THANKFUL FRIDAY

I often forget that this is the month for gratitude because I practice gratitude every day and share it here every week. So, November is just a month that happens to contain a holiday. There are those who use November for more than a gratitude month. November is also National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for short. I have a handful of friends who have honored the month with working diligently on a novel and I have on occasion officially thrown my hat into the writing ring, signing up for NaNoWriMo. The challenge of committing to writing daily on a thing you might send off to be published as a book is enticing and intimidating. I have always failed miserably to finish anything.

This is true for any month.

Before you get excited for me, let me say that this year is not any different from any other time. I did not officially sign up for NaNoWriMo. I did not quietly make any commitments to write daily for NaNoWriMo, but I have been writing. I have been writing on a project that I know I have time to write because I don’t have plans to share it in public. At least not now. I am waiting for an appropriate time. The thing I started writing is based on an idea for a book title that just randomly floated into my brain. Since then, I have been fleshing out a story to fit under that title. This is, I just realized, the same way I write my little fortune cookie stories. I use the title of the page, in this case a fortune, to inspire the story. I never really finish a story for this, but I don’t think that I am incapable of it. I always run out of room to write before I am given the chance to finish. Turns out the Fortune Cookie Diary has not just been a practice in creativity but a lesson on getting a writing project off the ground.

This project may end up like all the others and I would not be disappointed with myself if it did. There’s plenty of UFOs on my computer and about half of those make me feel a number of negative feelings most of which revolve around my lack of discipline (I blame Chris). I can finish this or not finish this current project without any of those feelings because in the process of writing, I have let go of some stuff that has not been serving me. Each written memory gives me greater insight and understanding and unlike many of those other projects, I have yet to reach a wall that I can’t seem to write my way around. Maybe this one will keep going because it feels really good to free some of these thoughts that I have been holding onto. They are thoughts that do not serve me well and the foundation for many of my feelings of inadequacy. Those thoughts are where the not enoughs come from. After each writing session I have felt stronger in not just saying, but believing that I am enough.

So for the month that celebrates writing and gratitude, I am thankful for my writing practice.

We are traveling to Iowa next week for a friendsgiving in Heather’s new house. I’ve never been to Des Moines and from what I’ve been told, it’s really great or really boring. It depends on who you’re talking to. I’m leaning into Des Moines being really great because we missed friendsgiving with Heather last year. Up until then, our Thanksgiving gathering were beginning to feel traditional. I am a creature devoted to routine and habits. So to have our gatherings back feel comforting. I don’t know what next week will look like for this space. If I end up not posting anything, may your holiday be filled with light and comfort.

Peace.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

If you have not ever watched the series Big Love, I’m sorry. There are major spoilers ahead. In the series finale, Bill the head of the family is no longer with us. What is left behind is his three wives and nine children. They are still living in their three separated houses. Those houses are right next to each other, looking like all the other houses in the neighborhood from the front, but with one giant communal backyard in the back. This is how they lived through out the series. The thing that is different in the finale is not just the missing father head, but how these women have come together to make this family work in a way where everyone feels supported in their choices for their own lives. In fact, the family unit works better and more harmoniously now than when Bill was around.

I was riveted with the concept of this show. Chris and I watched every episode, having long discussions about the events from each episode, breaking down scenes. The show ran for five seasons and usually when one gets invested in a TV show, there is a little bit of sadness to see it end. I wasn’t not sad to see the end of Big Love, but that final episode was the perfect way to wrap up a show of complicated relationships. The final scene of the family all coming together, making time out of the lives they have built for themselves (and thriving in) to sit together for dinner has never left my brain.

I want a house with a crowded table
And a place by the fire for everyone
Let us take on the world while we're young and able
And bring us back together when the day is done

- Crowded Table, The Highwomen

On Monday evening, Robin and Summer came to my house where I fixed a pot of stewed tomatoes and black-eyed peas with collard greens and cornbread. It was a meal of comfort and as we sat slurping spoonfuls of black-eyed peas, I once again thought of that final episode of Big Love. I even talked about it with Robin and Summer. I said “This is what I want.” Tuesday evening was my last evening to spend with them. This time they made me dinner and we sat at the table in the Airbnb, enjoying our meal together. There is comfort in sitting around a table at the end of a crazy work day and breaking bread with your chosen family.

I have said this before. I have talked of my dream community of friends with one giant backyard and evening meals shared at a great big table. I imagine the table filled with chatter and busy with passing around serving dishes of steaming nourishment. Laugher is always involved. Demanded even. The care of the community is not the sole responsibility of one, but the responsibility of all of us. Community is not defined by proximity. Amani sent out a call for stories of goodness to pull her out of a dark funk early in the week. It did not take long for her little post to fill up with comments of goodness. Not surprising. She has a collected a large number of good humans. Many of us have a similar collection and this is our community.

Sometimes, I scroll through the list of people Facebook thinks I know and who I should send out friend requests to. I am always so intrigued by the connections between the people in this list and my current Facebook friends. I am even more intrigued by the mutual friend situations that happen in Facebook, how these friendships overlap. My community of good humans overlaps with Amani’s community because my community includes her and when I share my own stories of goodness those people in Amani’s community see’s it too. In caring for one single person in my chosen community, I end up caring and supporting an entirely different community than my own.

I still want my imaginary community of houses with a shared backyard, with a fire pit we gather around in the evenings. I want a great big table where we sit together for our evening meals. I want all of that, but I don’t need it. I don’t need it because I already have a beautiful community and we all may be spread out across the country, but we still care and support one another.

Because this is how communities work.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The temperatures dropped over night here. One day it was seventy eight degrees and the next day the high was forty six. Then it snowed. Then temperatures dropped to freezing and kids had to bundle up for trick or treating. There’s a whole list of complaints that I could make about it. I definitely did/do not feel ready for freezing temperatures, but to be fair I’m never ready for it.

A big factor in how seasons are determined is the maximum intensity of sunlight in a given area. That intensity changes as the Earth makes it’s way around the sun because of the Earth’s axis tilt. Really digging in to understanding the physics of all of this makes me want to puke and is the reason I am not an Earth scientist or physicist. I much prefer the biology of super tiny things, but my understanding of the very basic physics behind the seasons is how I know what times of the year produce the best rainbows from the glass on my cubicle.

We are creeping into peak rainbow season here in my office.

This week, the most perfect rainbow was projected onto the wall by desk. It was a textbook example of what we would use to teach people about wavelengths and colors. Okay…some physics has rubbed off on me. I can’t do my job in microscopy without some knowledge of how light, excitation and emission wavelengths work. Even though I know how it works, I am still blown away when it happens on my wall or even in the sky because I know how precise the conditions have to be in order to make a rainbow. With outside rainbows that happen after rain, you are lucky to see four distinct colors. Often, one color dominates the others. This happens with the sun and glass on my cubicle too. The rainbow will be more blue, yellow and green and faint. As the season changes into late Fall and early Winter, those colors even out and get brighter. Then comes the days when that rainbow contains the whole roygbiv of colors and it is bright and vibrant.

And it lasts for about five minutes.

I took my picture and then answered an email. Five minutes later I looked at the wall and the rainbow had faded to hints of color. It does not just require the right angle of light and reflective source, but it requires the right time of day. You have to be standing at my desk at precisely 8:19 AM because by 8:24 AM, the rainbow is mostly gone. There’s something miraculous in all of this, that it happens at all, that light is white until we bounce it through different refractive indexes and surfaces. Knowing the science behind the how and why light does this doesn’t diminish the amazement and joy I feel whenever I encounter a rainbow happening.

In fact, I think that knowing the science behind it and how everything has to be perfectly aligned to make a rainbow happen, makes the experience of seeing one an awe inspiring event every time.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I don’t know how to start this dialogue. I was going to talk about prying open my washing machine to get the clothes out and having to buy a new washer. But I found it difficult to write about my washing machine woes while seeing and hearing about the horrific acts of violence happening in Israel and Gaza.

First of all I support my local Jewish communities and friends. The attacks by Hamas have sparked an extra fierce round of antisemitism in this country with far right agencies praising attacks on Jewish people. This country has never been good at supporting our fellow Americans of races other than white, religions not Christian based, and ethnoreligious groups. While I can’t change the whole country, I can do my part as an American in protecting and supporting these groups. Our Jewish friends need to know we have their backs and will do what we can to protect them form racism.

Secondly reacting to violence with more violence will never fix any situation. The counter attack on Gaza by Israel has left more than 300,000 innocent people homeless, not to mention the deaths of hundreds of thousands of women and children. Their announcement of a total blockade to Gaza is considered to be a humanitarian crime by the UN. Women and children are in the most danger. Israeli missiles have hit schools and places of worship, both of which have been filled with women and children seeking shelter from violence. There is no where for these people to go to be safe.

Here are some ways to send help to the victims of the horrific acts of violence brought on by Israel and Hamas:

• Doctors Without Borders

• International Committee of the Red Cross

• International Rescue Committe

Feel free to share other resources in the comments.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In my tweens and teen years, any time I went off to do some 4-H activity, Mom would send a camera with me and instructions to take pictures. At the end of the year all 4-Hrs filled out record books that were judged with awards often being scholarship money. The best record books earned the most money and the best record books not only contained a write up of all the things you did, but pictures proving that you did the things. Inevitably I would come home with zero pictures because I was too focused on doing the actual activity. Or even worse because it cost money to print rolls of film, I’d come home with a camera roll full of pictures of my camp lunches or a neatly made bed.

I wasn’t a camera person.

Then Chris gifted me a tiny sky-blue Sony SureShot and sent me off to New York for BlogHer and time with Talaura. I didn’t go with the intention of taking great pictures. I didn’t go with the intention of taking any pictures, really, but this was the trip that changed me and sent me down the photography path. Chris eventually upgraded my camera and I started reading manuals and attending workshops. I participated in photo challenges and I set photography goals for myself. I’ve researched lenses and I’m even renting one that I’m thinking of buying for a trip I’m taking in a few weeks. This practice has kept me curious not just about learning the technical aspects of photography, but also learning about other photographers. The photography section is usually my first stop when visiting any art museum.

I recently came across this quote from Dorothea Lange, the photographer and photojournalist best known for her portraits like Migrant Mother during the Great Depression:

The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.

I feel this quote in my bones. My camera has taught me to see the world around me but it has also opened me up to the perspective of seeing the world through the eyes of others. No one sees their surroundings in the same way as the person standing next to them sees it. I have been sharing my view of the world for a long time now, but tonight is my first ever artist reception centered around that work and I’m nervous. I keep thinking about all the what ifs that all seemed to be tied together with the not enoughs. Then Terry reminded me that this reception is for me to enjoy. It’s a celebration. The art work has been up for a month. My friends and family have been seeing my work in my online posts for years. The only difference here is that my work is tangible; it’s printed and framed and hanging on some walls.

I am grateful for this practice that has changed the way I see my surroundings. But I am beyond grateful for the love and support for this practice from my family and friends. You are the ones that make me believe that I am enough.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The other day, Michael and I stopped by one of our favorite local grocery stores that happened to have large bins of pumpkins out front, all claiming to be from a local farm. We call the store the Fancy Hen House because it’s on the ritzy side of Kansas and is nicer that other Hen House’s. We usually end up here when we’re scrounging up Saturday night’s dinner fixings because it’s fancy, but not fancy/pricey like Whole Foods. I said out loud as I was walking by the first bin of pumpkins “It’s too early to buy a pumpkin.” Then I picked out three small white pumpkins because I wanted ghosts. There were a few very very large pumpkins right by the entrance. I looked down at one and realized that they were pretty cheap for that size of a pumpkin. I looked up at Michael and described an idea of using one of these giant pumpkins as a head for a skeleton body. Michael said that I did not have the right skeleton pieces to do this. So then we argued for a few minutes about what skeleton I needed. I thought I had convinced him that we needed to buy that pumpkin, but then he said “If you can pick it up, you can buy it.”

I did not buy that pumpkin.

Yet.

A few weeks ago, I was thinking about October and how maybe I just wouldn’t decorate this year. I’m busy. If I put it all out, I have to take it all down and that thought made me tired. Micheal and I were out running errands while I was thinking these things and one errand was to stop at Lowes for an air filter. As we walked up to the front doors, Michael asked me where could I go inside that would be the most distracting. I told him “Halloween!” and then he left me there while he hunted down the right filter. When he found me, I’d left Halloween and was wandering the garden section holding a mum. He said “What happened?” I shrugged and said “There’s not much over there to inspire me.” So I thought I’d just leave it this year.

I have been in robot mode since the beginning of September. My head is down and focused on the tasks at hand, getting one task completed and moving on to the next. I’ve taken little time to look up and around. You may have noticed this some with the lack luster photos I’ve been posting lately. One morning this week, the sunrise with the clouds was spectacular. I zipped past my friend Erica on my way to work and she texted me to ask if I’d taken pictures of the sky that morning. She’d been out trying to find a good shot of the sky when I’d passed by on Valerie. I had to tell her that I didn’t stop to take any pictures and I felt disappointed in myself. People keep asking me how the art showing is going and I just shrug and say “okay.” Because nothing is really happening. Pictures are up, but I’m not standing around the Starbucks watching and listening to peoples’ comments or reactions to the work. Instead of being excited about the reception next week, I’m fretting about all the little details I need to take care of before then. I’m leaving little space for feelings other than numbness.

Seeing all of those pumpkin bins at the grocery store created a shift. Then I remembered that I’d spent hours last year glueing googly eyes all over my Halloween wreath and I felt a little bit of joy as I thought about that wreath. I have to put that out at least. Oh! There’s also Suzanne. She’s got to come out of her box in the basement. Michael hates Suzanne, which makes me cackle. Tuesday evening, I drew faces on my little white pumpkins while Michael told me about his day. Wednesday evening, Michael came home with a life size posable skeleton that he presented to me as a gift. I named her Jane and spent the rest of the evening posing her. She sat on the couch and played a game of Two Dots before moving to the desk to start on a writing project. Yesterday, she waited in Michael’s closet for him to come home from work. “What the fuck, lady! What the fuck!?!” was his hello for Jane and then he started having regrets about bringing her home. I think we’re going to be the best of friends.

It feels nice to be reminded to leave some space for a bit of playfulness. It feels nice to just lift my head up and expand my view beyond my current tunnel. And it’s not hard to carve out space for any of that, but it is easy to forget to do so. If I get home before Michael today, I’m putting Jane in the washing machine and making him start the first load of laundry.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

After today, there will be only one week left in this month and I’m feeling a little bit of panic. Whoa, Nelly. Hold your horses. The days are speeding by too fast. Did I mention that we now have a teenager? Yeah…the Cabbage turned thirteen this month and her parents look at them and want to smoosh their cheeks while saying “remember when you were our wittle baby?!?!?!” Not really. Well, maybe. Michael’s not that type, but who knows what happens at their mom’s.

I’m positive they have grandparents that do that.

Yesterday, I took a dance break for Earth Wind And Fire’s September because… tradition and then Misti pointed out in Instagram that it was also World Gratitude Day. So while I jived along, remembering the twenty first day, I thought about what I should write here for Thankful Friday. What am I grateful for right now in this moment? I am schedule for my very first colonoscopy on Monday, my first appointment with a dermatologist on Tuesday, and flu shot on Wednesday. That should wrap up all the doctor wellness stuff for the year with the exception of the COVID vaccine. I’m waiting until I return from a quick trip to Woods Hole in October because I have to schedule time for the vaccine and time for me to feel like a poopsicle after the vaccine. Every one of the boosters, starting with the second dose, have flattened me. Any way…next week will finish up most everything for the year and then next Saturday I’m going to go celebrate the up coming wedding of my friend Jenn by learning to dance on a stripper pole. Imagine Lucille Ball attempting to dance on a stripper pole. After next Saturday, some people will no longer have to image it.

In spite of a full calendar, I feel like I am accomplishing a lot of things. My yoga practice has been solid and consistent, more so this week than it has in ages. I’m making time for mindful eating and daily walks. I’m making time to for my health but also making time for rest.

Amani came through her hip replacement surgery on Monday like a professional and I got to facetime with her while she was super high. We giggled far too long over poop bridges. She’s home and already feeling amazingly better. Josephine got one of those gross cyst things that flared up overnight. The thing had ruptured and mostly drained before I could get her to the vet, so I just put vet approved antimicrobial gunk on her. She’s now mostly healed with only a tiny scab and no giant vet bill. Weeks ago I thought I’d fixed Valerie by replacing the spark plug, but then I rode her to work and she coughed and died at two different intersections. So I waited two weeks for our scooter guy to come by and take a look. In the meantime,I got impatient and did some more reading and investigating. I then fixed Valeria for real this time and I did it all by myself.

I tend to write a number of Thankful Friday posts about health. My health. Other’s health. Maybe all of those posts are the result of leftover trauma from when Chris was sick or I can’t go a year without hearing that so-and-so has cancer. Physical health has a fragile appearance. I have a friend from high school who’s job is basically to work out and be fit and even she posts about doctor visits for aches and pains. It just seems like feeling good is kind of a miracle these days. So yeah. I’m going to honor and be grateful for moments of good health as often as I can.

Sick things were healed this week. This makes me grateful.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Karen Walrond’s soon to be released Radiant Rebellion has got me thinking about the language we use in regards to aging and I haven’t even read it yet. She’s been promoting the book for a while now on social media and put out a call recently to sign up to be a part of her launch team, but even though I will drink whatever kool aid Karen is serving, I did not sign up. I have too much going on right now to give it the proper attention it deserves. Today is my exception because all the little quotes and podcast clips she has been posting recently feels like something to be shared in a gratitude posting.

One of the topics that Karen has addressed in a recent podcast is the business of anti-aging. The anti-aging market is estimated to be an over 200 million dollar industry with a target group of women in their twenties and thirties. That target age group is really interesting if you consider that the average life expectancy of ancient Greeks was 20-35 years. Of course now, people live well past twice that age. (Insert spooky ghost voice) Beware…you are going to live past the age of 35….You don’t want to look as if you have. The industry is conditioning us early to maximize the number of years you’re going to throw money in their direction. Every single time I open Instagram or Facebook, I will see as many ads for ‘looking younger’ or ‘losing weight’ as I do of the content that I intentionally follow. Face exercises. Miracle weight loss supplements. Diet plans. Wrinkle serums. Anything that will “make you feel and look years younger.” This industry has done a stand-up job of turning the word ‘old’ into something to be feared and despised. The very act of aging is generally frowned upon and has turned ‘old’ into a negative descriptor.

This has really shined a spotlight on my own language around using the word ‘old’.

I’ve always been a believer that age is relative, but like a sponge I had started adopting old to describe how I am feeling both physically and mentally. In the last few weeks, I have made a conscious effort to change that. Instead of whining that I feel old, I say that I feel tired or my knee aches. Instead of lamenting that I look old, I say my face looks puffy. What I have discovered by changing my language around old is that it is making me honest. I’m just telling the truth and in telling that truth, I am presenting a problem that I can then find a solution to. Make time for rest. Take an aspirin for my achy knee. Use my neti pot and take some allergy medicine for my puffy face.

I don’t know how many times I have seen or heard a story of someone reaching the age of 100, recounting the things they have witnessed and the joy they feel to be alive. Each time I am awed by their tales and can only imagine what a spectacular life they have lived. Am I so different at the age of forty seven? Maybe it hasn’t been spectacular by some standards, but oh, the things I have been a witness too. Sure, I’ve witnessed some tragedies. I’ve seen two space shuttle explosions, the Murrah bombing, 9-11, not to mention personal tragedies. But I have also been a witness to some pretty great things in history like the fall of the Berlin Wall, the start of the Internet, amazing breakthroughs in science that have led to better and more effective treatment for diseases like cancer and HIV. This list could go on and on. I mean, electric cars and robot vacuums?!? We’re practically living a cartoon life. And I’m only forty seven! There is so much more to come.

Old is something to be celebrated.

I know this gratitude post kind of sounds like a birthday posting, but maybe everyday we get out of bed and live our lives is worth celebrating like a birthday. I can’t wait to read Karen’s new book and to be inspired in finding the various ways to celebrate aging. If you haven’t pre-ordered the book and would like to be part of the rebellion, just click on the words Radiant Rebellion in the first paragraph. This will take you straight to Karen Walrond’s book page.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Short weeks are the hardest weeks and we are in the thick of it here in this household. Both Michael and I have full schedules with work and after work appointments. My calendar is so confusing and jumbled, I’m not doing a great job of keeping things straight. I thought for sure I had a bachelorette party to attend on Saturday, but I met Jen (the bachelorette) for lunch this week and she reminded me that the party is on the 30th. I blinked like a deer in headlights because now I have a Saturday of no obligations. Michael will be gone for a leadership conference, which leaves me to my own devices for tonight and tomorrow. The very first thing I thought was “I’m going to clean my house!” I’ve thought of nothing since but clearing out some clutter and unused things, pulling furniture out from the walls and cleaning out the dust and cobwebs.

The thoughts make me giddy.

I understand the necessity for keeping a calendar, but sometimes those calendars can be deceiving. My calendar feels cluttered and clutter stresses me out. It is also making it difficult for me to keep track of the appointments I can’t miss. So I end up scheduling something on top of something else. Then I have to figure out how to be in two places at the same time and this leaves me gasping for air. All of this stuff to do crammed onto the day makes it hard to see the space of time that exist between the things that need to be done.

I’m really grateful that I got to have lunch with Jen this week. First, getting a chance to see my super cool, tough as nails, take no bullshit friend during a week day is better than therapy. Her energy is the boost I needed to get me through the week. Secondly, I’d be showing up for stripper pole dancing class tomorrow wondering why I’m the only one there or who all these other women are and how do they know Jen if I hadn’t met her for lunch. Thankfully I was made aware of open blocks of time and that awareness really helped to deflate this panic bubble in my chest that just seems to get bigger every day. I spent some time today decluttering my calendar so I could visually see the blocks of time that exist between obligations. I have things to do, but I am not obligated to do all of the things.

This weekend, I’m only doing the things I want to do.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Thursday evening, Michael helped me hang my photos in the Starbucks at 16th and Main.

The end.

Okay, not the end, but the hanging part is done. Mostly. We had a 16x20 print spontaneously fall off the wall, breaking the frame. Then this morning, while I was in the shower and Michael was getting ready, he said “I’m second guessing those prices because of the frames.” Tonight I’m making new name/price tags and reframing the other print so I can go in early tomorrow morning to hang and swap tags. There is some relief in having the pictures up, but there’s mixed feelings. I’m excited. I’m embarrassed. I feel exposed and a little naked on a stage. I feel I’ve made an accomplishment, but I’m judging myself real hard. All day yesterday, I felt this bubble of emotion sitting in my chest and I wasn’t sure what would happen if and when that bubble popped. I was either going to start screaming, crying or laughing hysterically, probably all three at the same time. Instead, I ended up eating way too much enchilada at dinner and drinking the queso dip straight out of the bowl.

What’s dumb is this, by far, is not the hardest thing I have ever done.

It’s great sharing my writing and photos the way I do now because I know my audience consists of family and friends. A small handful of those friends are people I have met through blogging and social media, but most everyone else in the audience are friends I’ve known forever. For years, this audience has been supportive and encouraging and mostly kind. I’ve felt safe here, maybe too safe. I’m exposing myself to a bigger audience with this showing. My name and my blog are posted on my ‘about the artist’ page and that’s a little scary. I’m doing the thing that scares me just like the inspirational quote that’s plastered on one my journals tells me to do. This is supposed to be good for me. One day this week, I was in the process of creating a wall map so we’d be organized on hanging day. I decided to hold back some pictures that I had previously planned on and my friend Sarah walked in as I made the decision. I said “I’m NOT hanging these pictures, no matter what anyone else thinks I should do.” Sarah looked at me and said “That’s right Cindy. Because this is your show.” Which is something I really needed to hear.

I am writing this story. I am controlling this narrative. This is my show.

Today, I am grateful for Michael’s help in hanging all of the pictures. I am also grateful to this audience for your support and kindness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Sometime back in the Spring, Misti made me download the Red Cross emergency app. Part of it came out of a text conversation we were having where she had texted me to see if we were okay and I was all shrug-your-shoulders and replied with “yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Apparently there had been a tornado somewhere around me but we were oblivious. In fact we’d slept through the whole storm situation. This is where I confess that I am willfully oblivious to numbers and weather. I don’t pay attention to how much something costs (unless it’s unreasonable) and I don’t pay attention to the weather. My method of determining the weather is to stick my head outside and look up at the sky. If the sky is clear when I do this in the morning, then the weather must be okay for the scooter. You should know that I have been caught in the rain on the scooter more times when consulting Michael and his weather app than I have with my usual method.

I still don’t really know what the temperature or rain percentage is going to be on any given day, but the emergency app does send me an alert when I need to take shelter. I am sure this is a relief to those people who love me and know that I like to live dangerously. Every day this week, I have been alerted multiples times a day of excessive heat. That is because Kansas City has exceeded previous record temperatures with heat indices in the 120s. Summers in Oklahoma are legendary for months of 100 degree temperatures and consecutive days without rain. So for years, I’ve rolled my eyes at the people of Kansas City complaining about the heat. “Its not the heat.” They’d protest. “Its the humidity.” They’d moan.

This is the first summer where I am not rolling my eyes at the complaints. I can’t understand how there can be so much moisture in the air without rain. I drove to work with the windshield wipers on twice this week because there was so much condensation on the window, but there was not any rain. Yes, I drove my car because it is too hot to ride the scooter. TOO HOT TO RIDE THE SCOOTER! Half the doors in our house are swollen and stick. I basically body slammed my way through the front door Wednesday evening. Air handlers at work have been struggling and there was even talk of delaying experiments this week. Josephine and I still do our morning walks, but even at 5:30 in the morning the air is oppressive. Josephine comes in from the walk and belly flops onto the cool floor. The Weatherman I was listening to at the beginning of the week said “If you have activities planned for outside…just don’t.”

Just don’t.

A cold front is moving in this evening that promises to drop our temperatures into the high seventies and low eighties. I predict that all surrounding states will be able to hear the collective sigh of relief from the people here. The woeful question of “why is it sooooooo hoooooottttttttt?!?!” will be replaced with exclamations of gratitude. It reminds me of that time in grad-school when we’d had forty something days without rain. Then one evening it started raining and everyone in our apartment complex opened their doors and we all just stood in our doorways staring at the rain. Occasionally we’d converse back and forth and laugh over this and that, but most of us were just watching the rain. That’s what’s going to happen around 9:00 PM here tonight.

We have such great capacities for gratitude but some times, a little discomfort is required for us to be aware just how great that capacity can be.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In the summer of 96, I went to Hawaii with my parents. It was my third time to visit and for this time we chose to stay on the island of Maui. I don’t think we every would have gone to Hawaii at all if Dad had had a different job. We were very fortunate that American Airlines, at least at that time, treated it’s employees very well. Traveling to exotic places was always a little complicated with Dad. He was so tight with a dollar. We could go and stay in nice resort hotels because all of his discount options, but we were not allowed to spend any money. I got brave on this trip and told Dad that he had to let Mom and I rent snorkel gear. While we were at the activity hut getting our gear, we convinced Dad to not just get us the gear, but to book a full snorkel excursion. The attendant sweetened the deal by throwing in tickets to a luau if my parents agreed to go to timeshare seminar.

And Dad went for it. I think he even considered buying into the time share.

This turned out to be the best family vacation that I had ever experienced with both parents. Mom and I snorkeled and saw sea turtles while Dad chatted with the guys running the boat (his favorite thing). We drove all over the island exploring all of the things. There was a fish taco shack we stopped in for lunch one day and I am still laughing at my Dad’s reaction to a young pregnant woman who walked up to the shack. She was wearing a sarong that left her huge pregnant belly exposed. I thought Dad’s eyes were going to bug out of his head. I stood and posed with Mom under one of the many branches of the 150-year old banyan tree in Lahaina. The last night of our stay, we went to the Old Lahaina Luau where we ate wonderful traditional dishes and watched in amazement at the dancers. There were few moments of bickering and I can remember my mom having a genuine smile on her face most of our time there. It was truly a wonderful and magical vacation and I hold tight to those memories. Maui, hands down, was the best of the Hawaiian islands I have visited.

That 150-year old banyan tree (miraculously) is the only thing from our memories that is left standing in the town of Lahaina. I am grateful to have all of those memories and to the hospitality of the people of Hawaii.

Ways to help:

• Maui Strong Fund

• American Red Cross of Hawaii

• Aloha United Way

• The Maui Food Bank

• Maui Humane Society

If you have ever been to Hawaii or even if you haven’t but it’s on your bucket list, consider making a donation.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

My coworker/friend who is in charge of our fitness facility gave birth to her first child this week. We all received photos of proof of life. One photo was a family group shot showing that all was well and the second photo was a solo shot of the newborn. All you can see are the two hands of a nurse holding up a red, angry faced baby. The look on her face is not one of fear. She’s not crying because she’s hurt. Her face is a perfect representation of rage.

And that is my favorite picture of the week.

Michael sent me a video this week of Kriya Yogi talking about how the financial web of constraints we have built for ourselves will be the thing that keeps us from following Jesus when he comes back to this planet. I argued that money would not entirely be the thing that makes people reject Jesus, but that it will be their mistrust and fear that will keep them from following. I also argued that Jesus currently already walks among us in various forms. It just doesn’t create the sensational click-bait style of headlines that the Nazis and Trump create. We are a society riled and united by our hate and fear of things that go against our ideas of societal normatives and there are people who have learned to manipulate this trait to their advantage. This hate that is fueled by those fears is the thing that keeps us blind from the true teachings of Jesus and the possibility that he’s walking around us right now.

So what does this have to do with pictures of red, angry babies?

It takes a very special adult human to remember their own birth, but I want you to imagine it for it moment. You’ve just spent the better part of a year (normally…I spent less time than most) cocooned inside a warm safe space. Actually, for the most part, it’s pretty great in there. Plenty of food and napping. It’s probably one of the few times in our lives when we are truly well rested. Then we are forced to leave this safe wonderful space in a traumatic and painful way. Suddenly we find ourselves in this space where the light is too bright for our little eyes and it is cold and terrifying. Now some babies take it all in mildly with a little suspicion. They might cry a little bit but nothing too loud and expressive. They cry more out of fear of the unknown than anything. Then you have those babies that tremble with rage over this new environment. These babies…these are babies that get it. They know they have just been forced into a world filled with trash both literally and figuratively. I don’t know what kind of baby I was when I entered this world other than in hurry to be here, but I like to think I was also boiling with rage at what I found when I did enter this world.

I see each and every rage filled baby as a potential ally because my secret fuel for a constant practice in kindness and fighting against the hate and racist people of this country is rage. Every story I hear about white privileged males harming and or killing a person of color and or a person of the LBGTQ+ community, my rage sends money to that person in need. My rage makes me get to the polls. My rage is the thing that forces me to stop and pick up the bit of garbage I just crossed paths with on the sidewalk. I know it sounds crazy, but being so angry at the way things are makes me want to just be better, and I see each rage filled newborn as a being that has the potential to learn to use their rage for good. I want to say to them that its okay to be angry about the way things are, but what do you want to do about it? Use that rage to for the greater good. Also, there is quite a bit of joy is showing these little angry babies that while yes they have entered a garbage society, there are so many beautiful things to be found in the garbage.

I am grateful for new allies.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

My offering for grief camp was to teach a couple of yoga classes related to grief and loss. My plan was to talk about poses that can be soothing during times of immense grief and sequencing of movement to help distract the brain from its constant chatter. While teaching the first class, I shared my story of how grief has defined the yoga practice I have today. That story begins with J and a complete derailment of my yoga practice. There was a large chunk of time when I couldn’t even look at my yoga mat, let alone stand on it and be present in a practice. I have told this story a number of times and I never get through it without choking down tears, not even after eighteen years.

A few months ago, I was feeling extra squishy and unhealthy. I could feel my fat cells marching like ants from my limbs and settling into my gut and I was frustrated. I was frustrated because I was doing the work, walking the steps, mindfully eating. I was doing all of these things even though I really just wanted to be napping. I just kept forcing myself to move. I fell for the advertisements for perimenopause supplements and a twenty eight day wall pilates app. I started stressing about food and water intake. Am I eating enough protein? What happens if I’m a calorie over whatever the app recommends? How can I find time to do all of this and get on my yoga mat? When can I just rest? Why do I weigh 176.8 lbs with all my clothes on and 173.0 lbs with no clothes on? Do my clothes really weigh 3.8 lbs? Why am I freaking out over being the same weight I have always been give or take a pound? How do people have time to do ALL the exercising we are being fed to believe we have to do?!? All of this has taken time away from yoga.

It was Chris who reminded me that J would feel terrible knowing that he was the reason I stopped doing something I loved. There are still times when I am on my yoga mat when memories of that day when J died will bubble up from its storage locker in my brain. Those are nudges to be more careful and methodical in my practice, maybe avoid a pose or two. I have built a practice for myself that adapts to my grief feelings. This practice has sustained me through multiple tragedies for sure, but it never ceases to give me confidence in my current body. Tuesday evening during my second aerial yoga class with Roze, I came into a strength challenging pose and when she cued us into the pose, I popped right into it without hesitation. Once there I was shocked and wide-eyed. How did my body do that?!?!

This body is much stronger than I give it credit for.

I sometimes think about what my body would look and feel like today if I had allowed that day eighteen years ago to end my yoga practice. Maybe I’d be into running or biking now. Though, I know myself and I can’t see that I’d ever be into running, but who knows. I used to be really into kickboxing and step aerobics. Alternate timelines and universes exist, but I can’t imagine it. Really, it is not that I can’t imagine it. I’d just rather not imagine it. My physical confidence is always sitting on shaky ground. The only place I’ve been able to feel truly confident and relaxed with this body is when I’m on my yoga mat. I know I have said this often here and I know I have many gratitude posts about my yoga.

This is not a gratitude post about yoga. Instead, it is a gratitude post about making time to do the things we love that nourish our bodies. I am also grateful for Chris’s reminder all those years ago. You do not honor the loved ones we have lost by living for them. We honor them by living our own lives the best we can and continuing to do the things that bring us joy.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last Friday, Michael convinced me to go on a long bike ride out to eat tacos. Most of the ride was on a nice paved trail that wound through a wooded area. We passed a pond where I saw a beaver hut and a deer. We rode under overpasses filled with wonderful graffiti. I saw so many things I wanted to stop and photograph, but I didn’t because this was a bike a ride. If I’d been alone, I would have stopped a thousand times. Eventually we ran out of trail and had to take to the street, but the street wasn’t busy. The ride was easy and the tacos were delicious.

We hadn’t made it too far into our return trip, still on the street part of the journey. Michael was the leader; he has the gps and I didn’t really know this area. Every thing was fine until BAM! it wasn’t. Michael’s back tire exploded. It sounded like a gunshot. I had never witnessed such a thing. It was kind of spectacular. We stood on the side of the road debating about what to do next. Michael asked if I thought I could find my way home to get the truck and I was hesitant with my yes. I probably could have found my way home, but I wasn’t certain that would not happen without some wrong turns. We had stopped across from a small neighborhood and woman and her daughter came out to check on us. They had thought it was a gunshot and came out to make sure we were not hurt. Then the woman offered to drive me home and my first instinct was to say no because I don’t want to be bother. We were not close to home, but for once I set aside my internal ‘I don’t want to be a bother’ woman and took her up on the offer.

In our small talk during the drive, we discovered that both of us are from Oklahoma. She grew up in Miami and when I told her that I grew up in Collinsville, she said “Oh! I know people there!” Then we spent some time trying to figure out if we knew the same people. We shared life stories about cancer and catastrophes and at one point the woman said “I think I was destined to meet you.” When she pulled into my driveway, I offered her gas money and she flat out refused. I thanked her profusely as I hopped out of her car. Michael loaded the bicycles into his truck when I showed up to rescue him. As we started to drive off, we saw the woman again. I rolled down my window and waved so that she could see we were alright.

The inner tuber for Michael’s tire was replaced the next day and then exploded again while we were on a pre-dinner bike ride. This time we were right behind a shopping center that contained a sports bar and only three miles by street to our house (we’d travelled about seven via trails). Michael rode my bicycle home (like a bear on a bicycle) and left me at the sports bar. We dropped the bike off for repairs the next day and his whole back wheel has now been replaced. We went to lunch after dropping the bike off at a place that we’d never been to before. The food was not great and waiter was so weird and awkward. I met all of his strangeness with a smile and a nod and patience. Afterwards, Michael made a joke about about how kind I was to our weird waiter. I said “Kindness costs me nothing.”

I said this flippantly and when I really think about it, it is not entirely true. Kindness is a muscle that we must exercise. The more we use it, the easier it is to be kind until eventually you don’t even realize you’re making effort. The stranger who rescued us has trained so well that she didn’t ask “Can I give you a ride?” She said “I can give you a ride.” I want this level of kindness strength. I am not just grateful for the kindness of strangers, but for the reminder that kindness must be a daily practice.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The month of July is a subscription renewal month for me. My Yoga Alliance membership is due, along with teacher insurance. I have to renew my rights to my old domain name and also my current Square Space account. Every year, when I get those reminder emails about this or that automatically renewing and billing my card, I think about not renewing any of it. It is a moment of pondering about gain. What do I gain from all of these subscriptions?

Of course if I want to teach yoga, I have to stay up to date with all of the yoga stuff. There was a time I was maintaining all of that while not teaching because I felt that I would probably eventually go back to teaching. Which I did. I’m not teaching much, one class a week, subbing a class here and there, but it is enough. I feel content. I have been considering the idea of approaching a studio about doing a yoga enhancer workshop (incorporating yoga props into a practice), but this is something I don’t want to take on until after October. Keeping the domain and Square Space account feels a little splurgy. There is zero financial gain here. Maybe I’m helping someone. Maybe I’m teaching someone something new. I have no idea. But I do it. I blog because I love it. I teach yoga because I love teaching yoga. The answer to that question about gain that I ask myself every year is that I gain mental health and joy in inspiring others either in their own yoga practice or through my writing.

I am thankful to have both of these outlets.

That being said, it is nice to take a break every now and then. There is a lot of giving of myself when I teach yoga and when I share I my thoughts here. Sometimes it is good to step away and recharge that giving battery. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m stepping away for two weeks, hopefully filled with with fresh thoughts and pretty pictures.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I missed the Kansas City Pride Parade this year because it was happening while I was flying back from Massachusetts. I keep seeing Insta reels from friends who walked in the parade and I get a little sad that I missed it. We did manage to take the Cabbage to Pride Fest the next day, but I didn’t really say anything about it. In fact, I didn’t post anything about June Pride and instead I’ve been over silently collecting Pride stickers to put on the scooter and bicycle.

So can I call myself an advocate?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I have made an attempt to write something regarding trans rights and this garbage dumpster that is Missouri Government many different times this month. I watched a beautiful story on CBS Sunday Morning about a family with a child that started second grade identifying as female. In response to the ban on gender care in their state, the mom said “I guess we just have to live in fear for a little while.” And my heart broke for this family. Once again we have a group of individuals who know and understand nothing about the science and medicine around the topic of the thing they are creating laws for. I could dive in real deep into the science of gender dysphoria and how there are five (only FIVE) mRNA transcripts associated with gender, but I don’t think I need to do that for my audience. The bottom line is that it’s your body, your gender identity, your sexual orientation and that is nobody’s fucking business unless you choose otherwise. And none of these things require governing.

Now, me sitting here typing all of that out does not make me an advocate. Voting. Respectful use of pronouns. Plain old just being respectful. These are things that make me an advocate. While there is a part of me that is experiencing some left behind feelings for not being in the group walking in the parade, the better part of me knows that walking in parades doesn’t make me an advocate. Instead of filling up space in social media with stories of advocacy, I was quite and left space for my friends and loved ones in the LGBTQ+ community to tell their stories. The common themes in every story I have heard or seen are bravery, love, and hope. It takes real bravery to be open about who you are in a world filled with people who hate you. It takes real love to be your true self and infallible hope for a world without the constant fear of those people who hate you. In every story, I have seen faces filled with joy and love because events like PRIDE month with parades and festivals provides safe environments for this community to be their true selves. Their joy is contagious and bolstering.

So as we wrap up Pride Month, I’d like to say thank you to each of you for your bravery in sharing your stories and filling my world with color and light. These stories are the things that I think of every time I think about skipping out on an election day. Those happy, joyful faces are my reminders that I am not too lazy and tired to write and contact my senators and representatives.

Your bravery is a contagion the keeps me fighting against hate every day.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The longest day of the year happened on Wednesday and we have official entered the time of year when all I want to eat is some kind of a salad. I’ve spent my free time this week collecting salad recipes into my NY Times Cooking app. Most of them are just variations of tomatoes and mozzarella tossed in a bowl with olive oil and salt. I plucked a red cherry tomato off of the plant in the garden this week and handed it to Michael. He promptly popped it into his mouth and exclaimed “Holy crap! That’s so much better than the flavorless cherry tomatoes I bought from the store!” The plant is loaded with tomatoes. The problem is they are ripening slowly, one at a time. I shouldn’t complain. Last year, I planted two tomato plants. They grew tall and leafy and green, but they did not produce a single piece of fruit. This year, I have a plethora of green tomatoes.

And I’m going to eat them. With mozzarella.

I’m normally not the type that pays much attention to solstices, but this year I couldn’t help but notice that the longest day of the year happened in the middle of the week, a short week for some. Short weeks are tricky because they always feel like extra long weeks. Maybe it’s because I try to cram in all the work I didn’t do on Monday into the rest of the week. Wednesday is that day of the week that is generally harder to get through on it’s own without making it the longest day of the year. It is a rough place in the week for that amount of daylight.

I have ridden my bicycle to work every day this week with the exception of today. Fridays are for scooters. By the time I made it home on Wednesday, I had decided that I was done with the bicycle for the week. I was tired. It was hot. My bicycle was still making a rattling sound like it was about to fall apart. Michael had already tighten up all of the things and determined that the sound was coming from the battery being a little loose in the housing. Nothing a piece of tape or velcro couldn’t fix. We just hadn’t gotten around to doing it and once I knew my bike wasn’t going to fall to pieces while I was riding, I didn’t care about the rattle. But Wednesday felt different. For some reason, probably because I was tired and hot, that rattle was the worst. Plus, I just wanted to be home. That night, without any prompting, Michael went out and fixed the rattle. It turned out to be more than a loose battery situation. A screw fell out of the battery house when Micheal took the battery out to check things over. The rattle was indeed, my bike falling apart.

I still wasn’t convinced that I would ride the bicycle on Thursday though. I sat slumped on the couch and told Michael that I wasn’t going to ride the bicycle for the rest of the week. He asked me why and I said “Because I’m tired.” He told me that was a valid reason, but even though I was moving a little slower than usual the next morning, it was the bicycle that I pulled out of the garage. I did for a micro second almost change my mind when I had to turn around a block later because I’d forgotten my helmet. I spent most of my ride peddling away while lost in my own thoughts. The morning weather was pleasant. I was exercising without really exercising and I wasn’t mad about any of it. I’d just finished mentally scanning the grocery list and reminding myself to add ‘coarse ground coffee’ to the list when I looked up to see that I was only a few blocks from work. I felt really proud of myself because I had made a goal at the beginning of the year to ride my bicycle at least three to four times a week to work. Michael even purchased the things my bike needed to install a basket and bought me the case that fits on the back of my bike so I have something to carry my lunch box. He did that so I could ride to work. This is week four of consistent bike riding meaning at least three days a week I have ridden my bike to work and this is the first week I’ve been on my bicycle four days in a row.

This makes me want to high-five myself with gratitude.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

My cabin at Woods Hole was about a mile and a half from the MBL. They have a shuttle that runs between cabins and the main campus, but I was always off schedule in the morning. I either had just missed the shuttle at the stop or I was too impatient to wait for the shuttle. So instead of waiting, I’d walk a trail through the woods that lead to a paved bike path and then walk the bike path all the way into Woods Hole. The path conveniently ends right across the street from Pie in The Sky, a coffee shop and bakery with delicious popover breakfast sandwiches. It is an easy and pleasant walk and then there’s breakfast right there at the end.

The bike path is called the Shining Sea Bikeway and stretches from Woods Hole to the neighboring town of Falmouth. A long stretch of the path runs along the ocean, though from where I would start every morning, the view was more forest than ocean. The path sort of combines with a parking lot for overflow ferry parking as you get into town. An old church and cemetery sits on one side of the parking lot/path and every morning I saw the same deer grazing around the headstones. Once you pass the cemetery, there is a highly graffitied bridge to pass through. The graffiti art is not commissioned, but much of it is so well done that it should be commissioned. The last bit of graffiti appears as you exit the tunnel simply read: You will die. Make art.

I read this every morning as I walked into town.

I remember when my niece-in-law announced her intention to remarry. At the time, I said to Chris “It seems fast.” His response was “We’ve all learned, in a very horrible way, that life is short. Why wait?” And he was/is right, of course. After J’s death, Chris and I worked really hard at living our lives differently. There was less talk of things we wanted to do and more actual doing of the things. I have tried to maintain this approach to life even after Chris’s death. I met Michael one year and five months after Chris died. There are people out there who would gasp, clutch their pearls and remark on the suddenness of my relationship. There is a misconception that we must leave time to grieve as if grief is similar to a broken bone and heals within a given time frame. The reality is that grieving is endless. If I left time to grieve, I would still be spending my evenings alone on the couch with a bottle of wine and a sleeve of saltine crackers. Eleven years later. I have learned to leave space in my every day life for grief while continuing to live my life.

Lately my talk of things I want to do sounds more like a chore list than things that I actually want to do. That’s why I finally booked an appointment for that tattoo I have been wanting for the last eight years. I bought a really good backpack for my camera so I feel more comfortable carting it around and using it. I was determined to start riding my bicycle to work and I’ve ridden three time to work this week. Just recently I said to a friend “Life is short. Get a puppy.” I never once thought about turning this philosophy of life is short/ do the thing around onto my art. When’s the last time I told myself “Life is short. Write the book.” or when’s the last time I printed out a batch of pictures just for myself? I used to do this seasonally. A collage of photos of Josephine in various sleeping positions has been hanging over my bed for two years now.

You will die.

Make art.

So, thank you to this mysterious graffiti artist for this nudge to snap out of this creative funk I have wrapped around my shoulders. It’s summer and too hot for wraps.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

For the last few weeks, my Instagram and Facebook feeds have been filled with pictures of graduations. I have scrolled through pictures of old high school friends celebrating their child’s graduation from high school, some even from college. There is a woman in the blogging community who I have followed since her oldest was a baby and she just this week posted pictures of that baby graduating high school. My heart swelled up for the young man and if I could do so without making it weird, I’d reach out and tell that woman she’s doing an amazing job at parenting.

The Saturday after Quinn’s graduation, Traci and I were floating in the pool conversing on how hard it is to encourage young people to do anything right now. This was not a complaint about young people today or rant of “in my time…” We both agreed that it is so hard to encourage young people because of the dumpster fire of a world we’re sending them into. We’re telling them to go to college so they can get a good job when so many of those jobs require so much more than a college degree. We’re sending them out there with our visions of the American dream of having a good job with health benefits and home ownership when the average cost of a home is unaffordable. Between the effects that climate change is having on food sources and human displacement, plagues, hate crimes and book bans, this world looks a little bit more like the dystopian fantasy worlds of Octavia Butler every day. It’s real difficult to tell a kid to be true to themselves when governments are making it illegal for them to do that.

People really struggle with the concept of inclusion and keep confusing it with indoctrination.

I recently finished watching A Small Light, which tells the story of Miep Gies and the role she played in helping to hide the Frank’s from the Nazis during the occupation of Amsterdam. Miep and her husband Jan played vital roles in not only hiding the Franks, but in smuggling Jewish children out of the city and into safe foster homes. We all know what happens to the Franks in this story. Otto Frank was the only survivor. One of the things that truly spoke to me in this story was how Miep continuously under played her role in saving the people she saved. In her mind, all she did was a keep a secret, but the reality is she kept a secret and managed to procure food for eight people with rations all while avoiding the gestapo. Years later, when she would speak to groups of her experience and the Franks, she would end her talk with this:

But even an ordinary secretary or a housewife or a teenager can, within their own small ways, turn on a small light in a dark room. -Miep Gies

In spite of how sad and depressing it was to watch this series, it gave me hope. The rise in hate crimes and government bans on anyone not cis-white is evidence that history tends to repeat itself. If and when the time comes, I am prepared to hide and keep people safe, but in the meantime, I am grateful for the sea of new graduates that I see in my social media feeds. Because in each one of them, I see their potential. I can see them thriving and succeeding. I can see them doing more than turning on a small light. I can see them turning on so many lights, making a room so bright we all have to squint at the magnificence of it. Now, this is not to say that we should just dump all the work onto theses young people. Far from it. What I am saying is that it is nice to have a new wave of help in flipping on some light switches.