THANKFUL FRIDAY

Somehow, we’ve managed to survive the first week of January. Which doesn’t really seem like a small feet considering the state of things. Michael didn’t leave the house until Thursday and even then his school was a virtual day. He was supposed be chaperoning theater kids at the state conference in St.Louis, but it got delayed a day. He finally left Thursday morning for chaperon duties and won’t be back until Saturday evening. Him being home came in handy on Wednesday when I couldn’t get my car back in the driveway. The snowplow had come through to clear the second lane of our street and blocked everyones’ driveways. This was the first time we’ve had to shovel our way into the drive. Usually we’re just trying to get out. Then, this morning we awoke to a whole two inches of fresh snow. I feel like I’m doing a decent job of holding it together and not just roaming through each day while sobbing.

While the midwest is buried under mountains of snow and ice, people in the west coast are watching their homes burn to the ground and fleeing for their lives. There are a number of ways to help those people in California: American Red Cross, some GoFundMe pages, animal shelters are listing needs on Amazon. Pick one or all and help if you can.

• American Red Cross

• Mutual Aid Network of LA (great donation and needs directory)

2025 is starting off spicy.

I am thankful for every update that has been posted from people I know living in the fire zone. They have let us all know that they are alive and safe. While I have backed away and have become less social on some social apps like Facebook, X and Instagram, I have not completely jumped ship. I will never completely jump ship from Facebook or probably Instagram to tell the truth and that is because I have very specific intentions for how I use those social apps. Both of them keep me connected to people I love. Not just the ones out of state or in far off places, but people I love that live in my neighborhood. So I will continue to treat those places like I have always treated them, as places to connect, support and spread light. I will do this while respecting the decisions of some people to leave those platforms. Some of us have to do whatever it is we need to do in order to stay safe from the violence, hate and vitriol coming from the new administration and those who support him.

Karen Walrond posted in her newsletter this week about how she wants to be like a porch light, which is a perfect description for the kind of person I would like to be. A lit porch light tells you that you can trick-or-treat at that house. It is a welcome sign, a sign of safety, of comfort. It is my intention this year to step away from the garbage of social platforms. For me this means not engaging with it and removing it from my sight and to maintain my boundaries. I will continue to use those spaces for what I have always believed they were for; celebrating our wins, comforting each other in times of loss and cheering each other on in our endeavors.

Some new places to find me:

• I was never good at X(twitter) and I’m about the same on Bluesky, but I’m there @cindymaddera.bsky.social

• I’m learning Substack and have yet to post, but considering moving some blog content over there: @elephantsoap

• I’m posting more photos to Flickr: Cindy Maddera

• Eventually this space will all be moving off of SquareSpace and over to someplace more affordable. Look for big changes in June.

I am grateful to be part of the porch light warriors.

OLD IS NEW

First Flickr photo

I just did something that I haven’t done in ages and that was to upload new photos into my Flickr account. Remember those days where Flickr was the place for all our photos? That’s where many connections were made and it shaped our idea of online community. We cheered each other on in 365 Day projects and praised each other’s artistic endeavors. Were there some creepoes? Sure. There’s always creepoes. Some of my most liked photos on Flickr are bare feet photos. Though there’s ball gag photo that I took once that has over 40,000 views. Mostly everyone was nice and respectful. Then Instagram came along and everyone was all “ooohhh, shiny shiny!” and jumped ship.

I am also guilty of the “ooh, shiny shiny”, but part of the appeal of Instagram for me was that it was more community and less so much about the art of photography. It was just easier and honestly, a little less intimidating. Everyone on Flickr felt like real photographers taking real photos. I was always striving to imitate and disappointed with all of my photos. What’s kind of funny, is that I started having all the mental health insecurities with Flickr that people talk about having with Insta. I will never take a photo as good. I will never be skinny enough for a picture or pretty enough. I will always look awkward and like I’m trying to hard. I was a part of Flickr because of Chris and Amy and Brian. I thought it made me part of the gang and in some ways it did.

I have Chad in my life because of Flickr.

Instagram came along right around the time Chris was dying, which made it even more appealing. It was a clean slate. Chris did not have a presence there. Also the content on Instagram was less ‘Wow! Amazing photo!’ and more ‘oh! what an interesting thing you’ve encountered!’. It felt more relatable to me, a way to share a snapshot of my daily life. It didn’t matter that I was a terrible photographer and there was very little chance of me coming across an old photo of Chris. My relationship with Instagram started to change a year or two after joining. One day, I woke up and decided that I wanted to take better pictures. I wanted my Insta dashboard to be pleasing to the eye and I started honing my craft. I became more choosy about the photos I posted. I was curating my life and while I wasn’t paying attention, the richies running the show were also trying to curate my life, attempting to steer my dollars and thoughts for their benefit.

I am not a successful candidate for being steered.

In an attempt to step away from influence, I thought it might be a good idea to be more active on Flickr again. When I opened my Flickr feed of people I follow, the first images were all from this one man who has been part of the 365 Day Project for years. He’s one of the admins for the group. There he was, starting a whole new year of photos and I scrolled down to see who else has remained active all these years. The space still feels like it did when I joined way back in 2005, but less creatively intimidating. And since my gang is partially broken, I feel less pressure to be there. Less than a handful of all the people I followed are still active on Flickr, but I think times are changing. Amani posted today that she’ll be more present on Flickr than other social apps in the next year and I see more of us returning in the next few weeks. We’ve all grown weary of being influenced.

I look forward to making new online friends and curating a community instead of curating myself.

THE STATE OF THINGS

It snowed all day on Sunday. All. Day. Monday morning, we awoke to blue skies and blinding sunlight. The snow is taller than Josephine and when she finally jumped off the top step to go outside, she had to tunnel her way to her favorite potty spot. Now, if she goes out it’s because she’s desperate. She comes back in covered in snow with balls of it clumping to her legs. She stands stock still and expresses the tiniest saddest whimper while I grab a towel. At ten o’clock this morning, I finally bundled up and cleared a path at the backdoor to make Josephine’s life a little easier. While I was up and bundled, I started tackling the front steps and path. I shoveled a path from our steps to about half way down the drive when I paused and thought there had to be a better way to do this.

We do have a snowblower.

And that’s where Michael found me, in the garage untangling a power cord and wrestling the snowblower out of the garage. Now I’ve never used the snowblower before, but I figured it had to be better than a shovel. So today I learned that the snowblower is only slightly better than a shovel when there’s almost fifteen inches of snow on the ground. Michael and I spent the next two hours clearing the end of our driveway and unburying my car so I can go to work tomorrow. We are still uncertain if Michael will be going to work tomorrow. If school is not cancelled again tomorrow, we’ll need to go back out and unearth his truck and then swap cars in the drive. My toes finally have feeling again, so I’m hoping they cancel school because I do not want to go back out there.

Okay January. I see you. You are coming in cold and furious. This is the most snow Kansas City has seen since 1993 or something like that. That means we are starting the year overachieving. I mean, I feel like I accomplished a lot this weekend. I made a decent loaf of bread, wiped down everything in the house with Clorox wipes, wrote up a class for a couples yoga class I’m offering up in February and while I only did six sun salutations on Saturday, that’s still six more than what I did last Saturday. I have several out of state family and friends who have messaged me about the weather and asking if we were okay and I can honestly say that we are. We have electricity and food. We’re safe and warm. We might be a little bit broken from clearing the driveway, but we’re surviving.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The three other people who are at work with me today spent some time chatting about the weather and going on and on about power outages. Meanwhile, I’m blankly staring into my empty coffee cup like it’s going to predict the future, one that does not include power outages. I’m not completely uninformed about the impending snow storm. I know the reports have said something about a layer of ice followed up with snow. But I’m from Oklahoma. Layers of ice are normal. It’s the 6-12 inches of predicted snow that has me worried. Everyone here is in agreement that school will be canceled on Monday. Everyone except me because I live in lalaland where everything is sunshine and rainbows.

Look…I just had a really long break from work. Long enough to forget how to do my job and long enough to require some family space. Michael now has the cold/flu virus that the Cabbage dealt with for most of the week. I am managing to avoid it, but it is work. I’m basically walking around the house with Clorox wipes wrapped around my hands. The Neti pot is now a daily thing and I’m slurping down so much immune support water that I’m sloshing when I walk. Forecasters are now telling me that I am going to be trapped in the house at the very least for the next three days with germs. And as I picked up a paper bag to breath into, I thought about what a fickle human I am being.

I was just waxing poetically (or just waxing) about the joys of hibernation and how my yoga practice was solid during forced isolation. Here is my opportunity to do both of those things. Yesterday, I completed twelve rounds of sun salutation before resting and then moving into and holding some yoga poses. I woke up this morning surprisingly sore. I had not been on my yoga mat since December 19, 2024. For me, being off my mat for that long is not normal. Even though my arms were sore, today I pushed myself to complete twenty rounds. I started grinning when I reached number eighteen because I didn’t think I’d go that far today. I rarely think about my yoga practice during the weekend because I struggle being on my mat when I know there are chores that need to be done. It seems to me that I am being handed an opportunity to commit time on weekends for yoga.

I can always quarantine Michael in his room or in the basement.

The lockdown was tough for a number of reasons, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hear someone talk about how they benefited from a forced lockdown. Homes were cleaner. Exercise was easier. More time was spent outside in the fresh air. We had more time for artistic endeavors. I may have been a complete basket case of worry on the inside during that whole time, but my house was the cleanest it has ever been. Maybe I needed a forced lock down to accomplish some things that I had neglected. Isn’t a snowpocalypse basically a forced lockdown? It is fairly certain that Kansas City will see at least one to two of these snow storms that force us to stay put. I don’t know why it has taken me this long to recognize the value in having a mini-forced lockdown period.

I am grateful for this aid in forming a good habit.

UNDECLARED

It’s New Year’s Day and I’m currently sitting on my bed with a dog and a cat at my feet, nursing an honest to Gods hangover. Michael told me that he didn’t think I had too many more gin and tonics that normal, but he’s the bartender in the house and sometimes he can’t be trusted. All I know is that I made it to midnight and then went to bed where I spent a good twenty minutes trying to decide if I was going to throw up.

I did not.

I disagree with Michael about the ‘normal’ amount of gin and tonics and can say that last night was a rare occasion, one I will most definitely not be repeating for a really long time. While I haven’t made any actual lists or vision boards for what I want for myself in 2025, I have been thinking long and hard about it. At least one of those wants is health related and I’ve been thinking a lot about my (declining) yoga practice. A common Solstice celebration in yoga is to have a practice of one hundred. Usually it’s one hundred rounds of a sun salutation. Back during the lock down times, I was probably close to doing one hundred rounds of sun salutations a day. Like a hamster on a wheel, I’d be on my mat doing loops and loops of surya namaskara variations because I very much felt like a caged animal. So I’ve been thinking about starting that up again, working my way up to one hundred salutes to the sun every day. This is something that is holding center stage in my mental vision board.

In fact, right now that’s the only thing I’ve got for 2025.

That’s not entirely true. Of course I’d like to work harder at being a better person in 2025 and all that usual blah blah blah. Michael and I would really like to spend Christmas in Paris this year. Frugality is a reasonable thing to paste into a vision board so we can make that Christmas wish come true. I’d also really like to volunteer at a local charity and maybe finally get around to teaching another yoga workshop. The thing is, putting these things down on paper in January, especially when next week’s high is expected to be twenty degrees, feels impossible. I truly believe I was made for hibernation and the time I spend curled up under soft, cozy blankets and pets is time well spent. It’s contemplation time where I think about how to fill in my vision board around one hundred sun salutations.

January is being very January this year. The Cabbage spent most of the week with us with a bad cold. Fever, sore throat, all of the icks. We’ve managed to keep them caged up in their room and they go back to their mom’s today, but winter is coming this weekend. That means Michael and I will be caged up in our house with left over kid germs. I didn’t plan on putting ‘get more colds’ on my board for 2025, nor did I have ‘fumigate the house’ on my board, but here we are. This is how we’re jumping into this new strange year. We’re jumping in with shields and swords, fighting microscopic invaders. Perhaps I should include ‘drink more orange juice’ to the board.

Maybe leave out the vodka.

THE YEAR IN PICTURES

Every year, when I sit down to pull pictures for the annual Year in Pictures video, I am always surprised with all the things that happened in a year’s time. I have a bad habit of fixating on the things that happen near the end of a year and getting weighed down by the not so joyous moments. I get to the end of the year and think “I didn’t do anything this year.” That thought is obviously false. I saw the Northern Lights this year. Twice! We hunted moose. I spent time with old friends and even had a short visit with a cousin I hadn’t seen in years. The end of the year may have been challenging, but the whole of the year far outweighs the challenging parts. It is a reminder that I can make light, a reminder that I feel I will need for the coming year.

THE GREAT SANDWICH

In my most recent newsletter from Karen Walrond, she talked bout the origins and the state of limbo. And I read it while nodding my head and agreeing completely. Limbo aptly describes how I am feeling right now. There are two weeks left to this year. Just two! And once again, I’m sitting here gobsmacked that we are on the cusp of a brand new year. Yes, I know we haven’t even gotten to Christmas, but that’s NEXT WEEK! I spent some time on Saturday wrapping the few gifts I have for the Cabbage and hanging our stockings. They have two more gifts coming, but those probably will not get here until after Christmas. The Cabbage was a little late in providing me with a want list. They’re okay with the state of things. Any way, my tasks are mostly complete.

I am very much feeling in between, hovering in the moment of just before.

I’ve thrown all usual habits into a dumpster, poured lighter fluid in and threw in a lit match. Dog walks and yoga time have become distant foggy memories. But today is the first day in weeks where I have not had large amounts mucus flowing like hot lava from my nose. I can’t even try to form a snot bubble from one of my nostrils and no longer have the red scaly nose of a toddler. I finally feel well and spent the weekend scrubbing my grimy house. I also made a very successful batch of sourdough ciabatta rolls. The successful loaf of bread is in reach. I might actually do that next.

This time of year is never a great time for my brain. It’s the beginning of dark times and mean reds. Being organized and efficient does not work in my favor as it frees up empty swaths of time. Last week, I used some of that time to work on a writing project that’s been sitting idle in my docs. I was writing about something from the past and how I was manipulated by a loved one and I got so angry. I just sat there fuming at this thing that I couldn’t change and had no control over to begin with. I do not have the time to waste on being angry with this person, nor would it change anything. The only benefit of writing this event down and rekindling this anger is knowing that this is something I can consider whenever that same person tries to guilt me in some fashion.

So you can see…empty swaths of time for me means picking and probing at long passed events like a tongue with a mouth sore. I dissect old moments to find out how I could have handled them better or handled them at all. When I’m not picking at old scabs, I’m scratching in new wounds of belligerence for falling off the exercise horse. “Fatty Fat Fat” I say as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. As if my little hiatus on exercise has anything to do with the size of my waistline. My lack of usual movement is causing me to hallucinate and see a reflection that is not necessarily true. Some of you are thinking “Cindy, this is an easy fix. You feel better, so start moving your body more.” But those people who think that do not know how tired I am all the time. I could lay down on the floor under my desk and take a nap right now. Except I wouldn’t sleep because the Catch 22 here is that I’m not a napper.

I am in a time sandwich, meaning this is the filling between two slices of bread and it is a terrible sandwich. Worse than the one Talaura thought I’d left her when went to that camping music festival in Guthrie. Look… it’s a complicated story made funny only by too much heat and probably too much booze. It’s a ‘you had to be there’ thing. I can make a good sandwich. Hell, just the other day, I whipped up a tuna salad to put on a ciabatta roll that Michael said was the best tuna salad he’d ever tasted in his life. That’s saying something because when ever I suggest tuna salad as an option, he makes the face of someone who just smelled a bag of rotten farts. I have good sandwich making skills; I could make a better, less self destructive time sandwich.

I think that I am going to focus on being a better sandwich. Do less brain picking and have more dance parties at my desk. I’ll be back later next week with a Year in Pictures post.

Happy Holidays!

THANKFUL FRIDAY

It’s that time of the year when I think I have a giant list of things I need to get done before Christmas only to realize that I have tackled 97% of that giant list already. Most likely, the other 3% of that list will get tackled over the weekend. Then I will be back into a twiddling thumbs situation that my brain never really knows how to handle. This makes it hard for me to be present. My mind keeps floating off and into the next year, already calling it for this year. I’m basically phoning it in right now.

So, in some of my free time, I’ve been sorting and organizing photos I’ve taken this year. I’m starting to run low on postcards and uploaded some new prints to be made into cards. This week, I had friend who I had sent a postcard too a couple of weeks ago, tell me how professional and perfect my photos look as postcard. I asked her to remind me which one I had sent and she described a picture of a view finder pointed out towards the ocean. Then she said that if she had seen that postcard in a shop, she probably would have bought it. I thought this was the sweetest compliment and I was grateful to hear that the card had brought her joy.

This is a habit that I started late in the year. Every Sunday, I sit down and pick out two postcards to send out to two different people. There is no rhyme or reason to who I write a note to. I usually just skim my Christmas card list and randomly make a selection. Often, I try to pick out someone who I know to have been having a particularly hard week and if someone sends me a card in response, then I send another one back. This is how Amani and I have become penpals, penning each other short but sweet postcards. Amani has taken up water colors and I have a small collection of watercolor postcards of her art. My favorite one so far is the most recent one, filled with brightly colored jelly fish. The note on the back was damaged in transit and I can’t read the last part of her note. It has something to do with me “seeing beauty almost….” Which makes me laugh. It’s like I almost have an eye for beauty…almost. Not quite. This has been a good habit to start and as my brain starts to build a plan for the next year, I hope it remembers to leave space for postcards.

Something else I noticed while organizing photos is that I managed to capture a lot of joy in this year. Recently, I had to fill out a description form for an old photo that one of my online photography groups wants to feature. It was taken so long ago that I couldn’t tell where or why it was taken and it’s just a simple photo of a wild yellow iris. One of the questions on the form asked what had inspired me to take this photo. I wrote the following.

I am an amateur photographer with the sole purpose of seeking out beauty and joy in the every day. It's almost my meditation practice.

This still holds true for me, but I find great joy in getting out my camera with purpose and intention. I am grateful for these habits and practices.

And my brain is already leaving space for more of it in the next year.

BAH HUM

I’m not saying that I’m anti-holidays this year. It may look that way because I have yet to put up our Christmas tree and I am opting out of Christmas cards this year. I did buy us a new dinosaur menorah that we’ve been calling the Menorasaurus and my lovely holiday wreath is hanging on the front door. I will get our stocking out of storage, but I’m skipping the tree this year. Here’s what happened. The distance between Thanksgiving and Christmas got shortened. I spent Thanksgiving driving to Oklahoma and back. I got sick again and I’m now on antibiotics. I figured that by the time I had enough energy to clean the house and set up the tree, it would be time to take it all down. The idea of it did not spark joy.

Instead, I’ve decided that I am celebrating the holiday season in a more selective way.

Years ago, my family started a new Christmas Day tradition. Instead of turkey or ham for the big holiday meal, we picked something that we all really loved that we didn’t get to eat as often as we liked and that was fried oysters. Randy and Katrina would buy the oysters from the White River Fish Market and then Katrina and Mom would cook the oysters all while fending off anyone walking into the kitchen trying to snag a fried oyster before sitting down to dinner. Eventually other things got added like shrimp cocktail and then there was that hilariously fun year we had a fondue pot. This is Christmas for me. My head is filled with visions of all of us gathering in the old family house, crowding the kitchen or setting the table. It took four of us to make the cocktail sauce, each of us contemplating flavors and always agreeing that we needed more horseradish. That cocktail sauce is the only reason my parents always had a bottle of gin in the house. Yes..put gin in your cocktail sauce, heavy on the horseradish, light on the ketchup, some lemon and a dash of Worcestershire sauce. Do not buy a pre-made cocktail sauce.

This kind of Christmas has been lost to me for many years.

Once my dad was placed into a memory care facility and my mom quickly sold our house to move into a much smaller house, we have failed to maintain this tradition. I think we tried it once or twice but I never felt comfortable in the new kitchen space and we gave up trying, opting instead to just eat at White River Fish Market where they cook the oysters and clean up the mess. It’s fine. I’ve told myself (keep telling myself) that the food is not important. It is the gathering together in one space that is important. This year, I’ve been having a much harder time believing this. I have felt untethered from my home in Oklahoma for some time and after moving our mom into assisted living, I completely lost an anchor. At Thanksgiving, I slept on my brother’s couch so I could have Thanksgiving dinner with my family at the Cracker Barrel. While standing in the storefront with Mom, waiting for a table, Mom said “it doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving.” I couldn’t disagree with her. There was something slightly depressing about the whole thing and I knew this going in. I was already scheming up a new plan for Christmas.

Michael and I booked an Airbnb in a neighborhood near my mom for the weekend before Christmas. My idea is to create a comfortable space for us all to gather. We’ll cook oysters and have shrimp cocktail. We’ll spend a day just being in a comfortable living room together without the chaos of restaurants. I am not delusional. I know this will not be like old times. We’re missing some very important players from the old times. One might even say that at least one of those players was the cornmeal to this fried oyster tradition. But part of celebrating the holiday in a more selective way is making choices for comfort and choosing something familiar to all of us. A large kitchen and comfortable living room for gathering. Fried oysters and cocktail shrimp. These are familiar things.

We’re two weeks away from this and I am already anxiously hoping for perfection. I’ve been compiling a list of things to take with us like extra chairs, throw blankets and pillows. Plus food. I’ve put siblings in charge of specific tasks. And it already feels brighter than Thanksgiving. I am coming to terms with the fact that my family is no longer growing as much as it is aging. In some ways that makes things easier. We no longer do physical gifts. Instead we gift each other time. The aging part is made more difficult when we try to hold onto the way things were, desperately grasping to a life that is no longer the same. So, what if instead of desperately grasping to the past, we just remember the past while being in our present? Any way…this is my Christmas wish for this season and I don’t need a tree lit up with lights to make that wish come true.

I’m choosing to be bah hum….not full strength bah humbug.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael and I are watching Shrinking on Apple TV and in this season, one of the characters and his husband are trying to adopt a baby. They finally have an interview with a young pregnant woman who is trying to decide between these two and another couple as potential parents for the baby. He chooses to have the meeting at his best friend’s house with other people present, people he trusts for parenting advice. The others get called out to deal with minor emergencies for their own children and the interview ends up just being with the three of them. At one point, this character explains to the young woman why he chose this place for their meeting. He said he wanted her to see the amazing support system he has in his life and that he recognizes the importance of having a village. It takes a village to raise a good human.

In the last few weeks, there have been a few postings on Facebook from old Collinsville friends announcing the passing of a loved one. Two of those passings were women that were part of the tribe that shaped and raised me, Mrs Ryal and Mrs Burton. While I haven’t stayed in contact, hearing the news of these passings struck a jarring chord because they were part of my village. I cannot deny that my scientific curiosities were encouraged and fostered by Mrs. Ryal; nor can I deny the lessons of kindness and comfort from Mrs. Burton. I am thankful for the parts they played in my life and my heart goes out to their families as they navigate through their grief.

But I am also reminded of the power of a tribe. This is why I am so willing to give out my phone number to my friends’ (often now grown) children. I had a really good tribe of women when I was young and it is only fair that I keep this tradition going. More than this, I recognize that I have built a community of friends that continue to support me. I have surrounded myself with a tribe of my own where we are supportive of each other in ways that go beyond words and moves into action. Without realizing it, Mrs Ryal and Mrs Burton taught me how to be a member of a tribe and the importance of building a tribe. Some may say that this is only something that can happen in small towns, but that is simple not true. I live in a metro area and the lessons of kindness, acceptance and comfort that I was taught by my tribe in my youth is what has made it so easy for me to build my own tribe.

Any where.

Today I honor the tribe of women from my past that provided me with skills for building the tribe of my present.

I WENT TO FUNKY TOWN

Right off the highway in a little bit of a sketchy run-down area is this place called Funky Town. Shortly after moving here, Chris and I drove by the place in the daylight and really all that is visible from the highway is the sign for the place, but we both started singing Funky Town and asking questions. In all of that time between then and now, no one has ever given me a straight answer about this place. I have been told all kinds of vague stories that range from retro Disco club to swinger’s club. In fact, most people have told me that Funky Town is a swinger’s club. While I was telling Heather that I visited Funky Town, she asked me at least two different times if “I was a swinger now”.

That’s none of your business.

Anyway, since no one has ever given me a straight answer about this place, my brain built one inside my head. This is something my brain is very good at doing. In this case, my brain took every Disco related thing I have ever seen and smashed them into one rainbow gold version of Studio 54 with a table in a dark corner piled high with cocaine. So when my friend Sarah texted me that she was going for her birthday and included an invitation, I did not hesitate. Well…I hesitated slightly. They were not going until 9 PM (my bedtime) and it was freezing degrees with snow on the ground. Then I shook myself out of my hesitation and took a nap. This was my chance to find out what exactly happens at Funky Town.

My brain turned out to be not entirely inaccurate. The place is very much like a rainbow gold Studio 54, but a rainbow gold Studio 54 plopped down inside of a Molly Murphy’s (is that even a reference any one is going to get?). There was a tiki lounge section, a psychedelic VW bus making up part of one of the bars, and a car wash on the dance floor. We had tables situated in a forest area under some fake trees. The place was packed with people dressed in bellbottoms and gogo boots, afros and porn mustaches. I saw four different guys wearing the same rainbow sequined suit. The clientele ranged from barely legal enough to get in to old enough to have invented this party. I didn’t visually witness any sort of ‘swinging’ but I can’t say for certain that there were not couples there looking for other couples to swing with. It was very busy and very loud and I spent about two hours on the dance floor, dancing my heart out.

It was fabulous.

The one regret, the thing I couldn’t shake the entire time, was my want for my big camera and flash. I wanted to take pictures of people and for people. I wanted to photograph the whole scene and hand out little cards with my name and contact information. I’m not good at costuming myself. I wore pink baby doll dress and legging. There was mascara on my eyelashes and gold hoops in my ears. That’s about as fancy I get, but I could put together 70s photo journalist costume if it would get me camera access.

Maybe next time.

RETROGRADE

Apparently Mercury is going into retrograde right this very minute and according to my Yoga Journal weekly horoscope email (that I usually ignore) this is a great time to finish projects. The number of times I’ve heard people go on about retrograding Mercury, one would think that I had some sort of clue of what ‘retrograde’ means. I don’t hate physics and earth sciences; I just don’t love them. Anything biological, I’m all in. Quantum physics makes me hyperventilate. Last week on NOVA, I watched as some guy talked about gravity’s effect on time and I had to go throw up. All of that is to say that I now know that retrograde motion has to do with how planets orbit the Sun and the speeds of those orbits. Sometimes, like three or four times a year, Mercury looks like it’s moving backwards. This is Mercury in retrograde.

Every thing is an illusion.

The planet Mercury has a lot in common with the Roman god, Mercury…probably because they named the planet after the god. The god Mercury (or the Greek version, Hermes) does a lot of stuff. He’s a messenger, a guide for the dead, a god of commerce and good fortune and fertility, but I’m pretty sure most of those ancient gods had something to do with fertility. He can be called upon to protect travelers and also known for communication and writing. I’m sure the whole ‘messenger’ thing is part of the communication and if you tend to lean into woo-woo whatever the planet Mercury is doing reflects whatever the god is up to. This, depending on star signs, matters to us humans in a woo-woo kind of way.

I’m some sort of Capricorn-Aquarius hybrid that I don’t understand and my horoscope told the Capricorn me to “schedule more naps”. Isn’t that lovely?!? It also told me to dedicate space and time for my own passions. It told the Aquarius me to figure out my desires. My takeaway is that I should dedicate time and space for figuring out what my passions are and what I truly desire. Actually… the Aquarius horoscope is garbage. The one for Capricorn gave me permission to sleep more and be a hermit crab. The Capricorn me is zip tying up the Aquarius me and hiding her way down deep in the soul basement. Or wherever those things live.

Obviously, I’m not a woo-woo kind of person.

Let’s talk more about how this is a great time to finish projects. Last weekend…was it last weekend?….wreath making day, Salem was talking about diligently working on her novel and I looked at her said “I will never finish writing a book.” They denied that this is true, but they haven’t seen the (growing) list of started writing ideas sitting in my Google Docs. They also, for some weirdo reason, love me and think I’m pretty great, which I’m like ‘okay…whatever’. They’re young with an old soul and super cool. This makes me feel like I am also super cool. I don’t even know where I’m going with this….I guess the tiniest woo-woo version of me really likes the idea of more naps, any naps really, but finishing something I started would be neat too.

This is a very rambley post.

Happy Thanksgiving.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last week, the New York Times posted a study about the gender gap and exercise and how women have less time to work out then men and (surprise!) our health is paying the price.

Experts say this exercise gender gap has a lot to do with the disproportionate amount of time and labor women devote to caring for the home and for others. It’s also consistent with research suggesting that, on the whole, women tend to prioritize other people’s health above their own, experts said.

The whole article is irritating, from the study that found women have 13 percent less free time a day to the differences in reasons for exercise. Women are mostly exercising “to lose weight”, not because it can be a stress reliever or just good for mental and overall health. We exercise because we want to fit into the patriarchal normative of what a woman should look like. What’s also irritating is knowing that I fall into the trap of prioritizing others all too frequently.

It has been weeks since I had attended a Monday yoga class or spent personal time on my mat. Between illnesses, travel, work and meetings, I have struggled to carve out time for exercise. In a recent text exchange with Chad, I said that I was basically phoning it in physically until the New Year. I seriously had given up on regaining any part of my practice routine and vowed to do better next year. Then my Monday morning came in hot. I barely had a chance to put my bag down before I was troubleshooting various problems and right then I decided that I was going to try to make it to yoga. I would just eat my lunch during lab meeting and I even said this to my coworker, Amanda. Not five minutes later, someone came to tell me they would have slides ready for the slide scanner and could they bring them at 1:00. I said “We have lab meeting at one.” The person then said they would bring them at noon (yoga class time) and I was just about to open my mouth to mumble out an ‘okay’ when Amanda spoke up and said “Bring them at 2:00!”

Amanda was my advocate for yoga class on Monday.

I am equal parts grateful for Amanda and annoyed that I needed to have an advocate because I’ve forgotten how to advocate for myself. That’s not even true. I have not forgotten; I’m just not good at it. I do not practice enough self advocacy and the result is that I say yes to everything but myself. Monday was the shove that I needed. It gave me just enough momentum for me to step away from my desk and onto my mat every day this week, to say “not right now” to things being asked of me. But also, as women, we should be advocating for each other. I don’t mean the big stuff. That’s a given. I’m talking about the little things, stepping in where and whenever to be a road block to those demanding time and effort. I am not the only woman who struggles with prioritizing others. This seems to be a thing all women do and we should be helping each other out.

I often find myself in the position of advocate for the Cabbage, not with school or activities or anything like that. I advocate during times of parental injustice. I am the one holding up a pause butting and saying “wait a minute, think of this from the kid’s side.” I’m not always saying the Cabbage is right, but just maybe the reaction doesn’t need to be so big. I like to think that I am teaching the Cabbage to not just advocate for themselves (they’ve gotten really good at intelligent argument) but also the benefit of advocation for others. It fosters an environment of care for each other.

It’s teamwork.

I am grateful for those who advocate for me when I fell that I cannot. I am grateful for the time on my mat this week. I am grateful for the reminder to advocate for myself and I am grateful to be in a community of women who advocate for each other.

FOOD DREAMS

The last few nights, my dreams have been filled with food. They are almost feverish in nature and often slightly gruesome. It started with a friendsgiving I was attending, except I didn’t really know any of these people. The table was filled with people I know through the internet, people I have never spoken with face to face. We are ‘friends’ because we like the content we each bring to social media. We are like minded humans. Our dinner plates each held a large whole fish and I watched as everyone at the table picked up the fish with their hands and tear into the flesh with their teeth like wolves or bears. I realized the fish wasn’t even cooked and in many cases, still a little bit alive. Yet, the whole time, I held meaningful conversations with those seated around me while they ripped and chewed on a raw whole fish. I awoke with clear memories of a candle lit table covered in a beautiful cornucopia of dishes and people picking fish skin from their teeth.

The second night of fever food dreams had something to do with werewolves eating Doritos, which at first sounds like something Chris made up. In fact, if I looked hard enough through his files, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a screenplay about werewolves who like to snack on Doritos in between meals of human flesh. The floor of where ever I was in this dreamland was littered with human body parts and bags of Doritos. I stood before a werewolf as he casually pulled perfect orange triangle chips from the bag. He offered me one, said “Want a Dorito before I rip off your arm?” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You want my last meal to be a fucking Dorito?!? Just rip off my arm already and get on with it.” Thankfully I woke up before the ripping started, but my left shoulder was a bit achey the next morning.

Now, after writing this all down, I’m sitting here attempting to decipher the meaning of all of this. What is my brain really trying to say to me or warn me about? We are entering the season of overindulgence. This usually means I just end up adding more kale to my diet. I over indulge in kale. Last weekend, I bought two things of soup: one tomato feta from the refrigerated section and one jar of garden vegetable. When I presented them to Michael as lunch choices, he asked “Why did you buy the tomato soup?” I told him I bought it for the day’s lunch. Then he asked “Then why did you buy the garden vegetable?” I replied “That was my impulse buy.” Michael snorted and replied “No one impulse buys vegetable soup. That is not an impulse buy.” I believe he was implying that impulse buys were things like the various candies on display at checkout, not jars of soup.

Not so secret: I have on occasion purchased an extra bag of kale. I consider this an impulse purchase, a just in case we run out of kale purchase (we never run out of kale).

Maybe these dreams are my subconscious telling me to dig into a more primal side of life, a life of more decadent pleasures like eating a whole jar of caviar with a spoon made of pearl. Maybe that werewolf is just telling me to live a little and eat some junk food. I don’t know what any one at that dinner table could be saying. I’m not eating a raw live fish…but I’ll eat raw fish(?). Maybe eating something that is still moving is the next decadent adventure? I don’t know if I want that adventure and I am pretty sure I have reached an age were I can fully live a “Choose Your Own Adventure” life. Perhaps I will just start out by making an impulsive candy bar purchase.

A fish shaped candy bar.

THE PARABLE OF THE WREATH MAKER

Last year, my favorite store was selling a Christmas wreath for almost $500 and I got so mad that I yelled out some expletives. First of all I immediately fell in love the wreath. Of course I fell in love the wreath. It was adorable and whimsical and sophisticated. It represented everything I want to be in life. But that price tag made me furious. Now, to be fair, my favorite store is known for ridiculous price tags. I only shop there when they’re having 50% of already sale item sales. Even then, I am meticulous about my purchase choices. This Christmas wreath sold out before it even had chance to go on sale and once again I was outraged that someone was wiling to fork over that much money for a holiday wreath.

The second thing that made me mad about this wreath was that I knew I could make it. I could make it for way less than their selling price. Knowing that I could make the wreath was annoying because while I can do crafty, I don’t go out of my way to be or do crafty. If someone dumps a bunch of craft supplies out in front of me and tells to create, I will do so, but I don’t want to purchase the supplies, store the supplies or deal with any kind of mess. Crafts are messy. This is why my holiday wreath remains the same for two or three years before I decide it is time for something new.

By the time I saw the store wreath, it was already too close to the holiday to bother. So instead, I started doing the thing that I usually avoid. I started hoarding holiday craft supplies so I could make this wreath for this year. I told Nurse Jenn about the wreath while we were out at the zoo and she mentioned that she wanted to make Yule wreaths with dried orange slices and greenery. Then she suggested we gather at her place on Sunday to make wreaths. Sunday afternoon, I sat at Jenn’s table with a group of lovely people and we chatted about all kinds of things while we built wreaths. It was lovely and I left so much glitter at Jenn’s house. I wanted to build a live wreath, but I’m allergic to all of the things. I did make a small live wreath when I had finished assembling my own, but gave it to Jenn because I can’t hang it in my house. My eyes and hands were itching by the time I left.

It was all worth it and I am so proud of my wreath. It is not identical to the store one. I accidentally bought two church like houses, but went with them anyway. And I think mine turned out better than the store version. I bought a wreath off the sales rack for $5. I found multicolored bottle brush trees 6 for a dollar. I went a little overboard with those trees. I did not ten boxes (I left a whole bunch at Jenn’s).Two. I needed two boxes, but whatever. The most money I spent was on the little houses and I purchased all three for $15. Maybe $2 for snow. The lights I already had. So for $32, I made a wreath that some hoity toity store wanted to sell me for $500. It would have cost me $24 if I hadn’t gone overboard with the bottle brush trees.

I love a good deal and I love my current distractions from reality.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In the past couple of years my employer has added some paid holidays that are not observed by everyone. Meaning schools are open, as well as most business, but there’s no mail or garbage pick-up. These are paid holidays that I have to myself because Michael has to go to work and I usually spend those days cleaning the house. Last time this happened, I used the day to have blood work done. This time though, I planned ahead and sent a text to Nurse Jenn asking if she also had the day off. She did! So we met for breakfast and then went to the zoo.

We went to the zoo without children!

Our zoo opened a new aquarium recently and I had heard all the rave reviews, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to see it for myself. The Cabbage has aged out of being wowed with zoo trips and Michael and I never seem to think to go just for ourselves. We get free zoo passes all the time because we live in Jackson county and some of our taxes help pay for the zoo. The passes have expiration dates, but it doesn’t keep them from piling up in the magnetic clip on the fridge. I yanked out the most recent valid pass, threw away the rest and Nurse Jenn and I walked into the zoo for free!

Without children!

I know I keep emphasizing the part about no children, but seriously, have you ever been to the zoo with kids? It should be fun and it’s not not fun, but it is work. It’s work because now you’re in charge of carrying all of the things, dealing with snacks, hand washing, meltdowns, not losing the child in Africa, making the walk from Africa back to the parking lot while dragging the hot, tired dirty child. Zoo Africa is just about the same distance away as actual Africa. It’s the furthest spot on the map from the parking lot and no matter how well you think you’ve planned it, you are always leaving it during the hottest, driest part of the day. And children do not think it is funny when you start singing Toto’s Africa.

Because children do not have any senses of humor.

This time, we didn’t have to think about or be responsible for anyone but ourselves. Though, Jenn did graciously cart my extra camera lens around in her bag. We took our time in the aquarium and then wandered out to only look at the exhibits we wanted to see, like the elephants and the rhinos. Then when we were ready to leave, we just left. No one cried or whined or begged to be carried. We just walked ourselves out of Africa while singing Africa out to my car. It was positively lovely and I used my camera, both lenses even! I don’t think I’ve ever had a more relaxed, carefree time at the zoo and I know a lot of that had to do with the company I keep.

The photographer me is very grateful to have had time at the zoo when there was very little traffic. I could have spent hours with my camera pointed at jellyfish or that one elephant playing with a stream of water coming down from a building. There was not a moment when I had to wait patiently to the side for someone to get out of my shot. Okay, maybe there was one. The octopus, Arthur, was pretty active and popular, but that was the only time I had to wait my turn. When we got out of the car, I said “Now which lens do I want for today?” and Jenn took that question away by tucking my zoom lens into her bag. There was a moment when we were near the elephants when I said “Okay, I think it’s time for a lens change!” and those words felt so professional that I thought maybe I know what I’m doing. I even had my own assistant!

Look, I know that some people are anti-zoos and I get it. But there are zoos out there that do the zoo thing really well and I think our zoo can be added to the list. When you walk into a zoo exhibit and are standing in awe of the sites and accessible knowledge around you, then you’re in zoo that is doing things right. For me, seeing all of the creatures in our aquarium feels me with wonder and amazement. Our planet is fucking amazing and I want to keep it that way. I am grateful to have easy access to this kind of inspiration and I’m really grateful I have people I can share that awe and enthusiasm with.

CAPTURING DINOSAURS

Sometime last week as we sat on the couch not watching TV, but scrolling on our phones, I got a notice that one of the last of Kansas City’s Drive-In Theaters, The Twin, would be closing permanently on November 17th. I relayed this information to Michael and said that I would love to get pictures of the sign before it gets demolished. Then Michael said “Why don’t I drive you out there Saturday evening?” There was a part of me that wanted to say “no, that seems like too much effort for five minutes of me screwing around with my camera.” but instead I said “Okay.” Then, at the perfect time of day on Saturday, Michael drove me out to Independence so I could take pictures of The Twin.

When we pulled up, there were three or four cars parked near the entrance. We figured they were all there to do what I was going to do, but as Michael pulled forward, past the entrance, I only saw one other person out with a camera and a tripod. The other’s were there to go to the movies. I got out of the truck with my gear and headed to the sign. When I got close enough, I asked “What are our chances that they turn the lights on?” The other photographer smiled and said “Right?!? That would be so awesome.” Then we did that dance photographers do when they’re photographing the same subject, being respectful of each other’s space. He left when it got darker but I had decided to try to use the flash I’d purchased a few years ago. I had made the purchase with the intention of learning some flash photography, but never really got around to using it. I used it Saturday evening and I couldn’t be happier with the results.

Finally, I signaled to Michael that I was done and we made our way home. Michael took us on a scenic route that put us in the path of a great neon sign for Mugs-Up and past an old drive-in theater that had closed years ago, the sign already nothing more than pieces. I am so glad I didn’t listen to that part of me that did not want to make the effort. Michael ended up driving us about half an hour from home for me to spend about fifteen minutes taking pictures, but there was one moment in that time frame when I gleefully jumped with joy as I looked at some of the preliminary shots. Not only was I doing the things, I was doing the things with newly learned skills, using the flash that’s been in my bag for two years. And I think if I can do this, if I can eek out fifteen minutes for glee just once a week, I can manage.

They never turned the lights on for the Twin sign and I am only slightly disappointed by that. The sign has seen better days and I am sure in it’s hey-day, the sign was glorious. Michael had doubts that the lights for the sign even work now. It reminded of me that time Chad and I were chasing neon motel signs in Cave City, Kentucky. Many of the old neon signs were off or not working. We stopped at each roadside motel with the light’s off on their sign and one of us would get out of the car to go ask at the front desk if they could turn the sign on. Most were nice about it, often nodding their heads and saying something along the lines of “wish I could, but the sign’s been broke for a long time now.” We would mumble something to match their regrets along with a ‘thank you’ before moving on to the next one. Sure it was disappointing to not be able to capture those bright neon lights, but we had so much fun jumping in and out of the car with our cameras, snapping away. The lights didn’t really matter. The time spent doing the thing was what was truly important.

Maybe next year, I’ll start working on a new showing. Maybe try hanging some things on some walls again. Just putting the thoughts out there feels like progress.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I avoided the news and the TV on Tuesday, but I did glance at my phone early the next morning just before heading out the door for Josephine’s walk. So I ended up walking with the knowledge that this country had chosen a convicted criminal over a black woman. I walked with a sunken heart and a weight of exhaustion settling into my bones. My thoughts turned to the work ahead, the volunteer work and monthly donations to come, things I could do to help those in my community feel safe. I thought about all the government programs that he has threatened to cut and what that will mean for scientific research. One of the members of his administration has already announced the plan to cut 10,000 scientists from the FDA. My friend Sarah may lose her job as a fair housing investigator with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, a department that is on his list of cuts. Who will advocate for those seeking affordable housing? There are many things that benefit our communities that are at risk and I had to really ask myself if I had it in me to step in and help those who will be abandoned by this country.

I was born an activist. For as long as I can remember I’ve been raising money to save this planet, to find a cure for AIDS, to accessible healthcare for all, to public television that provides educational resources to everyone and on and on and on. For as long as I can remember I have been advocating for my communities and the importance of truly caring for each other. I have done this work before. I can do this work again. We do what we need to do protect and help the ones we love. On top of my monthly donations to Planned Parenthood and PBS, I will be adding monthly donations to OurSpotKC.

Our Spot's services empower youth, provide LGBTQ+ resources, and create safe spaces that foster growth and inclusion.

Our kids are scared. A fellow blogger shared a social media post from her daughter where she said “I am scared for my immigrant parents.” The new administration has plans for a denatualization project that would remove citizenship from immigrants (Chris’s mom is an immigrant). We are already seeing hateful rhetoric being thrown at people for being gay, trans, black, hispanic, not white. That rhetoric stands to increase with the new administration, particularly with plans to remove policies and rights that have been put into place to protect those people. There have been ‘friends’ on Facebook posting vague posts about not understanding why some people are unfriending them. This is why. It is because you chose someone who will put their lives in danger and they no longer consider you to be a safe person to be themselves around. No one should have to fear being their true self. Our kids should not be scared and it makes feel a little sick knowing that grown adults have done that, that they have created an environment of fear. My top priority is to change that and I believe that OurSpotKC is the perfect place to do that.

Josephine and I took our usual path to Tower Park that morning and I watched a layer of fog roll across the open areas. I could smell the campfire that had already been started at the main pavilion. There’s a handful of homeless that sleep in that pavilion at night and every morning, the first to wake starts a fire in one of the metal barrels nearby. This particular morning was chilly and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had taken turns keeping the fire going throughout the night. Josephine and I made our way to the north side of the park, the sky was still dark with just the tiniest hint of light at the horizon. But I could still see some stars. Sometimes I am surprised by the number of stars I can see in the city. The park is lit with motion sensor or timed lights and often they end up shutting off right as I’m walking up. I am an invisible woman. At one point I glanced up at the sky just in time to witness a star shoot across and burn out. To the see the stars at all in the city is a treat. To witness a shooting star in the city is a gift, but in this instance possibly a message from the universe.

The witnessing of a shooting star is a rare, awe inspiring moment. It is an event that causes us to close our eyes and wish for something good. I am grateful for that moment in the park, the timing of that shooting star and my opportunity to wish for a better world. That moment was also a reminder of the simplicity and power of ‘one’. Some of you may remember that video Chris posted oh so many years ago of the one guy in the crowd dancing like no one was watching. It didn’t take long for a crowd of dancers to form around him. The tiniest stone still makes a ripple when you toss it in the pond. All of these actions seem small, but they end up having huge effects. This was just the spark I needed to keep my almost burnt out flame of hope going.

I am grateful for hope.

DEAR WHITE HETERO MEN OF AMERICA

First of all, I guess I should congratulate those of you who voted for Trump. You did your part in maintaining the Patriarchal standard of white hetero males running the country. I will say that he did make it easy for you by manipulating and exploiting your fears. I guess I never realized how cowardly you truly are, but it does give me some ideas on how to manipulate cowards for a good a cause. I will say that one of the reasons all of this stings me is that I know some of you personally. So now I know that you place a higher value on your archaic reliance on fossil fuels than you do of the women in your life.

How disappointing.

Look, I know you had help from some women. I recognize and pity those women who just can’t seem to escape the social construction of a woman’s value being linked to a man. Some of this comes from their religious indoctrination. Basically, for their whole lives they’ve been told by their God that they must be submissive to the man. That’s hard brainwashing to undo. In the TV adaptation of Margaret Atwoood’s The Handmaid’s Tale (one of the most banned books in the US), the character Serena Joy is one of the defining voices in changing the government into a patriarchal, totalitarian theonomic state. In doing so, she took away her own rights to read, write, property, everything. It is only when she is punished for reading the scripture do you see her recognize the awfulness that she has played a part in. There will be a Serena moment for those women who support Trump. I just worry about that time frame. Like, how many rights are women going to have to loose before they break their social construct chains? I mean, we’re barely clinging to our rights to make our own decisions about our own bodies.

I’m not going to lie. I’m sad and disappointed with the whole lot of you. I thought you were smarter, braver, more compassionate than that. I don’t like thinking about some of you being fascists racists, but that’s all I can think about because you support a fascist racist. Sort of like if the shoe fits, wear it?… And I’m going to spend today being sad and disappointed. I’m going allow space for my grief and then I’m going to roll up my sleeves and get to work. There are plenty of charities that support women and our LGTBQ+ communities that could use my help and I’d much rather funnel my rage into doing something good for my community than wasting any more time or thoughts on the likes of you.

So, enjoy your day and your win. Raise your pitchforks and point your silly guns to the sky. Who knows how much longer you will be able to do such things? Winds of change are coming for you.

Sincerely,

Disillusioned White Woman of America

MORE THINGS THE INTERNET THINKS I SHOULD BUY

In this episode of Things the Internet Thinks I should Buy, I bring you food mills, underwear, boots, and cat sweaters.

Let’s start with the underwear. That’s the most fun because those ads contain women in underwear and there you’ll be, harmlessly scrolling along in social media land, when suddenly there’s just a big lace clad butt picture or some woman adjusting her boobs in her bra. Sometimes there’s music playing in the ad. It has definitely made harmless scrolling a not safe for work activity. I do though appreciate the reminder that I could do better for myself in the underwear department. My underwear is not functional or sexy. It is a layer of fabric between my naked body bits and my pants and that’s about it. Maybe ‘buying nicer underwear’ should go on my New Year’s resolution. Right now and off and on since August, I’ve been just randomly bleeding and ruining underwear like in the days of my distant youth when the menstrual cycle was a new thing to me. So, I don’t really feel like buying anything nice until I’ve got this all figured out. I did see my gynecologist this week and we’ve made a plan to figure it out and with fingers crossed, I might be normalish by the new year. Until then, I don’t deserve nice things.

That’s not true. I am deserving of nice things.

The next ad I keep getting is for a certain brand of boots. I love this brand and love the boots. I mean I desperately want these boots, but ever time I click on the ad, I see that they are sold out of my size plus they’re not cheap. I’m almost willing to overlook the price because I know this brand and I know they’ll be comfortable, well-made boots. But I can’t overlook the size. If I’m going to spend that kind of money on boots, I should buy the right size. So now when I see this ad, it makes me sad. The same is true whenever I get the ad for a spectacular space cat sweater. First of all, the sweater is not my usual fashion choice. It’s brightly colored with a giant cat in a spacesuit gazing into the distance on the front. I don’t know why I love it so much, but I do. I want an oversized version of this sweater to wear with my leggings and the boots that they don’t have in my size. The sweater is not expensive, but the website is scammy. Like super scammy. I am guaranteed to loose all of my money and identities if I attempt to purchase this sweater. So I need some legitimate company to sell this sweater and I need those boots in my size please.

I believe those are reasonable requests.

Finally (not really…I get a lot of ads), I keep getting ads for food mill/composters. They’re like trashcans but only for food waste and they break up the food for compost. And I want one. Yes, I know that I could just throw my food waste into a compost bin in the backyard somewhere. Except I’ve done this, but you can’t just throw food waste into a bin. You have to stir it up and adjust pH and do things with the compost. I am lazy when it comes to gardening. Also, are you aware that compost bins can spontaneously combust? Especially if you do nothing but put stuff in the bin. The food mill/composters do all of the work for you. Then all you have to do is figure out what to do with the milled up food waste. I think I could manage that. Nope. I know I could manage this. I just have this vision that this product will reduce our amount of weekly garbage by half. Maybe more. I mean…we set out one to two bags of garbage plus a full recycling bin every week. It’s not like we’re big trash producers, but I can see where we can do better. The food mill/composters are expensive. Like really expensive. It’s like when the Roomba was a new thing expensive. I am a patient person. I waited long enough for the Roomba prices to go down and now I have a robot vacuum cleaner. I have no doubt the same thing will happen with the food mill/composters.

Sure, I do get a bunch of other ads every day trying to sell me some really useless crap. Those ads are easy breeze bys. I am not annoyed by, in fact I probably enjoy, the ads for the underwear, boots, sweater and composters and I’ll tell you why. Those ads are helping me dream of a better future for myself. A future of nice underwear and comfortable boots. A future of crazy cat sweaters and even a better environment. I like this dream. I like the idea that I can be that whimsical type of person that would wear bright colored space cat sweaters. I honestly don’t care much about the underwear, but I wouldn’t mind a nicer bit of fabric on my naked body bits. I am a practical person, so of course my dreams have a practical nature and if I have learned anything from my mother it is the importance of a good quality practical boot. And that composter thing would just make me a better citizen of the planet. Do I understand that this is capitalism at it’s finest and “they” have figured out my financial weaknesses?

Yes. And I do not care.