means anything to anyone else but me. There is no one counting on me writing 4 blogs a week, one of them fiction. There is no one who cares if I read 12 self help books. There is no one who is depending on me reading the Fantastic Stranglings pick. It's all just stuff I do to keep my brain busy and focused. 

But the things that I would like to do that don't have hard numbers attached tend to get shunted off to the side. Later, I'll get to them later. But later is filled with something that has a goal number attached to it. So...

So next year I really want to see what happens when I don't do that. When I just say that workouts, writing and reading are things I do because I do them, but they aren't attached to a number of times I have to do them. Which means if I want to spend the day working on something else there is nothing standing in my way. It's all fine.

The last time I tried this approach was 2020 and well, that was a bitch of a year. I'm not saying that not setting goals caused a worldwide pandemic because the universe did not know how to handle a free wheeling me but...

Seriously though it didn't really give me any sort of idea as to how to just be in the world with the goal thing put aside. It was such a messed up year and nothing made sense. And thank goodness I had no goals because I wouldn't have hit any of them and that would have just added another layer of angst on to a lousy time.

But 2024 will be better! Or at least I hope it will. And if things start going south I will set some mid year goals so fast it will make your head spin!

Help Yourself #12...One Last Chance!

This month's self help book was Untamed by Glennon Doyle, it is a combination self help and biography so it was going to be a nice easy finish for the year checking two boxes with one book. Except I picked up the Barbra Streisand biography (not an easy finish, holy cow it was long) so I didn't need the two in one, but I already had it on the TBR pile so it still became the book. 

Now...

I did not read her two other books. I haven't read her blogs. I don't listen to her podcast. I was aware of her when she ran Momestry (I think I'm spelling that right?) and I was, of course, even more aware of her when CHRISTIAN MOM BLOGGER LEAVES HUSBAND FOR ABBY WAMBACH was all over our feeds. I still wasn't interested in her. Except to be slightly disgusted at the, of course the Christian mom pushing for that "traditional" thing was a closeted lesbian. Of course she was. And then there was one little blurb that made me roll my eyes way back into my head, and it was that she didn't think of herself as queer it was just Abby, not women in general. Okay, fine, I mean, that is a way of describing yourself, I don't have a preference for gender, I have a preference for people. But it came across as more that she couldn't bear being called a lesbian. Even though, according to her and I didn't go research it, she was a progressive Christian so wasn't anti LGBTQ+, just was just really traditional.

So you can see she's not a natural choice for me. 

But...

During the Women's World Cup this year she was really active on Threads and not a lot of people were active on Threads at that point. And she was posting these little "pulled from life" comments about trying to learn about soccer and falling in love with soccer over the tournament. Then there was a post about Abby learning Taylor Swift songs so when they took their daughters to the concert it would become a great family core memory for them. Seeing both of them singing and dancing along with them. I thought it was sweet and I thought okay, I'll give her new book a try. 

AND...

It wasn't my thing. Not really. She talked about being an addict and a bulimic, which I guess she does in all of her writing, and I get it, those things shape you. She talked about her first marriage faltering when she found out about his infidelity. Which I guess her whole second book was about rebuilding their marriage after finding out about his infidelity. And then she talked about leaving him for Abby, after meeting Abby once. They met briefly at a book conference. They started talking via email. The second time they physically saw each other they slept together and made plans to live together forever. Which is the most lesbian thing that ever lesbianed, but okay, Glennon you aren't. 

Though she does reinvent her story in this book to always sort of kind of knowing there was something missing and fighting against it a little but then again maybe not maybe it was just Abby and...

And that's fine. I get it. Being raised religious and not conforming to what you are taught is really hard and takes a lot to get your head wrapped around. 

But it wasn't just that. It was really repetitive and derivative. Like any great nuggets of advice that were in there were recycled from other people. Like she was doing a book report on a Brene Brown book. Though she was rephrasing and adding extra sentences like a kid copying their term paper from wikipedia..

And then the final straw for me...back to the whole reason why I decided to read her book and give her a chance...the whole learning about soccer and falling in love with the game this past summer during World Cup? 

Well...her daughter plays on an elite travelling club and has for about three years. Abby and Glennon's ex-husband (they all co-parent and still do things together, very healthy) play in the same adult league and have games weekly. AND she's part owner of a NWSL team. There is no fucking way someone who describes herself as a control freak who researches everything would have a daughter, wife, ex-husband who all play and own a team and not know anything about soccer. They were cute stories, but they weren't real. 

And if I'm reading a bio/self help book the main thing it needs to be is real, if I find out it's not real I'm going to discount everything else as well. 

So what would I have gotten out of it in my 20s? 

Nothing. I would never have read it. In my early 20s I would have looked at her history and passed. There wasn't a lot of room for grace while I was dealing with my own stuff. I didn't trust addicts. I didn't have warm feelings about the church. I absolutely would have wanted nothing to do with someone who was living with a woman but couldn't own the fact that that meant she was at least bisexual. I would have passed.

I should have passed this time, just not anything there for me...

...that I haven't already read in a Brene Brown book. 

The Horrific and the Hilarious...

Tried to write this on Wednesday but couldn't sit at the computer and do it. Yesterday I felt like I really shouldn't try again, wanted to really rest my arm still. Today, I wrote a fiction piece and still feel okay so I'm going to give it a try before I forget the funny parts. 

Okay, now that we've got the timeline established...

Horrific is probably an overstatement but holy shit that sucks doesn't flow as well.

I told you that they kept telling me it was going to hurt and that I was fine with that. I have a high threshold and sometimes things hurt. I started to get nervous when the nurse told me they'd be sending me home with pain pills. Oh. That level of hurt. Okay, that's different. 

So I was a little stressed but still. It gets good results, I've been limited in what I can do for months now. I'm ready to be better. Deep breath. 

The first thing they do is take some blood. Some blood. The nurse asked me if I get woozy at the sight of blood or needles, Nope. I'm good. Then she, and her assistant, plopped down the supplies. Two GIANT tubes for my blood. Umm...how much blood? Like, that looks like a lot. But okay. Then they take the blood away to the spinner to separate the platelets and the plasma. Which is the first place where things might go wrong, you have to get enough platelets for the process to work. So fingers crossed I've got a good platelet count.

She went over the discharge instructions while my blood was spinning. Which was good because I wanted to know why I couldn't workout. I'm 55. If I don't keep moving, I can't keep moving. And it was what I thought at first. General instructions for knees and hips were on there too. So they can't do shit for weeks and weeks but I can work out (gently) as soon as I feel like I can tolerate it. No big arm swings, no weight lifting until I'm through with physical therapy, but I can walk within a few days and I can run as long as I don't get arm crazy next week. Whew!

Then Dr. Bettencourt came in and was talking to me about the procedure as he scanned my arm to see exactly where the platelets would be injected. He told me that it was okay if I didn't like him at the end. That I could call him any name I wanted to and that was okay. He would be using a little numbing on the surface so the needle itself wouldn't sting so much, but that they can't numb the area they are working on because if they do the platelets won't stick, so it hurts. No way around it. 

I told him that it was okay. That sometimes in life things just suck and there is nothing to be done about it but get through. He was like...wow. That's true. I mean I know I'm telling you that about your arm but that's just good life lessons. That's good stuff. Thank you. 

So I've given my doctor the end of a blog wrap up lesson so that's nice. 

Then as he was scanning I hear a "hunh..." 

Well that's not what I want to hear. 

It looks like from this angle that I have a tear in my ligament. So it's not just a strain, it's an actual tear. 

Does that mean this isn't the right treatment? 

It doesn't. In fact this is the exact right treatment for a partial tear. What he's hunhing about is that I should be in a lot more pain than I am. But... I have a high threshold. It hurts but I've dealt with it. 

So now I'm feeling even more okay about the treatment. It's the right one for a tear. I've been dealing with the pain from a tear better than he would expect so I should be able to deal with the pain from the treatment well too, is what I was thinking. 

And then...

Okay, so the treatment is unlike anything I have ever been through. It's no joke painful. Similar to the uterine biopsy but takes longer. I did crack up the medical team. Their only patient to mix "oh my goodness" with "oh holy shit that hurts" I am unique. I tried every distancing trick in my book. I tried reading. I tried pretending to be someplace else. I tried breathing through it. I tried leaning in to it. Oh holy shit. When he used the needle to move the tear around and get the platelets all around it...that was the worst. Right up to the point where the needle went against the radial head and...wow. The kind of pain that makes you break out in sweat. 

Now the thing with most treatments like that as soon as the needle is out, the injection stops or the cutting stops you get some relief. Not with this. As soon as the needle was out Dr. Bettencourt left to write up some notes and the nurse and the assistant stayed with me because...

I was going to vomit or pass out. Not sure which was coming first but it was coming. The room got very small as my vision did the tunnel thing. They brought me an ice pack for the back of my neck and a juice box and told me that it was normal and that I was doing great. It did not feel great. I ended up not passing out and not vomiting but it was a close call on both things.

And then I was fine. Like it passed and I was remarkably fine. Great. Left to go get my prescription filled. 

I drove myself to the appointment. I had asked if I could and was told that it would be fine. Which ended up being good because Brent had a stomach virus earlier this week and it would have not been great for him to have to drive me. So I needed to drive to Walgreens and then home. At 5 PM through Beaverton. Oh my gosh...what a mistake. 

The traffic was horrible and my elbow started to throb when I was miles away from being done. I kept repeating to myself that I was fine. That I only had to wait a little bit then I could take a pain pill and just crash. It would be fine. Because traffic was so bad I decided to go to the Walgreens closest to the house since it would be right turn in and out instead of trying to turn left against traffic. We don't usually use that Walgreens because it's kind of a mess. But surely it would be fine for a quick fill.

Surely. 

I finally get there and the line is about 10 deep. Texted Brent to let him know where I was, how long the line was, and not to expect me for awhile still. Finally get up to the counter and the tech says, "Just to let you know we are short staffed and closing early today at 6 so we probably won't get to this until tomorrow." 

My mind raced to "I can't, just can't. I can't get into the car again and drive all the way back to the other Walgreens don't make me..." My face crumpled and I tried to hold it together but the tears were in my eyes right away. "Oh please. Is these anyway you can fill this tonight? I just...." and the panic, tears and let's face it middle aged white lady of the situation all worked in my favor as she checked with the pharmacist and they filled my prescription right then. Faster than I had even expected walking in. 

If I embarrassed I might have been embarrassed about tearing up in front of a stranger but it was totally involuntary and apparently exactly the right thing to do in that situation. 

Got my pills, got home, and whew...

So that was the horrible parts. Ready for the hilarious bits? Or at least to me?

When the doctor came in to do the procedure he asked me what kind of music I liked. 

Anything but opera.

Okay. Who has their phones ready? 

His nurse pulls out her phone. What do you want to hear? 

He asks me again for input.

Whatever helps you concentrate. 

Metallica it is!

I'm fine with that. 

His nurse says, How about the Eagles station?

Oh you know my heart. That's perfect. He checks with me again that the Eagles will be fine. 

She sets up the Eagles station to play on Spotify and the first few notes of a song start and I just start laughing. Well, maybe not this one. 

It was Don't Fear the Reaper. 

Oh no! Let's skip that one! 

I'm fine. I actually like the song, I just think it's funny. They are both probably too young to recognize it just yet.

(Nurse) Oh no! I know it. I was raised with all of this. My parents are big in to these older songs.

So the painful part of the procedure has already started.

Another song starts and it's yet again not an Eagles song. 

Dr. Bettencourt asks if they've just got an Eagles greatest hits channel.

The nurse finds it. 

And...

Somebody's gonna hurt someone...before the night is through...

Oh my gosh. And yes, it was true. Somebody did. 

The other part was after everything was done and they were waiting with me to get over the shock part Dr. Bettencourt came back in with his peace offering. He hands me a cup and there is a cookie in it. 

I thank him and ask if it's a macaron.

Oh no! It's the world's best cookie from Trader Joe's. It's an oreo dipped in dark chocolate with that cream ganache over it. So good!

So I thank him and tell him I appreciate the gesture but I can't eat wheat. 

He snatches it away from me super fast. I wasn't trying to kill you! Just hurt you a little!

Ha!

So yeah, it was horrible and hilarious. 

I feel better today than I did yesterday which was better than the day before. I did take the pain pills the first day and took one before bed last night as well. It's still fairly sore and now we are in the hard part of the recovery where I feel like I should be doing more to help Brent since he's been doing everything but I shouldn't do a lot because I really do want this to work and part of my job to ensure that is to not fuck up the work within the first week. 

So I'm back off to sit on my ass with my arm on it's own cute little pillow and rest. Next week will start physical therapy so you get to hear me whine about that. 

It's the gift that keeps on giving! 

Support Group...

She was starting to think maybe this was a mistake. First off she was busy. Taking time out for this group made the rest of her day even harder to manage. And really her issues weren't the same as theirs. She thought they would be but...

"...busiest night of the year coming up and now I have to deal with this bullshit."

"Language."

"Sorry, Mrs. Goody Two Shoes."

"I've asked you to please call me Gretta."

"Why? I mean that's your name. Why don't you want us to use it?"

"This isn't about me, this is about you. Stop trying to deflect."

"Okay, I'm just saying that I have my busiest night coming and now she wants to have these serious discussions. I don't have time."

"You don't have time? Buddy, you control time. You can bend it, pause it, wrap it, how can you not have time to talk to the Mrs about your relationship?"

"You wouldn't understand, Krampy, you've never had a relationship."

"I've had a lot of relationships. And I can tell you if I was lucky enough to be married to an angel like Mrs. Claus I for sure wouldn't cheat on her."

"Oh god...go cry in your sack of sticks. You have no idea the temptation I am faced with every year."

"Tell me about it."

Every eye turned toward the new speaker, "What? You all haven't ever heard of Furries? I'm huge with them. And a lot of them are really interested in my carrot if you know what I mean."

"Eew. Don't just don't."

"Oh it's fine when the big man over there talks about his candy cane but I'm out of line somehow? This is discriminatory holiday treatment."

The facilitator, Mrs. Goody Two Shoes, realized she was losing control of the group. Again. "You've been quiet. Would you like to share anything today?"

She looked around the room. Would she? "I just thought maybe this would be more about our unique issues than bragging about body counts."

Krampus perked up, "Oh! Are were going to talk about that?"

"Not that kind of body count, Krampy, she's talking about sex partners."

"Oh...well that's disappointing."

"Okay, well what sort of issues were you struggling with?"

"Well, I mean I know my stuff is different. For one I work every night. Not just once a year. No offense to you all, but it's never ending. And then...well just last week I had to call the police, again, after showing up to do my collecting only to find a torture chamber with a psycho pulling out his victims teeth."

"You called the police? And they call me a snitch..."

She looked up on the shelf where the voice came from. "First of all, yeah, I called the police. Secondly there is a big difference between telling the police where a serial killer is hiding and telling him," She pointed at Santa, "that Johnny took an extra cookie from the jar."

"It's still snitching..."

"And that's your thing right? I mean, I have a guess as to how Mrs. Claus found out about his extra cookies."

"Wait...what? YOU told her?"

"Oh come on, Eartha Kitt wrote a song about it! You seriously think she found out from me?"

"Eartha Kitt didn't write it, she just sang it. It was written by Joan Javits and Paul Springer. Oh they were quite the the pair..."

"Okay, back to the Tooth Fairy. What I'm hearing is that you are overwhelmed. Is that right?"

"Yeah, I really am. I haven't have a day off in...well ever. And between the higher cost of collections and the odd serial killer here and there it's just, well it's taking a toll. I was hoping for some tips on how you all manage."

"Have you ever thought about just not doing it one night?"

"Do you know how bad it is when I miss a pick up? And I have missed some. Either the tooth is lost too late in the day to get on my schedule or somebody just forgets to let me know. I can feel the disappointment coming across the world at me the next morning. I can feel the little bit of magic that seeps away from that child. It's a huge responsibility."

"Collecting teeth is a huge responsibility?"

"No, not the collecting, the magic. You all get them when they are very little. From birth you get to be in stories and games and movies. They believe in you and what you do from the start. I come in at the end. When they are first starting to doubt. To think, maybe the world isn't full of magic. Maybe it's all my folks. And if I miss a night? If they wake up and that tooth is still under their pillow? Well, then they know they were right. It's all a sham. And I feel the hit."

"It seems like you are taking on a lot."

"I'm not taking it on. It's already on. You all get the fun and the magic and the wink and nod that as they age they get to help keep you alive for their younger siblings. I get to introduce them to the wonderful world of commerce. You give me your literal body parts and I'll leave you a small token. This is your life. Blood, sweat and tears for a few dollars every week. And sometimes you'll do your part and get screwed out of the reward part. It's a lot. It's too much."

"Well, maybe that's what you need to change? You have a job. You do your job. The rest isn't yours to bear. Yes, we all have to face when they lose the magic, but that's not on you. You didn't do it. It's the way the world works. And there are always those that continue to believe. I mean, not to encourage them, but Santa and the Easter Bunny find a lot of adults who really believe." 

"I'm not sure if I should thank you or be really mad about that image."

"Yeah, sorry."

"As far as time off goes, maybe you can work with them to give you some extra time. Like on Easter and Christmas Eve you could all work together to pause your collections? It's not much, but it's something. Maybe even see if your time adjusting powers can be used to freeze everyone else while you take a little break? Is that a thing you could do?"

She thought about it. "I don't know. I haven't considered it. But that could be an option. I mean, if they can use it for...well what they do then maybe?"

"Great. That's all we can do, right? Is consider new ideas. Anyone else have something they want to talk about today?"

"Can we get back to that body count thing?"

"Krampy!"

Today!

In two hours I have the PRP treatment on my elbow. I'm still a little stressed about it but hopeful it won't be too terrible. Sara's husband had it for his shoulder and he did really well with recovery so if a guy can do it, I surely can. 😉(I just discovered I can insert emoticons in my blog. Now my writing can become even less formal!)

We added a twist to my recovery though. Yesterday afternoon Brent came down with a stomach bug. We are hoping it's the 24 hour variety. He feels much better than he did, the fever seems to have gone away and he's been able to eat a couple of things. So fingers crossed he's better. And that I don't come down with it within the next few hours. If I have to cancel I would have a really hard time convincing myself to reschedule and not just take it as the universe telling me not to get it done. Which Brent said he would mock me over, but I can totally see making that decision.

We have been planning on me being completely out of commission for a couple of days at least but I told him not to worry, if he still felt lousy I would just run the house single handedly. SINGLE HANDEDLY!

He didn't find it nearly as amusing as I did. But I stand by my choice.

I did a few chores this morning that required two arms (even if one is wonky it's at least usable right now) and put on my Bad Ass socks and now I'm ready. 

See?

Yes, I used my socks as a pep talk. I do what I can...

I also jogged for the last time for the next six weeks. It's been interesting being a slow jogger. I've always said if you see me running you better start because something is chasing me. I've felt like my knees, achilles tendon, and wonky toe wouldn't be able to handle running so I haven't. But then Tommy Rivs said you don't have to move any faster to run, just lift your feet up. And that sort of blew my mind. I've always thought of running as moving fast enough that you HAVE to lift both feet off the ground. Not that it was some sort of choice. And he was right. I am jogging at the same pace that I walk but not any faster. I always thought I had to go much faster. And I couldn't do it. But this...this I seem to be able to do. 

And it's given me something different to focus on since I couldn't lift weights. Doing longer and longer stretches of jogging vs. walking. And today I jogged at 3.8 with bursts of 4.4 for 25 minutes straight. Nice. I can walk as fast as 5 mph but I haven't tried that with the jogging yet. It was a work up to it thing. Time first then speed. 

But of course all of that will go away and I will be starting from scratch in February when I can start running again. But that's okay, I know how to do it now. And hopefully I'll be lifting weights again so it won't be the end all be all focus of my workouts. 

The challenge now, because I had to move the procedure by a month, is that we are thinking about going to Hawaii the end of February and I'm not sure I'll be able to kayak by then. Not just the kayaking itself, because I could leave most of the work to Brent, but if we snorkel off of our kayaks hoisting myself back into the boat could be a challenge. I have a lot to hoist and one arm not being able to help would be no bueno. 

But as Brent says, that's a high class problem to have. Oh no...I'll just have to snorkel off the beach. 

So there you go. I am going through with it. I have my PT scheduled to start next week. My friend Shay explained why I can't use the treadmill even to walk for the next few weeks. I'm ready to go. Still sweaty palms nervous about it, but ready. 

Also why I'm writing this today. One so you knew I didn't chicken out even though it sure sounded like I was ready to chicken out. And two because I imagine I won't feel like writing for a few days. So this gives me three nonfiction for the week and just leaves a fiction piece out there. And who knows? If I go ahead and take the pain pills it might be a doozy of a fiction piece! 

Beacon in the Dark...

Or something like that.

Saturday night at the Teddy Bear Toss a friend of mine found me by my hair. 

Sold out, crowded game. He knew sort of the area where our seats were but had just told his wife "I'm not sure how I'm going to spot her...oh never mind. There she is."

My hair was a bright red homing target. 

Now to be fair I did just get it colored Saturday morning so it was at its absolute brightest but it was still really funny. 

The week before the checker at Fred Meyer asked me if it was natural. Oh, honey, no. And anybody who has this color hair who tries to tell you that it is is lying.

My hair is a red not seen in nature. Unless I'm on a hike...

It started out as a very subtle red. I had posted about how I used to change it up during the fall. There was a box dye that I used, the wash in wash out type. Lasts a few weeks and fades away to nothing. And I was getting tired of how dull my hair was looking. I like my natural color. Or colors I should say, there are a lot of them in there. And I like the grays that are coming in. They are very silver and pretty. But aging and the kink to the gray were making my hair not as shiny as it used to be (the reason my hair has always been so shiny, or part anyway, is because of how straight it is, straight hair is shinier than curly hair). 

So, anyway, Sara finally convinced me to do a color wash to my hair. It would add that red and that shine and if I didn't like it, it would just fade out. 

So I did.

And nobody noticed. 

It was really subtle. I could see it. And especially in the sun you could see it. But it was just a really subtle picking up of the natural red I already had. So she got out the dye and went darker. 

And then darker again.

And darker still until finally someone said something about the change. 

Then I think we went a few shades darker just for fun. 

During the pandemic I couldn't get it colored for awhile, and the red started to fade, but it just went to paler red. A more natural looking red, actually. It faded nicely. Which is always a worry with red dyed hair. It often doesn't stick around. Fades quickly and it sometimes not very attractively. But mine doesn't fade too badly, it gets lighter, but it's still a pretty deep red even the day before it's time to get it refreshed. During the pandemic it just faded more than that to a more rust colored red. 

And even though my hair stopped growing during the pandemic and I didn't have the large root line that a lot of people did I decided to try going back to my natural color. Sara did some finagling to bring it closer to my browns and...I hated it. 

I went two cycles with it and still hated it. 

I don't think women need to dye their hair to look younger or to cover gray. If all of my hair would go gray I would switch to that. Like I said my gray is silver and I really like it. There just isn't enough of it. So I have a mix of brown (browns really, a few shades of brown), black, blonde, red and gray. And when I tried going back to that mix it just didn't look like who I was expecting in the mirror. Which is hilarious considering I had had red hair full time for like 4 years by that point versus the almost 50 with brown. 

But the red is me. 

So maybe it is my natural color. As unnatural as it is. 

And it helps you to find me in a crowd. 

Traditions!

Last night was the Teddy Bear Toss game for the Winterhawks. It's impossible to say why it's the greatest thing ever, but it really is. Something about all of those bears raining down out of the stands is just amazing. Even if you get pelted by more than a few of them! Expert tip, if you are going to take a picture or record any of it, TWO hands firmly on your phone or it will go flying. Also expect to lose any unfinished drink in your possession. We had glass seats one season and we thought they'd be fun for Teddy Bear Toss because we could actually get our bears right on to the ice instead of somewhere in the seats for someone else to finish their journey. But what we did not think of were the HUNDREDS of bears that don't quite make it over the glass and you get pelted from behind and from the front as they hit the glass and ricochet back. A little higher up is much nicer.

Anyway...it's the best game of the year. And it helps set up a great holiday mood. 

We missed it live last year and had to watch on TV because Brent had Covid. It was still fun on TV but not the same feeling as being in a hail of bears and stuffies. 

Traditions are very specific things, right?

I've talked before about how our traditions aren't they typical ones, but they are ours. We always watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation to start the season. Usually Thanksgiving night, but at least by Friday sometime. And we cap it off Christmas Eve with Scrooged. The movies in-between vary, though Elf seems to have become an every year standard as well. We recently added going to get soup dumplings at the mall a few days before Christmas. It morphed out of an older tradition that got put aside. There used to be a great candy store in the mall and we would go get candy for our stockings (yes, we picked our own stocking candy) when Din Tai Fun opened we grabbed reservations for dinner there on candy shopping night. The older candy store closed and a new one opened. It was bigger but somehow not as great. But the soup dumplings made up for it. Even if we don't get the candy, we get the dumplings. 

We stopped exchanging gifts a few years ago. Brent and I stopped almost 10 years ago and we stopped with Katie the year before the pandemic. We decided that the trips we take are more fun than any presents so football games, Disney, those became our presents. We're all adults and if we want something we just buy it ourselves. It works for us. 

So not a lot of big traditions or standard traditions around Christmas anymore. Every few years we try and get a Zoo Lights in. I try and find at least one Christmassy/Holiday themed event. This year it was Liberace and Liza: Holiday at the Mansion. Every year we say THIS is the year we make it to The Grotto and then don't. But those things are usually just me and Brent now since Katie lives in Bend. 

And this year, it will all just be me and Brent because Katie isn't coming home for Christmas. She came up for Thanksgiving with her girlfriend and roommate. That was the holiday we got. Her girlfriend doesn't celebrate Christmas so Katie decided that the better holiday for the family would be Thanksgiving. It's actually my favorite holiday so that worked for me.

I know it's a weird one to be a favorite, and Christmas for sure used to be when Katie was younger, but Thanksgiving is so much lower stress. Just a big meal. Then a few days to lounge around eating leftovers and watching football. I mean The Game is stressful but it's not like it's something we have to prepare for, we just watch on the edge of our seats. 

But anyway....

Katie isn't coming home for Christmas this year. 

I've talked about how we are lucky to have had her for all the holidays for as long as we did. That Brent and I stopped going home for all of them at 18. Christmas a few years, then we didn't do that after Katie was born. The first year because Brent was on watch Christmas week (we actually moved Christmas that year and celebrated on a different date, it was just us and it worked better, I felt so early Catholic church!) Then later because it was easier not to pack up Katie and try to travel during that stretch. The few years we lived back in New Mexico were crazy stressful for Christmas. One year we woke up early and had our family Christmas breakfast and gifts. Then packed up the car and went to my brother's house for lunch and gifts and games with my side of the family. Then bailed around 4:30 from that and went back to our house where Brent's parents were coming up from Las Cruces to celebrate so we had late Christmas dinner and gift exchange with them. Wiped out. 

But after we moved away from New Mexico again we just kept visits to off times of the year. The year after Jack died Ann tried to come up for Christmas, thinking that she might just start coming up here every year to celebrate with us. That was the year of the freak snow. Katie had over a month off for Christmas break that year because of the snow before and the snow after Christmas. Ann was supposed to come in a few days ahead of Christmas and ended up finally getting in Christmas night. Then she almost couldn't get back out again. She decided never again. 

So it was just the three of us. 

And now it will be just the two of us. 

And if I keep telling myself it is fine and we have been lucky to have had her for as long as we did I might just make it through without any tears. 

Wish me luck! 

So Attached!

At lunch earlier this week I was talking with my friend about attachment styles. She asked if I knew mine, and I don't. It reminded me of when one of those quizzes was going around to find your attachment style and Brent said he didn't want me to take it because it would just come back as Not. 

Which is hilarious. And also a little true. I'm fine on my own. I love him, he's also my best friend, if something were to happen to him I would devastated. But then I'd be fine. I'm wired like that. 

Or that's what we say. But I haven't always been like that. 

When we first got together my style would be (and I don't know the actual styles so I'm using my own terms here) insecure. Same reason why it's in the "not" category now too, which is interesting. I learned very early on that the people that are supposed to take care of you and protect you sometimes don't. And because of that I didn't let myself really get attached to anyone, and a big part of that was because I didn't feel like I was worth getting attached to myself. Like as soon as someone got to know me, the real me, they would bail so better to not get too attached. 

So when Brent and I were first dating and then when we got married I was always worried that THIS would be the day he would realize what a terrible mistake he had made and how I was actually not loveable at all and he would leave. If he was out with friends I was sure he was going to find someone else and leave me. It was a constant drumbeat. I am not worthy of actual love. 

I've talked about the anger I had when I was younger and how Brent was a saint for sticking by me those first few years of marriage as I figured it all out and worked through it. But this was probably the part that was hardest for him. The part of me that was jealous of EVERYONE and EVERYTHING all the time. Because I was sure he was always on the verge of realizing how awful I was. Because when you are abused as a child part of you grows up thinking you must have deserved it. Which is, of course, not at all true. But until you work through that you have a mess on your hands. 

One of the biggest breakthroughs I had was his first cruise. Six months out to sea. Pulling in to ports where there was a LOT of prostitution in the areas they went drinking. I mean, hunt where there's bears to be hunt, right? So this should have just pushed me right over the crazy edge, but it didn't. Talking to a friend about it, her husband was on the same ship, and she was really spun up about it. Worried that he would stray. And I just wasn't. She asked why and I said, "One, I don't think he will. He said he wouldn't and he's never lied to me before. And two if he does there is nothing I can do to stop it. So why sit here and worry about it?"

And as the words were coming out of my mouth it was like...oh. He said he won't, so he won't. And if he does then he does. Neither of those outcomes actually has anything to do with me. That's all him. His choices. Not me or mine. And if he does and I never find out then does it matter? If a sailor is unfaithful in the woods does it make a sound? Or something like that. But it did get me thinking about it. And a few years later I revised my if you ever cheat I will make your life a hell like you have never known to if you ever cheat please don't do it in such a way as I find out. I don't want to know. I don't want to change the way I feel about you and us. 

His response was, how about I just don't? Which is also good.

But now years and years after that I have to admit my attachment style went from really insecure to really healthy. I love him. I love spending time with him. He's my best friend. I trust him as much as I have ever trusted anyone (also an abused kid thing, we don't really trust anyone, I trust him and I trust Katie the most of anyone ever and that's about it). But if he were to leave me I would pack up those emotions in a box and put them away and move on with my life. I mean I'd be sad, and probably a little angry for awhile, because I would be so shocked, but he's not me. I'm not him. We are seperate. 

And we choose to be together. 

He's my best friend. If I have the choice of doing something with anyone I am always going to choose him. He's the same way. When we first got tickets for the Timbers games I told him and told him that he could just get one and go with Joe; he had gone to a few games with just Joe in the past and had fun. I told him that I was fine watching from my toasty warm and dry couch and he could go have fun at the games. He finally said that he has a better time if I'm there. Aww...so we got two tickets (which we've now given up, another blog for another day). 

If we are doing something WE are doing something. People give us a hard time all the time about it. But it works for us. It's the choice we make. Because it's what we prefer. 

So extremely attached. Maybe that's our style? 

I still don't know what the actual styles are, but I do know that mine has shifted. And I'm super thankful for that. Because I wouldn't have wanted to live with that level of constant fear for the past 35 years or so. 

Yeah, we are heading toward our 37th anniversary in a few weeks. How crazy is that?

Oh there you go...that's my attachment style...Long term. 

Nerves...

I'm starting to get a little nervous about the PRP therapy for my elbow. 

When I first posted about the possibility of getting it done I got a ton of feedback from friends who have had it for various soft tissue injuries and had great results. And I was really looking forward to it last month. But with the delay in treatment the reality of it has started to set in a little more. And the fact that I've gotten very used to the wonky elbow.

So part of me is like...well should I? Or should I just deal with it?

When the doctor first told me about it he was very upfront and said that it's going to hurt. That the first few days after the treatment it will hurt more than it hurts right now. But that after a few weeks it will feel great. I have a really high pain tolerance so I was feeling fairly cocky about it. Oh I can deal with a little pain for a few days no sweat. 

Then I talked to the nurse when I was rescheduling and she reiterated that it would hurt. And then added that they would send me home with a few pain pills to get me over the hump. Wait, what? This is pain pill level hurts? Oh well...that's different. 

And then I got the aftercare paperwork and I'm not supposed to do any exercise at all for two weeks and no vigorous work for six. 

For an elbow?

I can't walk the treadmill for two weeks for an elbow?

I can't keep my slow jogging up for six weeks?

What?

I haven't been able to lift heavy things for over two months and now you want me to not even be able to get my heart rate up at all? 

I am going to double check on that on Wednesday because that seems a little odd. But I will follow whatever the instructions are because I want to give it the best possible chance at success. I just will whine about it if it really is no walking for two weeks and no jogging for six. 

So right now I'm not feeling super confident about getting the procedure done. If it weren't my left arm. If it weren't for the fact that I am losing my grip, I mean literally, not just about getting the procedure done. If it weren't for the fact that I can't stretch it out or bend it too far in. If I weren't for all of the things that drove me to going to the doctor in the first place I would absolutely cancel the appointment. 

But all of those things are true. So I will get it done. Just a few more days of thinking about it and dreading it to go. 

yay...

Well That's Embarrassing...

Or I mean it would have been if I were wired that way.

I just went out to run a couple of errands. When I got home and was pulling into the garage the door seemed to be going up a little slowly. Tap the brakes to make sure I don't hit the door...except my foot was on the gas so I gave the gas a tap instead of the brakes. Whoops! Now for sure I'm going too fast and the door is going too slow! Slam on the brakes to make sure I don't hit it and...look over and see Brent on the treadmill watching the whole thing. 

Of course.

I mean why even look like I can't drive anymore and need my keys taken away from me if nobody is watching? 

When he's done working out I will have to explain "what the hell was that?" and that's where most people would get embarrassed. And I guess I kind of am, just in that I would rather he hadn't seen it so I didn't have to talk about it with him at all way. Because, clearly, I know how to drive and that was just a blip of thing that happens to people. And thank goodness it wasn't me crashing through the wall of a restaurant or anything like that. I mean, that might have been embarrassing. Except, you know, I'm not really wired like that. 

I just don't embarrass easily. I have moments where I think, well that sucks, or I wish that hadn't happened. But I can only remember a small handful of times in my adult life where I've been truly embarrassed. I just don't do it. It's packed away with guilt for me. 

I don't feel guilty about things for any length of time because guilt is an action emotion. If I'm feeling guilty it means I need to change something. If there is nothing I can change, then there is no reason for guilt. Embarrassament sort of falls into that the same way for me. 

Why do you get embarrassed? Because you feel like you did something foolish, or silly, or stupid in someone else's eyes. Well, I can't control what you think is foolish, or silly, or stupid, so why should I be embarrassed over your emotions? It just doesn't work for me. Embarrassment is a way of throwing shame onto others and making it their fault for how you feel. Or you doing it to yourself. Feeling shame about something that you think other people feel. 

When I was younger I was extremely embarrassed about being poor. I had real shame around it. Now, that's the American way, so I came about it naturally. We shame the poor all the time. We act like being poor is a crime, or at least a reflection of bad character. And I knew that my parents worked really hard. That everyone in my family actually worked really hard. As soon as you could legally get a job, you had a job. At least one. But the working poor is a thing in America. Multiple jobs, still not getting anywhere. Repo man in the kitchen. 

I was embarrassed. I was ashamed to bring most people to my house. We lived in a trailer, not a "real" house. I bought my clothes at the DAV. Super rare to get something new. Everything was old, worn, we reduced and reused long before it was trendy. And it made me feel like I was less than my friends who had more. 

Which is insane. The people who should be embarrassed are the ones hoarding more and more money while people in the world are starving or freezing or lacking health care. That's something to feel shame about. Not working hard and still not making ends meet. That's a flaw in our system, not in you.

But anyway...once I realized that feeling ashamed of the fact that I grew up poor was silly I stopped. And then I thought about being embarrassed in general. 

Like often people will tell you that you should be embarrassed for...Fill in whatever they think you should be embarrassed about. And often people will tell you things like Oh I would be so embarrassed if I were you! about, again, fill in whatever behavior they'd like you to change. I'm not embarrassed and you aren't me so no worries. 

We use embarrassing people to try to shame them into behaving in a different way. A way we are more comfortable with. 

I'm not about that. 

I sing in public. I dance in my car. I make mistakes. I fall down sometimes because I'm not super graceful. I say things that pop into my head without always thinking them through. And I'm rarely, if ever, embarrassed by any of it. 

Even when Brent sees me almost crash through the garage door. 

In fact, I'm sort of impressed how quickly I realized my foot was on the wrong pedal and I got woahed up instead of crashing into the door. Even if it was a problem of my own creation I got out of it pretty quickly. 

Nothing to be embarrassed about at all. 

That Darn Elf...

She didn't want to open her eyes just yet.

It was the best time of the day, in her opinion, when you were toasty and warm snuggled down in your bed. Still dark but you could feel dawn was starting. The whole day ahead of you. New adventures on the horizon.

Maybe it had snowed overnight and everything would be canceled for the day. You could choose to go out and sled, or build a snowman, or stay inside under a blanket with a cup of hot cocoa. 

Since it was December there would also be finding the elf. What had it gotten up to in the night?

Maybe playing in the little marshmallows again.

Spreading them out on the counter so they spelled out a message.

Maybe taking some of the decorations off the tree and hanging them from the ceiling fan. 

Maybe moving one of the porcelain Lladro figurines and taking its place in the curio cabinet. 

There had been so many different things in the past. 

But she didn't want to open her eyes just yet to see. 

For now she was warm and cozy and snug.

The day was ahead of her. Waiting. 

Like the elf. 

That she could feel staring at her. 

So it was the shelf by the bed again. 

Its favorite place to perch.

And stare.

Its hands under its chin. Legs spread in the splits. The maniacal grin painted on its face. 

She really didn't like that elf. 

Always watching. 

Judging her. 

It might not be as bad if she knew how it had gotten into her house in the first place and how the fuck it moved around on its own. 

Only 18 more days until Christmas Eve when she could go back to living alone. 

So for now she kept her eyes closed. 

Snug and warm and safe.

Empty Presents...

The box was wrapped in gold paper with a silver bow. No card attached. Just this gorgeous present. It had been part of her family’s Christmas decorations for as long as she could remember. There were five “presents” like this. All different colors. But the gold one with the silver bow was her favorite.

When she was little, she wanted to unwrap them. To get the gifts inside. But her mother told her there was nothing inside the boxes, they were empty. They were just for show, decorations to make the tree look more finished before the real presents were placed there. Once the real presents started being placed under the tree the empty boxes got pushed further and further back. Hidden away under the crush of multicolored boxes and bags.

But Christmas morning after the rush of tearing paper and oohing and aahing over new gifts those empty boxes would come back to the front of the tree making it look like Christmas was just starting. Even though it was over.

She could remember lying under the tree watching the lights reflecting in the gold paper. The years they had multicolor lights, the year her mother switched to just clear lights, then the year she went back to the multicolor lights “Who cares what’s in style? Christmas is about tradition, not style!”

And those five empty packages were tradition.

She could remember daydreaming about what could be in the boxes. That maybe they weren’t empty at all but filled with… and that changed every year. Barbie clothes. Books. New clothes. The shoes she really wanted but her mother said were too expensive for feet that grew a half size every month. Makeup that her father said she was too young to wear even though Jenny had been wearing colored lip gloss for months. In her dreams her golden box always held just exactly what she wanted most.

When she was old enough to help decorate, she was the one who started placing the packages under the fully decorated tree. Always putting her favorite box front and center. Turning it to just exactly at the right angle to hide the spots where a 5-year-old her had tried to pick the tape off to just get a peek at what was inside. Not fully believing her mother that she would put an empty box under the tree year after year.

Her first year away at college she had been disappointed to find the tree already filled with the real presents by the time she got home. Her mother hadn’t even bothered to put the five empty gifts under the tree that year since all of the kids were out of the house until mid-December, so there had been no rediscovery of them hidden in the back after unwrapping the real gifts. She had tried not to show too much disappointment but apparently had failed since they were back the next year. Just those five the first day she came home, then the real presents came out from wherever her mother had been storing them.

After she and her siblings had all moved out and started families of their own the boxes became objects of fascination for a new generation. The green one with the red plaid bow had not survived the twins’ first Christmas at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. They had all laughed as they tore open the empty box and played with it more than their “real presents.” She had laughed and also had moved her gold box out of reach.

Then she and her husband moved far enough away that Christmas visits were made by phone. Traveling with the kids around the holiday was just too much. It was easier to visit during the summer when they had time off of school and no other distractions. Her mother would send her pictures of the festivities, but they hadn’t been home for the holiday in at least ten years.

A decade since she had seen the gold box with the silver bow. She could see it peeking out of the top of a box of Christmas decorations. The shelves in her parents’ garage organized and tidy, just like the rest of the house. Those two rows were Halloween decorations, those three were Christmas.

“We can sort all of them and if you want something you put it in your keep pile, anything left over the auction house can donate or…”

Her oldest brother had been directing the clean-up. But even he had a hard time saying that they would just throw away those things.

But it was time. The house was going on the market, and they needed to get it ready to sell. Something that sounds easy when someone else is talking about doing it but when it is your turn? When it’s your childhood that is on the block? Then it’s a very different feeling.

They had finished the inside of the house. Tagging all of the things they wanted to keep, finding that they all have very different attitudes about it. Her sister had wanted a few of the older heavier pieces of furniture, the ones that had come from their grandparents’ house. Her brother had wanted some of the art pieces. She had only wanted the coffee set. The creamer and sugar dish. She could still envision her father making her mother’s coffee for her. Dropping a cube of sugar and just the right dash of cream into a cup BEFORE pouring the coffee. He said that was the real trick. Put it in first and the pouring of the coffee would mix it perfectly. The set would be a memory of both of her parents that she could touch.

The auction house would take care of the rest of the things. Selling, donating or…

But first they had to sort the boxes.

Her brother pulled the Christmas decorations off the shelf and…

“Hunh…”

“What?”

“It has your name on it.”

He picked up the gold box with the silver bow and sure enough there was a tag on it now. There were two more wrapped boxes now. All that was left of the original five. One had her sister’s name, and one her brother’s.  The boxes were theirs now. One for each of them. 

She was already trying to decide how to carry it home without wrecking it, where it would go under her tree when her sister said, “They aren’t empty.”

She shook her box and could feel something inside shift.

“Should we open them?”

“I think we are supposed to.”

She sat on the garage floor. Boxes of Christmas decorations all around her and held her gold box. 

“On three?”

“On three.”

“One, two, three…”

They all opened their boxes. Her brother tearing his open with abandon like he had always done. Her sister carefully placing the bow to the side before ripping her paper as well. She looked for the edge of tape she had started peeling at five years old but found all of the old tape had been split and then covered with new. She took the small pocketknife from her father’s toolbox and split the seams again. Carefully unwrapping the gift without ruining her precious gold paper.

Inside the box was an envelope. Her parents had written each of them a letter and packaged them with favorite photographs of their childhood. Awards, pool parties, beach days. Each photo had a few sentences marked in the letter. Memories their parents had of them.

She looked at her brother and at her sister. Tears streaming down each of their faces as they looked at what their parents had held most dear about them and them alone. Another moment with their parents. Another few minutes being held in their embrace and being shown their love.

In her mind her gold box had always held what she wanted most. She had been right.

A November to Remember...

Or not. 

I guess I could have called this one a Tale of Two Novembers. It was the best of times...it was the worst of times...

Covid finally came for me. And it has been so weird. Like I've been much sicker in my life. I've had much worse colds. I've had deeper coughs. I've had congestion that was worse. I've had higher fevers. But I'm still not 100% recovered from this even though I tested negative weeks ago and haven't had any big symptoms for ages. It has been the longest recovery from the mildest cold. 

I mean, I'm recovered...mostly...but left with a lingering tiredness that I just can't shake. And if I try and power through my body says, "nah, bitch, nah." and BAM! I'm on the couch wondering how moving even works. 

Now I wonder if part of it is related to my elbow issues. Chronic pain can wipe you out pretty quickly too, without you really being aware of how much it's zapping your energy. So maybe it's not all Covid, but it peaked with Covid and has not yet gone away. I guess we will see when I get the treatment for my elbow, and pass the "not kidding, this is going to hurt" phase of the recovery. 

So how did I do otherwise?

Writing: if I get a fiction piece in by tomorrow I will hit my spaced goals, even if I didn't exactly hit them each week. I know it's December but because MOST of this week was November it counts on my chart as November. I also hit all of Dana's extra pieces even if one was a fever dream and one will never ever see a published page. They still count. 

Reading: when I finished a book yesterday I hit my fourth reset Goodreads goal, I'm just not going to bother increasing it again. Clearly I've hit that goal, and how. 

I wrote about the self help book and it was a good one. Whew! The bio was Sir Patrick Stewart's. You needed to be a major fan of his, like made sure you listened to him reading the Shakespeare sonnet of the day during the pandemic lockdown, level of fan to appreciate the book. I am that level of fan. He was brutally honest about what a shit he was when he was younger and I actually found that refreshing. It's nice when they don't try and pretend that having an affair is just fine because reasons we will gloss over. (ahem, Barbra, I'm looking at you right now)

I read the Stranglings October book for November which really ended up working out because the November book still hasn't come available. Anway...that was Shoot the Moon by Isa Arsen. It was interesting. A magical realism around the space program. Different, not something I would have picked up on my own, which is the point of following her book clubs. 

Workouts: I talked last month about how the elbow injury meant no weightlifting and how I had actually started jogging. I stuck with that this month, until Covid. Then I took two weeks to sit on the couch and stare at the walls with the hardest workout being getting up to pee... But I got back on the treadmill and finished out not one but two iFit challenges for November even with two weeks off. Because I am a goddamn machine. Also because I like my digital rewards. Also because they were only 30-40 minutes long and I could manage that long without feeling like I wanted to fall down. BUT I did it. 

So what's left for December? I'll stick with trying to manage writing more than not. I'll keep up the jogging/walking interval workouts with the possibility of having to take some time off after my injection. I was going to do the combo self help bio but I'm reading Barbra Streisand's bio so that will count instead. And that's really about it. Healing from my procedure. Wrapping up the writing and reading. Getting ready for a new year without these little milestone markers. 

And honestly, probably another few days of sitting on the couch when I overdo it and my body rebels because I never know where that overdo it line is going to be. Is it one thing? Two things? Five things? It's a mystery!

Happy December! Almost done with 2023, can you believe it?

Journeys....

I had a whiplash moment switch from WOO HOO! to oh holy fuck today.

I got on my treadmill knowing I had one more workout to complete for one of the two series for November. Gold star time. Getting that badge even though I had to take off two weeks with Covid. Even with not being 100% after testing negative. I was 36 minutes away from being done DONE with that series. 

I even did a little happy song during warmups. Thirty six....oooh ooh...Thirty six and I did it. I diiiiid it...wooo oooh...

Then the workout started and I clicked over to the screen that shows me the overall workout and...

Oh holy fuck. Like literally out loud. Oh holy fuck. What you are looking at is a workout that the majority is spent at a 13% incline. Thirteen percent. Oh my god... so much for a thirty six minute easy to finish this series out workout. Okay...well. 

Got that badge though. 

And it was a really good finish to the series. Strong finish. Not just because it was a 13% incline hike up a mountain in Bhutan to hang some prayer flags but...strong. 

The whole workout series has been about happiness. How do you find it? What do you need to do to get it? And after a year of reading and rereading self help books it sort of fit in with that theme. The books I enjoyed the most were in that personal contentment realm. The ones I liked the least were how to be a better cog in the corporate wheel. 

And today's was the two different trainers that had been trading off workouts, hiking together and talking about what they had learned, what they were going to take away from their time in Bhutan. And this is where I gasped out a few yes, that's rights. (13% INCLINE! yes, I was breathing a little deep)

Casey Gilbert, one of the trainers, had talked before about how the past couple of years had been hard for him. He was trying to really drive himself to greater feelings of accomplishment in his training career and it had been really hard. The pandemic hit that industry hard. But he had pivoted to doing things online and with iFit and he was doing okay. Success. But how much is enough? He talked about feeling lost. How there were more times than not that he'd wake up in the morning and just not feel the joy in life. And he recognized and acknowledged he had a good life. Good marriage. Good kids. Good career. Just he felt very meh about it all. (Of course for those of us playing along at home this was the time we were all saying, dude, this is depression, go to a doctor, it's okay.)

So in this wrap up workout he was talking to Kenton Cool about how he had come to Bhutan, agreed to do this series, with the plan of finding happiness. Of actually being able to say, ah ha, this is it and this is what I need to do. But while he found moments of real joy and real happiness during the hikes, during the meetings with the Buddhist monks, he still woke up some of the days thinking...meh.

And then he had a moment...

That's okay. 

It's okay to not be happy all the time. Happiness is actually moments. 

Yes! That! 

We often get really wrapped up in trying to be happy that we lose the plot. We think that true happiness means happy all the time. And it just doesn't. It can't. Nobody is always happy. If you are happy all the time happy just becomes normal. Not something special or extra or different. 

Happy. Sad. Angry. Pensive. Meh. These are all pieces of who you are. 

Me? I strive for happy more than not. But I know it's not possible to always be happy. And how fucking annoying would it be if I was? 

But also, striving to be happy, the journey to happy. That's important too.

And we often lose sight of that. That the journey we are on in life is the actual point. The way we walk through the world matters. It's not always going to be happy. Sometimes it's going to be at a 13% incline. But just keep walking. 

I got my badge today for this series but I also got that reinforcement of my life ideals. That happiness matters. That seeking it out is a worthy endeavor. And most importantly that it comes in moments. 

It was a strong finish. 

Points!

So a lot of you know I used WW back when they were still calling themselves Weight Watchers. I was a huge success story for them. They tried to get me to become a coach and join the company I had such a great success story. 

I took to the points system and followed it to the letter, or number as the case may be. I could figure out how to get the maximum value out of my day with the least amount of points. And I rarely ever, bordering on never used my bonus points. That stash they give you to have a treat or two when you wanted one, plus the ones you earned by working out. I just watched them add up in my "good" column as the weight just came right off. 

It worked for me. Every meeting you'd weigh in and if you had lost the "right" amount of weight you got a gold star. YOU GOT A GOLD STAR. And once you had so many gold stars you got trinkets. And once you reached your goal weight you got even bigger trinkets. 

And then even if you'd reached your goal weight if you kept losing weight you got more gold stars. YOU COULD EARN GOLD STARS FOREVER.

Weight Watchers had all of the disclaimers that if you had an eating disorder this was not the program for you. And I didn't have an eating disorder. I mean not anymore. It had been since high school since I had "dieted" by just not eating because that was easier than trying to count calories. I mean living off of caffeine and nicotine at 17 didn't count anymore in my 40s right? 

And I'd never been hospitalized or gotten too terribly thin. I just didn't have a good relationship with food. 

BUT I have a great relationship with gold stars. 

When I was about 15 pounds under the goal weight I set I saw a picture of myself where I didn't know who I was looking at. Literally. I saw the photos from an event I had gone to and there was this really skinny woman in one of them. Not healthy looking thinner. But kind of haggard looking skinny. And it took me a long time to realize that was me. But once I saw it I could see it in the mirror. Before that I saw the five more pounds I wanted to lose to get to that magical place that lives in the back of my brain. 

I'm not built to be skinny. My bone structure doesn't lend itself to that. My hips are always going to be broad. It's just a matter on if it's a rounded broad or a jutting hip bone, but my pelvis developed in such a way that my hips will always be wide. Nasty trick of nature my pelvic opening ended up narrowing at the same time so pushing Katie out was a bit difficult, after years of being told I had good child bearing hips. Well no...

I've also got large boobs and a round butt. Well usually. What I ended up with when I first did Atkins (RAPID weight loss and then a pretty steady regain) and the WW loss was a flatter rear end and kind of empty sack boobs. Neither one is my preference. I actually like my curves and my soft spots. Which I know is hard to reconcile with the years I spent trying to get rid of them. I just wanted to be my shape, only smaller. 

And I loved those gold stars.

I tried going back to WW one more time after gaining back a little bit of the too much weight lost but felt right away that trigger cock and knew I was going to be off to the races losing more and more again. 

It wasn't healthy for me. It was the exact wrong program for me. It triggered a new level of disordered eating and it took a long time for me to leave all of that good food, bad food, low point, high point, background noise behind. 

So when I saw a headline about the CEO of WW coming out and saying that they now realize their approach to weight was all wrong and the points and the prepacked foods were not a good idea I thought...wow. This is amazing. 

Then I read further and saw that they have purchased a drug company and will now be giving semaglutide medications. You know the ones that were supposed to be for diabetics but people started losing weight on them and so a new level opened in our diet and weight loss industry. 

There are a lot of problems with these meds, I mean just start with the fact that this is a lifetime commitment. As soon as you stop getting the injections the weight comes back. And as weight likes to do it brings friends. It's also not some sort of easy path. People report that they are ill while on them. Nausea is a big side effect. And then there is a whole other social aspect. Why do people need to be thin?

I mean, you all know that's the piece I've struggled with my whole life. I'm never going to be thin. But I am healthy. I am fit. I keep an eye on blood work so I can fix health problems. But being fat isn't a bad thing. It's just a thing. It's a body type. Just like being skinny. Or being in the middle. Fat is only a problem so they can sell you weight loss products. 

And now WW has realized that the points system wasn't the way to go. Medication is the way to go. 

Yeah, they were wrong. The got that part right. But they just went more wrong instead of better. 

Quiet...

The cats are sleeping in sunbeams. 

Brent is sitting on the couch reading news stories.

I'm in the office writing. 

The girls left a couple of hours ago to drive back to Bend after spending the holiday weekend with us and the house is quiet. 

Very quiet. 

It was nice having them here. Katie enjoyed her Thanksgiving more this year than she did last year when she came on her own. It's hard when you start establishing your own family away from your birth family. You have to find the balancing act of time with each set, or time with both. She's figuring it out. 

I've mentioned before that we feel really lucky to have had her to ourselves for so long, but at the same time I am very happy for her that she's finding her own way now as well. Friends and girlfriends and a life of her own. It's all very good for her. 

So this year she had Amber and Slushy come with her to our house instead of leaving them behind and visiting on her own. 

Granted last year Brent had Covid and Katie and I were in the wait and see mode hoping we didn't catch it as well. She was really worried because if she tested positive she would be rehabbing up here instead of at home. And not only would she be missing her people, she would be missing work. It was all a little stressful. 

This year she is off work until next Friday. She brought her girlfriend and her roommate. They came up Wednesday evening and left this afternoon. The weather was good. The roads are clear. They ate, they watched football with us, we played a couple of board games. They fussed over the cats. She didn't miss anybody or wish someone else was here or she was someplace else. 

So it was a good holiday.

All of that being said, I love my quiet house. 

I love my lazy sunbeam worshipping cats.

I love my quiet husband sitting and reading his news.

And I love being able to sit and write without feeling like I'm being a rude host. 

We all have adjusted to living our own lives. 

I never would have believed it if you had told me 12 years ago when I did the ugly cry when she flew back to school after being home for the holidays. To believe that we would all adjust to living apart from each other. I mean, logically, I knew it would have to happen. It had happened for Brent and I when we left home, but surely it wouldn't happen with Katie. She would come right back to us and live in our house for the rest of her life after college. That would be fine, right? 

Of course it wouldn't have been. 

But 12 years ago me had not yet fully embraced that her job was done. The day to day part of it anyway. I tell everyone that you work yourself out of full time and into consulting as a parent. And then eventually even the consulting gig is very rare. We are well into that part. She might ask an opinion but most likely she won't. 

She's a full grown person living a full grown life. 

And it's a lot noisier than ours. 

The house is quiet again. 

It was a good weekend.  

Delayed Grief...

Kevin died a year ago this past Tuesday. Today is the day his facebook friends found out he was gone. My feed is filled with grief today as people mark the year. 

I wrote about him on my Thirty Days of Thanks on the 21st. He shares the 21st with Jack (Brent's father). Jack's birthday, Kevin's death day. Life and death marked together as is the way in my family. I'm not sure yet if it's a good poetic reminder or a fucking gut punch. But it is. So I hold space for both when they happen.

But for three days those of us where weren't local didn't know he was gone. In our minds and hearts he was still alive. Delayed grief without realizing it was delayed. 

Kevin and I would have had a really deep philosophical talk about it if it hadn't been him who had died. First he would have taken a walk down to the local dispensary, and then we would have talked about when the death actually occurs, is it when the person stops living or when the people they love all find out, does it happen in stages? The people who are closest find out and death starts. Like a ripple in a pond maybe, until the farthest circle happens death isn't complete. Schrodinger's cat for sure would have been mentioned.  

We had a lot of deep talks while he was high and I was just my normal off kilter self. I miss that. His altered state and my normal were the same wavelength but with different life experiences. So we understood each other but also got new perspectives and new things to ponder. And also new weird food combinations to try. Sometimes the things I would come up with to eat when Brent was travelling made Kevin seriously doubt that I have never gotten stoned. And also try them for himself. 

But...

Watching the grief reminders spread this year has reminded me how many people he shared a wavelength with. In different ways. He was a multitude contained in one person. A puzzle piece with all of the different edges that could fit in with a variety of pictures. He meant and still means a lot to a lot of people all over the world.

And, to go back to the rings in a pond analogy, if we are all still remembering and holding that thought is he gone? 

Does anyone die while there are people still holding their memory?

What is the "us" part of us anyway? Is it what we hold in our own bodies or is it what other people hold of us in their hearts? What makes us, us?

I don't fear death. When I die this existence is over. There is no reason to fear it, there was no me before I was born, there will be no me after I die. I don't have existential fears over the prebirth time so why would I have it about the after death?

But the difference between before I was born and after I die will be other people having memory of me. 

I did not exist before. But after I die part of me will live on in the memories of those I leave behind. 

Life after death.

Is that what it really means?

And trying to follow all of that makes you understand why Kevin got stoned...

I miss you, my friend. 

We all miss you.