A TREE GROWS IN HER

A medium sized Bonsai tree was growing off the side of my right low back region. I broke it off, but it left behind a woody stump and I couldn’t stop running my fingers over the transition between my skin and the rough bark of the stump. I was fascinated and disturbed by the feel of my skin shifting from smooth to rough and hard. I didn’t know what to do about this stump and in my indecisiveness, the tree started to grow back. I woke up before I could decide on whether to rip the tree off my body again or to just tend to the tree.

Tend to the tree.

If I’d stayed in the dream just a few more seconds, I would have chosen to tend the tree. My body had created this beautifully perfect little tree. That in itself is extraordinary. The fact that I tried to remove it makes me irritated with myself. But also not surprised. I think most people’s first instinct is to remove the thing that suddenly shows up on their bodies that doesn’t seem normal. Moles. Fat. Warts. Bugs. I could make a decent list of things I don’t want attached or growing from my body. Ticks! Almost forgot about those. Sprouting any kind of plant from the deep base layers of one’s skin would seem alarming. Instead of approaching this in a literal sense which is my go-to analytical approach, I need to be looking at the abstractness of this dream.

I spent Sunday wandering the Nelson with Todd. He had spent his week visiting family in Oklahoma and made Kansas City his last stop before flying back to Portland (and all the terrorists). We haven’t seen each other in years, not since the last time I was in Portland which was in 2018. In that time, we also fell out of the habit of just checking in with each other. A few months ago, it hit me that I had not spoken to Todd in quite a while, so I sent him a postcard. Then he sent me a postcard from Ireland and we were back on track. Except we both agreed it had been a ridiculously too long of time since we’d seen each other’s faces. When I met him at arrivals, we grinned at each other like idiots. Then I dragged him off to do some touristy things because the last time he was here, it was to see Chris, who died four days after Todd’s visit.

As we wandered through the photography section of the Nelson, Todd first said some nice things about my photography practice. Then he asked me how that practice was going and I winced. Other than occasionally printing out new postcards, my photography practice is barely treading water. I carry my big camera with me every day, yet I can’t tell you the last time I took the camera out of my bag. The few times I’ve had it out, I felt like the pictures were not worth processing. I did manage to take some good photos at the OKC zoo in August but I have not been actively pursuing my practice this year. I have not been actively pursuing much of anything this year. I told Todd that there’s nothing in my photo collection that I would want to hang for a showing. This is the truth.

We eventually made our way back to my house and on the way the Bridge started playing my favorite Belly song. I paused our conversation so I could turn it up and we both sang along.

Big red tree grew up and out, Throws up its leaves, Spins round and round.

So take your hat off when you’re talking to me and be there when I feed the tree.

- Tanya Donelly

Someone asked me once what I thought those lyrics meant. My interpretation has always been that this song is about caring for someone or something. Sometimes I think the tree is a gravestone Tanya Donelly is tasked with keeping clean and cared for. We take our hats off out of respect and she’s saying “Show me some respect and be there in support while I care for this thing.” I think in this instance, I’m the one that needs to show a little respect to myself by allowing space on my calendar to tend and care for not just this metaphorical bonsai tree, but for all the little blooms of creativity that sprout from this body. I typed this last part while 10,000 Maniacs crooned into my ears.

To be part of the miracles you see in every hour
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky
It's true that you
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you

These are days - 10,000 Maniacs

My music has been nostalgic of late and it’s sending me signals and notes.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I have the weirdest look on my face.

Monday, I was helping one of our Postdocs set up an overnight time lapse on a complicated microscope. He is not from this country and asked me when was it going to be Fall in Kansas City. I then had to tell him that today is the very first day of Fall. It felt a little like that moment when Talaura told a woman she was currently standing in Times Square after the woman had asked Talaura for directions to Times Square. That moment will always be funny because the woman didn’t believe Talaura and was all “No, no, no. The place where they drop the ball on New Years.” and Talaura had to literally point to the spot where that happens for the woman to finally say “Oh! We’re in Times Square!”

My conversation with the postdoc about Fall was almost the same because I had to pull up proof of the Fall equinox. Then he was like “no no no, when is it going to get cool and nice outside?” So I told him about weather apps and climate change and that I had no clue when the weather was going to be “cool and nice”. Personally, I think it’s nice now with a high of 83 degrees. Then I had a conversation with a grad student about excitation lasers and why you don’t want them all on at the same time when you’re imaging. I’d explain something, she’d repeat what I told her and then say “I don’t understand.” Eventually, after a full interpretive dance performance of why you don’t want all the lasers on at the same time while imaging, she nodded and said “Okay” and walked away. My left eye was twitching by the time we parted ways.

Oh, I didn’t mention that also on Monday, Josephine and I where almost mauled by another dog at the park. I managed to keep Josephine safe while screaming at the dog. The owner did his best to cal the dog from his prone position behind some bushes. No one was hurt and I understand the dog was just protecting his human, but come on. A leash? A rope? Something? Would have been nice. Why does every week have to come in hot with dog attacks and difficult humans?!? I didn’t even make it through Tuesday before having to explain to four different people why Tylenol is not the cause of autism and why you should absolutely not trust any ‘science’ that comes from this administration. They can’t even pronounce the words and I have serious doubts they even understand basic data graphs.

Wednesday morning, I crawled out of bed for the morning walk and said to myself “I just have to make it through the day.” Except that was kind of a lie. Of course I had to make it through that day, but there were still two days left in the week. And while I walked Josephine, my brain picked over why every day kind of feels like a slog or a barbed wire wrapped hurtle. What is so tiresome and irritating about my work days that has me giving myself survival pep talks mid-week? Is it just a simple need of a vacation? I have no interest in staying home for a week and I do not have a budget right now for a run-off-to-remote-location vacation (have I mentioned I’m going to Paris for Christmas?).

When I think about taking time off right now, it’s to do things like go to the dentist or make a drive down to see my mother (who is struggle a bit with old age problems). I will be traveling at the end of October for work. This is sort of a getaway. Yes, I will be working but the environment will have ocean views and New England Fall vibes. Besides, all of this is weeks away from now. Michael told me about reading somewhere that weekends should feel like vacations. I replied that I already knew this and that is why I dust and declutter the house on Tuesdays and clean the bathroom on Thursdays. The problem is, I can’t do everything. Grocery shopping still happens on Saturday morning. Vegetable prep, kitchen cleaning, sweeping, vacuuming, mopping, putting away my clothes. All of this happens on Sunday.

So on Thursday, I had a flu shot scheduled for 8:10 AM (at work) and dentist appointment at 10:00AM (near work) and I just decided to take the day for myself. I get one personal day a year and mine has been lingering in the pile of vacation/sick days since January. I just had yet to come up with a date or an excuse to just not be at work. That morning, I woke up to the sound of my alarm and Josephine snuggled under the comforter. I took this as a sign to skip our morning walk but chose to ride the bicycle in to work. I got my flu shot and then rode my bike over to the dentist’s office where I was told my teeth are healthy and I’m doing all the right things. Then I walked a block over to Anthropologie to check out the extra 50% off sales rack and bought the most cliche French looking outfit. All I need is a beret and maybe a pencil thin curled mustache.

I left the shop, hopped onto the bike and rode over to the Trolly Track Trail. My next stop was the Soap Refill Station but I had about four miles to go and for most of those four miles, I had the trail all to myself. I was in no hurry and I peddled along at a leisurely pace. The sun was shining and the leaves are just starting to change. The air had that crispy feeling of Fall even though the sun was warm. Part of the trail runs between the backyards of a Brookside neighborhood. So either side is shielded from road noise and shaded with big ancient elm trees. I soaked up the quiet as I peddled along. Then I made it to the soap store and was the only patron. I had a lovely chat with the young person running the shop while I filled a spray bottle with multipurpose cleaner and then I rode home. I still ended up doing my usual Thursday chore, but I spent a lot of time not working or checking emails.

I spent a lot of time just doing nothing.

This morning, Josephine and I got up for our morning walk without groans or blinks. I did not start my day with dread even though I knew there would be at least one email waiting for me in my inbox that was probably going to make me lose my shit. I was gentle with myself as I rode my bike to work and allowed myself to be slow going up that hill between 63rd street and 59th, even though I know I can bump the electric bike up a level (I feel like using anything higher than a level two assist is cheating). Right now, I’m waiting for a researcher to show up so I can help him image some bacteria. I’ve read that annoying email and since it’s addressed to a number of people, have chosen to ignore it and let someone else respond. There’s a rainbow on my wall to my left, formed from the bright sun streaming in through the window on my right. It bounces off the glass at the top of my cubicle, but only forms the rainbow when the angle of the sun is just right. Between now and the Spring, the angle of the sun will be just right.

Rainbow season has started.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Something bigger than a bee zipped by me during one of my morning walks this week and it took me a moment to realize what I had seen or was seeing. It was a hummingbird moth and it stuck around, competing with the bumble bees for the nectar in these Lantana. But briefly. Hummingbird moths move quickly and do not hang out, savoring their meals. They’re nothing like the hummingbirds that frequent my feeder. I have one that sometimes just perches there for long minutes at a time. The hummingbird moth never perches and is extremely difficult to capture on camera.

I was lucky.

This particular hummingbird moth is also known as a hawk-moth or sometimes the Sphinx moth. Those large brown or green caterpillars with posterior horns that you you sometimes pull off your dill or tomato plants eventually turn into one of these moths. They’re great pollinators and according to my research, they are not rare. Yet, they seem a bit rare and elusive to me. This is the first one I’ve seen all summer and this is the very last week of summer.

This is the very last week of summer.

Early in the year, I struggled with finding a reason to do much of anything. All I could do was worry about my job and what would I do if I lost this job. The more hits and restrictions that this administration put out on the NIH and the CDC, the more I stressed. I knew that there would be a trickle down effect in their restrictions and worried about that impact. As a result, I threw myself into my work like never before, to the point of having dreams where I am troubleshooting microscope problems. Someone at work joked with me about this recently and said I was living the dream. While I am not as worried about losing this job as I was at the beginning of the year, I am still very busy.

The threats are different now. The disappointments are greater. I never realized the number of people I know who have been hiding their own homophobia and racism, while calling that hateful rhetoric “the Lord’s work.” I always think the best of people and then they go and show their true colors by posting some stupid meme of support for the latest Nazi in the spotlight. I wonder how it is I could have believed they were good people to begin with. And for some time now, that disappointment of knowing people who support racism and bigotry, has been a weight, an embarrassment really.

Now I think about that hummingbird moth, zipping around the Lantana and sharing space with bumbble bees. It stayed focused on it’s one task of gathering nectar. What task can I stay focused on? It’s certainly not changing people’s minds or removing the sludge and hate from their souls. I’m not a miracle worker, but I am pebble. I know what happens when a pebble is dropped into a body of water. I know about wave theory and objects in motion. Supporting and helping my community to help and support young people in the LGBTQ+ communities creates a wave. Supporting my local TV stations like PBS ensures that I have access to unbiased news sources and educational programs creates a wave of knowledge. Supporting and voting for candidates who serve their communities by promoting policies (health care, public transportation, appropriate taxes, school systems) that better our communities, leads to even bigger waves.

This year will be over in a blink. All of this is temporary. I truly believe that if we focus on caring for those people this administration is targeting (Brown people, Black people, LGTBQ+ people, our unhoused people, our people in poverty) we can make great waves of good change. But in order to do that, we’re going to have to filter out the noise coming at us through social media and that includes some people you thought you knew. We cannot control other’s action, but we can control our own actions and how we respond to those actions.

I am finding ways to make my heart feel as light as a hummingbird moth while being a pebble.

THE GREAT DESPAIR

Many of my friends and colleagues are currently feeling conflicted and overwhelmed. There is just so much awfulness from this administration as they continue to restrict our rights as citizens. This is compounded with this administration’s complacency in genocide and their use of concentration camps here in the US. Trump is now trying to make it illegal for anyone to criticize him, his policies or anyone whose platform is based on preaching racism and homophobia. Many of us are frustrated with the inability of some to distinguish between what is politics and what are basic human rights.

Do you remember the first time you felt comfortable coming out of your box of conformity? We listened to Brene Brown talk about being our authentic selves in a TED talk almost fourteen years ago and for a while we’ve all been doing that. Living authentically. For some of us that meant being open about our sexuality and if you lived in metropolitan places, it wasn’t so dangerous anymore to be a lesbian, to be trans, to be gay…to be different. As women we were finally seeing a reckoning to all the sexual harassment and pestering by men that we’ve been tolerating for years. It almost felt safe to just be a woman walking around the city. For a while, we were carefree and outgrew that box of conformity.

Now this administration is trying to make us all go back into that box and of course, we are all resisting. That is what this feeling is; being shoved back into a box you outgrew. It doesn’t fit and we won’t go back. We refuse to go back to a time when we could not live and love authentically. As women we refuse to go back to a time where our sole value lied in our ability to birth, where our value was little more than livestock. I will not be submissive and I’m far to big for that old box, but I struggle with how to deal with such an overwhelming feeling of being powerless. Except, I am not powerless. WE are not powerless. The very act of continuing to live authentically to our true selves is powerful. It is a protest that says we will not be fear mongered or bullied.

Remember, they’re attempt to demonize the word ‘empathy’ is because they do not understand the concept of empathy, or compassion for that matter. They also have more practice in living authentically. How else can you build a platform around racism and homophobia? They’re authentic selves are teachers of hate, but in a cowardly way because so much of it happens online. So while it might feel like you are doing nothing or nothing you do matters, you are making a difference just by living your life and doing so with compassion and empathy for others. There is someone who sees you and admires you for your bravery. You are teaching compassion and empathy by example. For sure, things are going to get worse. That’s just how it’s going to be for a while, but I believe in our strength and ability to be kind, compassionate humans. And that's what will get them.

Kill them with kindness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

My coworker friend’s only child is now a senior in high school. While he’s turning into a fine young person and transitioning a little bit closer to adulthood, he still likes to collect action figures and sets up little battles with them. I find this delightful and wonderful and hope he continues to do this practice of imaginative play well into his eighties. The coworker mentioned that he’d moved on from Star Wars because he had collected everything he could with the exception of a Princess Leia. So I asked her “What sort of Princess Leia is he looking for?” She said “Not the bikini one.” and then went on to describe another version of the Leia action figure set. I told her that I might have the one he’s looking for and that I’d bring it in the next day for him.

Chris may have been one of the biggest Star Wars fans to have walked the planet. It’s a tie between him and our friend Jen, but I can’t give him all the fan credit. I’m a bit of a fan too. Sure some of my fandom came through osmosis, but while Chris was really into the space crafts of the Star Wars world, I leaned into the women of Star Wars. Over the years, any time I’ve come across a Star Wars action figure of any of the female characters, I’ve snatched it up. I have four different sizes/versions of Rey and one Jessica Pava. I’d love a Captain Phasma and a Princess Leia from the Force Awakens, but I’ve yet to come across those. I also have five versions of Princess Leias and none of them are the bikini clad version.

That’s by design.

One year, as a Christmas present, I gave Chris an F.A.O Schwarz Barbie edition Princess Leia in the bikini. It was one of his favorites in his collection. I can’t blame him. She really was stunning and sexy. This is what young teenage boys dreamed about, Leia the sex symbol. I both admired and hated this doll, knowing that I would never be able to pull off that bikini look. I sold her on EBay after Chris died. Maybe it was a hasty choice, but I still stand by it. That version of Leia represents repression. She didn’t choose that outfit. It was forced upon her during her enslavement as a sex prop. Actually, I didn’t realize until typing this up just how angry that version of Leia makes me and how it is that version that is always the most popular. Leia was in the process of rescuing herself when those yahoos mad-camped their way onto the Death Star. She escaped a planet minutes before its destruction and kept vital information a secret while being tortured by her father. Leia never stopped fighting. When Luke and Han gave up the fight because of their feelings, Leia was still fighting.

She never gave up.

Some might question why I would give up one of my Leias from my collection. I will admit to having a moment of tearful nostalgia before I placed the action figure on my coworker’s desk. Then there was the question of whether or not the kid would even want that version. I told her to take it home; if he likes, he keeps it. If it’s not the one, bring it back. She texted me that evening to tell me that he loves the action figure and hesitated for about two minutes before removing it from the box. Any doubts about handing over my Leia were completely erased. I gave her away to someone who will appreciate and fully enjoy every aspect of owning this toy. I gave her to someone who wanted the version of Leia that is the most real, the fighter.

Not the sex symbol.

MAKING AMERICANS HEALTHY

When Food, Inc was released in 2008, Chris and I saw it at the Noble Theater, the little movie theater tucked inside the OKC Art Museum. We had season passes for this theater because it was always playing the small independent things that we couldn’t find at the big theaters. This was also the same time I was on a cleansing diet for yoga teacher training. We saw this documentary and our heads kind of exploded. It completely changed our food habits, shifting from ultra-processed to fresh and locally sourced foods. I went down a rabbit hole of reading every label on every food item I picked up. To this day, my meal plan (and the one I force on Michael) consists mostly of fresh vegetables and is designed to minimize food waste. I have been a proponent of the benefits of eating whole foods for years. I have seen the scientific data that supports the claims of these benefits. I have also read the scientific data on the detrimental environmental impact of factory farming.

So, I have to admit, I kind of agree with Robert F. Kennedy Jr’s beef (punny) with ultra-processed foods.

To be fair, there’s a number of good things in the Make America Healthy Again(MAHA) program. Limiting screen time for children. Encouraging physical activity. Limiting exposure to pollutants. These are all really great ways to make us all a little bit more healthy. In fact there are a number of scientific papers out there that suggests all of those things lead to a healthier life. The problem that arises with MAHA is when those ideas contradict scientific data. Like the persistent idea that vaccinations are the cause of autism. There was ONE paper, years ago that suggested a link between the two. It has since been retracted due to falsified data.

RFK has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Art and History (1976) and a Masters of Laws degree (1987). This man has zero scientific background or education. If asked, he’d be hard pressed to answer a basic biological question like the anatomy of a cell. Yet, this man has been put in charge of our nation’s health which includes the management of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute of Health. So basically…the equivalent to the TikToc influencer who claims coffee enemas and drinking apple cider vinegar will cure your cancer, is in charge of the C.D.C and the N.I.H. and he’s fired all of the scientists who disagrees with his belief system.

Science is not a religion or faith based.

Let’s talk about community. Many of us have children who attend public schools. Many of us visit public institutions like libraries. We share space with each other in all walks of life from grocery shopping to bus rides. This makes us all part of a community. Herd immunity refers to a point in time where it is hard for a disease to spread through a group of people (a community). Herd immunity rates vary but for most viruses, including measles, herd immunity requires 95% of the population in a community. If 95% of a group has immunity to measles, that virus is going to have a real hard time spreading itself around. This is important because five percent of our group are people who couldn’t get vaccinated, but now they’re less likely to contract measles which can be deadly. During the COVID pandemic, children missed getting their measles vaccinations. This lead to an increase in deaths due to measles. Perfect and cruel example of herd immunity. A population (children) go with out vaccinations while in isolation. That population comes out of isolation and are grouped all together in the same space. We’ve gone from 95% immunity rates to maybe 10%, putting the measles virus back in play. Now, some viruses (like COVID and the flu) mutate too quickly for us to develop herd immunity. That is why we have yearly flu shots and why we should be getting yearly COVID vaccinations. This gives us a better chance of herd immunity and helps reduce the spread of the virus. This is beneficial for people who are physically unable to get the vaccine.

Getting vaccinated makes a good member of the community.

But it’s not splashy or sensational or dramatic. It’s not a conspiracy theory which for some reason, people are more inclined to believe than actual science. Lyme disease was not produced in a lab and then released into the world. Apple cider vinegar is not going to cure you of whatever you think is ailing you. If you stand in front of your bathroom mirror and say “Bloody Mary” three times with the lights off, you will not summon the ghost of Bloody Mary. I am one hundred percent behind MAHA if it includes funding for good nutrition for under privileged kids and more funding for cleaning up our environment. But I cannot condone or support anyone who wants to create policies based on whatever wack-a-doodle conspiracy they just heard about from your mom’s second cousin, Earl.

What if we created something called MASHA: Make Americans Smarter and Healthier Again?

Extra reading: The myth of vaccination and autism spectrum

THE YEARLY SPIRAL

Last week I had a blood draw for my annual cholesterol and whatever check. I don’t see the doctor to talk about these results until later this week, but I have had the knowledge of the test results since Friday of last week. Of course there were at least two things from the results that sent me spiraling out and doing ridiculous internet searches. I’ve now replaced my usual whole fat greek yogurt that I have for breakfast three times a week with a zero fat greek yogurt. I’m taking a goddamn turmeric/black pepper supplement along with a cinnamon supplement. I’m probably going to also throw in a garlic pill because why not; I still have a little space left in my weekly pill box. I am determined to ride my bicycle to work as many days of the week I can and turn my sporadic yoga practice into something more consistent. This is why I am currently standing at my desk in wet clothes. I did not believe Michael when he said it would rain this morning. I didn’t believe him until I was 1.2 miles from work.

The downpour hit when I was a mile from work.

The whole time I was riding in the rain, I kept thinking about the second to the last episode of One Day where one of the main characters is riding her bicycle in the rain. I won’t completely spoil it for you if haven’t watched this series, but riding a bicycle through the city streets of London in the rain doesn’t go well for her. But it wasn’t the visions of possible doom in an attempt to be more fit that ended my spiral. I really only panicked for a day before my science brain kicked in and reminded me that my test results were normal for a woman my age who was three days away from the start of their period. Minor tweaks to the current maintenance plan is really all that’s required.

Then I ran into someone at work who I hadn’t seen in a while. She’s been out on maternity leave and I asked how she and the family were doing. All is well and they’ve settled into going from a family of three to a family of four with ease and grace. Then she asked me how I’m doing and I went straight on in to telling her about the new microscope that was installed while she was out. She said “That’s great…but I wanted to know how are you doing?” Y’all…I literally sputtered in an attempt to answer this question. I finally just said “I don’t know.” The first time I was asked how I was doing, I answered with job stuff and right now, I might be all job stuff. I mean, I’m not doing much else. My hobbies include keeping up with household chores and sitting on the couch with animals on my lap while I attempt the NY Times crossword or practice a lesson of French.

I am boring.

In my defense, I have always been a little bit boring. But I know this about myself. I have routines for my routines. I try to toss in some sparkle here and there so I am not so so boring. I thought roller skating would make me more interesting and while there’s an adult skate night on the calendar for next week, our skate group floundered a bit during the summer. Adult scheduling around summer vacations and other activities is a challenge. Honestly, I could have used more pool time at Jenn and Wade’s this summer, but I couldn’t even muster the energy to travel one measly mile to sneak into a pool. It seems I have the malaise and since I’m arguing with my doctor to approve a prescription so that I can just get a COVID vaccination for the year, I seriously doubt this doctor can do anything about malaise. Particularly if I’m not even sure that’s what I have or if I am just being a drama queen.

And maybe I’m just avoiding the question of how I’m doing.

How am I doing?

Why do we ask people this question? I can’t even honestly answer myself when I ask it. I’m sure not going to burden anyone else with that answer. Because the answer is complicated. I’m good but I’m in a constant state of worry over the war on science and the drastic decline of a country I used to be proud to call home. I’m doing great but drowning in disappointment over the down right cruelty of ‘fellow’ citizens. My life is perfect except the part where I now know people are not as smart as I once gave them credit to be. No really, I’m doing just fine despite averaging about five hours of sleep a night. Those five hours are good quality sleeping times. I just confirmed dinner reservation for Christmas Day.

IN PARIS!

This is how I am doing: I am great except when I am not.

How are you doing?

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tuesday morning, as Josephine and I were making our way around the park at the end of our street, I noticed what looked like a large white cat sitting in the middle of the park. This park was built to be a drainage park and most of it consists of large circular vegetation beds filled with native grasses, rocks and other plants. We always see rabbits here and occasionally some deer. This park is a vast improvement on what used to be in that space when I first moved here, a giant forested lot of land where people dumped their garbage and old unwanted furniture. Lots of tires. But still, even though its lovely and an improvement, I call the park Sewer Park because it was built to collect rain water to send to the sewer.

When I saw the large white cat, I thought for a moment that this was my cat. All the way around the park I just kept thinking “Is that Albus?! Is he coming all the way down here to hunt now?!” It was still dark and I don’t wear my glasses when we head out for our walks, but I was almost convinced this was my cat. Then, when Josephine and I headed up our drive, Albus came out from under the truck to greet us like he does at the end of every morning walk. So I decided that the animal I saw in the park was not Albus, but maybe his doppelgänger. That’s not unheard of. There have been a number of times where Michael and I have been notified through our neighborhood app about a lost or found cat with a picture of what could very easily be Albus. He has slowed down quite a lot in just this year alone, but I have seen him many many times jumping into our yard from our back neighbors. I doubt he’s traveling around far, but he’s still traveling.

Thursday morning, I saw the large white ‘cat’ sitting in the upper section of the park as Josephine and I walked in. I knew this was not Albus because Albus came into the house as soon as I opened the pet door that morning. I sort of forgot about the creature as we continued our walk, but then when we had finished the outside loop and headed into the center of the park, I noticed the creature sitting next to a tree. It was pretty close to the side walk, but because it was dark and I was still was not wearing glasses, I could not make out any real details. When Josephine noticed it, the creature hopped up, turned and ran off out of sight. When it turned to go, I got a glimpse of it’s tail and body shape. It was very clearly a small fox.

Back during the pandemic times, Josephine and I would see a family of foxes at this park often. Then one day they disappeared. We haven’t seen foxes there in a few years. Come to think of it, it’s been a while since we’ve seen deer. The makeshift tent and shelter that is barely visible through the brush on one corner of the park probably has something to do with the lack of wildlife. The rabbits don’t mind, but a strong human presence is a deterrent to the more skittish animals like deer and foxes. Seeing this fox was a surprise and one that tells me I need to wear my glasses when I’m walking the dog. Who knows what I’ve been missing.

Many mornings, I wake up and look at the clock and groan. I want to roll over and skip the walk. I don’t because I know it’s really good for Josephine. I don’t because I feel better for doing it. Sometimes I forget just how much I enjoy that time of the morning. The neighborhood is quiet and relatively deserted. The bats are still out, swooping around the streetlights. We might see an opossum or a raccoon slinking in the darkest shadows. These early morning walks are a way for me to start the day with a good intentions. I’m setting the tone for myself to not just get in some steps, but to notice the little details that surround me.

This morning, I wore my glasses.

WHY PARIS

Often, when I was small, it was just me and Mom left to our own devises. My sister and I were separated just enough in age that made me too little to hang out with. While Janell was off with her friends at the movies or what not, Mom and I would often curl up in her bed and watch old movies together. There was always that one random (we didn’t have cable) channel that Mom could pick up on her little TV that would continuously play old movies and we would sit and watch black and white murder mysteries or musicals or dramatic romances for as long as we could stay awake. Mom’s favorites were the musicals. I loved anything Audrey Hepburn.

So many of those movies we watched took place in Paris.

The movies had a way of casting a dreamy light on the city of Paris, even if the city streets were just a backdrop. It was the playground for the Impressionists and beat poets and philosophers. The amount of art and influence birthed from Paris is delightfully obscene. The paintings and art work from the Impressionists are the first things I seek out in any art museum. The other stuff is fine, but the soft swirly colors of a Monet puts me into my Zen garden of peace. I want a float pod where I am completely surrounded by the Water Lilies. Historically, this city is a treasure trove of richness, revolutions and resistance against tyrants. Yet it’s visions of Audrey Hepburn running down the grand steps at the Louvre or marching along the Seine that fill my head when I think of Paris.

I’ve intended to go for years. I thought maybe about going for my 30th or 40th birthdays, maybe for an anniversary date or for no reason at all. Life has always stepped right on in to block those intentions and dreams. It became wishful thinking, something I’d want to do some day but never getting around to doing. With time, I allowed myself to think of the idea of Paris as overrated. I’ve heard the tales from other Americans about how the French are rude and snobby. Why would I want to subject myself to that? Though, I think it is possible that rude and snobby is a misinterpretation of resilient and reserved. There is something to be said about the power of being polite and unassuming. After all, Americans are often the uninvited guest and we have a way about us that is not always flattering. Any way…as the years passed, I told myself that I didn’t really care if I ever got a chance to see Paris for myself.

But I do.

When Michael asked me where we should go to celebrate our 50s, the word “Paris” popped out of my mouth without any hesitation. We started saving our pennies and practicing a very mindful approach to spending. For months now, we’ve been telling each other “We’re going to Paris!” but even while I was saying it, I didn’t really believe it. I said the words without meaning or feeling and fully expected to add this to the list of things we didn’t do. Remember that year we talked constantly about going to Paris and even taking lessons in French, but then we didn’t actually go anywhere? This is what I was expecting, but last week, one morning while I was in the shower and Michael stood in the bathroom brushing his beard, Michael said “hey…I did a thing last night after you went to bed.” He bought airplane tickets to Paris. This was surprising because he always consults me before making such purchases. In fact, I almost always am expected to be in the same room with him when it is happening. But he told me about doing some online training thing for work and how frustrating it was to just to log in and how he suddenly found himself looking at prices for flights to Paris. For the first time in a long time, the prices were beyond reasonable.

So he bought the tickets.

I booked an Airbnb.

We’ve started making lists.

It seems like this might be something we don’t just talk about doing.

For the past few days, I’ve studied maps and guides. I’ve pinned things. I’ve researched walking shoes. I‘m feeling a bit swoony and overwhelmed. There’s so much to see, to eat, to explore. When I said “Paris.” to answer Michael’s questions, I followed it up with “without major plans of doing anything while we’re there; just being present in Paris.” So today, I’m taking a breath and a pause. I’m setting my list aside and thinking about hiding the maps. In a few weeks, I’ll start sketching together a tentative itinerary. One that will include opportunities for getting lost in the city. Maybe I’ll include a day where I just happen to walk by the Arc de Triomphe with a big bunch of colorful balloons. Maybe I’ll create a macaron trail where we just travel from macaron shop to macaron shop. I could devote a whole day to cheese. Probably more.

We’re going to Paris.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I read a morning newsletter from the New York Times every morning while I drink coffee and eat breakfast. I tend to skim whatever the focused topic of the day is and go straight to the daily/nightly events. I read up on the latest climate change related disaster and the continued genocide in Gaza. I take note of the increasing number of concentration camps that my own country is building and using. I pay attention to what research labs are losing their funding and the latest attack on science by the current administration. I make a list of talking points for my congress people and representatives to email them and call them with that day. And then I sit with my grief and disgust over the country I live in and how so many Americans have turned out to be so very cruel.

And dumb. Cruel and dumb. It’s like we’re being governed by elementary school bullies who are often found in the corner eating glue.

So when Taylor Swift announced her engagement to Travis Kelce, I spent way too long being over the moon and texting with Misti about it because it was something joyful in this current sea of cruelty and hatefulness. And when you are a person contacting your congress and representatives begging them to stop the cruelty multiple times a week, this one little light of joy is a necessity. But also, I’m a complete sucker for love. Particularly when I see it happen with two people who seem to really get each other. This is Chris’s fault. Thanks to that jerk, I now I have this romantic side that wants to make heart signs with my hands and kissy faces whenever I see a couple who look like they really and truly like each other.

That thing some of us have inside us that wants better things for this country, for our world; that fire that keeps us yelling about the famine forced onto the Palestinians by Israel and the every day workers in our communities who are disappearing because of ICE and sent to concentration camps, that fire needs fuel. Our voices need a rest every once in while and we need to make space and time for caring for our internal fires. It’s tough out there for us advocates. Most of the congress people and representatives that I call or email multiple times a week are all white men who believe that a woman’s place is in the kitchen and that a person of color’s place is in prison. They don’t give a flip about what I think or feel. I know I’m yelling into deaf ears, but some of it gets through. None of it will get through if I allow my flame of rebellion to burn out.

Balance.

I am challenging myself to balance every bad news headline with one good one. I want to stay informed while finding good things. If I allow myself to get weighed down with despair, I am letting those fascists win. I have a sticker on my scooter that literally says “Fuck Fascism” with sparkly rainbows. So, yeah. News of Taylor and Travis’s engagement, while deliberately posed and micromanaged, made me giddy. Also, that story about the guy who threw a Subway sandwich at federal agents in D.C made me chuckle. Funny while fighting fascism.

I think this is my new game plan.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I was terrified of any and all kinds of insects when I was little. Except maybe rolly-pollies. Those were safe and often became pets. Every thing else could easily send me into a screaming terror fit if it was found on my body or in my path. As I got a little older, my fits over insects grew less dramatic but ever present. The day I broke my arm in two, I did so because I jumped from the tree I was in to avoid climbing down around the cicada blocking my path. My dad told me that cicadas will bite. So I chose to exit the tree the dangerous way to avoid a cicada bite.

Cicadas do not bite.

Then, during the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, I spent three weeks at a biology camp. Yes. I know. I’ve always been this nerdy. At biology camp, we tagged baby birds and counted the diversity of trees. We studied sunfish and listened to lectures on dung beetles. We also built bug collections. It was best three weeks of camp I had ever experienced. My parents picked me up at the end of camp and I was unrecognizable, partly because of my epic lobster sunburn and all of the bug bites. But also had this whole new bravery around insects. Thanks to that (free, paid for with federal and state grants) camp I no longer scream in terror at the sight of a bug. Now when some insect lands on my arm or hand, I look at it and say “Oh! Look at you!” before plinking it off my body. Well, except spiders. I’m still suspicious of those, but my philosophy is to just ignore their presence. It’s working out well for both of us.

I am fascinated with how the insect world changes with the seasons. It begins with ants in the Spring time. The Spring rains wake the ants up and send them into our kitchen where we frantically set out the ant bait traps. They are a nuisance, but I can count on them to appear every Spring. June brings the lightening bugs. The lightening bugs are the overture of Summer, beginning with a twinkle of one or two. By the end of June and into July the lightening bug blinks crescendo into thousands in my back yard. Now that we are nearing the end of August, they are mostly gone and I might get a glance of one lonely blink dancing cross the back yard.

Right now, when it is still very much Summer, the cicadas are out and the backyard is roaring with them. They land on the sidewalks and buzz as Josephine and I walk by on our morning walks. They remind me of those hand shake gag buzzers. I see them wiggling out of their old skins and the shells of those skins stuck to the sides of lamp posts and trees. Occasionally, Josephine will snap a cicada up and stand there for a minute while it buzzes in her mouth before spitting it out and looking at with her head cocked to one side. It is also tiny spider season. I come home from our walks wrapped up in barely visible sticky threads. The later mornings and afternoons are filled with butterflies. Monarchs are passing through on their way to the south for a warmer wintering.

This week, I noticed my first leaf hopper of the year, hanging out on a third floor window. It won’t be long until the praying mantis appears. Each insect is a harbinger for the changing seasons and I know that when I start seeing praying mantis and leaf hoppers that Fall is just around the corner. I am by no means a pumpkin spice kind of gal. Nor do I long for sweater weather. I do however enjoy the shift in colors and light that happens in the Fall. And while I am still suspicious of spiders, I am quite in awe and enamored with the various orb spiders that appear right around the time the air starts to turn crisp. It’s easy to see the shifts in the landscapes with the changing seasons. The land changes from gray to pinks, purples and greens, back to a bit of brown and then into crimsons and yellows before all going back to gray. The insect world is not as obvious. They’re small things in a big world, easily dismissed and ignored.

We probably all feel that way sometimes. Dismissed and ignored. Maybe that’s why I’ve been paying attention, more so this year than ever. I am grateful for small things.

TIKTOC INSTA DOC

For many, this is back-to-school time, but for me it’s yearly-wellness-exam time. This is the time of year I go and have a chat with my gynecologist and schedule my blood work for a cholesterol screen with my (child aged) Intern. This is also the only time I step on a scale. I gave up on weighing myself a few years ago because the number always stressed me out. That stupid scale number fucked with my mental health because I felt like I was doing all the right things. Like eating all of the kale. For heaven’s sake, I forced a lentil loaf on Michael for Sunday dinner this week. It was not my best creation and he was a really good sport about it, but it was straight up health nut food. That scale number would have me questioning why I even bother walking all the steps and standing all day at my desk when my feet hurt. I’m not saying that I live in la la land about my weight. I am very much aware of every fat roll on my body, just like every other woman I know who grew up in a culture of SlimFast and Cabbage Soup diets. Health class wasn’t about feeling good in your own skin. It was about sticking to the food pyramid and avoiding obesity.

We were not allowed fat rolls.

I am not sure things are better or worse. As a tween/teen, I just had verbal body shaming to contend with. The internet gave us the ability to body shame complete strangers on the other side of the country. Have you all seen the internet’s reaction to Nelly Furtado? People are losing their damn minds over how the singer no longer looks like she did twenty five years ago. And they are not nice about it. Right now my Instagram feed is full of ads about turmeric drinks and magnesium oils, things that will help me sleep better or relax. I’m being told that my problem is high cortisol levels, I’m not eating enough protein, I’m eating too much protein and I should probably be wearing a weighted vest. The message is very clear. There is something wrong with my body and this random snake oil is the fix. All of this would have wrecked a teenage Cindy, but almost fifty Cindy gives zero poops about social constructs regarding the female body.

Every once in a while though, I will start to fall for one of these dumb things. Then I ask myself “Cindy, what’s one of those things you do best?” and I know the answer is looking up all the scientific data and research on those dumb things. This NIH review on the Effectiveness of Transdermal Magnesium Absorption kept me from wasting my money on a fancy lotion. I’m still on the fence about the turmeric drink even though there is substantial research that points to it’s benefits. The key active ingredient in turmeric is curcumin and it is not easily absorbed. Black pepper helps with absorption, so incorporating turmeric and black pepper into your meals is the best way to reap the benefits. That’s easy enough for me. I am already cooking with those spices. And while high levels of extended amounts of cortisol (stress hormone) can lead to weight gain and a number of other ailments, there is absolutely no such thing as a “cortisol detox”. Manage you stress with yoga or meditation or staying off the TikTok/Instagram for a bit.

Every time I look up anything about supplements, I get the same results. If you are eating a well balanced diet full of colorful fruits and veggies, you are getting all of the vitamins and nutrients. Those deficient in something tend to have an actual medical condition or they really never eat fruits and veggies. Either way, it is not that hard get the vitamins we need, but we’ve allowed our (what was once) creative spaces to fill up with influencers who are playing at being doctors, handing out their beliefs as medical facts. It’s actually very dangerous because for every one of someone like me who immediately goes to PubMed for answers there are a hundred (if not more) who fall for it hook line and sinker, emptying their bank accounts without getting better.

When my doctor came into the exam room, she asked me all kinds of questions about my health. Am I still mostly a vegetarian? Yes. Am I still doing yoga? Yes. Am I still walking every day? Yes. She never once mentioned or asked me a question about my weight. She didn’t even see it as an issue. BECAUSE IT ISN’T! A few pounds of weight gain is more than expected for a woman of my age, even if I am doing all the “right” things. At the end of our visit, my doctor and I started joking about all the things the internet tells us we should be doing. I asked if she’d had her 600g of protein yet today and she said “Oh God! How do you even do that as a vegetarian?!? You must be full of lentils!” Which made me laugh because I was indeed full of lentils from the lentil loaf the night before. But she also admitted the impossibility of 600g for people who are not vegetarians. My doctor gets it. She knows what she’s doing. She has studied very hard and has had a lot of experience. She has verifiable credentials.

Can you say the same about your TikToc Insta Doc?

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This has been a week for my fitness. I am giving myself gold stars for every day. I have ridden my bicycle to work three times this week, though I might end up regretting today’s ride since afternoon temps are set to be boiling degrees. But I am committed! There has been yoga every day. There has been weights with yoga for four of those days. The meal plan I created for this week (and even next week’s) was a veggie packed delight. Michael has even agreed to kale for a next week meal. Josephine and I have walked every morning and I have walked all of the required daily steps and then some. My muscles are pleasantly sore. The world may be a dumpster fire and falling apart all around me, but I will be fit!

And tired…I’m so gosh dang tired.

The best part of the week has to be the bicycle. Every time I’m on it, peddling to work, I just feel good about myself. I’m doing something good for my body. I’m doing something good for my mental health and I’m doing something good for the environment. I’m not fast even though it is an ebike because I keep the assist level set low. I only want help up the hills. I’m working but not working and that feels good too. The mornings have been so lovely here and really, the afternoons have been tolerable until today. On Wednesday, I came up to an intersection with a bus stop. There is a woman I used to see all the time at this bus stop. We had a whole conversation about biking to work one morning while I waited for a light to change. I haven’t seen her at all this year. I guess the timing has been off with the few times I’ve ridden, but on Wednesday every thing lined up just like Venus and Jupiter. She saw me coming and her smile stretched across her face. Then she yelled “I haven’t seen you in a long time!” My smile stretched across my face when I saw her and I yelled back “I know! Have a great day!” I couldn’t stop, but we waved at each other as I passed by.

It was a moment of complete joy.

I don’t even know this woman’s name and she doesn’t know mine. I know she works at Children’s Mercy and wears scrubs. She knows that I am headed to work somewhere. We’re strangers who had a chance encounter last year when she admired my bicycle and when she confessed her fear of riding, I encouraged her to be brave and that she could do it. There’s an official bike lane that runs from where she waits for the bus all the way to Children’s Mercy. That’s it. That’s all of our interaction, but we were both so happy to see each other this week. Like long lost friends. It was something that could only happen by stepping away from the noise of the virtual world and being fully present in my current surroundings. This was a moment of good.

And one I’m truly thankful for today.

WHAT SHOULD WE BE TALKING ABOUT

So far this week, in yet another attempt to distract us all from Epstein files and what he might say to Putin in their meeting, The pRAPISTendt has deployed the National Guard in D.C. and announced a review of Smithsonian exhibits. He has also shut down the scientific research department of the E.P.A. and a project that tracts the cost of severe weather damage. He’s taking a stab at the removal of gay marriages and he’s firing any White House Official who does not agree with him. If you are a history nerd, you might be seeing some parallel behavior with dictators of the past…like Hitler. I am most certainly not a history nerd and even I can see those parallels. The very idea of deploying our troops in our very own cities is unsettling and a bit scary. But then I saw pictures of guard members posing in selfies with tourists and I’m pretty sure a large number of them see their deployment for what it really is.

This is not about preventing crime. It’s about political theater and federal control. - Clinique Chapman, Chief Executive of DC Justice Lab

This is also racism because teenage black boys are going bear the brunt of this. I can tell you that a lot of the people I see during our morning walks who are sleeping in Tower Park, are young black men. In the state of MO, a person ages out of foster care at 21. A person in foster care is completely dropped from any help or housing once they reach that age. Now, Kansas City’s cost of living is fairly low, but a single person still needs to make about $90,000 a year ( about $44 an hour) to live comfortably. Those types of jobs are pretty hard to come by when you do not have anything higher than a high school diploma. The average rent for a 492 SqFt studio apartment is around $991/month, with basic utilities like electric, water and trash. There is no way I could have lived in this city when I graduated from grad school. The average pay for research techs was about $30,000/ year if you were lucky. This was $2,500 a month that went to taxes, student loans, rent, food, gas to get to the job, car insurance and maybe cable. There was no savings or emergency fund. I was one bad car accident away from being homeless if I did not have family support. Those young men in the park do not have family support.

Places that can use our help right now:

• Pride Haven KC

• Lion House KC

• Our Spot KC

I’m taking a very British response to all of this nonsense by keeping calm. Panicking and getting riled up will not solve anything. I am a white woman in America and while it is disgusting, this allows me certain privileges. I can and will be a Miep Gies. In everything I’ve read and watched about Miep Gies, I’ve seen her sense of humor and quest for joy, even while trying to keep her friends safe from Nazis. So, I’m leaning into that example by keeping my wits about me and seeking out the joyful things that are happening around me every damn day. Like Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Now, I know I don’t seem like the celebrity gossip type and I am not, but those two when she announced her new album on him and his brother’s podcast were cutie pututies with their smitten grins.

And I’m one hundred percent here for it.

WE'VE ALL GOTTA GROW UP SOME TIME...

I got a notice last week that my undergrad was hosting a ‘ceremonial demolishing’ of my old dorm building, Willard Hall. On the day of the demo, I also read a headline about AOL discontinuing their dial-up service. I can remember every single time I listened to computer wind chimes as my Dell computer attempted to sign into AOL. Those computer wind chimes opened the doors of the interwebs, but now most of us don’t even have landlines anymore. It’s all Wifi and fibers and space magic. More than half of those times, it was Chris signing in while I sat on my bed with some science book open in front of me. The news of the end of both of those things felt slightly unfair after spending the weekend with some of the very people I lived with in those dorms. More than unfair, really. It was too much of a kick in the guts for a Monday, particularly when it was the first Monday back after a week of vacation.

I can remember every tiny detail of my first kiss with Chris and how it took place outside the north east double doors right outside my dorm room. The very room they’re tearing down right as I type this. My dreams the last few weeks have been filled with variations of Chris. Which is something I find unsettling, disorienting even. There’s a part of me that wants to whisper “go away” while at the same time begging him to never ever leave. Oh, the duality of the heart, but when I’m not waking up with neck sweats, I’m dreaming of Chris doing typical Chris shenanigans. He’s always just simmering there under the surface of my skin. At some point in our weekend, Deborah pulled out her old photo albums from our time in college. So I sat pouring salt over wounds that will never heal, flipping through pictures of us in our most gloriously ridiculousness.

And that’s the kicker or the meat of it or the everything….

Every time I think about my time as an undergrad, I can honestly say that this was the happiest I had ever been. Even before meeting Chris and becoming friends with a list as long as my arm of people I genuinely like and admire to this day. I spent so many nights sitting in the lobby watching TV with a group of people and hoping with my whole heart that this boy named Alex would notice me. This was before I knew about things like friend zones, which is where I firmly landed with Alex. It took countless ice-cream runs and Taco Bell trips for me to figure it out. Though later, that boy Alex would notice me as more than a friend, but it would be too late. That one conversation over tater-tots and burgers at the snack bar with Chris ended all of that nonsense with Alex.

It is not that I haven’t been happy since my time at school. I just know that I can pinpoint that spot on my timeline where there was no possible way my body could hold any more joy in that moment. The biggest most stressful thing I had to deal with was any Dr. McGrath test, which I miraculously always managed to pass with flying colors. Mom and Dad still paid my bills and made sure I had a working vehicle. I was an adult without having to be an adult and it was the most carefree time of my life. Willard Hall was the center of all of it. I don’t care if it was run down and gross. We all knew it was haunted and there was that summer of hoards of crickets, but it was my home, my world, for three years.

The school is not completely tearing down the building, just demolishing the inside. Amy went to the ceremony and reported back with disappointment. She was hoping for more pomp and circumstance and maybe seeing more people from the old days. I have to agree with her. They missed out on an opportunity to interview those of us who once lived there, to hear and record our stories. I am certain that those present, knew nothing of Nellie the resident ghost or that one time we had a real fire in the boiler room and three of us resident assistants ran back into the building, shoving firemen aside to get to a dorm room where someone’s boyfriend was hiding under a desk. Those stupid fire alarms went off all the dang time and it was usually always a false alarm. Except that one time, but even then it was well contained and only damaged a boiler. I am more than certain that those present know nothing of the hours and hours that were spent just laughing and laughing.

I hope the hallways still echo with our laughs.

I received a note from the Jens last week that said something about how getting old is hard. We’ve all become the age of knee shots and hip replacements and I can’t for the life of me figure out how it happened. I like the idea of being trapped in amber with my head thrown back in unabandoned laughter, all of my people surrounding me and trapped in the very same way. Forever joy and silliness. Chris in the middle of it all like a goddamn bonfire. It’s not aging that is hard. It is the losses because of aging that makes it so difficult. In one of the movie versions of Little Women, a young Amy says “Oh Jo, we all have to grow up sometime. We might as well know what we want.” Maybe that’s the thing. Maybe I never really knew what I wanted with the exception of one thing and I didn’t feel like a grown-up until I lost that one thing.

But I refuse to grow up any more than I am right now. I will continue to share fart jokes with my Insta friends and hide ridiculous things in their homes. I will dance and sing along to the music playing in the grocery store. I will put cartoon figures on my science posters. I can be old. I just don’t have to grow up.

THREE THINGS I OVERHEARD AT THE ZOO

Okay, so first of all, I am the last person to correct or say anything about grammar. My writing is full of typos and run-on sentences. I am a terrible proof reader and often leave out transitional words. I will notice an error after posting and go back and edit. I know that I am about to throw stones while living in a glass house, but phrasing matters and as we walked towards the giraffes, I heard a mom say “Look! They’re eating Sadie.” This of course confused her precious three year old because now that child thinks the giraffes are eating her or are going to eat her. That child, understandably, wanted nothing to do with the giraffes.

Later, I noticed two women dressed like a Ralph Loren ad with their sweaters tied perfectly around their shoulders. There were similarly dressed men with them and one of them parked their child wagon horizontally across the side walk. I was taking pictures of butterflies when I heard one of the women say “Wait, what was I talking about? Oh….day drinking.” Well, this explained the child wagon parking and how perfectly wrapped packages can also contain hot messes.

By far, the very best thing I overheard at the zoo was “My sister has a pet ostrich named Becky.” And for the rest of my time at the zoo, all I could think about was an ostrich named Becky and what her life is like. What kinds of shenanigans does Becky get up too? Why is no one writing a whole series of children’s books about Becky the ostrich? Why am I not writing a whole series of children’s books about Becky the ostrich?! Does she have children? Can I write a whole book about sitting on a giant egg? This also reminds me about a fundraiser that the OKC Zoo does every year for Mother’s Day. Every year they serve up ostrich egg omelettes, though i’ve heard that they’ve stopped using actual ostrich eggs. I’m sure Becky would have a lot of opinions about her egg being taken and turned into an omelette.

Any way…I’m on vacation. I’ve visited two zoos and two states and have spent a majority of my time in the company of women I love and adore. I’ve laughed more in the last few days than I have in months. I’m still laughing at myself from when I confidently and slightly aggressively opened the passenger door of the wrong vehicle and surprised the driver who was sitting there eating on a chicken wing. Part of my vacation is playing ‘nurse’ for Heather as she recovers from her hip replacement, but really that just means driving her around places and sitting on the couch watching garbage TV. We’ve eaten a lot of cheese and french pastries and neither of us are mad about any of it.

I’ve also had a lot of time to ponder some changes I’d like to make for myself. Nothing drastic. Just some simple changes towards a healthier me. It’s nice to have this time to think and plan.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael told me that Monday would not be a scooter day for me, but when I got up that morning and looked outside, the sky looked mostly clear. I checked my weather app and did not see anything that would keep me from riding my scooter. Part of me thought it was just Michael not wanting to move vehicles around because he needed his truck that day. So, I moved my car out of his way and then hopped on the scooter to head to work. There were some ominous looking clouds to my east, remnants of the storm that had moved through during the early morning hours and I had to admit that there were some pretty dark and ominous clouds to my west. But in that moment, where I was, the sky was clear and not a drop fell on me as I rode to work.

A few hours later, the sky turned grey dark and rain poured down. There was thunder and lightening and strong winds. Everyones’ phones alerted them to flash flood warnings. A woman even died while walking a trail that Michael and I ride bikes on because of a flash flood. The sky remained grey and heavy with rain for most of the day. I don’t know when I noticed that the rain had stopped. Sometime after lunchish? The sky remained cloud covered but the sun was making an appearance here and there. When my work was done for the day, I hopped on my scooter, once again riding in dry conditions. Michael just shook his head at me when I got home. “I can’t believe you rode your scooter today.” he said. His tone did not shows signs that he was impressed, but more ‘you should know better’.

In those moments when I was riding, the sky was clear.

In those moments.

There’s a story my yoga teacher told me years ago about Yogananda where he was scheduled to be speaking at some conference. The person in charge of picking him up from the airport and getting him to the conference was stressed because things were not going as planned. The flight had been delayed. Everything was taking more time than necessary. She was sure that he was going to be late for his speaking engagement. But after waiting forever for his bag and rushing through traffic, Yogananda stepped out onto the stage at exactly the right time for his talk. The lesson was “Do not worry about being late until you are actually late.”

While this story is something I think about whenever I’m feeling anxious about time, it is also a commentary on being present in the moment.

A friend shared a TikTok video of a a young woman discussing how she has embraced being a slow cyclist. She said that she realized her mindset while riding a bicycle was the same as being in a car. When you’re in a car, you expect to go faster, get there quicker. There’s a hurry hurry mental thing that happens to our brains once we’re behind the wheel. This is not true for bicycles. No one cares how fast you’re not going. I confessed that I had very similar feelings and thoughts about cycling, but I’ve fully embraced my lah-dee-dah style of riding. I stay present on the road in front of me and the activities on my left and right. I smile and say ‘good morning’ to people I pass waiting at the bus stops. There are times when riding the scooter or the bicycle has produced anxiety for me. I might not ride the scooter because I’m afraid of being caught in the rain. I might skip riding the bicycle because I’m worried about being late. Yet, both of these activities do something to soften the hard edges of me. For one thing, neither of them have a digital clock display. Valerie, the scooter, has a digital clock, but I never bothered figuring out how to set it when I replaced my battery. It’s always noon or midnight on Valerie. So when I am on the bike or scooter, I have no sense of time. I just get there when I get there.

This is most true if I’m on the bicycle because I’m a slow cyclist.

These activities provide me with moments of mindfulness that I should have while driving. Let’s face it, we all should be driving our cars as if we were on bicycles. I mean, just this week someone ran the stop sign at the end of our block and two cars were flipped around, windows shattered. One car was full of small children and they all exited the vehicle crying and whaling. Thankfully, no one was hurt. This happens at least once a year at that intersection and by now all of us know the drill of checking that 911 has been called and making sure no one is bleeding out or trapped in a car. We do what we can, even if it’s just sweeping up the broken bits of cars from the street. In most cases, all of these accidents were a result of unmindfulness. But, I also think that mindfulness is an over simplified word. I am not just being mindful of what is happening in my surroundings. I am being present in it.

Michael likes to say that I ride between raindrops and every time he says it, I imagine hummingbirds zig zagging through a rain shower. My imaginings are in slow motion and I can see the wings of the tiny bird moving up and down. I can see each individual drop of rain as it falls. I am not a hummingbird and the reality is my actions is not a slow motion version of Animal Planet, but being present and mindful kind of makes it feel that way. Anyone can ride between raindrops. I’ve just told you how to do it and I’m sure you’ll master it in no time. It’s a skill, not a super power.

A skill I’m thankful to have mastered.

Mostly.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Andrea Gibson, a master of spoken-word poetry who cultivated legions of admirers with intensely personal, often political works exploring gender, love and a personal four-year fight with terminal ovarian cancer, died on Monday in Longmont, Colo. Gibson, who used the pronouns they and them and did not use an honorific, was 49. - Clay Risen, New York Times Obituaries

I know that this is quite the lead in for a gratitude post, quoting an obituary, but Andrea Gibson has been on my mind all week. I do not lean into poetry. In every English class where we were forced to read a poem and then explain the meaning in the poem made me cringe. But I do love a good poetry slam and Andrea Gibson truly was a master of both written and spoken word. Their poems can split open the hardest of hearts and her voice will be greatly missed. The thing that has been most on my mind though is the graceful and most beautiful way they left this planet. In Love Letter from the Afterlife, a poem that Andrea wrote to their wife, they write “Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive?” I have been fixated on that line because it says everything that I have been saying for years about Chris’s own death. I was recently tagged in a ‘get-to-know me’ thing on Substack and one of the questions was asking for the last thing I’d read that made me feel seen. I had completely forgotten about this poem. Except I don’t know if ‘seen’ is the right description; maybe the right word to describe how this sentence makes me feel is ‘validated’. Their recognition of how they will never truly be gone is a lesson in death that I want for all of us to study.

The living are here to absorb the souls of our lost loves.

It has taken a lot of time and work to find gratitude in being a vessel for Chris’s soul and knowing that he will always lay claim to a large portion of my heart. It has taken a lot of time and work to release the guilt that comes with that. It has taken a lot of time and work to see this as a gift rather than a curse or a haunting. Because it truly is a gift. From what I have learned about my Chris before he became my Chris, he was not open to love, not even to the idea of it. He was closed off from it, bitter and cranky over the very concept of love. He was very much a Mr. Darcy. I was the one that changed all of that for him. Me. There is something very honorable to being chosen as the collector of the soul at the end. He chose me. But there are also others. Dad. J. I contain bits of them as well.

I’d like to take a moment to address the way Andrea Gibson chose to live while dying. They created a writing space titled “Things that Don’t Suck” where they shared poems and things they loved and beauty. By all means, dying from cancer is far from easy. It is messy and painful and fucking horrible. But They made a choice to live with all of that pain and mess while seeking out and sharing joy and beauty. This is a most beautiful lesson in the art of dying. I have heard so many times that death is hardest on the living. This is true, but I don’t think this saying truly encompasses the complexity of death. You are still alive while you are dying and the knowledge of your demise is an almost impossible thing to comprehend or to make sense of. When Chris and I were handed the pamphlet for hospice care, we were stunned. I sat blinking and looking at our doctor with my head tilted like a curious puppy and I wasn’t even the one dying. Nothing the doctor said made sense to me. Chris had all of that plus the knowledge that his life was over. There are so many choices to make in how one deals with such knowledge. In this world, where it is so easy to see the gross and negative all around, to choose to see the beauty and loveliness a challenge. Choosing to do this while dying is heroic.

But aren’t we all in the process of dying? Isn’t is all just a matter of when? What if we started the practice of seeking out the beauty now?

I have a list of things that do not suck from this week alone, a list of good things that I did or I saw. There were bicycle rides and scooter rides and skate night. There were sacred moments on my yoga mat and cuddles with the sweetest puppy dog. There were many things that did not suck this week and I’m grateful for this.

BISCUITS

I dreamt that I was making biscuits, but not the ordinary kind. These biscuits were going to be like the ones that come in the can that are all layered. I believe the process is called lamination, where you roll and layer the dough over and over again. This was the part where I was stuck. I just kept rolling out dough and folding it over, turning and shaping it before more rolling and folding. I never made it to the part where I actually cut out circular bits of dough and when I attempted to pre-heat an oven, there was not an oven to be found. I was working in a kitchen without a working oven.

This is better than the dream I had last week where I was trying to run two different time lapse experiments on the same microscope at the same time.

I am not a baker. I have baked. I can bake. I just don’t bake. It is a task that seems like it always requires more effort than I am willing to spend in my tiny kitchen. I’m not one of those who find it a joyful hobby. Yes, I know I am keeping a sourdough starter alive in my fridge, but this is mostly for pizza and sometimes ciabatta. Both of those things require minimal effort. You stir together some stuff and poke at the dough ever so often before forming it into a shape and placing it into the oven. This for sure doesn’t happen in the summer months when turning on an oven is just irresponsible. So I don’t know why I’m dreaming of baking. The dream was probably sparked by a TikTok I watched recently of nothing but various breads rising and baking in an oven.

It was fairly hypnotic.

My dad was the biscuit maker in our house. My mother has a superstitious streak in her and declared that she had lost the ability to make biscuits the day her mother died. Every attempt yielded a dry crumbling wet puck of dough. Her biscuits became a joke Dad and I would giggle about at breakfast times. Her cornbread, though, was top notch and legit. I learned most of my kitchen skills through osmosis while standing next to Mom in the kitchen, but making a good biscuit was never a lesson. That was a skill learned from countless hours of practicing a demonstration speech for 4-H on the wonders and values of Master Mix, basically homemade Bisquik. It was a team demonstration and we made biscuits and blueberry muffins. Except, now that I think about it, we didn’t bake anything. There wasn’t a portable oven at the speech competitions. We added ingredients together and spooned wet dough into muffin tins, but had pre-baked goods to show at the end. Like TV. Or my dream.

Maybe the biscuit dream is leftover trauma from speech competitions.

I think about calling my mom and asking her for specific recipes. “Hey Mom, I’m trying to make pimento and cheese and I don’t know what I’m doing?” This is true. We bought some ‘homemade’ pimento and cheese from a specific cheese store and I was so disappointed. It most certainly did not taste like my mother’s. In fact, it went straight into the garbage after we all agreed that this did not taste like my mom’s pimento and cheese. Her version has ruined all of us who have eaten it. I did not absorb the knowledge of the pimento and cheese in all the years of standing next to her in the kitchen. There’s a number of things like that. Banana Pudding. The pea-pickin’ cake, a cake that does not have anything to do peas. Her cornbread recipe even if contains lard. But I don’t ask for these recipes because I am afraid of the answers I’ll get from her. Maybe it’s just easier to not know.

I’m thinking of all of this now because I know where I was in that dream. I know the kitchen without the working oven. I know I was in my mother’s kitchen or at least a collaged version of the different kitchens she has had over the years. The one she has now doesn’t have a stove or oven. It is a kitchenette, meaning there’s a small dorm fridge and a microwave. The tiny counter is already cluttered with a coffee maker and kitchen things she has yet to put into the cabinets. The last time I was there, she had a plastic grocery bag filled with the dishes we had gathered for her to take with her. I know we put those away, but Mom is in a constant state of packing and unpacking. This bag was probably a leftover from the last time she packed up all her things and waited for one of us to go get her. It’s fine really. She doesn’t actually need those dishes anyway. I spy on her through the Facebook page for her assisted living place. I notice what activities she’s participating in and when she’s participating. I know she has a regular table group at meal times and that she attends bible study classes held by one of the other people that live there. I know she’s enjoying herself more than she wants to let on to any of us or even herself.

I didn’t know that when I sat down to write about my dream that I’d end up writing about my mother, but this is how the therapy works. It’s why so many of us sit down and put pen to pages, so to speak.

WHAT I'LL LOOK LIKE IN RETIREMENT

After lunch on Saturday, Michael and I had a few non-urgent errands to run. Nothing serious. Michael needed to pick up a prescription. I needed cotton balls. I also wanted a really good tomato to eat with dinner. You know the kind, one of those craggy weird shaped Heirloom tomatoes, chopped and sprinkled with salt and pepper. Really, this and watermelon are the only things I have any interest in eating during the summer. I mix it up by the addition of cheeses. Crumbled feta on watermelon is delicious. Any way, we didn’t need much so we decided to take our scooters. Which for the most part, really made the excursion. I was wearing a billowing summer dress with shorts and at one point the dress blew up dangerously high like it was going to go over my head. I had to pullover and tuck my dress in. I didn’t mind so much the show I was giving as much as I minded the thought of being blinded my own clothing and wrecking. That was the exception.

Note to self: do not wear billowing clothing while driving 45 mph on a Vespa.

The two of us zipped and zagged our way around town and after our final stop Michael suggested ice cream. He told me to lead the way and I headed off towards a place on Troost that we tend to forget about. We had to get through Brookside to get to the ice cream place and all the shops in the area were having a sidewalk sale. I looked longingly at one shop and Michael asked if I wanted to stop. I did and so we pulled a u-turn right into an open parking spot in front of the shop. Baskin Robins happens to be up the street and Michael said “Why don’t we just walk up there?” But as we walked, we passed Bella Napoli’s and I stopped. “Do you think they have gelato?” and the next thing we know we’re sitting at a table in Bella Napoli’s eating giant bowls of gelato.

And it was pretty close to perfect.

We browsed through the sales and rummaged through the cheese bin at Whole Paycheck. Then we scooted home, but I think it was right at the moment we did the u-turn where I thought “This is what my life is going to look like when I retire.” My days will be filled with puttering. Puttering around the house. Puttering around the neighborhood. Puttering around the yard. I will be an expert putterer. I will wear billowy summer things and ride the scooter to all of my puttering errands. I will pause mid-putter for giant bowls of gelato or ice cream. I will make slightly reckless u-turns to browse shops where I have no intention of actually buying anything. I have been thinking about this more and more as I get closer to fifty. Which also feels strange. There was a time when I never thought I’d retire, not because of age, but because of affordability. The more I think about my eventual retirement the more I see myself (and Michael) not staying here. Our puttering will happen around a village in Italy or Portugal. Maybe Spain. We’ve talked about Costa Rica, but I really think Michael would be too uncomfortable with that heat. The vacations we take after Paris will be ones where we travel to the places we may want to retire to someday.

At one point during our travels, we were stopped at a stoplight next to one of those expensive boxy Mercedes SUVs. The young man driving, rolled down his window and said to us “That’s some real relationship goals right there.” Michael looked over and said “I know, right!” The guy had a young woman, presumably his girlfriend, sitting in the passenger seat. I looked at them both and said “This is the best money I have ever spent in my life.” Then this young guy in his ridiculously expensive vehicle said “You two are living the dream.” The light changed and we took off, but I thought about this through out the day because the day itself had a dreamy quality to it.

This is what the weekend is for, turning dreams into practice for the future.