Appropriate...

Today is the 208th blog of the year. It is the number I set as my goal. And here we are. Though, technically, I still have 5 fiction pieces to post to make the fiction section of the three part writing goal. I say post because I've written more than that so it's just a matter of deciding if I post the ones I've already written, or write new. 

But today marks the overall total. And I've written more days than I haven't written this year. So numbers are there, frequency is there, fiction is there but hidden. 

And it happened on Halloween. 

Which I love. 

So today's blog is going to be a writing process one. 

Today's blog is going to be a this is the way my brain works one. 

Today's blog is going to be a navel gazer one. 

Which is so fitting for a Halloween blog from me that reaches my goal numbers.

The veil is getting thin. That's the way it feels right now. It's that time of year. It's seasonally appropriate. It's all around us. 

A week or so ago I was posting about feeling some sort of way and Paul told me to take it easy on myself. That we knew what was coming next month. And it was one of those posts that reminds you that we are all in this world together. Because I had just been thinking we were a month away from the anniversary of Kevin's death. It was seeping in around the edges already. And then I got the message from Paul. The veil is really thin this time of year.

Yesterday I got a lovely note from Kevin's father. Which, of course, it's coming for them as well. His whole family dreading the flip of the calendar this year. 

The first year, in my experience, is always the worst. Every single significant day you think, this is the first one without...and it all leads to that first anniversary of their death. Which rocks you back so hard you aren't sure you've processed the grieving at all. And it's coming for all of us who knew and loved Kevin. 

Now, when I got the note from Keith I was actually working on a grocery list. Planning my Día menu. I did it last year. Instead of building out an ofrenda I made a meal for us representing each of our parents. Tig is still a terror and I don't think I want to clean up marigold parts and the spilled shot of tequila and try and protect the orange and chocolate from kitty bites. And honestly it worked for me last year. It was a really good remembrance. 

But as I was building out the menu I made myself laugh. See I make brownies for Brent's dad. This year I'm going to add a layer of peanut butter in them so we have chocolate covered peanuts for my mom incorporated in them. As you (those of you who knew Kevin) can imagine I made myself laugh by imagining what I could add to those brownies to honor Kevin as well. 

And then I got the note from his father. 

The veil is really thin this time of year. 

I had decided the way I want to honor Kevin was by cooking "with" him. That he would make the meal with me. Johnny Cash playing while I used the knives he helped me pick out. Literally, messaging back and forth while I was in the store buying them.

Then today his father posted a collage of sketches honoring Kevin and of course Johnny was featured. It felt like Kevin telling me that that was the perfect thing to do. Darlin' ...

The veil is really thin this time of year. 

It's a weird thing in my head. Considering I don't believe in an afterlife per se. I don't think there is a heaven or a hell. I don't think reincarnation the way it's generally described is a thing (the numbers don't work for a one to one replacement theory). And yet...I write a lot about death and dying and what comes next and how people can be gone but not really gone. Fiction and nonfiction. 

I don't think the people we love leave us. Not completely. I think we are made up of all of those bits of interactions. It's part of what makes us, us. So conversations with my mother still happen. She's still living in my head. I still wonder what my father would think of certain things. I wonder how Jack would have aged. I still forget Ann is gone. 

And that's just parents. The friends I've lost over my lifetime are all there too. Some have stronger voices than others, but I can call them up for a chat to this day. 

All of the parts of our interactions became part of who I am. For better or for worse they have all shaped me into me. So as long as I am alive they are as well. 

But sometimes...sometimes it feels like they are outside of that. And sending me messages letting me know they are thinking about me too. The veil is really thin this time of year.

I know it's contradictory, but I am often contradictory. I believe in everything and nothing all at once. 

So tomorrow I will make a Día dinner to celebrate our parents. I will cook that dinner chatting with Kevin like I've cooked so many meals in the past. It works for me. 

*added for the pedantic in my life

I celebrate el Día de los Muertos on November 1. It's the day my mother always celebrated All Saints Day and so it feels most correct to me. Now, because she was honoring her children who had passed the 1st was correct if she was celebrating All Saints Day or if we were going New Mexico style and celebrating el Día de los Muertos. But because traditionally for me the celebration is on the 1st I've never switched to the more correct 2nd even though I'm honoring our parents. I know it makes some people crazy that "I do it wrong" but I (and I know this will shock you) don't care. 

And one last thing to close the loop that has been playing in my head about how some people are just meant to come in to your life. 

Jack died on Labor Day and Ann died on Memorial Day. They were bookends. 

Dad died on Mom's birthday and Mom died on Kelsey's birthday. We do death and birth as matched sets in my family.

And Kevin? Kevin died on Jack's birthday. He was meant to be part of my life. I truly believe that. 

The veil is really thin this time of year. Say hi to your people for me...

Don't Read That Book...

It doesn't happen often, normally I'm all about telling people OH you have to read this book or that book. Or I will say, that book was not my cup of tea. But sometimes I will completely warn someone away from a book. 

Matthew Perry died yesterday. Details are slim but he drowned in his hot tub. My guess is his heart gave out and he passed out then drowned. 

The reason I'm going with that direction is that I read his book so I know his heart was beating on borrowed time. 

Lots and lots of drug and alcohol abuse. Even when you get clean the damage you did lasts. And he did massive damage. 

It's sad. It's sad for his family. It's sad for his friends. It's sad for the fans of his work. 

Do not read his book. 

It will probably stop you from being as big of a fan. It will change the way you even view his most recognizable role. 

The funny sarcastic tone will come across as just being unnecessarily mean. 

Which, I mean, sarcasm walks that line doesn't it? It's why a lot of people hate it. Because it's often difficult to walk the playful/mean line. And for a lot of people there shouldn't be a line at all. Stop being mean for laughs. 

I'm Gen X. Sarcasm was our foundational language. We were all very sarcastic with each other. Show me your soft underbelly and it will become a joke for years. It's why a lot of Gen Xers and Boomers look at Millenials and younger and think they are too soft. "Why in my day we made fun of everything!"

And yeah we did. And we all grew up with battle scars and some wounds that didn't heal and so instead of telling our kids they were shit we built them up to believe they could DO whatever shit they wanted to. 

We (not all of us, not all of the time) got a lot less sarcastic. We tended to lean more to the joking side. So even in teasing it was done with a giant wink and a smile so the exaggeration for effect wasn't missed. 

But then...

There were those who were just mean. Who never figured out that line. And when you go back and watch old episodes of Friends after reading Matthew Perry's book and knowing that Chandler was written to be like him and you hear some of those lines you think...dude...that's just mean. 

So don't read his book. Don't get tempted to go back and pick it up in honor of his life. Just don't. 

Enjoy the memories of his work. The laughter that you got and can still get if you haven't read the book. 

I have a lot of good memories of Friends. I spent a lot of time with them. I still can do the required "Oh my god it's Chandler Bing!" impression. I can still do the phrasing where BE is emphasized. I can still find the jokes. 

I hope he found peace this past year. I hope he exorcised some demons and was able to find his worth. I hope all of those things happened for him. 

And I also recommend you never read his book.  

Credit Where Credit is Due...

There are more times than I'd like to admit that I hand my phone to Brent and say, "Read this."

I'm not having him read something for edification on his part, or even amusement. I'm having him read it so I get credit for holding my tongue. Or fingers as the case may be. 

He dumped Facebook a few years ago. It wasn't making him happy. It was doing the opposite. The combination of mean stories that get posted and seeing people he thought he knew actually not be the type of people he wanted to know was adding misery to his life instead of joy so he dumped it. He misses some of the interactions with friends he doesn't get to see in real life, but overall he thinks it was a good choice.

But that means he doesn't see what I'm posting on Facebook either. He sees my Instagram posts, so he knows what the cats and I got up to that day, but he doesn't get the "oh she's going to be in a mood" warnings from my paragraph long posts and interactions with people. Which probably has helped his mood as well...

But sometimes I need someone who knows me well to see those. So I can get credit for keeping Bad Denise on the bench instead of unleashing her on the world. 

I've talked about it before, I like my gold stars. And sometimes Good Denise needs a lot of gold stars. Like thousands of them. To plaster over Bad Denise so you can't hear her "Oh listen here, motherfucker..."

But Brent doesn't need to see her actually come out to see where she is lurking. 

I'm like the Incredible Hulk, the secret is I'm always angry. The secret is she's always there. 

I know, it sounds kind of crazy when I refer to myself as two (or more) different Denises, but it's the best way I have to explain. It's all me, of course, it's all there all the time, of course, it's just a choice on how I face the world. 

When I was younger Bad Denise rode lead. People were shocked when I was nice to them. Like they didn't know I had it in me. People that got to know me as an adult are shocked when they hear stories from my high school years; when they hear someone say that until they actually got to know me they were terrified of me. And I get it I'm 5'5" kind of girl next door, soccer mom, bring a hot dish looking. How could I ever strike fear into anyone? But I'm also mean as a snake when I want to be. And after the one experiment in nonviolence that was not a thing I cared about.

That whole hurt people hurt people stuff? Well, yeah, I was a kid who had been abused growing up, who felt abandoned in a lot of ways, who knew to the core of her that NOBODY was coming to save me so I didn't give anyone the opportunity to hurt me. I sliced them up with my words and also had a pretty strong reputation for fighting. Though I didn't fight that often. But my sister had been a HUGE fighter (see abused kid me) and so her reputation got welded on to mine and suddenly I was a beast. 

Which suited me fine. 

This was who Brent started dating. He was never scared. He always thought I was a lot nicer than people realized having seen me with the underdogs of the world, building them up instead piling on. And now he is the one to recognize when that nicer part of me is wearing a little thin. 

And gives me a gold star for not unleashing. 

And also tells me when it's time to unleash. 

Which is nice as well.

It's good to get credit for when you are following your better angels. 

It's better to have someone in your corner who loves the demons as well. 

Credit where credit is due. He deserves it. 

Overnights...

"Oh no, I can't work that shift. I turn into a husk overnight."

"Everyone is going to have to take a night shift, Darlene. We are going to rotate them through so you should only have one or two a month, but everyone is going to have to pitch in."

"But I can't work that shift. I specifically said when I was hired that I was only available from 9 to 5."

"I understand that you are disappointed but right now we are in a crisis mode and everyone has to pitch in. If you don't want to be a team player you are going to need to find a new job."

"Okay. I mean, I guess if that's the way it has to be. You can fire me."

"Well, I'm not going to fire you. You are going to have to quit."

"I'm not going to quit and give up my unemployment benefits. I mean, that's not happening. It will take me awhile to get another position. One that sticks to its hiring promises. You are going to have to fire me."

"Even if I fire you as long as it's with cause you don't get unemployment benefits anyway. So you might as well quit."

"But this isn't with cause. This is you changing the terms of my employment. I have my original agreement and I will use it to sue if I have to, which I don't really want to do. Aside from this conversation right now I've enjoyed working here and I would like to continue to work here, but I cannot take that night shift."

"How would that look to everyone else? If you don't take your turn they will have to take extras. You will be being shown favoritism and I would imagine that will make your coworkers not care for you much."

"Are you trying to intimidate me now? How about instead of trying to get your current day staff to cover your shortages at night you hire more night shift workers. Don't put your failure to be able to staff on us."

"Do you think we haven't tried to find workers for the overnight shifts? It's very difficult out there. Nobody wants to work."

"Nonsense. People want to work. I'm telling you right now that I want to continue working for you and you are trying to get me to quit. People just don't want to work for what you want to pay them or the demands you want to put on their time. Pay fair wages, in fact I would bet if you paid more for the overnight shift than you do the day shift you'd have plenty of people willing to work that shift."

"But then we would be short during the day."

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe people would view the day shift as more pleasurable so they'd be willing to take a little less. A little being the key. There can be a night shift bonus. People understand that inconvenience can come with a cost."

"Is that what this is? You want a bonus for working nights?"

"No. I've told you. I cannot work that shift. I'm just trying to help you solve your problems here since I think you are handling it badly. Nobody likes to be threatened."

"You think you were being threatened? I swear this generation is so soft."

"You don't think telling me to look for a new job is threatening me?"

"It's just consequences."

"Fine, but the threat is that I will face consequences if I don't work that shift. Which, I've told you, I can't."

"I am going to go to my boss with this conversation and we'll have to see what she says."

"I'd go to her with the idea of hiring a few more night shift workers with that bonus pay instead and see if that gets you your own bonus. It's a good idea. I bet you'd fill positions right away. I actually know someone who prefers night shift work and would jump at a job that paid them more to do it."

"Really? Why didn't you say you had someone who might want the job?"

"I said they'd probably jump at the job if it paid more. They have a job right now, but more money is always nice. But as I'm assuming this conversation isn't going anywhere it's almost time for me to clock out so you can let me know what happens with your boss and if I'm being fired tomorrow."

Darlene left her fuming boss and packed up her things to go home. She would really hate to have to find work again. Searching and interviewing was always such a pain. Though making sure she got her hours in writing usually wasn't an issue. Sometimes a holiday party or a team building exercise caused a conflict. She did have to quit one job that wanted her to start traveling. That was a nonstarter. 

She got home and checked the clock. Traffic had been a little bad but it was only 5:30. She had time to have a little dinner and leave a note for her sister. "Might have a job lead for you, night shift at my office answering customer service calls. I'll let you know how it pans out." She taped it to the front of the fridge where they left all of their correspondence. 

Notes were the only way they ever communicated. They hadn't seen each other since their 16th birthdays when the division happened. She wondered sometimes who the first Poaso set of twins was. Did they make some sort of bargain that now what theirs to bear? She and her sister had worked out many different stories, some heroic, one twin sacrificing for the other. Some villainous, a deal made by an evil parent for riches. Some just a bad deal with a genie who claimed half of everything they would ever have. 

She washed her dishes and got ready for bed. She didn't need to set an alarm. Seven to seven. Those were her hours. She'd wake when she was back, until then she was nothing but a husk. She whispered good morning as she faded out. 

In the bed next to her Deborah opened her eyes. Seven o'clock. Time to get started on her night. 

Cracked Foundation...

I've talked before about leaving my religion. I usually place the moment of the break at realizing that my nephew was going to be gay when he grew up. That at four you could already tell. He was just stereotypically gay. And then having a lot of conversations with friends who were gay and realizing that they just were what they were, there hadn't been a choice made. Which is what my church was teaching. That is was a choice.

But that break probably wouldn't have happened if there hadn't already been some pretty solid foundational cracks. 

I've talked before about having questions that nobody could answer for me. Like what happens to people who don't ever hear about Jesus? Are they all condemned to hell? That didn't seem fair to me at all. I mean we knew there were people living in the Amazon forest and on remote islands that missionaries hadn't gotten to so were they are doomed? And why would an omnipotent god rely on such a slow messenger service anyway? Like why wouldn't he just appear to them? 

I was always told to have faith. And that that was the reason why we needed to support our missionaries so they could reach more people. And not to question things so much. There was always a plan. 

When I was 12 I went through one of those phases that almost all religious kids go through. The rededication phase. Where you think to yourself that you aren't being good enough so you need to get back to god and refocus. You stop listening to secular music, you clear your book choices, you modest up your dress, you distance yourself from any friends who aren't devout. That sort of thing. 

They tended to happen when you would get too close to actually losing your faith completely. And losing your faith is a terrifying thing when it's been drummed into you since birth. So you would fall back on what you had been taught to do when your faith was seeming to fade. Redouble your efforts to center god in your life. 

So there had been a boy. He lived in the same apartment complex that my best friend lived in. We had kissed a few times. Oooh! Scandal! But honestly it was important. My first time really kissing someone. I had never french kissed a boy before him. I had "gone around" with a few boys by that time but I went to a private Baptist school and "going around" with someone was basically just a public declaration that you were boyfriend/girlfriend and maybe a little surreptitious hand holding. Very innocent. 

So when I decided I was getting a little too secular for my own good he was one of the things that had to go. And I was honest with him about why. I was focusing on god and that meant no room for boys. Bummer for him but no big deal.

Except he did not deal with rejection well. Being a gentleman he didn't hit me. He called a friend of his to do it. 

Yep, he set me up to get jumped by a girl friend of his who was a few years older than I was and mad at me for whatever reason he told her to be. I didn't know her. I didn't have any reason to think she was going to hurt me. I met her the same day she beat the living shit out of me. 

And she did. Beat the living shit out of me. It was like a fight between a 15 year old fighter and a 12 year who wouldn't hit back. Exactly like that. 

See, I was nonviolent right then because Jesus said to turn the other cheek. So I wouldn't hit her. I prayed to be rescued. I told her that I wasn't hitting her because Jesus said I shouldn't. She said she'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, which I said, Oh I know that song, and she hit me again for not thinking it was her line originally. 

It was ugly. I have scars on my face to this day from that beating. It could have been worse. Getting undressed after the fight, which ended because the owner of the little store we were headed to heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on and yelled. She ran. Then the people I was supposed to be with showed up again...anyway. Getting undressed I saw the cut in the shirt I was wearing and the line on my ribs from where the knife had just grazed me after cutting the shirt, and the girl that was, again, my best friend at the time, said, "Oh you ruined my shirt" because it was her shirt. And me getting knifed ruined it. 

My best friend at the time. 

ANYway...

The fall out from that...

When my mother saw my face she said it was good my sister was away at college or she would be hunting the entire South Valley for the girl that jumped me. I said, well I didn't fight back on purpose because Jesus...my mom told me that she expected me to never start a fight but if someone else started one I was to finish it. So nonviolence was only so far. Got it. Seemed like maybe that's not right, but...it stuck, I guarantee nonviolence was not an option I turned to ever again. 

And then at school, again, private Baptist school, talking with a couple of the teachers about what happened. Again, I got the shit beat out of me. I was bruised and swollen and split open so it wasn't like I was able to hide it. I had people guessing I had been in a car accident. ANYway... I asked them why they thought god didn't answer my prayer. I mean, I had gone into the situation with faith. Knew he would protect me because I was doing the right thing. And they didn't have an answer for me. Then one said, "Wait, did you tell her why you weren't fighting?" I said, "Yeah." and she lit up.

"That's it! That's god's plan! You will be part of her conversion story."

Oh, gotcha. I'm a tool god is using to convert her. And being familiar with the conversion story genre and a writer myself I imagined it. I could see her years later giving her testimony. Talking about how god spoke to her that day. Planted the seed. How while she was trying to make sure I was ugly (which I'm sure was what the knife would have been used for, to cut up my face, thank you Mr. Shopkeeper) she realized that the beauty of god was shining through me and she was the one that was ugly. And it changed her. Someone had the faith to stand there and take a beating like that because their love for god was so strong. 

Great testimony. 

Except umm...why would god need a 12 year to get the shit kicked out of them for that? Wouldn't it have been a great story if say the glory of god came down a protected me like Daniel in the Lion's Den? I mean, that's a great story. And everyone around would still be talking about that. Talk about bearing witness. 

Yeah, no, we don't know why god does things the way he does them, but for sure I was part of a bigger plan that day.

The other teacher (who was a family friend as well) waited until the first one walked away then asked me if I knew how to find the girl that had done that to me. That if I wanted she'd give me a ride to go find her. God's plans or no she had my back. Again, another vote against nonviolence.

I never could understand why god hadn't protected me that day. Why even though I had gone into the situation with strong faith and with prayer I got the shit kicked out of me. I mean, sure it could have been worse, if that shopkeeper hadn't broken it up that knife would have done more damage than just grazing my ribs, but is that really an answered prayer? That god just let her beat the shit out of me, hit me so hard the side of my face split from the swelling instead of letting her carve me up like a jack-o-lantern? That it was probably all just so some point in time later in her life she'd have an enlightenment moment and come to Jesus? 

I was a kid. Following the faith I had been taught. And I was supposed to accept that this was all part of some plan. While people who supposedly believed in the same things I was being taught were telling me to never stand by and let that happen again. That I needed to protect myself.  

Nobody was coming to stop it. 

No matter how hard I prayed. 

Cracks in the foundation. 

Trick or Treat...

She always stood at the back of the group. Everyone holding out their plastic pumpkins or their custom colored bags. A few old school pillow cases. Either from optimistic older kids who got to go to more houses or from kids whose parents forgot to get a pumpkin shaped bucket at the store. She was always a pillow case kid. 

In every group there was always a little power struggle as to who got to knock or ring the bell. These were the kids who always had to be the one to press the button in the elevator as well. In control. In command. Everybody follow me. Usually they would work it out, you get this house, I get the next one. Sometimes it was a struggle at every doorstop. One kid knocking while another rang the bell at the same time. 

Then who would shout TREAT OR TRICK the loudest. Who wanted the prime spot in the center closest to the door to get their costume commented on. Oh aren't you the cutest/scariest/best/ and almost every year there was one kid who started out up front but after the first few rounds of And who are you supposed to be? moved to the back. Their brilliant costume not as great as they thought. 

Since she was in the back nobody ever asked her. She just shoved her bag into the mele and waited for the candy. Then the group shouting THANK YOU or sometimes HAPPY HALLOWEEN depending on the kids and on to the next place. 

Chattering to each other over who got what. Passing rumors on which houses have full sized candy bars. Which houses to skip unless you want a pencil with a bible verse card taped to it. That one kid who always ate his candy and put the empty wrappers back into the bucket after every stop. Don't do that! Your parents need to make sure there aren't any razor blades hidden in there! They aren't checking for razor blades they are stealing the best candy for themselves. You can't tell me that all of the peanut butter cups and half of the Snickers bars have razor blades in them. But if you keep eating all of your candy you're going to get sick.

He swears he won't get sick. 

He always gets sick.

Laughter. There is echoing laughter up and down the street as each little cluster moves from house to house. 

The little kids out with their parents or maybe an older sibling. The slightly older kids allowed to walk on ahead in their cluster with the parents shadowing them. Sometimes sharing their own Halloween treats as they walked. More than one group of kids has come with a sugar rush and a drunk chaperone.

There were the standby costumes. Vampires were always popular. Always a rash of the current Disney movie characters. A gaggle of Elsa's singing Let it Go replaced a few years later with the strains of We Don't Talk about Bruno...

Costumes changed. Kids didn't. Not really.

These kids today were the same as those kids yesterday. The only difference was you. You were no longer one of the little ones. Or one of the little bit older ones. Or one of the probably too old for trick or treating but let's give it one more year ones. They were all the same. It was you that got older and your visions of them shifted. 

When the costumes changed from Hippies to 80s. When the cartoon costumes went from Saturday morning shows to Anime to Video Game characters. When you abandoned your fun Trick or Treating outfits for Sexy Nun, to joke couples costume, then eventually to an isn't this fun pair of skeleton earrings or maybe a cat ear headband. Things changed around you. 

She never changed. 

She always stood at the back of the group.

She always hoped for a full sized Butterfinger. 

She always went as a ghost.  

 

Goal Time...

Yesterday's blog marked the 156th nonfiction piece of the year. Which was the number I needed to hit in nonfiction to make my overall goal, assuming I write all of the fiction pieces. 

I thought it was a funny day to make that goal considering I was talking about my year of being instead of doing in part of that blog. Hit the goals while preparing to not have goals to hit. 

When I told Brent I had already hit that number so I should actually sail right past the total this year he said, "Well that's typical for you. You set a goal, pad it so it's more of a stretch and then just go beyond it anyway. It's kind of how your mind works."

It is.

It's also why WW didn't work for me. Oh if I lose 5 pounds I get a star? And it doesn't matter how often I do that I keep getting stars? Cool! I will hit my goal weight and keep getting those stars! Yee Haw!

Oops.

It's important to know how your brain is broken, assuming you have a broken brain, so you can work with it.

When I was trying to lose weight I couldn't track calories because I quickly turned it into a game. How few can I eat and still function? If I got a "good job" from the tracker yesterday for 1200 calories how about today at 1000? And if I was fine at 1000 how about 900? And so on...Intermittent fasting became the same thing. Well if I'm not supposed to eat for 8 hours how about 10? 12? 20? The baggage I carry around weight is too high for me to be able to safely do a lot of those things. 

Which I'm really trying not to anymore anyway. I'm trying to always focus on how healthy I am instead of how "thin" which honestly even at my lightest weight I'm not really thin. I'm not built that way and my brain refuses to see me that way even when it happens. So trying to reframe around health is a really good thing for me. Gives me something to focus on that isn't so problematic. 

So my arm being bunged up is causing me a little bit of a problem. See I can't lift weights. I can't grip things. Especially heavy things. I can't carry things. Until it's healed I'm really limited. I can't even do body weight stuff if it's reliant on arm usage (pushups and such). And at 55 muscle tone fades at an alarmingly quick rate.

When the doctor told me it could take between 18 months and 2 years to totally heal I about lost my teeth. What? He laid out all of the percentages and the reasons for why it takes so long to totally heal. He gave me the options. And I went home thinking well we will do the most conservative let's see if maybe I'm in the 12% that it heals quickly and on it's own. Talking to Brent about it and the time lines I said, "Oh, if we go to Hawaii this spring I'm not going to be able to kayak."

That's when I called and got the price for the PRP therapy that has the 80% success rate in 12 weeks. 

Because I want to be able to kayak. 

I want to do the physical things that bring me joy for as long as I possibly can. 

That's what being healthy is to me. Wow. By George, I think she's got it! 

Hopefully. Hopefully I can hold on to that mindset. Maybe MAYBE at 55 I've finally broken free from the broken part of my brain that my mother, my aunt, every magazine, and pop culture laid in there that thin is the most important thing to be.  

Can you even imagine?

So today is the 157th nonfiction blog. Sailing past that goal number. Wrapping up the last of the year of goals to be ready for the year of being. And still discovering how I want to be. 

That Moment...

I'm going to link something I read this week that has just sat in my head ever since. It's long, I'm warning you, but it really spoke to me. Especially his three steps to being a hero. Which, honestly, I get it, they speak to me because I preach a lot of that. But also they spoke to me because I've lost a little bit of that over the years. 

Because of the On This Day feature on Facebook those of us who have been on a long time get to see the evolution of our online presence. How you posted when you were first wading in, what it morphed into, what you are now. I tiptoed in the first few years. Short bits, mostly jokes. A lot of positivity. 

As the years went by the posts got longer. I stopped apologizing before I posted anything political. I got a lot more personal. I made a lot of jokes. A lot of positivity. 

Then 2016 happened. And I can see from that point on that something inside me broke. 

I was talking to Brent last night at dinner about it. That there is a definite line of demarcation there. He said that my baseline is still really positive. That I'm just basically a happy person at heart who likes to see the good in others. And I said that I think that's what broke me. 

Now, 2016 was a rough year for a lot of reasons. I was in the longest depressive stretch I've ever had. I'm very lucky that my depressive phases are not diabilitiating. They are not depression that leads you to not being able to function. It just grays everything out. It's very hard to see all the colors of the rainbow. To give significant fucks about anything. The answer to every question is "I don't care" and I really don't. When I'm in that side of the swing everything is whatever. I'm also very lucky that I don't generally stay on that side of the pendulum for long. I tend to be center manic most of the time. 

But that year, end of 2015 through the majority of 2016 was rough. Just a constant wave of bleh. It was bad enough that I decided to force my way out of it. Also an area where I'm lucky. A lot of people who have depression cannot force their way through. It's not something they can fake their way past. And I wasn't sure I was going to be able to at first. The things I do to keep my moods under control weren't working at the time (exercise, daily gratitude, eating right, as good of a night's sleep as I can get). I decided that I was going to bully my way through. And I did. 

But 2016 was also, well 2016. It was the year Trump was elected. And I think that's actually the piece that broke me. Not him exactly. But the people who voted for him. Friends of mine who looked at him and all he was presenting and said Yeah!

It did something to my optimism. To my belief that people are basically good. 

Because these weren't strangers. These were friends. Family. People I thought I knew. 

And then when they did it again in 2020 after everything else? Man. It's hard to believe in the goodness of others when they insist on showing you that they aren't.

It hurts worse when you think you know someone. When you are pretty sure they are decent, good, humans and yet... Because Trump isn't good. He isn't decent. I think it's weird when people defend him. When they dismiss the things he's said and done. When they pretend like it's not a big deal. I mean, my gosh, I'm probably going to read Mitt Romney's book because even though we do not agree about much politically (except universal healthcare even though he doesn't seem to remember how in favor of it he was) he at least was able to see through a lot of the Trump stuff. I want to see why he was willing to buck his party for his conscience since that seems to be a really hard thing for others to do.

When I see people I used to think were really GOOD people. The kind of people who take care of others. Who see the humanity in everyone. When I see those people ignore their own past selves and vote for the hate and the othering and the dismantling of our own country...well it hurts.

Or it did hurt. I'm a little numb to it now. I've dismissed a lot of what I used to think about people. I'm more likely to think that most people are assholes that I am that most people are decent. I broke in 2016 and I've never recovered.

Reading that James Fell piece along with my thinking about the next year and how I want it to be about being more than striving I'm wondering if that piece broke for good or if I can mend it.

Or is it okay that it broke? That I have a more realistic view of the people in my life. That I know the ones who cannot be counted on to do the decent thing. And more importantly, that I need to continue to be vocal in showing my support because there are so many that can't be counted on. 

I can be those butterfly wings that make a difference in someone's life. 

Maybe it's not a break but an opportunity to fine tune where those fucks go. To make sure that I still give a fuck. Lots of fucks. But that I don't waste them on people who don't deserve them. And to see that when someone shows me that they don't deserve them to not take it as something wrong with me, but with them. Which, actually, let's be honest, I already do. I'm pretty sure I'm chaotic good. 

So yeah, 2016 was that moment for me. A long moment, but a moment. I can see where I broke. I can see where the shift happened. I can remember how dark that time was. But I can also remember climbing out. I can remember who was there checking in. And I can remember seeing things clearly. Even when it hurt to do so. 

So looking forward I want more moments where I see things clearly and keep moving through them. 

Where I follow those three steps of his to be the hero in my own story. And possibly help someone else become the hero in their own. 

Don't let the assholes steal all your fucks. 

The View from Up There...

Ten years ago we were in DC and visited Arlington National Cemetery. It was a really heavy experience. Just so many tombstones. Rows and rows. Then there was Robert E. Lee's house, which has been turned into a museum and the slave quarters that they were in the process of refurbishing after years of sort of ignoring that part of his living quarters. Like they were buying into the myth that he didn't own people. 

The noble Confederate.

What fucking ever.

One of the things that really struck me about the cemetery was the view. You could see the Pentagon and also the Congressional buildings from different parts of the grounds. Standing among the acres and acres of dead servicemen and women I wondered if those people in those buildings ever stepped outside and looked up. Looked to see what the price is for the decisions they make. 

Watching the news last night and they were talking to an Israeli soldier who had been in the reserves and called back to active duty to fight. He was talking about the vast array of ages that were there. All of the different reservists who had been called back. Because Israel has mandatory service. Almost everyone serves at least two years in the military. 

Brent and I have talked for years that we feel like some sort of mandatory service is actually a good thing. We'd both like to see there be other options than just military. Peace corps type things as well. Education services. But two years that everyone, EVERY.ONE. gives. I think it would help people feel more like they are part of a the country instead of just living in it. I think it would give people who have never lived outside of their own hometowns a broader view of the world and of people in general.

Brent also thought maybe military service, just that option, might not be a bad thing. That it would give people more of a perspective of what it means to serve. We talk about that all the time. That when those people in the buildings below Arlington call for "more troops" and "boots on the ground" the piece that gets forgotten is that those boots are filled with baby feet. And those troops are groups of our kids. If it was your kid, if it was you, you might think about it. 

But then I remembered what we were watching that triggered the discussion. The Israeli soldier who was recalled from reservist back to active duty to fight. Almost everyone in Israel serves. And yet they are at war. 

We just don't ever learn that war is death. If you are serving or if you are living where a bomb is detonated. If you are part of the terrorist organization or you are going to a concert and being taken hostage or gunned down in your home to spread terror. We do not seem to be able to comprehend that we are all just trying to live in this world and killing each other is the worst possible way to do that. 

Ten years ago we stood in Arlington National Cemetery and saw the gravesites of men and women who have served our country from the Civil War to a funeral happening that day. Not all of them died in service, but all of them served and understood what it meant when some politician promised more boots on the ground. 

Four years ago we stood on the east side of the Sandia mountains in front of a tree I had seen in my dreams the night before and spread some of my parent's ashes. It was a crisp Fall morning but clear and beautiful. I know I couldn't find the spot again if I tried. We hiked in and as soon as I saw the tree I knew it was the right one. As I said, I had seen it the night before in a dream. What looked like two trees growing from one trunk. Separate but rooted together. 

At the base of that dual tree I took the bag that held both of their ashes and poured them out. I was a little nervous because I'm not sure that it's totally legal to do. And I didn't want to freak out anyone else hiking nearby because it was obvious what I was doing. Some people are really bothered by the thought of death and dying and a pile of ashes would spin them up. 

It didn't stop me from doing what I was there to do, but it did make me a little cautious. 

By now the wind and the snow and the rain and more wind will have spread those ashes further and wider and deeper than what I did. They are part of the mountain now. I'm also fairly certain that my niece and her family took their portion of the ashes up to the top of the mountain to spread so my parents are part of the whole east side. Where the sun touches first when the day starts. Where the rain and the snow are more likely to fall. Where the wind blows through the trees moving the branches in a way that sounds like whispering. 

It's a peaceful place to be. 

My dad served in the Army. He was in Germany right after WWII helping in reconstruction. One of the things I remember him talking about his time there was how poor everyone was. My dad was a depression era baby. He was the main breadwinner for his family from the time he was 12 due to an unreliable alcoholic father. He was reliably alcoholic, just not so good at the rest of it. My dad knew from poor. For him to say someone was poor that was saying a lot. 

But the war, wars really they hadn't recovered from WWI before WWII got rolling, had wiped people out. The bombings destroyed entire cities. The constant fighting had made saving or creating impossible. All of the "extra" was put toward the war effort. And there wasn't a lot of extra to start with. So once it was all over, there was nothing there. And it took a long time to recover. 

My dad died an old man far removed from his time in the military. He lived a full long life. Married his sweetheart when he got home. Had kids. Grandkids. Great grandkids. A good life. And he rests on the east side of the Sandias with the love of his life. 

Out of view of the Pentagon or the Congressional buildings. 

But he was still a pair of feet in those boots. 

My father-in-law filled boots in Vietnam and decades later in Afghanistan. 

My husband filled boots that were all over the world including supporting Gulf War One. 

My family understands that it's feet that fills those boots. The feet of people who are loved. Who just want to live a full life. 

I hope that the people in the shadow of Arlington consider what a long shadow it really casts. 

Househunting...

"Who decided that we all want shiplap in our houses?"

"Right? Like I totally blame HGTV for this crap."

"It's just basically wood paneling in strips. We should have left it in the 70s and never looked back."

"But the price is pretty decent and the rest of the upgrades aren't terrible. A little taste challenged in some of them, but nothing that we couldn't live with for at least a little bit."

"And we did see that one place where they had painted the shiplap and it didn't look too terrible."

"Really?"

"Okay, yeah, it looked terrible. But it might be a quick fix for at least a little while before we tear it down."

They had looked at so many houses by this point. The market was crazy and people were asking way too much for places that needed completely gutted. To find someplace that only need a few things done seemed like rare luck. 

She might not like the taste of the temporary owners very much but comparing to the last few flipped houses they saw it was great. 

Why did people think they could do the work themselves just because they had sort of watched one YouTube video? There were houses with crown molding that didn't meet in the corners. Houses where the fixtures in the bathroom and kitchen hadn't been matched to the openings so there were gaps in the counter. Floors that were laid unevenly. Carpets in bathrooms. Orange and green walls. Together. In one room. 

What's a little shiplap compared to that?

"So should we bite?"

"I'm thinking yes. I mean, it's an 'as is' so we do want to get all of the inspections we can get. Maybe we can negotiate a lower earnest money piece since there is a bit of a risk?"

"We can always ask right? But I think this might be it. Good price, good location. Get rid of this..." she knocked on the wall, "and it..." the knock from inside the wall stopped her.

"What the fuck was that?"

She knocked again.

And there was another answering knock back.

"Onward to the next house?" he asked as he was backing out of the room.

She was already at the front door, "Yes, yes I think so!"

Shiplap...

"You really think so?"

"I do. Shiplap takes care of everything. People love shiplap."

"Okay, but that's really just covering up the problem."

"Yeah...which is what we want to do. That was the whole point in buying a house to flip; cover up the problems and sell it for more than we bought it for. Right?"

"Well, I was thinking to fix it up and sell it."

"Same thing really."

"Is it though?"

"It is. I mean look at this, we are going to put shiplap on it. Just like whoever was here before put plain wood paneling over it. I would imagine there are a few layers of paint as well. But trust me, the shiplap is a great idea."

"But even though we are going to make it look better, don't we have to tell someone about it?"

"No. We will sell it 'as is' no disclosures needed, thank you Arizona libertarians!"

"But I mean the 'as is' will tip people off though right?"

"To this? You think anyone coming in here is going to be looking for this? Under the shiplap? Look, it's going to look great. Everything is going to look great. New paint, new fixtures, change out the flooring. It's going to look amazing and with the market the way it is? No way to lose."

"Then why sell it 'as is' anyway? I mean if we are going to fix it up, then we could just sell it without the disclaimer."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but why would we? I mean, we found this, what's here that we haven't found? I mean, we got a really good price on the place and a big part of that was we bought it..."

"As is."

"Exactly."

He stepped back and took another look at the wall. The pentagram was bubbled like it had been burned in to place and the words were clearly carved into the sheetrock.

"Should we at least translate what it says?"

"Oh fuck no...SHIPLAP."

"Shiplap."

Kid Stuff...

Katie's second game comes out this Friday. The embargo on the reviews lifts tomorrow so we will see what the critics think of it. It's very cool.

First off because her name in the credits will be her name this time. Her other game credit is under the other one, so to have a game credit under Katie Mastenbrook is very cool. Things like your name being your name are a big deal. 

Second because she's really proud of this game. She wasn't a fan of the last one in a lot of ways. And when it came out her worst fears about the type of people that would end up really liking it were realized and that sort of soured her on it as well. She was proud of the work she did. And she was excited to have a AAA game out there but...

There isn't any of that residual feeling about this one. She has enjoyed her co-workers, she has enjoyed the process, she is proud of the work and her name, HER name is in the credits. I'll be posting more about it all week I am sure. 

We talked about holidays today as well. She and Slushy and Amber will be coming up for Thanksgiving. When we talked about it I said, "I'm assuming we are seeing how Thanksgiving goes before Christmas is decided?" and yes, that's part of it. Which I understand. It will be the longest we've all been together. Katie's two families. And holidays are always a little stressful anyway. And we aren't really the traditional holiday celebrators. For instance we don't do gifts on Christmas. We have traditions, meals we eat, movies we watch, but we don't do the "normal" holiday type things. So if you are expecting your holiday to go a certain way, it won't. 

And I'm the main character in this house. 

I say that sort of joking, but also knowing it's true. Brent does a lot to make sure my world runs the way I like it to run. And, obviously, in Katie's house I am not the main character. So if our running and their running don't mesh well it could be tense. We will see how it goes. 

But for this year at least I will have my family all together for Thanksgiving. 

And Katie's new game comes out this week.

Even with a sore elbow it's a pretty good weekend. 

Even when you are old and your kids are grown they are still your kids and your wishes for them are the same. Happy, healthy and come visit often. 

Bucket List...

She had been a weekend TV watcher as a child. All of the old dramatic movies. Half of them in black and white. She loved the noir ones the best. Dark and moody but always, oddly, with a sense of hope. The last-minute phone call from the governor to save the wrongly convicted hero. She could watch those over and over. Tucked under a blanket in her family’s basement, munching on popcorn. Ignoring her parents’ pleas for her to go outside.

How shocked they would have been to see how she had changed. She traveled, she hiked, she camped, she spent a lot of time outdoors now. Seeing the world. It was one of life’s tragedies that the thing that got her to finally listen to them and go outside more was their deaths.

When she was cleaning out their house, she had found all of their “someday” travel folders. They had collected travel brochures, magazine articles, postcards and just a variety of things showing places from all over the world. Places there were going to go, someday. Just someday didn’t come soon enough for them.

It changed something fundamental in her. She wasn’t going to look back at the end of her life and think she’d missed something. Anything. She started with their lists and picked places that sounded interesting to her as well. In those places she scattered a bit of their ashes. She didn’t believe it meant anything to them, but it did to her. At least some part of them got there. She found comfort where she could take it.

Once she got through the shared places that were interesting to her as well as her parents she branched out. Sometimes it was on the recommendation of someone she connected with in one of those locations. “Oh, have you been to…?” and she’d write it down and go there too. She tried to send a thank you note to each person who had suggested the new place. A photograph of her smiling widely. Leaving her mark on the world as well as seeing it.

Today was Yosemite. She was a little embarrassed it had taken her so long to get here. It was practically in her own backyard. But that was why it had taken so long. It was always on the list as an easy to get to place. The farther locations took more planning, it was easy to “someday” Yosemite. But today was someday. She stood and looked out at the view. Spectacular. Breathtaking. All of the cliches came to mind. But she guessed that they were cliches for a reason.

The spring had been a wet one and even though she stood quite a distance from the waterfall she could feel the spray of mist on her face. The warm sun in the sky and the cold mist from the falls. It was a beautiful day. The canyon spread below her, so far down. Granite cliff walls all around. It was a hard beauty. That’s what she thought. Some places had soft beauty, the rolling green hills in Ireland. But this was jagged and rough. Impressive and breathtaking.

She pulled a bottle of water from her backpack and took a long drink. The water was a little warmer than she would have liked but she hadn’t bothered with ice packs today. Just a lighter load to carry. She turned her face to the sun again.

The results came last week. The cancer was everywhere. Incredibly invasive. Incredibly fast. They could try chemo, but the chances weren’t great. It was really up to her. They would, of course, try everything she wanted them to. Or nothing at all. If she just wanted to wait it out and then get a strong morphine drip in hospice that could be arranged as well.

She didn’t want to do either of those. She pulled the two duplicate notes from her backpack. One she pinned to the shorts she was wearing, the other she pinned to the backpack itself. Odds were at least one of them would be found that way.  

She smiled. She thanked her parents for the inspiration to finish that someday list. And then she stepped from the edge of the cliff.

Somewhere a phone rang.

Help Yourself #10...

This month was Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole by Susan Cain. I really enjoyed her book Quiet:The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking. I would say it was probably close to my favorite book I read that year. So I went into this with really high hopes. And...

Did I mention how much I loved Quiet? 

The set up for this one was really good. It was all about people who feel things fairly deeply and how that's actually a good thing, even though American society tends to frown on it. We are the suck it up, sunshine, country. And there were nuggets in there that were really good. About tying that bittersweet feeling to creativity. About generational hurt and how we pass things along to our kids and even our grandkids, not by socialization but actually in our genetic code, which fascinates me so I'm glad she touched on it. How you can be a really happy person and also have a touch of melancholy. 

But...

It felt like she had an idea for a book, and then not enough to really fill a book. A lot of padding and fluff and some meandering. 

She also got fairly woo woo for a bit. And for someone who kept emphasizing that she's agnostic that was weird and to call back to another blog; CLANG.

So I recommend Quiet for sure but this one was a slog. Some really good things in there at times but a whole lot of nonsense and padding as well. I guess it really was bittersweet...

What would I have gotten out of it in my 20s? Well, maybe more than I got out of it now. I mean, the bittersweet personality has always been there. The acceptance that life is impermanent and death is part of living has always been there as well. But I was more woo woo in my 20s so that part wouldn't have bugged me so much. I might have even looked up the gurus she talked about seen if they had something to offer me. 

Now, here is a funny part that 20s me would have thought was great but made 50s me roll her eyes as well. When I got the book I saw on the cover that it was an Oprah pick. I would have LOVED that in my 20s, would have felt that was a gold star approval if ever there was one. But 50s me knows that as often as she promotes someone or something good she also promotes people like Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil and was a big goop! supporter and there was Optifast and...well... 

So this one wasn't as big of a miss as a few of them have been but it wasn't the slam dunk I was hoping it would be. 

Also, funny side note, the biography I read this month was from Maria Bamford Sure, I'll Join Your Cult:A Memoir of Mental Illness and the Quest to Belong Anywhere. She talks about all of the 12 step groups she has been a part of and all of the self help books she's read and talked about how they are all really similar to cults if you stop and look at them. Just made me laugh considering how many of them I've been reading this year. And how many cult biographies as well. 

So two more to go, though I think one of them will be a two in one bio/self help I was thinking I'd read it in November but Brent pointed out that December would be a good month to free up some time so maybe then instead. Either way I need to find one more self help book for the year. Fingers crossed it turns out to be a good one. 

Context Is Key...

I posted on Facebook that it's okay not to have a political opinion about what is happening in the Middle East right now. That it's fine to just feel deeply for everyone involved. 

And I've seen a lot of that. Just people who are sad about all of it. Whose hearts break for anyone in a situation like the Palestinians and the Israelis find themselves in right now. 

And then there are the others...

The ones who have a side and fuck the other guys. That their guys are the good guys and the other side are not even human guys just awful ghouls who deserve what they get. 

And when you see people like that they often will accuse anyone who isn't firmly in their only one side is deserving of life side of being either anti semitic or anti Palestinian depending on whose side they are on.

And a lot of times it starts when someone is trying to put a little context in to a post or a statement. 

For instance...

Israel is very militaristic. And will use the full force of their military at any point. Strength and fire power is a big deal to them. That's part of why you see all out retribution as retaliation against even smaller acts of aggression, let alone against what Hamas did this past weekend. The context for that is pretty simple to see. The State of Israel, the country, the land they hold, was created after WWII. And WWII, as horrific as it was, was not the first time anti semitic harassment and killings happened. It was just the largest mass scale. And it didn't end with WWII. We still see anti semitism all the time. It's incredibly common. It's coded into a lot of standard shit. Like when people talk about Soros controlling everything. Or the Rothschilds running the world. That's all anti semitism. It's so common we don't even notice it at times. Like JK Rowling coding the bankers in the Harry Potter universe with anti semitic tropes. 

The context for why Israel is extremely self protective is that Jewish people have not been protected through history. They've been scapegoated and driven from land and killed. If that was your ancestry you'd be pretty sure to know how to protect yourself as well. 

And then there is there is the acknowledgment that the people are Jewish, the country is Israel and the leader right now of Israel is Netanyahu who does not speak for all Jewish people in the world. He's very conservative and militaristic all on his own. Leader doesn't equal country. Country doesn't equal people. 

Context. 

Now, about that creation of the country of Israel. There were already people living on that land. Palestine and the Palestinians were moved. The land was divided into an Arab piece and a Jewish piece. There were hundreds of thousands of Jewish people that migrated during and right after the war. The Arabs that were living there had originally been assured that they would be consulted and considered and that migration would be limited. Well...not so much. And then to add to it there have been multiple wars since the creation that has moved the borders of Israel even further into Palestine. And the Israelis have maintained a pretty strong lock on the area. 

Especially the Gaza strip. It's been blockaded from Israel and also from Egypt. It's been described as the world's largest prison. Add to that Hamas coming to power in the early 2000s and the people who live there have lived under the boot of Hamas, strict militaristic rule, and the boot of Israel. It's been tense for a long time. 

Hamas is the governing body, but there hasn't been an election since the early 2000s so who knows if they would be voted in again. A lot of polling says no. And again, a government is not the same as a people. And a country isn't the same as a people. Hamas does not equal all of Palestine. All Palestinians are not terrorists (many countries have classified Hamas as a terrorist organization). But they have been living in a police state and under threat of Israel completely taking over all of their land for the past 75 years. 

Context. 

When someone shares context with you; there is a reason why Israel is so tough, there is a reason why Palestine is volatile. They aren't being apologists or saying one side is better or more deserving of life than the other. Or maybe sometimes they are. But you can take the context and form a more well rounded view of what is going on. 

It's much more complicated than anything I've said up there as well. There are layers upon layers and thousands of years of history. But you don't need to understand any of that to understand that what is happening right now is a tragedy. 

For everyone involved. 

There are a lot of horror stories coming out about what has happened and even in that you need to be careful. There are a lot of false stories in there. Things designed to make you feel one way or the other about the whole situation, but that never happened. Get your news from a variety of legitimate sources. Almost all news in the US is going to be pro-Israeli news. They are a major ally of ours. But that doesn't mean it's the full story. Read something from Al Jazeera (a Qatari owned Arabic news source so a pretty good counterpoint to US media). Read a few perspectives and try to gain more context about what is happening. 

I have my own beliefs about the situation. Other people have theirs. But try to understand when someone is giving you more information you don't have to lock your head up and refuse to listen. Just add it as more context for a complicated situation. 

There are no good things happening right now. People are dying. Lots of innocent people who just want to live their lives and go about their day are dying. More people will die before this is over. And it could very well spread from an Israel/Palestine clash to a full scale world war. Countries already have sides they support. It could go very badly. Even worse than it already is, and it's already bad. 

So don't add to it by screaming at people who are trying to give you some context for what is happening.

It's okay to just feel badly about anyone dying. It's okay to understand that war is never good. And it's okay to add context to what you think you already know. 

Set You Up To...

Talking to Katie today and we ended up on the topic of being an adult and doing adult things. Like when she was in high school she got rid of all of her "toys" her Lego creations and cards for games and things like that. It was part of her being neurodivergent and also trans so she was sort of cosplaying growing up with an observed rule book that she didn't fully understand. Like "Okay, I think this is now a sign of maturity." 

Which I mean, I'm not really sure why considering I still haven't grown up. But I sort of see it, that at that time we were still, broke isn't the right word, but we were college being paid off and two promotions away from having much disposable income left. So there wasn't room in the budget for, for instance, a $100 Maleficent Barbie like there is now. And also we are always pretty clear that I am not the model for typical. 

But because of that she's spent a lot of her real adult life getting her things back. Like she played card games competitively for awhile. (Gave that up because it's not a super safe place for a trans woman to be, which is a fucking shame) Today they are going to go to the new big Lego store in Bend and look around. When she was growing up she was on a Lego Robotics team and also had a lot of different sets. So now she's looking at rebuilding with new things. 

We talked about how it's sort of difficult for Millenials with younger parents. Like the Boomers gave up a lot of childhood things and put on the suit and went to work, but kept the music and forced entertainment to cater to them. Gen X said, yeah, no, thanks. I'll keep the video games and skateboards and my clothes. I'm just not interested in the whole "adult" thing. So what do Millenials rebel against? Do they put on the suit and throw out the toys or do they cling to the toys even more hard core? How do you make your own generational grown up or refuse to grow up line? 

And she said that it was especially difficult because they don't really have the owning your own house marker. Because they can't afford it. Housing is still out of reach for the majority of them, or at least out of reach until much later. 

And I had just been thinking about her specifically earlier in the week. Her dad and I made sure she was set up to succeed. We paid her college tuition. We encouraged her to get a degree toward what she wanted to do for a living instead of just wing it. We didn't want her starting out behind. So when she graduated and got a job she was debt free. And her first few apartments were head and shoulders above the rat holes that Brent and I started in. And her savings account is, well she has savings so let's just start with that. She's much better off than we were at her age. She has every opportunity to be ahead of us all the way through, though her job field is a lot more volatile and she is for all intents and purposes the main breadwinner for a family of 3 right now where we had two incomes (but I think together at her age it was still less than hers solo), but she's better off than we were. 

Which is not usual for her age group. Millenials are the first that are behind their parents. Now a lot of them had Boomer parents not X, but still. They faced a whole different set of economic factors including massive college debt. By lifting that from her, while still getting her a degree she was able to use to get a good starting job, she was able to start fresh. 

Which is so important. It's why we did it. We did not start that way. We were young, not a ton of earning power. I didn't even take a college class until we were stationed in California and it was before they dismantled their excellent public college system so I only paid a few hundred dollars (plus about double that in books) for my entire Associates degree. But we were in debt fairly quickly, not massive, but enough that we didn't have extra to put away to save. If something happened it had to go on a credit card. Or split among a few depending on how wrong it went. We were digging out for a long, long time. And it's hard.

There is this great myth of progress we all hold on to, but it doesn't always work that way. Until maybe 15 years ago we were one step away from catastrophe at any point in time. And even now we aren't kidding ourselves that one huge medical disaster couldn't bankrupt us. Welcome to America where that is true for almost everyone except the 1%. When Katie was still in elementary school and we were living up here the first time there were so many months where the last two days (we both got paid on the 1st) were hold your breath and cross your fingers days. And because things were so close to the bone for so long even when we did start to see the edge of the hole we didn't live that way, we kept the low mortgage house, we stayed with one car, we were careful with clothing and vacations. 

We know what it's like to be in the hole and not seeing the way out. And we were lucky as well as working hard to get out. 

We didn't want that for Katie. So we dinged our own retirement savings and safety cushion to make sure she didn't start out under the dirt pile. 

A lot of her peer group didn't have that luck. 

So we can see that on a personal level our child is better off than we were. We can see on a generational level that her generation is not. 

We cashed in stocks that we had been saving since Brent got out of the military and Intel gave him pieces of ownership paper instead of money as bonuses. We struggled and scrimped where we could have gotten ahead ourselves if we had just told her to get her own loans. We would have reached the comfort zone years ahead of time if we hadn't done that. Brent might even be looking at an earlier retirement. 

And now Biden is forgiving student loans for people who did not do what we did. People who didn't cash in retirement. People who didn't find cheaper ways to live to afford those payments. People who didn't give up vacations or new clothes or another car. 

And I say....

Good. 

Katie is doing better than her peers because of choices we made. But we were able to make those choices. And they were choices WE made. Freely. 

To say that because we paid and struggled everyone else should too is a dick move. 

What I really would like is for people to have the equivalent cost structure that I had. Five dollars a credit hour with a maximum of $25 a semester puts higher education in reach for everyone. Even if it's just at the junior college level. We need to tackle the cost of college. We need to fix the problem at the root. But until we do that, we need to give people some breathing room and if that means their debt load is lifted, then good for them. 

I struggled so you don't have to is a much nicer way to look at the world than I struggled so you MUST AS WELL.

 

Okay, But Wait...

A friend of mine posted one of those feel good while shaming you stories the other day. You know the ones, look at how this little act of decency meant all the world to someone now DO BETTER YOU GREMLINS!

And it was a sweet story. One of those on the theme of overwhelmed mom on a flight with way too many kids and a stranger holding her baby to help out. Which I always think, yeah but really? I mean I have held other people's kids, and entertained other people's kids in grocery store lines, and just last night Brent spent at least half of the hockey game playing peek-a-boo with the baby in the row in front of us...but...do you really let a stranger take your baby a few rows away on an airplane? So I'm always skeptical of the writers of those stories, because it's always the heroes never the overwhelmed mom who writes them. And there's always a picture of a chubby baby leg and a lap. Like, you took the picture to make sure when you wrote your oh look what a hero I am story you'd be ready. 

So yeah, you can see I go into these stories a little primed for them to be nice moral tales but not necessarily factually true. (Freaking Jill man... let me know if you need a refresher on who she is and I'll link later)

But this one I was reading it and it was like familiar music, you know the tune, smooth lovely, then CLANG broken piano key, then back to familiar tune. See, it was the standard, overwhelmed mom, stranger going to help, shaming everyone else story, but she added some pre-conversations in there. Where she was talking to the older gentleman who was sighing loudly and muttering about why she didn't do something about her unruly children, as older gentlemen being pitched as the villian of the story are wont to do and the "hero" tells him to layoff, she's clearly overwhelmed and besides in today's day and age she's probably afraid to do anything incase someone reports her CLANG, so I will selflessly go and help. 

What? You are posting the feel good story with a little remember the good old days when she could have just beat them so they would behave? What the fuck was that? 

Now I didn't comment under the story WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? Because the overall message was a good one. Help people. When you see someone struggling, help them. But oh holy shit it was hard not to. 

Part of why I didn't is that a large contingent of my friend base is neurodivergent with various levels of spiciness and so I've had plenty of times where I've written an update where I wanted to make a certain point and there was some sort of CLANG moment (never an it's okay to beat your kids in the privacy of your own home CLANG but something) and someone will comment on it derailing the whole thing. And depending on how important the message I wanted to get across was to me will determine how much it bugs me.

Usually not much at all. And in the case that I really did want to make a certain point I will say, "hey, yeah, I get what you are saying but THAT'S NOT THE FUCKING POINT!" or you know, something along those lines, but generally nicer. Generally. Sometimes not.

I know what it's like to see something and REALLY feel like you have to say something about it. And not everyone has a blog that they can turn to in times like that. And not everyone has the pause button as well. That moment where you stop and think, Okay, but wait...is this the right time to make this point or will it undermine the main point which is super important? 

I have friends all along that continuum. The ones that HAVE to make their point right now. The ones that have to make their point right now but understand that publically isn't the place so they send you a text. The ones that let it seeth for a bit and come back a few weeks later with an all caps explosion. And the ones that either didn't ever notice the CLANG or didn't think it was that big of deal. Those ones are considered the neurotypical ones in the real world but the divergent ones in my life, oddly enough. 

Because I have those friends it keeps me from being that friend. Usually. Not always. Sometimes I just can't get away with sending a text to someone else saying CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS SHIT or waiting to write a blog all about CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS SHIT and I just have to post I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS SHIT right then and there. Long stretches of insomnia and lack of caffeine often predict the level of "shit believing" posting that happens. But I do try to not destroy your really well meaning post with the CLANG moment. 

So really, this was a really long blog just to point out that I should get points and gold star for the things I do not say instead of grief for all of the times I go off...

Yay me.

CLANG!

Oh Stop It...

A friend of mine posted a screenshot of a list of things that governments of other countries see about ours and how unstable we really are. 

It was about 8 things that the Republicans are currently doing and then the last one was oh and Joe Biden's old. See how both sides are so crazy?

Now, it was something from the New York Times so yeah, what do you expect? But it's still the shit that drives me crazy. 

Both sides are so bad! I mean the front runner for the Republican nomination is currently under 4 different indictments and threatened the retiring Joint Chiefs of Staff and is encouraging the Republicans to shut down the government and the current Democrat is old. See? So crazy!

The two parties are not the same. They just aren't. So stop doing the both side nonsense. They are different. If you can't see that they are different you need to (as the youth say) touch grass. 

This comes on the heels of all of the think pieces about how it's the Democrats fault that McCarthy lost the speakership. See, they should have voted to keep him in because....well reasons. It's not the fault of the extremists in the Republican party for voting him out. It's not the fault of McCarthy for being so craven that he gave them almost everything they've ever asked for. It's not the fault of the moderate (moderate? really?) Republicans for not being able to control their extreme wing. It's totally the fault of the Democrats for not jumping in and cleaning up the mess. 

Again.

As Democrats tend to do.

Republicans stomp around trashing the joint then Democrats are left holding the cleaning bill. 

Over and over again. 

McCarthy even tried to make it the Democrats fault the government shut down this time. Like it wasn't his party fucking things up. He rushed the continuing resolution out on Saturday when there wouldn't be enough time for Dems to get it read, and get in chambers to vote so that he could say...SEE?? We had a resolution that had all but one thing in it and THEY wouldn't vote for it! But the Dems did get in chambers in time and did all vote for it. So no shut down. No way to blame them. Except, of course, for the radical group that had forced a vote on a terrible plan early in the week (that they themselves did not vote for but got every single moderate Repub on record voting to cut Social Security and Medicaid) but those guys did blame them. How dare Republicans ever work with Democrats! We will punish you by....voting with the Democrats to remove you from office. 

I mean...

And then to really show that they are a functional party the first order of business they did after voting out McCarthy was to take away Pelosi's office. WHILE SHE WAS IN CALIFORNIA AT FEINSTEIN'S FUNERAL. I mean...what the actual fuck?

It's like they misread Republican Party for Republican Petty and have just decided to go with it. 

It's weird. You all know it's weird right? That we need a two party system for the checks and the balances but one of the two parties is completely unbalanced? And that we have spent so much time listening the media say that both sides have issues and are the same that we now say it when it's just not true. 

Both sides having issues that the other side doesn't like? Yep. That's true. Both sides having a spectrum of beliefs from more moderate to less moderate? Yep. That's true. Both sides doing everything in their power to fuck up the government and grind it to halt with zero concern that these are real people they are fucking over? No.

And I get it, Biden's old. But everyone around Biden is competent. If something happens to Biden during the next term we won't be looking at someone absolutely incompetent stepping in. Or someone with 4 indictments. FOUR.

I'm tired. Already. And it's not even 2024.

Side Trip (holder title)

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm waiting for a friend... and yet you are already sitting down."

"Your 'friend' is late and I'm here so how about I buy you a drink?"

"Umm....I have one." 

"Well how about another one? You probably aren't used to men buying you drinks but it's customary to say okay."

"What?"

"I mean, you're almost cute, but..."

"Almost cute?"

"Yeah, I mean if it weren't for like this..." He waved his vaguely over his nose.

"My nose? You think there is something wrong with my nose?"

"Not necessarily wrong but....you know."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, you get it."

"No, I mean, you're negging me aren't you?"

"What? No. I mean I don't even know what that means."

"No...you are totally negging me. I had no idea that was actually a thing real people did. I thought it was like a joke. Like something that was made up online somewhere and the news picked it up as real. Like, OH my gosh, Let's pretend that Andrew Tate is someone to emulate! Just a goof."

"Hey, he has some really good points."

"OH MY GOD! You actually like Andrew Tate as well! How about Jordan Peterson?"

"Look..."

"Wow, I mean, I feel like I should get a picture with you just to show my friends that you were real."

"You don't have to be such a bitch. You could just say you're a lesbian and leave it at that."

"Oh, okay, now we are into the I have to be a bitch or a lesbian if I don't fall for your bullshit. And I get it, rejection is hard. It makes you really sad right? And you are an alpha male who doesn't have feelings so this is really confusing for you."

"Dyke."

"Okay, let me clear that up for you. I'm not actually a lesbian. I'm bi. Which means that I do date men, just not men like you. And to date a man like you all of the other men in the world would have to be gone and because I'm bi all of the women as well. So your odds are not strong."

"Bitch. I'm out of here!"

"Okay, bye. I'll try not to be too upset about it...oh wait...yeah, over it already."

The slow clap started from the woman on her right.

"Nicely done. And feel free to use, 'and everyone clapped for me' when you tell this story later."

"Dudes like that are just...."

"So fun to take down? Yeah. Would you like another drink? I mean I feel like you deserve one after that."

"No, thank you. I really am meeting a friend and I don't want to be two drinks in when she shows up."

"Totally understand. Well thank you for the entertainment. It was amazing."

"You're welcome. Glad to provide."

"I'm Gloria, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jade."

Just Keep Going...

Right now Tig is sleeping in my lap. Crashed out hard. He came in here scream crying at me and I had to pick him up and cuddle him until he fell asleep. He's mad because Brent is packing and he's figured out that packing means leaving. Smart kitty. Sweet kitty. Little pain in the ass kitty.

Three years ago we were on day two of the broken leg saga. I was so tired. And wrung out emotionally. Felt like the world's worst pet parent. I mean, whose kitten breaks a leg? Turns out more than you would think...but at the time it seemed like it was only us.

My friend Chris was my lifeline during that stretch. She was like my own personal veterinary assistant and she started with "you aren't a bad pet parent" and then went from there. Helped me to advocate for better calming meds for him when it seemed like he was not settling down and resting. Helped me look at wound care and if I was overreacting to the way it looked or if it really did need some extra care. Basically held my hand long distance as I was freaking out and melting down and gave me the exact words to say to the vet to make sure I was being heard.

A lot of what I worried about didn't happen. He and Tux remained bonded. He did (eventually) leave the wound alone long enough for it to heal. We did find a cone that was large enough to keep our leggyboi from being able to reach his stitches but still light enough that he could keep his tiny little kitten head upright. 

But during it? Especially those first few days were I was sleeping on the bathroom floor with him? Oh my gosh I didn't see how we were making it through. There were weeks and weeks ahead of us and I just couldn't imagine how we were going to all keep our sanity and make it work. And I mean, we might not have kept our sanity completely, but we did make it work. Including figuring out how to make the spare room safe enough for Tig and I to move out of the bathroom and at least get a little more space. 

Which I was super grateful for. I mean it. That moving into the other room with the portable couch/chair/bed thing I found on Amazon was like the best fanciest resort room I'd ever been in. Sleeping on something that I could stretch my whole body out on instead of folded into interesting shapes? Amazing. Having a window? OH MY GOSH...GUYS THERE ARE TIME CHANGES HAPPENING! A little over two weeks spending around 20 hours a day in a bathroom made me really appreciate a room with a window. 

And then there are the things that we think happened just because he broke his leg. He really is the sweetest cat we've ever had. He's a terror as well, don't get me wrong, super destructive, chew on everything, but... He loves to be carried around. And cuddled. And he needs to be where we are. We think it's because he spent that 8 week period locked in a room with one of us always being with him. And holding him a lot of the time. And even when we left the room he didn't get full unfettered run of the house for quite awhile. He got carried up and down the stairs. He was locked into our bedroom at night with us, after being placed on the bed. He had to be with us and so now he thinks he HAS to be with us. 

Which makes traveling a little more complicated...but oh well.

But when it started I was sure I wasn't going to make it through. I was sure it would ruin the relationship he had with his brother. I was sure I wasn't going to be able to keep him still enough that he could heal. But we did it. One day at a time. One nap at a time. One set of pain pills at a time. One Brent taking over so I could at least walk around the house for a bit and take a shower at a time. It all worked out. 

I mean, I never want to do it again, but at least I know we can. 

If you need to get through hell, just keep walking. 

How it started....

How it's going.