THANKFUL FRIDAY

I started following Ella Emhoff last year partly because I think she helps me to stay in touch with what the young arthouse club is into these days. They are also very cool and the kind of young person I’d want to hang out with, meet for coffee and discuss needle point. They recently posted a thread in substack about writing down every positive and negative feeling you have each day and this reminded me of the complaint free bracelet I had to wear as an exercise during yoga teacher training. The idea of the bracelet was that you moved it from one wrist to the other every time you voiced a complaint. The goal was to not have to move the bracelet. The exercise for yoga teacher training was to wear the bracelet for one week and then write about your experience. This meant wearing the bracelet outside of our yoga space and into our regularly scheduled lives. The whole exercise inspired Chris to invest in a bracelet and then he bought a whole bunch of them to hand out to our friends.

Here is what we learned from that one week. We learned that we complain a lot about tiny insignificant shit. I’m not going to say that complaining is bad. Complaints are valid, but this exercise taught us what complaints are truly valid enough to be voiced. Am I whining or is this something I can constructively complain about to be fixed? It also helped us communicate our wants and needs to each other in a kind and thoughtful way so as not to hurt feelings. The bracelet taught me to really pause before voicing my complaint. In that pause, I would ask myself “Am I complaining about a problem of my own making? Is this something I have the ability to fix?”. Everything in life is a choice and this pause allowed me to choose my reaction to a problem. I abandoned the bracelet years ago, but every once in a while I pull it out of my jewelry box to wear for a day as a reminder.

It might be time to wear that bracelet again.

At the end of my yoga class this week, a student that only shows up once in a while to my class remarked on how much she really needed my class that day. She said “What is happening?! Wildfires and snowstorms and flooding and the current administration firing so many people. This year isn’t getting off to a good start.” But for forty five minutes, I had just provided space for her to set all of those thoughts aside and focus only on her physical well being. I like to think of it as nourishment or a moment of pause before reactions. I am providing sustenance to power us through future difficulties. Because, no, this year has not started out well and has created large messes that is forcing our communities to clean up and rebuild.

Just this week, the USDA rescinded grant money to the Ivanhoe Neighborhood Council, a local non-for-profit neighborhood improvement organizations who provides fresh vegetables and produce among other benefits to a low income area of Kansas City. A lot of that produce comes from urban growers and the majority demographic of the neighborhood is black. This is considered to be a DEI project by the Trump administration. These cuts and funding freezes are also having a hard hitting effect on rural farmers. Any farmer who signed up for a project supported by the USDA that pays farmers for planting up to 500 acres of cover crop are not getting their reimbursement money. This amounts to a $16,000-$17,000 dollar loss for each farmer. These are the people feeding this country and these are just small blips of horrors committed by this administration in this week alone.

My complaints against this administration are for problems not of my making and ones that I can do little to solve. I use the 5 Calls app daily to constructively voice my complaints and wishes. I make sure I know what is on the ballot and how those issues will impact my neighborhood. Then I make sure to vote at EVERY opportunity. Starting in May, my summer vegetables will come from local urban farms purchased at the Ivanhoe Farmers Market so that my dollars can benefit my community. I canceled my Amazon unlimited books subscription so that I can be more supportive of my local library and small business book shops. It is easy to get overwhelmed right now, but there are things we can do. Maybe you have a friend who recently lost their job with the National Parks Service. Hire them for a day to give you a tour of a park or invite them over for a meal. Maybe you have a friend who’s a veteran and struggling. They no longer have a crisis hotline to help them in times of need. Invite them out for coffee and a chat and just be a listener for them. Buy produce from local growers. Start building a secret room for hiding your LGTBQ+ friends when the time comes. Learn how to safely stock pile and administer the abortion pill.

These small acts of good make for bigger impacts that any of us can imagine. I am grateful that I have the ability to do small acts of good.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Sometime last month I noticed that the enamel on my Tiffany’s Vespa charm was about to come off. So, Michael and I took it into Tiffany’s for repair. The manager was his usual wonderfully charming self and worried that my charm could not be fixed. He said that not all of them were repairable which is unfortunate because they don’t make that charm any more. In fact, I purchased the last one that the Kansas City store had in stock. He did some checking and came back to me with a sigh of relief. It could be repaired and then we started to fill out the paperwork to send it off to Tiffany’s New York for repairs and cleaning. I picked it up yesterday and squealed with delight as I placed it back on my chain that also holds Chris’s wedding band.

They belong together.

I got in my car today to drive to work and the sounds from the radio alerted me that today is Valentine’s Day. I’ve fully transitioned over into my mom’s car. That happened unexpectedly this week and Michael has been doing little things to make the transition more appealing to me, like programming the radio with my usual radio stations. So the Bridge was talking about Valentine’s Day and how this is their day to raise money and bring awareness to organ donation. Right away a woman started telling her story of the tragic death of her husband and I made the decision to change the channel. I flipped it over to NPR figuring that even the news would be better than what was happening on the Bridge. Except I flipped it to NPR just in time for today’s Story Core.

When the Story Core series started on NPR, Chris and I immediately changed the name to Story Cry. Every Friday morning as we drove to work together, a Story Core would start playing and Chris and I would start crying. Today’s Story Core, Love and taxidermy: The story of Bud and Jackie Jones, turned me into a snotty mess. Bud and Jackie had been married over 65 years and after telling their story, The Story Core producers brought Jackie and her daughter back to talk about how life has been since Bud passed away last year. They both said the usual things about missing him, but Jackie said things that I have also said. Our relationships and our loves were very similar in emotion.

When I got to work, I sent a text to Michael asking him if he had heard the morning Story Core, knowing he usually had NPR playing on his way to work and we had left the house at the same time. He replied with the crying face emoji and an “I love you”. I replied back with “Thank you for tolerating me.” because I know I’m demanding and at times obstinate. I know that it can’t be easy for him to share me with a dead man, yet he does it. Then he said this:

You get to love two men that will love you forever. That has to count for something.

I am very lucky. And this will probably be as close as we get to sending Valentine’s to one another.

This week has been filled with reminders of how fortunate Michael and I are. His truck brakes failed, like FAILED, on his way to work Tuesday. He managed to safely park the truck in a parking lot, get a tow truck to take the truck into the repair shop that had just finished putting new tires on Mom’s car (I’ve got to come up with a new name!) and drive that car into work. Not only are we fortunate enough to have a ‘spare’ vehicle, we can take the financial hit of the repairs. It just eats into the Paris fund, but I have no problem with putting beans on the menu for multiple days in a week. We’ve had a few unexpected nickel and dime moments recently and each time we’ve found ourselves dolling out money for the unexpected, Michael has said “We’re going to Paris no matter what!”

This week in Duolingo I learned Je vais a Paris.

Nous allons a Paris.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Yesterday was Chris’s birthday and for some reason, my phone calendar has this listed multiple times as all day events. One of them is not even correct. It reads “Chris Maddera’s 43rd Birthday”. If Chris were alive today, we would be celebrating his fifty fourth birthday. I would probably be making everything jambalaya, a dish I have not made since the last birthday he was alive. There was a moment yesterday when I thought I’d get through the day unscathed, but that didn’t happen. After a vigorous and intense personal yoga practice (I’m up to 30 sun salutations and that may be my limit because of time), I settled myself down for a much earned savasana and immediately started sobbing. Grief gives zero shits about your savasana or time and space. This is the second time in the last six days where grief has rolled up to sucker punch me in the gut. The first time got me sobbing in my car in the Trader Joe’s parking lot. That was less about Chris and more about my mom and her mental struggles.

Grief is an onion. Cut into any layer of it and it’s still going release syn-propanethial-S-oxide gas.

There is no antidote for syn-propanethial-S-oxide, but you can reduce your reaction to it in a number of ways. You can wear goggles and use a very sharp knife. You can also chill or freeze the onion. Bottom line is that you can make it so that you cry a little less, but not completely. This is grief plus time. As each year passes, I cry a little bit less. I feel the string between us getting longer and longer and I just want to wind it up tight around my finger to shorten the distance. I may cry less, but I don’t miss him less or think about him less. Now more than ever. I mean can you imagine what Chris would be writing and doing in the midst of this current administration?!? He’d be inciting our anger and disgust, handing out the pitchforks, all while making us laugh uncontrollably over the ridiculousness of it all.

Look, I stared at a blank page for a really long time trying dig up something for today’s gratitude posting and instead I told you about Chris’s birthday and my dumb calendar. How do you find gratitude in the face of such great loss? Better yet, how do you find gratitude in the face of such great loss without it sounding trite or contrived? The answer is that you don’t. I can list off a half dozen things of gratitude from this week for you right now and every single one is trite and contrived. I’m grateful for the sunshine. I’m grateful for that one day this week it was warm enough when I go home from work that I could take Josephine for a short walk. She was so excited about it that she pooped four times. I am grateful that mom is being cared for and that I don’t have to do it. I am grateful for the friends in my life who continuously have my back and provide me with support.

Trite or contrived gratitude, to me, is just an act of honing the practice. It’s not any different from saying grace before a meal and being thankful for the food on the table. Of course you are thankful for your food. Unless the meal before you is your least favorite food. When I was a child, my heart would sink every time I ran down the stairs for breakfast and discovered Mom had made French toast. I hated Mom’s French toast. It was always soggy and to this day I do not ever order it. That’s beside the point. I was still grateful to have food and a mom who made sure I had breakfast every morning. I found that even the simplest, most obvious things to be grateful for makes the hard, painful stuff like grief a little easier to handle.

It’s like putting on goggles before cutting up that onion.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’ve seen so many memes about the length of January and how it feels like the month that will never end. I mean, January sure has set a particular tone for the year by starting with a blizzard. Then we entered a chaotic period of governmental change immediately threatening people’s jobs. Oh, hey…did you hear about the tuberculosis outbreak happening over on the Kansas side of this city I live in? State line is a street, not a barrier and I’m four miles from that line. So masking up is a very reasonable thing to do while roaming the city. Yesterday, we witnessed a horrific plane/helicopter crash over the Potomac, killing everyone involved. Today, leaves us holding our breaths in anticipation of the next tragic thing. And maybe by tomorrow, everyone will be sighing with relief that January is finally over.

I don’t know if I will be one of those sighing with relief.

January is complicated. This month, named for the god of beginnings and transitions, was added to the Roman calendar sometime around 713 BC by King Numa Pompilius. At this time there was still much debate and speculation about how to create a calendar. The first of January didn’t become the first day of the year for another hundred years and of course this is just the Roman calendar. Don’t get me started on the Lunar Calendar, though in a quick research glance, I did note that Anglo-Saxons (White, English, “Christian”) are the only ones who do not celebrate the new year based on the new moon. We’ve also grasped tightly to the narrative of the month being a new beginning. January is National Healthy Weight Awareness Month, National Codependency Awareness Month, Veganuary, and many more self improvement awareness things.

I find the expectation to make great changes to be stressful.

Thirteen years ago, January was a month of great change for me that was not one of my choosing. It holds more weight now then it did previously. Some of the weight is pure terror of the unknown of illness. Though the time was terrifying, painful and so fucking sad, still it was the last month I had with Chris. In between the pain and terror there were moments of great sweetness. We laid next to each other, hands clasped, and talked about everything and nothing. We laughed so much even while crying. The illness had not taken Chris’s mind yet and we spent hours together, just the two of us, soaking up the time we had left. I can’t really sigh with relief at the ending of January because February is so much worse.

Michael and I had a date night last Saturday that was really a hold-over birthday celebration. For the last three years whenever Michael has asked me where I want to eat for my birthday, I always say Earl’s Premier . This never works out because of some reason or other. This year, I stomped my foot and pouted. This is how we ended up with reservations almost a week after my birthday. It was all worth it. We took my scooter charm into Tiffany’s to be repaired and had the most pleasant experience. Then I went to Anthropolgie to spend my gift card. Again, I had the most pleasant experience, which was a surprise for me because I was not feeling good in my skin. The sweater I purchased is so so pretty and the colors make me feel joy. I will be sad to not wear it year round. Then we went to Earl’s and had the most spectacular dining experience. Simple. Delicious. Fabulous. A lesson for next year: Do not attempt birthday celebrations on actual day of birth.

Psst….I’m planning on celebrating a month earlier…in Paris!

So on this very last day of this first month of a new year, I’d like to celebrate the good that is tucked away between the bad. I survived another year! I’m relatively healthy! I can still touch my toes and move my body around. My mother also celebrated another birthday this month and I feel lucky to still have her with us. I ate a dozen perfect little raw oysters. I now own a sweater that contains the colors of a dessert sunrise. Only the giant piles of snow left from clearing streets and sidewalks still remain. All the rest of the snow has finally melted this week. Olga, my sourdough starter, is still alive and kicking. I may attempt ciabatta again this weekend.

Tucked inside the bad of the month were warm soothing hugs, silly giggles, and fascinating stories. I have gratitude for this messy, but lovely month.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last Saturday, I had birthday lunch and pedicures with my mom, brother and sister-in-law. We had a very lovely time. Then on Sunday, our friends Nurse Jenn, husband Wade, Jenn’s youngest Bee and their partner M (who has recently been accepted to the firefighter program…young people doing stuff!) met Michael, the Cabbage and I for roller skating and then Indian food. We had a very lovely time. Then on Monday, I put myself into a media bubble and would only allow All Creatures Great and Small on the TV or a movie of my choosing (I chose A Real Pain…highly recommend). Sometime in the afternoon, Jenn brought over sticky toffee pudding and we sat on the couch eating this delicious treat while nerdily discussing the Interstitium (more on this some other time, but I’m scientifically obsessed). All and all, it was a peaceful day.

Forty nine, or any of the nine-ending ages, feels like an odd one. Nineteen sounds like one is trying to convince others that they are older, while twenty nine, thirty nine and forty nine all sound like one is desperately clinging to a younger age. I feel like for this year I will constantly be defending myself with a “No really! I am forty nine.” Though Michael did say that I could probably get away with telling people that I am thirty nine. He likes living in my house and even though I force him to eat kale. I mean, it is a nice thing to tell me, but I’ve never been one to baulk at increasing age or pine for my youth. I look forward to turning fifty. Each year brings new insights and challenges. The challenges greeting me this year are centered around shutting out the chaos and noise and focusing on my community. How can I better serve the people in the place where I live? How can I protect those who will be at threat and in danger because of our new Nazi administration? Some of you think I am joking. I can assure you I am not. My dear friend Bradley has already been given notice that he will most likely lose his federal job and a most recent executive order rescinds Equal Opportunity act 13988 that prevents discrimination based on gender identity and sexual orientation. Life is about to get really scary and dangerous for a large population of Americans. I’m going to focus on making my community a safe, all inclusive community and I learned something at the roller rink on Sunday that may help me stay focused and out of the chaos.

There was a woman around my age at the roller rink and I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her. She just looked so relaxed and at ease on her skates, even skating with her hands in her pockets. At one point, as Jenn and I made our way back out to the rink from a short break, we passed this woman as she was standing to the side of a birthday party table. Jenn stopped and said to the woman “You are our role model on skates.” I nodded in agreement and said “You look so at ease on your skates. I want to be that relaxed when I’m skating!” Now, I’m not a bad skater. I don’t fall down or flail (mostly) all over the place, but my body is a taught wire in anticipation of falling. I don’t feel at ease or relaxed or graceful. This woman thanked us and then said that the first time she went out on skates, she was terrible. She ran into the walls so many times, she had bruises all over her body. She swore she’d never go back. Then her daughter got onto her and said “You raised me to be strong and brave and to never give up. You can’t give it up either!” So she went back to the rink. She then confessed to us that she had only learned to skate just last year. She told us that we can also skate like her. She said “Relax your knees. It’s like dancing.”

I got out onto the rink and heeded her advice, relaxing my knees and swaying like I was dancing. Then I put my hands in my pockets and as soon as I did that, I felt my entire body change. I stopped worrying about a potential fall and just casually skated my way around and around the rink. I think this applies to pretty much everything. Relax your knees and just dance. Put your hands in your pockets. If we fall, we’ll get back up. If you fall, I will help you get back up. Many of us were raised to be strong, brave and to never give up. We can’t give up now. I’m grateful for the skate lesson that turned out to be a life lesson. I am also grateful for all the well wishes that I have received this week.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There were several discussions last year among my coworkers in regards to mid-life crises. I think they came up so often because we all witnessed mid-life crisis behavior in someone we know. A new jeep of dreams was purchased. A used to be friend blew up his marriage with an affair. Everything I was witnessing were all the cliched old behaviors that I had heard people joke about for years. Yet…I never heard these stories about women and mid-life crises. Every joke and actual witnessed behavior has always been a male perspective. He bought a toupee, a convertible, traded an older wife in for his younger mistress.

I’ve never heard a feminine pronoun do any of those things.

No one knows because women do not have time to blow up their world with crazy shenanigans. We’re too busy trying to remember where we parked our cars because the perimenopause brain fog is a real thing. More hours of the day are wasted by calculating the amount of protein we’re eating or not eating. These are new tasks that have been thrown into our pile of daily tasks that we had before the perimenopause symptoms started wrecking havoc on our bodies. Women are too tired to go buy themselves a convertible or have an affair with a younger man.

It made me question what my mid-life crisis would look like. This is officially the last year of my forties. If I’m going to go out and blow up my world, this would be the year to do it. It also means I must be expecting to live to be almost one hundred. Honestly, I feel like I missed the mid-life crisis boat. That’s something I should have done years ago. Which is fitting. I have always been a bit delayed in these kinds of things. Years after our friends had bought homes and settled down, Chris and I were finally doing those same things. I clearly remember buying my first lawnmower and feeling like this pushed me into grown-up status. I was thirty five years old. I am a Laggie.

Then I remember the year Chris died.

It is quite possible that year was my mid-life crisis year. I drank more. I did more drugs. I had questionable interactions with strange men. I lived a little bit more dangerously than usual, enough so that I recognized that I was being dangerous. Usually it’s only when I hear people gasping around me that I am in the middle of a dangerous action. There were moments in that year when I knew well before the gasps started. My motto for that time was YES and I said yes to all of the things, many things I should have said no to. It didn’t feel like I was blowing up my world because that had already happened and I wasn’t the cause. Which leaves me questioning if a mid-life crisis brought on by grief really a mid-life crisis?

All of those mid-life crisis behaviors are attempts in grasping onto joy, a way to fill the void of unrecognized goodness that all ready exists in a life. The flashy new car and exciting new lover are straws in the grasp. Those of us who have learned how to see the joy in our daily lives do not require the grasps or crisis and I believe those of us with daily gratitude practices have an easier time of seeing that joy.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

For many people, today marks the first day of their 21-day gratitude challenge. You may see these challenges posted in memes throughout all the social media formats. It is a daily gratitude practice that leads up to what Americans consider to be the most important day of gratitude, Thanksgiving. It is a lovely way to celebrate the month of November. I believe it also a great way to start a regular habit of daily gratitude. This is not how my gratitude practice began. My practice had nothing to do with Thanksgiving and I had to go to a real dark, woe is me place before realizing I needed a gratitude practice. There was a lot of digging deep in those days and building up of good habits, habits that helped to keep me alive after Chris passed. Some might call those habits life skills, but all of the writing, photography, and the continued quest for joy all started from a simple daily gratitude practice.

I’m not going to lie; the month of October was not an easy one. There was a lot of traveling. There were many tedious and stressful moments. There was illness..or is illness. Michael and I are still coughing and I really have no idea how much more snot I can blow out of my nose. I have an endless supply of mucous right now. But even though October was difficult I can pick out something from each day that made me smile or laugh. Each day there was something I was grateful for. Kleenex. A sunset. Pain au chocolat. Time with a good friend. My gratitude list is long and continues to grow.

Tonight, will be the first Friday in weeks where I’ve slept in my own bed. I will get up tomorrow morning and go about my usual Saturday chore routine, slowly bringing in some normalcy. Michael has been taking care of grocery shopping and laundry and the general household maintenance while I was away. There was a time in our relationship when leaving him to take care of all the things would leave me feeling guilty. There was also a time when Michael was very vocal about being inconvenienced. We’ve both had to do some work to change this way of thinking and behavior. I am grateful that while we might be slow learners, we are learning to work together as a team. I am grateful for Michael’s help during all the chaos of last month. I don’t think that without my gratitude practice, I would have been able to recognize his help in picking up the slack while I was gone.

There’s a lot of good things I wouldn’t notice and would go missing without my gratitude practice. There’s a lot good stuff that I would take for granted. When I remember the person I was before I started the practice, I cringe. Not only was I unhappy, I just didn’t like myself. I’m embarrassed by that past version of me. Sure, I could give dozens of excuses for my unhappiness like finances and living conditions and devastating loss that I just didn’t know how to handle. But my unhappiness leaked out of me and onto others. That feels unforgivable. I felt ugly and recognizing that ugliness, I knew I had to make a change. I could not change my living conditions or too much of my finances. I could not bring back that which was lost. But I could change my mindset. The gratitude practice was the beginning to that change in mindset.

Just something to consider if you’re thinking about starting your own gratitude practice.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Last Saturday, the Cabbage had piano lessons at 11:30. Her teacher holds lessons on the second floor of one the old warehouses in the historic West Bottoms. Sometimes I tag along, sometimes I’m busy doing other things. Usually, Michael and I wander around some of the antique shops in the area while the Cabbage is having their lesson. Then we’ll go have lunch somewhere after lessons. On this particular Saturday, I took my camera with me thinking I’d be inspired by the old, rundown buildings in the West Bottoms.

I’ve done this before, taken my camera along when visiting this area of the city. What has happened more often than not is that I don’t ever really take any pictures. I get distracted poking around a shop or Michael suggests getting hot beverages and then I’m holding a coffee and trying to wield my camera at the same time. It seemed like that same sort of thing was going to happen last Saturday too. I took a few snaps, drank a macchiato and then wandered around a shop that mostly sells houseplants. But something changed after lunch. We ended up at an old deli in downtown where the Cabbage ordered a slice of cheese pizza with extra cheese and a side of cottage cheese and Michael and I had a discussion about how badly we did or did not need to go to Costco. It was decided that need was not great and our time would be better spent wandering around the downtown public library.

The Kansas City Downtown Public Library is often on a must-see list. The parking garage is painted on one side to look like a giant bookshelf of books. The library itself is housed in an old bank, the vault is visible on basement level where the film and music section is housed. That floor also contains a display of Orval Hixon’s photos, including the one I shared here earlier this week. Every floor holds a treasure other than books and every floor has a window (or three or twenty) that provides an interesting view of the downtown skyline. And I had my camera out for all of it. I took my time, often letting Michael and the Cabbage get way ahead of me, often just wandering off from the group that was us. It was the most time I had spent consciously taking photos with my Nikon since maybe our trip to New Orleans back in March.

It made me breathe out in a sigh of relief.

This has been a very good week. Three days this week, I have ridden my bicycle to work. Michael installed a new and improved basket onto Valerie. My old Ikea one broke in a most annoyingly spectacular way last week. There has been time for my yoga practice and I made an edible loaf of sourdough bread over the weekend that was good enough to soak in the Sunday’s pot of beans and greens. I got us tickets to an event hosted by The Friends of Library this evening where we will picnic in Union Hill Cemetery and listen to ghost stories from some voice actor. When we still were not eating in restaurants because of the pandemic, Michael and I grabbed food to go from an area restaurant and had a picnic in this cemetery and it was one of my favorite things we did during the pandemic or ever. So I’m ending the week doing one my most favorite things.

This is week has been a reprieve from the chaos of my October Calendar, a moment of peace before I start running around like chicken for the next three weeks. I’m grateful for this calm before the storm.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I had some time to kill between appointments on Thursday, so I walked over to a little coffee shop to grab a coffee. At the last minute I asked for a pain au chocolat. I gathered my coffee and treat and settled in at table with a view of the door. The place wasn’t busy at first, then a stream of people started to pour in. I sat there with my coffee and croissant, just people watching. A young woman sat at a table near me, her back turned from me. A few minutes later a young man walked by and stopped to ask her if her avocado toast was any good. She replied that it was and he moved on to settle at his own table.

I watched a woman secure the leash of her little dog to a table outside and then go in. The little dog watched and waited for her return. I watched as people left, passing the dog without a notice. How can you just walk by and not even say “hello puppy!”? A few runners were still out on their morning runs, probably near the end of their run. I wondered what all these people could possibly be doing. It was 9:00 AM on a Thursday. Where did these people work? I’m sure some were students, some retired. It’s possible that some were headed to work in one of the shops in the area that didn’t open until 10:00. Possibly some of the people getting coffee were actual tourists. I recognized some typical touristy clothings, new Kansas City t-shirts.

I sat there speculating about the lives of these people, but they could easily have the same speculations about me sitting in a cafe late on a Thursday morning. I myself am like a tourist without doing all the touristy things. Alone, in a cafe on a weekday morning with minimal commitments and even those are commitments only for myself, feels decadent. A treat. A treat that should not be this rare. A treat that shouldn’t be a treat. It is moments like this that leave me asking why do I put off doing things like this. I get a personal day every year and it sits there lingering while I use up vacation days or sick days. I’m even sparing with my vacation and sick days, saving up for I don’t know what. Later in the day, I cried on the massage table while the therapist pressed out tiny knots between my back ribs. She spent so much time on my shoulders that she left little time for the rest of my body. My upper back feels like it’s been beaten with a ball peen hammer today, my punishment for not taking care of myself sooner.

I’m trying real hard to focus only on the things I can control. I am trying real hard to tuck in moments of joy, to do more dancing, to leave space for being silly. Today, I am grateful for the moments this week when I remembered to leave space for the joy, the dancing and the silliness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tuesday, we had a blood drive at work and when I went to sign in, they looked at my blood type and basically said I had good juice and asked if they could take extra. I shrugged while saying “sure” and they hooked me up to a machine named Alex. I squeezed a squishy heart for about forty minutes until the machine malfunctioned and the nurse declared that I had done enough. I said “Great!” and hopped off the table, grabbed a Sprite and bag of Veggie Wheat Crackers (I love these!) and went back to my desk. About an hour later, I went to meet my new intern. I was sitting in my exam room and decided that I no longer needed my bandage from the blood drive, so I ripped it off. Then I started bleeding. My new intern came into the exam room while I was rummaging around through drawers looking for a bandaid. I said “I’m not a junky. I need a bandaid.” New intern hesitantly said ‘okay’ before handing over a bandaid.

Everything was fine after that. She said absolutely nothing about the scale numbers, but did mention that her mother found some drug helpful with relieving hot flashes. Meaning, I am probably close to the same age as her mom. My new intern could have been my kid. Awesome. She talked me into getting my flu shot and then said we’d talk after I got blood work done next week. Then she started checking for swollen ankles starting with the right one and when she moved to the left one, I said “Yeah…that’s going to be swollen.” Then I told her what I did. She was only concerned about how I was managing the pain. I told her I’ve been managing with ice and grit teeth. She did not think I was hilarious. It was the weirdest meet-and-greet, but she didn’t sound like she had plans to drastically change what’s already working.

The ankle feels mostly better and I have started walking Josephine in the mornings again. The strange thing is that when I fell, the plantar fasciitis pain in the right foot, completely disappeared. Now that the left foot is healing, the pain in the right heel is back. My body has decided that I can only have one injured foot at a time. That is very generous. Meanwhile, I found a shirt that perfectly describes me and I ordered it through Amazon. It’s basically a bloody, dirty t-shirt with I’m Fine printed across the chest. For one whole day, when you asked Alexa about our notifications she would say things like “your bloody shirt will arrive today” or “your bloody shirt has been delivered.” And all of that makes up for the fact that the shirt is a little smaller than I’d hoped for. Michael said we need a Halloween party to attend and I said “whatever. I’m wearing this to work on Friday.” This is not a Halloween shirt, but an any occasion T.

I’m meeting Nurse Jenn for lunch today at the Nelson so we can get a sneak peak at the new Hokusai: Waves of Inspiration exhibit and then we’ll eat fancy lunch in the Roselle Court. It just dawned on me that this sounds like a retired ladies activity and if this is what my retired self is going to be actively doing, I’m ready for it. I’m all in. More of this please. It was recommended (Amani) that I need to have some me time. Lunch with Nurse Jenn is part of that. Next week, I have a dentist appointment followed by a chiropractor appointment and I decided that this was a great time to use my personal day. I went ahead and booked a massage for that afternoon.

Now I recognize that booking a massage is only a small step in the right direction, that I need to carve out time everyday just to care for myself. I am working on this. I am getting myself organized and putting me (not events) onto my calendar. And then sticking to that calendar. Follow through is sometimes not my strong suit when the subject is me. There’s also a tiny bit of me that thinks I shouldn’t bother with me until next year. This year is practically over. Make a resolution. Do better in 2025. Then I slap myself like Cher does to Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck. Time is relative! The concept of years is a social construct of organization. What I really mean to say is that I am working on getting myself out of this current glitch mode. The first step is admitting when you are in glitch mode, not just mentally inside your own head. For me, typing it out for my whole community to see is a huge motivator for getting myself together. Because I don’t want you to know that I am in glitch mode. I want to be able to share a better version of myself.

This week, I am very grateful to have a community who makes me feel safe enough to share glitch moments. I am grateful for a community that roots or each other.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

When Chris and I moved into our house, it came with a large brush pile in the back corner of our backyard. After Chris died, I decided I was going to garden and put in some raised beds. Then I built a compost bin from wood pallets. Don’t ever do that, by the way. It was a terrible compost bin and eventually the wood pallets started to fall apart and collapsed in on each other. The brush pile from the corner got moved next to and into the compost bin. My gardening attempts were unsatisfying and I abandoned the beds. Eventually I broke them down and evened out the yard where they had been sitting, with the exception of one spot. It looks like we buried a body there. Meanwhile, the brush pile continued to grow. Michael and I built the firepit with the intention of burning off the brush pile and sometimes it looked like we were actually going to do that. The pile would dwindle a bit, but a tree limb would fall or we’d clear off the fence line and the pile would just grow.

Recently, over the summer, Michael and I cleaned out the garage and piled all the unwanted big trash items into the backyard. That pile has been sitting there mocking me for weeks. Every time Michael and I had the discussion about what to do with it all, the discussion would just be a great big circle of words without actions. It was too little to fill up a Bagster dumpster, but too big for regular garbage. So now, every time I looked into the backyard I saw two large piles of garbage and hate would fill up inside my heart. Finally we just decided to see how much garbage we could put into the back of Michael’s truck and pay to dump it someplace. Turns out, you can put a lot of garbage in the back of Michael’s truck and for fifty dollars, a place not far from us will let you throw it all into a compacter hole. I don’t know what this says about my life, but throwing stuff into that hole is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time.

After throwing away the big garbage, we came home and started burning up the brush pile. And for the first time since ever, when I look out into my backyard there is not a pile of brush or garbage out there making me scowl. We burned up all of the brush plus a pile of brush from our next door neighbor. If we want to have another firepit night, we will have to buy wood to burn. There’s nothing left to burn. This makes me want to twirl around with my arms open wide while singing The Sound of Music. I can see the potential of a backyard that is inviting and lovely to sit in, a place were we could entertain friends and just relax. Maybe we’ll eventually build a patio and buy real patio furniture and a grill that didn’t come to us free from Facebook market place.

At some point during our firepit night, I could see that this was going to be it for that brush pile and I was giddy. Michael said something like “So getting rid of stuff brings you joy, huh?” and it does. It is beyond pleasing to me. I love throwing things away. Sometimes a little too much. I threw away my power cord for an external harddrive during one cleaning frenzy. I do not believe I threw out Michael’s passports (yes, multiple) even though he has torn the house apart looking for them. I do think they are probably in the garbage, but I was not the one who put them there. But still…it could have been me. I just don’t see a need to hang onto a lamp that broke two years ago and is hanging out in the basement waiting to be repaired. I’m not going to repair a lamp. I am also not going to have a garage sale. Garage sales are their own special kind of Hell and I want no part in it. I don’t have the mental or physical energy for that. Park a dumpster in my driveway and I could cart stuff out to it all day.

It is a little disturbing how the act of throwing things in a dumpster can make me so gleeful. Maybe disturbing is not the right word choice. I’ve lived amongst the hoarding type my whole life and it has given me a great appreciation for less. I think there’s a bout of Swedish Death Cleaning in my future. I think this would be a great uplifting activity for those winter months when I have the winter blues. Today, I am grateful for the view from my kitchen window into the backyard and how it is no longer marred with a giant pile garbage.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I feel like it has been over a year since one of our graduate students gave me a Brazilian wish ribbon with instructions to tie it onto my Vespa. The ribbon (and wish) is tied with three knots around a wrist. The wish is said to come true once the ribbon falls off on it’s own accord. I tried looking back through old pictures to see if I could determine when I placed this ribbon on Valarie and found a picture of it on Valarie back in November 2022. One side of the ribbon was already a bit frayed. So, it has been more like two years since I made a wish and tied my ribbon to Valerie.

I don’t remember what I wished for, but I feel certain that the wish wasn’t something entirely for myself. Wishing on birthday candles or stars, it doesn’t matter. I never seem to be able to come up with a wish for myself. I make my wishes for things I have no control over. World peace. Affordable healthcare for all. Body autonomy. I wish for all young women the rights to make choices for their own bodies. I wish for the US to stop providing weapons to Israel and aiding in genocide. My wishes are complicated things that I want for this planet, my community, my immediate circle of loved humans. They are not always complicated. I often make a wish for friend in their times of struggle and need. Some would say that my wishes are prayers. I might say that prayers are often wishes.

I have read too many stories about wishes for me to feel comfortable wishing for something just for myself. There are so many cautionary fables of wishing for money and the person making the wish receives a fortune but it’s because a loved one died, leaving behind an inheritance. Someone may wish to be famous and then they become so famous, they have zero privacy. A person may wish for the return of a loved one and wake up next to a corpse. Selfish wishes come with a price. These are the fables we have used to condition us into thinking that we cannot ask for something we want, especially if you are a woman. I have heard it so many times all the ways in which I can’t have it all. I wouldn’t even know how to start a wish for myself.

I was helping that graduate student troubleshoot some problems with their lab’s microscope this week. They have graduated and will be moving on to their Postdoc position in California. While I was crawling around under the microscope table, they said “Hold on. I have something for you.” Then they came back with three new wish ribbons. I had mentioned to them months ago that mine was getting frayed and I hated to loose it, even though I know that’s point. They told me that they found the ribbons while cleaning out, preparing for their move. This is one of the things I do not like about my job. I watch these young people come in, help train them, watch them get excited about science and microscopy. I get attached. Then they graduate or their postdoc time is up and they are off to build their scientific careers. I hate seeing some of them go, but also proud because I know they’re going to be successful.

So now I have three new wishes that I can make.

I know two of those wishes will go towards better things for my community and world, like an education free from violence and fear for our children and the end of genocide. The third wish is one I’m saving for myself. If it was not for the job I do, I would not have ever met this graduate student or have learned about wish ribbons. My path has led me to a diverse crowd of interesting and wonderful people and not just at work. My life is filled with color and light and texture. If I have one wish for myself it would be for more. More color and light and texture. More love. More of the good stuff.

More gratitude for that good stuff.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Early in the week, Talaura asked if she could come to my house for a rest stop as she drove from Oklahoma to Pennsylvania. She’s been in Oklahoma, sorting and packing up her parent’s home so that it can be sold. It has been grueling work and during the hottest time of the year. She arrived late Wednesday evening with Sarge and her car packed to the gills. Michael and I made sure both Talaura and Sarge were fed and comfortable before he headed off to bed. Then I stayed up past my bedtime to sit and listen to all of Talaura’s stories of the ridiculousness that is Facebook Market Place. The next morning, I left Talaura sleeping and quietly went into to work to get some things started. Then I went home to help her with her laundry and spend more time with her. Mostly, I wanted her feel slightly better leaving my house than when she arrived and I wanted be there to make sure that happened. Also, I don’t like the idea of anyone having to make the trek down my basement stairs where the washing machine lives. Eventually I was able to send a clean Talaura on her way along with a bag of clean clothes and lots of love.

Recently, I was having a conversation with someone about the skill of listening with an empathetic ear to someone complaining or venting about a problem they are having. The inclination for many us is to want to fix their problem for them. I mentioned to the person I was in conversation with that I had been ‘cured’ of this sort of inclination. When Chris was sick and the doctors determined that there was nothing else we could do, I had to come to terms with the knowledge that I could not fix this. It’s was a real shitty way to be ‘cured’ and now that I’m thinking about, I may not be completely cured. My gut instinct is to say “How can I fix this for you?” I just don’t ever let those words leave my mouth. I’m really good at fixing microscopes but not at fixing peoples’ lives.

So instead of asking how I can fix the problem, I ask “How can I provide you with some comfort?” I still haven’t stopped feeling the want to fix things and this is why I say that I’m only partially cured. Because I do want to fix all of the problems, yours and the worlds’. And sometimes I might still try to fix someone else’s problem before reminding myself that I do I have limitations.

Do what you can, with what you have where you are. -Theadore Roosevelt

I can provide comfort. Comfort comes in many many forms. It’s can be the simple act of opening your home and couch to a dear friend in need. It’s clean clothes or a home cooked meal. But a lot of comfort comes from just being that empathetic ear. What I have come to realize is that I am grateful to be able to provide comfort to my friends. It gives me purpose. My couch will always be available, my doors and arms open. Maybe I need a cross stitch of those words hanging somewhere in my house, not just as a welcome to others but as a reminder to myself.