THANKFUL FRIDAY

Josephine has been vomiting about once or twice a day now since early January. I didn’t always know she was doing it because she chose to go outside. Then she would wait a bit, go back outside and eat it. Yes, dogs can be gross. At first, I thought it was just from overindulging at Grandma’s. Then I thought it was stress. We did leave her for six days. Then we were home for four days before leaving her again. Then there was a day at the groomer’s and I spent a night away. Her normal routine was seriously disrupted. My usual routine was seriously disrupted. I’m surprised I wasn’t vomiting daily. Then on Sunday, after Josephine vomited twice, I started really worrying.

While I was making a batch of chicken and rice for her, I thought about all the things that could be wrong. It didn’t matter that for the most part she has been behaving normally. Sure, we’ve spent a lot of time curled up on the couch, but that’s usual for this time of year. She’s excited about meals and treats. She’s perky at the mention of ‘outside’. Josephine is eleven. She’s slowed a bit as expected. But heaven forbid my brain goes to the best case scenario here. Chris would be celebrating his fifty fifth birthday today and next week will mark fourteen years since his passing. There’s a reason my brain reacts to any illness with the idea that it must be an inoperable tumor on a liver.

Josephine is fine.

We had a visit with the vet and received prescription dog food and stomach soothing meds. There has been no vomiting since Monday. There was some vomiting on Wednesday, but we’re seeing an improvement. The vet agreed that most likely it was a holdover from a stressful start to the year. Josephine is considered to be ‘elderly’ now. That could be part of it, something she just does now, but I’m not going to lie. This event had me spiraling out. My body was tensed as if bracing for impact while the vet did her exam. I sat calmly while mentally pleading with what ever divinity to please not kill my dog right now. Not in February. Michael is concerned about when the day will come for us to say goodbye to Josephine and rightfully so. I will be ready when day comes if that day is another five, six or even eight years down the road. And never in February.

I am not ready now.

I will happily pay $130 for the peace of mind in order to not have to be ready for a tragedy. I’d pay more than that, but that is just what this week’s peace of mind cost me. I’m grateful to be in a position to pay that price. I am grateful that Josephine is on the mend. When I think about it, the life span of a dog is not much different from the life span of the time I had with Chris. I should be better schooled in the temporariness of all things. We bring these little creatures into our homes knowing that our time with them will be limited. So we fill that limited time with as much love as we can. What if we treated all of our relationships this way? What if we brought people into our hearts knowing full well that our time with them is limited?

It is easy for me to have gratitude for getting to have so many years with Josephine, but I find it hard not to have anything more than anger over the amount of time Chris and I had together. Anger and regret. I did not at all walk into my life with Chris with any idea that it would be limited. Did I fill our time together with as much love as I could have? Those who know me best would tell me that I did, but I will always have doubt. My relationship with Josephine is teaching me to let go of some of that anger, some of that doubt. I may not have realized in the aftermath and haze of death how much I was capable of. Josephine has helped to remind me that I am more than capable of filling my days with love.

I’m so grateful for that sweet little dog.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The ground is blanketed with a layer of snow from last weekends storms. There are a few patches, here and there, where the brown winter grass is showing. Those are the places that have seen more direct sunlight, but the temperatures have remained too frigid for much thawing. The table in our backyard is usually a good measure for the amount of snow fallen at a time. No one was willing to trudge out there this time with a ruler. My guess would be that by last Sunday morning, we received about six inches of snow. Hardly unmanageable. Each day, I’ve watched that snow dwindling from that table top.

There’s still just a tiny bit left.

I’ve been waiting for this, bracing myself for the months of bitter cold. December was practically balmy here, a rare occurrence and one that immediately put me on guard for the coming months. I live in the midwest. Winters are cold and miserable. I want to say that I am made of the hearty stock of ancestors who pioneered their way across the prairies here and carved out homesteads in the plains. My ancestors were hearty enough to survive a boat trip across the Atlantic and then made their way directly south. I was not born to endure this kind of weather, but we are adaptable by nature. I have better winter clothing, enough fleece lined pants for a week and thick wool socks. I do not have to endure anything.

I only have to tolerate it.

I know I should be taking advantage of being stuck inside. There are a number of projects I could work on while sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket. The other night, I woke up from a dream and couldn’t go back to sleep because the dream was a story that could be written. I proceeded to mental write this story until I finally forced myself back to sleep. What I should have done was just gotten out of bed and physically write that story down or at least a synopsis of the story so that it could be added to the pile of unfinished bits of fiction I have worked on off and on over the years. Instead, I laid there with my eyes closed and focused my attention on the space at the top of my head between my brain and skull, mentally telling myself to go to sleep.

Winter is so strange.

There’s a reason so many horror stories and thrillers take place during winter months. The hours of darkness are longer than the hours of light and things lurk in the dark. The stories are meant to encourage us to stay inside, safe and warm. But it is a Catch 22. While we’re inside, safe and warm, our minds are free to wander and our imaginations can exaggerate the dangers of the darkness. The medium sized wolf from a tale, can easily morph into beast standing on hind legs, razor sharp teeth bared, ready to rip out a throat. We often channel our imaginations to exaggerate the worst things about the dark and forget all about the goodness of darkness. I like to think about what’s happening in the soil in the darkness right now. I like to imagine seeds vibrating with the energy they’re storing up, waiting for the right time to start sprouting. So much happens before a plant from a seed even gets a glimpse of the sun. Roots start and then the epicotyl emerges. That’s the part that turns into stems and leaves, but it doesn’t do that until it pokes through the earth.

Growth happens in the dark.

I know this. I know that this is the time of year for gathering the energy required for sprouting. I know that there’s more good to be found in the dark than we think there is. Good things happened this week. The National Guard deployed in Minnesota joyfully handed out hot drinks and donuts to protestors in Minneapolis. Tracy Wong, a local restaurant owner, opened her doors to protestors and press after they’d been tear gasses. She opened her doors saying “Come in. Come in!” and then offered up water and hot tea. Government officials are stepping down and reducing the number of ICE agents in Minnesota. Change may be happening at a snail’s pace, but it is happening.

While good things can happen in the dark, like growing roots, the epicotyl is pushing up in search of the light. Which is kind of like what’s happening with this post. I’m grateful for the rest and good things that happen in the dark cold months of winter, but I am always reaching out for the light.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Wednesday night, I was sitting on the couch working on our meal plan and grocery list for next week, when Michael said “Oh…we need to talk about this weekend.” I got really suspicious and replied “What do you mean?” While I’ve spent most of the week in a cold medicine haze, the rest of the country has been hearing weather reports. I can’t truly use cold medicine as my excuse since I am generally clueless about the state of the weather and often in denial about predictions of extreme cold and snow. So I was not surprised when Michael said that it would start snowing Friday night and not stop until Sunday morning. I wasn’t surprised, but I still threw a tantrum because I hate snow dumps and below temperatures and not being able to leave my driveway. I may not want to leave my house under normal circumstance, but Mother Nature forcing me to stay put creates anxiety and rage.

We’ve done all the hunting and gathering on Thursday, which truly felt like hunting and gathering. We are prepared for the hunkering down the baby weather reporter who dresses like PeeWee has told us all to do.

To be fair, this winter has been kind of mild. There might as well have not been a first week back to school/work last year because we were buried under snow. I think Michael had one snow day last year and it was just after Thanksgiving. I knew this meant that late January through March would probably be intolerable, but I’m grateful for delay we’ve had in actual winter temps. I could also use a weekend where I’m forced to stay at home, but also feeling better because it is a good opportunity to take care of some neglected house cleaning chores. I have this vision of cleaning out my house as if I were going to move. I know this will require storage containers and maybe even a yard sale, but in the meantime I can tackle the stuff that can just be trashed. For instance: Do I really need to hang onto a hard copy of my Masters Thesis from 2000? If a twenty six year old thesis paper (that never received a publication because my thesis advisor died) is still hanging out in my filing cabinet, you can be sure there are other documents worth trashing. This sounds like a perfect snow day activity.

I am thankful that I am feeling better just in time for our snow apocalypse.

I am also thankful to all of you who have wished me a happy birthday. I truly believe that leaving happy birthday messages is one of the easiest ways to spread joy. Each wish of happiness filled my heart. So, Thank you!

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Thursday was my mother’s birthday. This evening, I will drive to Tulsa to spend the night at my brother’s house so that I can get up the next morning to spend an hour or two with her before driving home. This is not un-similar to how my visits with my dad used to go. The differences are minor. Dad was still a three hour drive away from Tulsa and the last time I saw him, he still knew who I was. Now, I don’t have to drive as far but my mother doesn’t know me. Our visits are short ones, like the one’s with Dad, because Mom tires quickly. It also has to be confusing for her and maybe a little stressful. At this point, I’m not sure why I’m going. Guilt? Respect? Maybe my presence brightens her day?

My feelings are a sushi roll.

I went in on Tuesday for my regularly scheduled chiropractor visit. We chatted and laughed while Dr. Fran popped my body back into place. She basically reset me from the four weeks of plane flights, car rides and sleeping on unfamiliar pillows. I walked out of the office with a bounce in my step, then got in my car and started crying. I cried all the way back to work while asking myself “What are you even crying about?!” Apparently some of that pop pop released some pent up grief, stuff I’ve been holding onto since Thanksgiving. Probably stuff I’ve been holding onto a lot longer than Thanksgiving.

I keep telling myself that after this weekend, things will slow down. I will have time for myself, time for developing a plan to get myself back on my yoga mat on the regular. I’ll have time to really really clean the house. I’ll finally start clearing out all of the things that no longer serve me. I have a need to clear some space in the house, probably left over trauma from cleaning out Mom’s houses. I’ve given myself a start date in February to get the ball rolling on all of the above, but on Wednesday morning as I drove into work, I felt that old familiar feeling creeping in, whispering “you know you don’t do well during this time of the year.” If those whispers were lies, I might just be able to ignore them, but the whispers are telling the truth.

Winter is not good for me.

There’s an extra layer of heaviness this year. A fleet of ICE vehicles are parked in a lot north of the river and we’ve had conversations about what that means for the people I work with. One of those people said that they aren’t too worried since they live on the Kansas side. That’s a republican state. He said they really seemed to be more concerned with the democrat areas and he’s right. This is not about immigration. This is all about intimidation and retaliation on those who do not support the Trump agenda. On top of my usual winter layer of grief, I now have an added layer of worry for the people I care for and respect in my community. When I talk about community, I am referring to all of the people in it. White, brown, black, LGTBQ+. These are the people who make up my community and what makes my community such a great one to be a part of.

So…how do I find gratitude under these circumstances?

‘Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I would not care as much if I did not have love. I would not worry if I did not have a connection with this community. All of this would mean nothing to me if I did not believe that we are meant to care for one another. I am grateful for the love, the connections and the strong belief in kindness. It is my gratitude for those things that make me want to fight to keep them safe, to keep this conversation going, to do my part in sharing correct (multi-sourced) information. I am also very aware that these ICE tactics are part of the distraction being used by Trump. If you are spending time being outraged by ICE’s illegal activities, maybe you won’t know how much of your tax dollars he’s funneling into programs that only benefit those making a million dollars or more a year. What’s your representative doing right now that is beneficial to you and your community? Holding our government officials accountable is a never ending responsibility.

Someday, I won’t have the need to be compelled to write about all of this. This is my belief, my hope, my wish. While my little flame of hope feels more like an ember right now, it’s still glowing, still giving off just enough light to keep me going. I am grateful for that.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tuesday night, we had what I’m calling Family Dinner night at Jenn and Wade’s. My plan is to make this a monthly potluck like gathering. This isn’t a big party or a hoopla. It is a simple gathering around the table and sharing an evening meal together, a chance to catch up on things and bolster each other. Every Sunday, for a loooong time, my family would meet for a big lunch at my parents’ home and we’d all sit around the large dining table. This was our time for my family to see each other’s faces and catch up. It may not have always been pleasant, but it was necessary. This was my vision around building a Family Dinner night, except make it pleasant all the time.

And I think it worked.

I needed this week’s family dinner. I needed to see those faces and laugh about dumb stuff. Michael and I have spent the last two Christmas Days with Jenn and Wade’s family. That will not be happening this year (for good reasons) and I really needed see their faces before we left. I also needed the ease of such an evening. Christmas day at their house is all soft pants and lazy game play. Dinner is something easy that requires little effort and minimal cleanup. This should be the same for family dinner nights, which it was. The focus is not the food, but the company.

Today is my last day of work before a two week vacation. Most of that vacation will be in Paris and all week, I have struggled to stay present in my daily tasks. One day this week, I was teaching a grad-student how to set up a complicated imaging experiment and at one point she asked “how do you remember all of this stuff?!?!” The experiment had been on my calendar for weeks and the day before I had to walk down to her lab and ask her for a reminder of why we were on the microscope. So my answer to her question was “I make sacrifices.” I may not know what day of the week it is but I can train you to set up a multi-channel, tiled z-stack based off of a specific region of interest created in a sample navigation preview in the Nikon Elements software. My enthusiasm for performing such tasks is waning and this week, with a real vacation in site, being present and enthusiastic has been a challenge.

Family dinner was something that helped me stay grounded this week. Maybe it didn’t do much to improve my enthusiasm for my daily tasks, but it did help to keep me present in this week. I’ve been lighting the Hanukkah candles by myself this week because Michael has been working late with the HS theater department. After I’ve lit all of the necessary candles, I’ve said the blessing out loud for myself and Josephine. There’s a part of the blessing about gratitude for sustaining us so that we can be here to light the Hanukkah lights. It is said on the first night, but I think about it every night as I’m lighting each candle. Then I am reminded of the things and people who sustain me. Every hug I received at family dinner was a lit candle in my menorah.

At the end of this day, I’m closing this laptop and may not open it again until we get back. I’m still on the fence about compiling a Year in Pictures video for this year. If I get it together before Christmas, I’ll post it, but don’t hold your breath. In the meantime, I hope you have moments that ground you and sustain you through the end of the year.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There was a time when if you told someone you’d met your boyfriend online, people would gasp and immediately become concerned for your safety. The internet just seemed like an inconceivable way to meet a great love. How can you trust that person? What do you really know about them? Suddenly the term ‘catfished’ appeared in our vocabulary and there became a new fear. What if it was a scam? What if it was all a way to lure you to your demise? When Jen met Turayis online, it was shocking! We were shocked! We were stupid and naive and small. They’ve had the longest, most stable relationship of all of us.

By the time I entered the dating scene, online dating was normal. The digital age requires digital connections, but all of those above concerns lingered. What did I really know about the men I was texting with? There’s no tone in text. Dating profiles are designed for vagueness. There’s not much authenticity in those descriptions. Eventually you’re going to have to meet face to face. Michael did this old school thing and called me. Maybe that’s why I agreed to a meet-up, even though I hate talking on the phone. Hearing a voice is different from reading a voice. Even though online dating is the norm, I still think of our meeting as unconventional.

I have a big group of loves who I met in unconventional ways. Like Chad. I love it when someone asks me how we know each other. A random commenter on photos in Flickr takes a road trip across America and from one simple dinner, ends up becoming family. Now I have a group of women in my life that I love and when asked how we met, I say “We all met at Adult Summer Camp.” First of all Adult Summer Camp conjures all kinds of imagery and how could that possibly lead to great loving friendships. I attended many a summer a camp as a kid. None of those camp friends lasted more than two letters. But there’s something to be said about meeting people when you’re older, more comfortable in your own skin, a fully formed person. My friendship with Jenn came out of summer camp and Jenn introduced me to Lauren and Sadie. We’ve formed our own coven of rollerskating crafters and my heart literally swells with love when I look at these women.

Amani is also an Adult Summer Camp find.

I took one look at Amani and knew I wanted her in my life. Love at first sight, but distance is a bitch. She’s in Seattle. We are regular postcard pals and text often, but it’s not the same as being able to see each other’s face and squeeze each other. It has been two years since I’ve hugged Amani, two years since we’ve linked arms and skipped down a sidewalk together, two years since we’ve dissolved into a pile of giggles together. Some how the stars aligned and we ended up in Philly at the same time for different things and we had two glorious evenings of hugs, giggles and shenanigans. We over ordered at a delightfully charming French restaurant where the sommelier flirted outrageously with Amani. I’m surprised he didn’t come home with us. I snuck her into a nerdy science party at the Franklin Institute where we were cornered by Benjamin Franklin who went on and on about lightening and lightening rods and the armonica. We finally managed to peel ourselves away with an excuse about coat check. We jumped to various heights on different planets, made our own light art, and even snuck into a closed exhibit on the brain. It was fascinating. Here’s the thing. I would have desperately wanted to sneak into that closed exhibit, but would never have actually done it without Amani. She gives me the courage to do rebellious things.

At the end of our last evening together, we stood outside waiting for the cab that would take Amani back to her hotel. For once, we were grateful for the bitter cold that made it impossible to actually shed real tears. Both of us agreed that two years was too much time and made promises to see each other sooner. All in all, the conference was better than I expected and the company was phenomenal. The only downside was not getting a chance to see my dear friend, Talaura. We talked on the phone and also promised to find a way to see each other in the next year and I hope she’s feeling better. Sometimes I joke that I collect interesting people. But the thing is, I do collect interesting people.

And I’m pretty grateful for that collection.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The yard behind my house is home to two giant and ancient oak trees and every year, all of the leaves from those trees land in my backyard. My backyard is surprising large for the size of my house. You could fit another house back there and in fact, we’ve toyed with the idea of extending the house into the backyard. Open up the kitchen. Add on a master bed and bath. We could do this but have yet to find the right financial motivation to actually do this. Any way, my giant backyard ends up completely covered in a layer of oak leaves at the end of every Fall. I leave them there until the Spring and then mulch them with the mower, but sometimes I think about raking them up into one giant pile. Then I’d host a leaf jumping party where people could throw themselves into the pile of leaves.

A thing I never did as a kid.

Oklahoma is not know for it’s tall ancient trees. The land is prairie with low, wind tolerant trees or invasive cedar. If we had piles of anything to jump into it was usually hay. Every Halloween, the town I grew up in would have Halloween activities at our tiny fairgrounds. There were the usual games like bobbing for apples, but there was also the game of finding money in a haystack. I only have vague memories of getting to dive into the hay bale to search for coin because every time I’d do it, I’d come out itchy and sneezy. The next day would find me at my pediatrician’s office covered in hives and getting an allergy shot. But I’ve seen people, children, on TV jumping into giant leaf piles and have always thought “What carefree joy!”

I do not rake the backyard. Sure, part of it is laziness, but it really is better for the environment to leave them. Also, I have no doubts that jumping in a leaf pile would be just like jumping into the hay bale. I will end up in urgent care covered in hives. Instead, I just stare out my kitchen window and marvel at the amount of leaves that can come from one tree. At first, I started thinking of those leaves as moments in time that I have squandered this year. It’s already December and I feel like I didn’t do much of anything this year except complain. I spent almost the whole first half of the year stressed about my job and depressed by a feeling of hopelessness for the fate of science in this country, really for the fate of everything good in this country. It took me a while to just accept that there is very little I can do on a grand scale. There is a lot I can do on a local scale. It’s taken me a while to reconcile with a government that gives zero shits about it’s citizens, but planning an eventual retirement outside of this country has actually helped to lift my spirits.

I feel a little bad for my grouchy attitude this year.

December tends to be a month of reflection and a time for thinking about what’s next. In reflecting on this past year, I will not apologize for my grouchy attitude. When we talk about living authentically it does not mean to only live authentically happy and optimistic all the the time. I lived authentically this year, not masking my grouchy feelings. I am deserving of that attitude because while that grouch has been out, the sunny side of myself has been resting. Those who truly know me, know that I tend to lean in to a Pollyanna state of mind and I will own that I am generally a bright, optimistic bouncy ball. But you should know that maintaining that state of being can be exhausting. I’m waving the white flag now and saying that this year has been a challenge.

Those leaves are now currently buried under a layer of snow. You can see bits of them poking through here and there. If you took a cross-section of my yard it would resemble a seven layer bean dip or some pudding/jello layered dessert. My life is a simple life. Even so, it is layered with all kinds of feelings and moments of feeling. Just like my backyard or that seven layer bean dip. I’m thankful for all of the layers. The layer of leaves are not squandered moments of time. They’re just a layer of leaves and as I look back on this year, I’ll think of 2025 as the year I allowed myself live authentically even if it wasn’t always pretty.

A WEEK OF THANKS

Those of us who are working this week are most likely half present in whatever job they are having to do. I know that I am phoning it in at least today. I have too much on the calendar to just pretend to work for the next couple of days. But Monday’s calendar is light and airy, a rare treat from the last few months and I’ll take it with my arms open wide in acceptance.

Saturday evening was the annual Friendsgiving night at Jenn and Wade’s. As per usual, there was a crowd and way too much food. As per usual, there was more than enough laughter and good conversations. I spent some time rearranging backyard rocks with the most lovely toddler who had very decisive opinions on which rock goes where. She will be in charge of important things some day. We sat around the fire pit and I had an enlightening conversation with a nine-month old. It was delightful, but as per usual, I barely talked to Jenn the whole evening. The morning after, she sent a text about having a family dinner night on Monday. Family dinner nights are less chaotic than Friendsgiving. This also gives a chance to spend more time with another one of our favorites, Sadie, who is in town for general Thanksgiving stuff. We ended up skipping out on family night to avoid spreading whatever cold bug Michael’s getting. But as I sit here typing about Family Dinner nights, I can’t help but think this needs to be a weekly thing.

If not weekly, why aren’t we doing this at least once a month?

There’s this scene in The Big Chill where they’re all gathered around the dining room table and Glenn Close’s character, Sarah says “I know this is all so familiar and I love you all so much; I know that sounds gross doesn’t it? I was at my best when I was with you people.” That scene has always resonated with me because it is a mirror reflection of my own feeling when I have been in the presence of my dearest and closest friends. There is nothing like being in a room filled with people who embrace all of the person I am. I chose to not have children of my own, but I still managed to build a beautiful family.

Wednesday afternoon, I’ll drive to Tulsa and have a very short visit with my mother and driving back on Thursday. Friday, we’ll spend the afternoon with Michael’s moms and Saturday, Michael wants us all to go shopping for shoes and or pants. I will spend Sunday doing craft projects and playing catch-up on all things and with that, my Thanksgiving holiday will be over. Then I’m right back to work with things already booked up for December 1st. I leave on the 5th for a conference and then in a blink, Michael and I will be boarding an airplane to Paris. Time is moving quickly. Too quickly. I’m going to savor the quiet moments of this week, the hours spent alone driving in my car to Oklahoma and back. I’ll use the space between to calm myself to the present. But I will also remember to have gratitude for the chaos that is this season and this beautiful family I’ve built.

Happy Week of Thanks.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

On Wednesday this week, Michael turned the big five-o. His invitation to join AARP arrived earlier in the week. I mentioned this to a co-worker who immediately complained about how receiving this makes people feel so old. I was all “No way, Jose!” I can’t wait for my AARP card. I was also raised by a man who could hold onto a coin tighter than Midas and loved every senior citizen discount he could get his hands on. To me, the AARP card doesn’t say “Old Lady”. It says “You’re finally old enough for extra treats!” Who does not want extra treats?!?! It’s like a bonus for surviving.

But then again, I don’t consider fifty to be old.

Michael thought he’d be dead by now and I can’t tell if he’s happy to have made it to fifty or just surprised to have made it to fifty. Either way, he’s still here and we’ve planned a big fancy vacation to celebrate both of us. He may be the stand-up comic in this pairing, but he is also the most serious person in this pairing. I am truly surprised by just how many ridiculous things I can talk him into. Someone at work was giving away a dog bike trailer and I claimed that thing faster than people even really had time to read the post. I told Michael that I promise that I’m not collecting bike trailers, because it does look like I’m starting a collection. But this one is MADE for a dog. I don’t have to make any adjustments. So on top of all the texts and emails about this Paris restaurant or that Paris cheese shop, I am now sending him texts for paved bike trails in Minnesota and links to bike racks. He doesn’t seem overly excited about any of this but it’s probably just that he’s a little overwhelmed with all the opportunities ahead.

There is just SO MUCH LIFE TO BE LIVED!

I think he actually believes he’s going to be walking around on this planet for a while longer. He talks about retirement and his job opportunities during retirement. He’s torn between math tutor and hotdog cart vendor, but either way, he’s planning ahead and envisioning a future for himself. That has to count for something. And even though there are times I’d like to lock him in the basement, he always finds a way to help me implement whatever big idea I come up with. He is the Pinky to my Brain. He tolerates more than some men in relationships have to tolerate, like the ghost of my dead husband. I think of this when I’m considering locking him in the basement.

It helps me stay empathetic.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but people could really see the Aurora Borealis on Tuesday night. I was getting ready for bed when my phone started buzzing with texts from friends telling me to “GET OUTSIDE NOW!” So I grabbed my phone and ran out the front door to a lovely view of…trees. I walked to the end of my block and still could see nothing and since I was already ready for bed, I did not jump in a vehicle and attempt to drive to some place to see it. I might have some regrets but I also need to respect the human that I am. And that is not a night time human. I am not a nighttime photographer for a number of reasons:

1. My bedtime is 9 PM

2. I am sensitive to temperatures

3. I lack the patience required for setting up the gear and messing with the camera settings

4. I am lazy

5. My bedtime is 9 PM!

I have made attempts to get out there to see meteor showers and comets, but if it takes more than ten minutes for an event to happen, I’m out.

So Tuesday night I got a picture of the night sky with a faint hint of purple visible in a swirl while half the people texted me their pictures of full on night rainbows from the their front yards. I had almost decided that I was okay with this until the rumors started going around that Wednesday’s night showing was going to be even better than Tuesdays. I made a plan, choosing a park that sits on a cliff above the river just north of downtown. The locals refer to this park as murder park, but I was not deterred. I let Lauren and Jenn know I was going out at around 8:30 and they were welcome. It ended up being me, Jenn, Wade and Lauren in my car Wednesday night, driving to murder park, in search of the northern lights.

And we saw nothing.

I should be really mad and upset for not getting any good images from the night rainbow display this week, but I’m not. Wednesday night, I drove all of us out to murder park and the whole time we gabbed and joked and sang old songs at the top of our lungs. We were nearly side swiped by a car suddenly passing us and we had one of those terrifying moments of ‘we could have died!’ but then we all starting laughing our heads off. We had a good time and it jogged memories. It was like those times when I’d been out late with friends after football games and we’d end up speeding down country roads, radio blaring. It was like all of those times when Chris wanted to go out and chase tornadoes or head out to a dark skies area to stare up at the stars. The destinations never mattered. It was always a car full of friends with gabbing and laughter and scream singing to the radio. Wednesday night was just like all those silly shenanigans we did in our youth. My gas tank was even sitting near empty.

As I near fifty, I keep thinking that I should feel different, feel older or mature. My examples of what a woman in their fifties should look like are all based on sitcoms like Designing Women or Golden Girls or Maude. The entertainment industry has always exaggerated age, but my own mother didn’t look any different at age fifty than she did in her thirties. It wasn’t until maybe the last ten years that my mother really started to look aged and now that she’s nearing eighty five, she looks like what I would expect for an elderly person. Sort of, but that’s another story. Wednesday night’s shenanigans made me feel like I was no where close to my actual age. I am not against the concept of aging. Every year I survive is a freaking miracle. But I am against the concept of age defined behavior, that you must look and behave a certain way in relation to your age group.

I like to think that I almost purposefully go against the social construct of age, with the exception of the nine o’clock bedtime, but I’ve been that way since I was small. I can’t believe that I let impromptu adventures fall to the wayside or even take a moment to be grateful for all those times before. There were times when Chris was gathering people for one of those adventures and I would decline to go for some various reason. Now, I have regrets. But those regrets make me even more grateful for the times I did get in that car.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This was a real good week. The time change did have me wanting to go to bed at 8:00 PM and up at 3:30 AM, but, by now, I’m used to the wonky sleeping situation that is my daily life. Yes, the government is still shut down and Trump is still refusing to feed Americans, but we have seen an outpouring from the haves to help out the havenots. Well…maybe not quite the haves because we’re struggling too, but I can afford to buy a few extra cans of food every week during my grocery shopping trips to hand over to the food banks. As anyone heard how much Elon has donated to feed Americans? I haven’t heard, but I do know he’s received somewhere around $38 billion in government subsidies, contracts, loans and tax breaks since 2000.

Give your money away, shorties. - Billie Eilish

There is hope on the horizons.

This weather this week has been the complete opposite from last week. Every day of last week was gray and dreary. We did not see the sun. I worried that this was just how it was going to be until Spring, skipping through Fall right on to Winter. But this week has been nothing but blue skies and warmer than usual temperatures. While it is still fairly brisk in the mornings, things have warmed up for perfectly comfortable afternoons. I woke up Tuesday morning and after walking Josephine, I thought “Why am I not taking advantage of this weather?!?!” and decided to ride my bicycle to work. I bundled up with a coat and gloves and headed out into the brisk morning. Michael gets alerts when the garage door has been opened. By the time I got to work, he’d sent a text asking me how I’d gotten to work. He probably assumed that I took the scooter and it had been a consideration that morning before I turned to the bicycle. When I told him I’d taken the bicycle, he inquired about my ride. I told him that it was not uncomfortable. I’d worn too much coat, but nothing on my ears, so they were cold.

I know how to fix this.

But then, I rode my bicycle again on Wednesday and Michael sent me a text: “Did you ride your bike again?” I replied back with a yes and he told me that I am pretty amazing, which made me feel like maybe I was kind of amazing. I don’t know if that’s really true. It just felt ungrateful to not take advantage of this probably last week of tolerable bike riding weather before Winter sets in and my soul turns to sludge. Because the sun is setting at an earlier time in the evenings, the golden light hour is happening when I start cycling home and my route takes me through neighborhoods full of trees. So many of them have turned from green to bright colors of red, orange or gold. The sun filtering through those leaves at that time of day is like riding inside a stained glass window. Everything around me is ridiculously stunning that it didn’t feel real, like I was on the set of some John Hughes Thanksgiving movie.

So I rode my bicycle again the next day and then again the next.

Fridays are for scooters.

I am always such a big baby about weather. The slightest bit of chill in the air will have me throwing my hands up in despair. Imagine the sound of every child at Halloween who has to wear a coat over their costumes to go trick-or-treating. This is me any time the weather requires a coat. Yes, I realize that we will be in Paris in December and that much of our time will be spent outside. I am mentally prepared for this. Michael and I were in New York City in February one year. It snowed, but for some reason I didn’t even care. I was too busy being a tourist, which is exactly what will end up happening in France. I can easily be distracted from my discomfort. This week, I’ve discovered that I do not have to be on vacation for this to be true as I rode my bicycle.

The temperatures are predicted to drop over the weekend. Freeze warnings have been issued, but the roller coaster temps will be back up later in the week. There still might be a few days left for cycling to work, but they are limited. Before I know it, I won’t even be able to tolerate riding the scooter due to the cold. I’ll be plunged back into months of darkness and cold, trying not to fall into the habits of the last winter. Knowing that this weather we have right now is temporary has been my energy source for pushing those bike pedals. It is easy to be grateful for this weather, but my gratitude is in my actions to not take this weather for granted. I am so grateful that even on Thursday when I woke up with a don’t wanna attitude, I got on my bicycle anyway.

Today, I am grateful for taking advantage and soaking up the good things around me.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There is a new commercial out for Macs that starts with a blinking cursor in the midst of large white space. Then the late Dr. Goodall, starts narrating about the potential in that blinking cursor.

Every story you love, every invention that moves you, every idea you wished was yours, all began as nothing. Just a flicker on a screen, asking a simple question: What do you see? - Dr. Jane Goodall.

Every time this commercial pops up onto the TV, I whisper to myself “Fuck you” which I recognize as not a nice thing to whisper to the voice of the late Dr. Goodall. It’s not even a nice thing to a (flawed) computer company who’s computers I’ve been using since 1998. What can I say? Their operating system doesn’t make me want to scream with rage. I live in a computer world and my job requires me to be a computer girl. I have chosen the computer that doesn’t make me want to throw it out a window everyday. So I am not whisper swearing at Apple or Dr. Goodall. I am whisper swearing at the potential of a blinking cursor.

All year, I have struggled to have an iota of creative feelings. I am not enthusiastic about any of the photos I take. The creative writing practice from journal prompts that I do on Saturday mornings and the sketches on pictures for the In My Coffee series, all feel like forced activities. I think about those years where I was forced to sit on the hard piano bench and practice scales until the kitchen timer went off and I have to remind myself that these activities are not the same as learning piano at the age of five. I will admit that I have been considering taking up piano again since we have one in the house for the Cabbage, but I’m not five and sitting still at the piano sounds almost relaxing. Whenever I think about hobbies to dabble into, I keep coming back to music. No one from this current life knows that I once had a very nice singing voice or could play everything in the percussion pit and a cello. But no five year old wants to sit at a piano for thirty minutes. Well, at least five-year-old Cindy most certainly did not want to sit still on a piano bench, plunking away at scales.

The creative writing practice and the sketches on photos are of my own making, design and desires.

When I sat down to write today’s post, I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen for a really long time. The only thing I could think to write, or want to write, is an essay centered around some thoughts I have floating in my head on hurricane names and grief. It is a post not quiet fitting to a weekly practice of gratitude. So I watched the cursor blinking on my screen and tried to think of something about this week that is not just something I am grateful for, but something I feel worthy to share, something that’s not a list. And I just keep coming back to that damn blinking cursor. Except my feelings of angst and frustration of not being able to move that blinking cursor along, is beginning to shift.

Recently, I went back to a bit of fiction I had started writing a couple of years ago. It was something born from a very vivid dream and once I wrote down just the dream part, the story started to grow. But, like most of my potential book writing pieces, it got shoved aside for further pondering or for lack of spare time. More lack of spare time than pondering, if I’m honest. Any way, something nudged me to go in and look at this piece and add a few bits here and there. And it felt good. It felt fun. Because the piece is frivolous. It’s magic and mystery and romance. It’s entertainment.

And this is why my attitude towards the blinking cursor has shifted.

By setting my angst and frustrations aside, I can clearly see the potential behind a blank page with a blinking cursor. I can even be grateful for it. As a kid, heck..even now, when I received a new sketch book or coloring book and new colored pencils, I would hold off using them for ages because I was enamored with the blankness and the pristine state of pencils. Eventually I would and do give in and use them as intended, but sitting with the blankness of the page is a comfort. There’s no reason a computer screen with a blinking cursor can’t also be a comfort. It is, after all, just another potential for creativity, for crafting messages of joy, for bringing dreams to life. If you were to ask me today ‘what do I see?’ while staring at a blinking cursor, I would say ‘rhythm’. There’s a beat, a cadence, and it is begging for a dance partner.

And I need to dance.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I am never prepared for the hours and hours of silence when I am in Woods Hole, MA. I have known for months that I was making this trip and I did a thing I most almost never do. I waited until the last minute to pack, to plan out my tasks in the lab space, plan my off hours time. So, on this trip, not only am I unprepared for the silence, but I am unprepared from the lack of planning. I feel like I have had vast amounts of time left unaccounted for, yet I spent a whole day and a half updating my inventory list for our lab space and taking care of some administrative details. I’ve shut down computers and unplugged equipment, made note of transmitted light bulbs to bring with me in the Spring. But I have moved along at a snail’s pace.

Maybe this is what I needed.

The North East coast is awash in color this time of year. There is a constant cold wind blowing in off the Atlantic and though the sun is blinding, it is cold. The joke is that I have never been here when it is warm. I am always visiting when the leaves are changing or when the Rhododendrons are blooming. I am always visiting when the area is in full techno color vision. It is slightly discombobulating, the juxtaposition of bright, almost loud, colors mixed with the silence. Woods Hole is a ghost town right now. For my first night, I thought I was the only person staying in the dorms. There’s a small gathering of scientific journalists here now for a conference. By small, I mean they all fit at one table in the cafeteria. I walked over to one of the beaches yesterday morning and had it all to myself.

On my last day, I met up with Chad and Jess. We spent the afternoon, tooling around the Cape in their camper van, stopping to hike out to the Knob or taking photos of lighthouses. We had hours of catching up on what is happening in each other’s lives. We had hours of laughter. My sides ache this morning from the shear amount of laughing. But I do miss my bed, my pillow. I miss my dog and honestly, I miss Michael. I always worry about the two of them when I am away. Will Josephine get enough attention? Will Michael eat a vegetable? Will he notice if the pets are out of water or remember to empty Rosie (robot vacuum)? I’ve done this before and often, left the two of them to their own devices, and I always come home to a dog and a person who are still breathing, both happy to see me.

Part of settling into the silence here and the snail’s pace of things is letting go. I realize that in the absence of outside noises, my internal voices get louder. Each thought is a thread or weed pulled from my brain. I am learning to pluck out the annoying voices, the ones who speak of worries and doubts. Michael and Josephine are just fine. In fact Josephine is probably just now noticing that I’ve been gone longer than usual. I am learning to organize the thoughts and voices leftover. I wonder if there’s something there, something useful. Is this a story? Is this a reminder? Is this a positive affirmation? Sometimes it is just a reminder to stare out into the ocean or look up into the night sky. You know how sometimes a person shares a picture of their dog with a goofy look on his face with a caption of “No thoughts, just vibes” ? This is what it means to stare out into the sea, to take a moment for just feeling your feet sink in the sand and the salty wind hitting your face. Vibes. No thoughts.

Give the thinking a rest.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’ve been busy. Like Bizz-eeee. Last Saturday was Celebration Nurse Jenn. This included shuffling through the crowds at the Renaissance Faire, something I had never been too here. It’s kind of a big deal with permanent structures and large sculptures dotted around. I took my camera, but only took like four pictures because I felt uncomfortable photographing people. Though I do regret not getting a good picture of a legit looking Santa. Instead, I walked around openly staring with my mouth hanging open. The people watching was spectacular, the crowds were a bit too much, but the weather was perfect. We followed that adventure up with a nice dinner at Westside Local and then a firepit evening in Jenn and Wade’s backyard. It was a great day filled with wonderful people.

Michael was in and out for the events of that day in between shuttling the Cabbage around for Speech and Debate. I believe this was their first tournament and they came in fifth out of over a hundred other kids. The Cabbage was given the option to hang out with us at the firepit. They were also given the option to go with us to the Asian food market on Sunday. They declined both invites to stay home and care for themselves after two long days of tournament. But, they made their own lunch on Sunday, cleaned up after themselves, put clean sheets on the bed, and took a shower all without nudging or asking. Sure, I’m proud of them for doing well at the tournament. That’s great, but I really put an emphasis on how happy I was that they had fun and enjoyed themselves at the tournament. I am also impressed with how they took care of themselves. I took a cue from them when I was off Monday and had the house all to myself. I was the only one in the house with a day off in celebration of our Indigenous People. I spent the morning cleaning the house and the afternoon binging Netflix.

Any way…that was last weekend. This weekend is Celebration Heather weekend and we’re celebrating by attending a No Kings protest. I’m sure there will be fancy cheese and wine too. I’ll come home on Sunday and have just enough time to do some laundry before repacking my suitcase. I leave for Woods Hole on Tuesday to close down our lab space for the winter. The plan is to also see Chad and Jess while I am there. They have been driving in their camper van up to Canada. My trip coincides with their return drive back down to Tennessee and I can’t wait to squeeze them both. I’d like to say that things will slow down after this trip but it doesn’t. There will be Cabbage related events. I have to figure out a Celebration Katrina time. Michael’s birthday is in November and even though we said “No birthday celebrations!” for this year because of Paris, I still should take him out for dinner. Before we know it, it will be Thanksgiving which feels more complicated than previous years. I just keep thinking about the tasks ahead with work, a conference in December, and finding a way to see family before leaving for our Christmas Holiday.

Recently, Karen Walrond shared something on her Substack about a reel she’d watched from a woman who liked to set her resolutions in the Fall. She compared it to gardening. I left a comment about Fall being a good time of year for planting onions. Sewing seeds and bulbs of wants and plans gives them time grow. I specifically chose onions because I want a more layered life, one that includes travel and friends as well as new hobbies. I have been thinking about projects and things I want in the next year ever since picking up Karen’s latest book, In Defense of Dabbling. Usually I lean more towards the “why wait?” mentality, but things feel really full right now, but I feel like there’s only one layer to that fullness and it is work. I am more than a scientist. But then I think about all the things I told you above, all the tales of people watching and spending time with those who are dear to me and I realize that my life really does have more than one layer.

But it doesn’t hurt to want more.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Gratitude in list form.

• For three out five days, I have ridden my bicycle to work. Last week after the last ride of that week, I had 585 miles on my odometer and I told Michael that I wanted to put 600 miles on the bike before the end of riding season. I did that and more. Honestly, I didn’t set a high bar for myself but at this point setting any kind of bar and then reaching that bar is spectacular. I am just as proud of myself now as if I had set the bar at 700 miles. I also learned that I do not like 45 degree temperatures for bike riding, but maybe if I wear I hat I will like it a little. I am grateful for these rides not just for physical health but also for my mental health.

• We are having some issues with Mom and my sister is struggling to get those issues addressed. There have been talks of moving her to some different places. Hospice has been suggested and before my sister met with hospice, she asked for a list of questions to ask. I paused and then remembered that my lovely friend, Lauren, is a hospice nurse. I asked her some questions and she responded back immediately and with some really helpful information. I am so thankful for Lauren. Also, Mom is better and the hospice care is helping. I am grateful for my siblings, especially my sister, who have been dealing with all of this.

• A friend/colleague’s mom routinely makes us batches of what we call Magic Bars. They are a delicious chocolate nutty cake bar. He brought them in once and we all went crazy over them so now his mom brings a batch of them every time she visits and we love her for it. Those magic bars got me through some tough days this week and I am grateful.

• Last Friday, Josephine got a haircut and an allergy shot. She’s extra sassy cute right now and no longer itchy. We have had morning cuddles this week since she is back to sleeping under the comforter. Our bedtime routine after Michael turns out the light is for me to roll to my side and then lift the edge of the comforter so Josephine can dive in, which she does with great enthusiasm. It’s adorable and she’s wonderful.

• Last night, the cat ran across the living room and pounced into my lap. Once he settled, Michael and I were talking about how the cat should not be alive. Then Michael looked up the average lifespan for an indoor/outdoor cat and discovered he most definitely should not be alive. The average lifespan for an indoor/outdoor cat is four to five years. Albus is at least ten years old and he was hit by a car once. I don’t think he ventures too far from the house these days, but I caught him eating a squirrel in the backyard on Sunday. So he’s still doing wild animal cat stuff. I’m grateful he’s still around and there is a sneaky satisfaction in knowing he prefers my lap to anyone else’s in the house.

• I end every yoga class by telling my students to have gratitude to themselves for being present in class and doing kind things for their bodies. This is something I need to tell myself each night when I lay down in my bed for the night. It particularly holds true for this week. I did something kind for my body every day this week and I was fully present in each day’s tasks. I am ending this week with gratitude to myself.

Usually when I end up writing my gratitude post in list form it means I’m struggling. I think, like many of us, I’m just barely keeping my head a float. Last night Michael repurposed Sunday’s leftovers into our dinner. Then he said “Look at us! Using our leftovers like we’re living in the Depression Era.” I reminded him that we are currently in a depression era, but we laughed about it. Really this is all we can do. Basically, we’re fine. Existentially, we’re struggling.

If I’m stuck, I’ll start a list. The thing about making a gratitude list is that once I write down one thing, I come up with more things to add to the list. It’s like peddling a bike up a hill, starts out slow and there is some effort required. But that moment you reach the top of the hill and then start your descent down the other side feels like a joy ride. This list is an ‘in spite of’ list and the only way to beat the algorithms designed to divide us is to flood our social spaces with goodness, peer reviewed science, and multiple sourced news.

My gratitude is my activism.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a lecture by Dr. Jane Goodall at OCU in 2007. Some people flip out upon seeing a celebrity, requesting autographs and selfies. They define ‘celebrity’ as a person famous in the entertainment business. While Dr. Goodall was not a famous entertainer, to me she was a celebrity scientist. Watching Dr. Goodall in Nature documentaries on PBS as a child fueled my curiosity and wonder of this amazing planet. I was raised on the cusp of that whole “Girls Can DO Anything” movement when it was just getting it’s footing. No one ever really said to me that girls can do anything, but no one ever said to me I couldn’t do stuff because I am/was a girl and Dr. Jane Goodall was proof that women could be scientists.

She was also proof that a woman can move through the scientific community with grace and passion.

Jane’s willingness to collaborate was critical for the success of all our work. She was a true scientist. - Dr. Beatrice Hahn

I was so giddy that day I went to hear Dr. Goodall speak. I was like a teen going to see their favorite boy band. I’m surprised I didn’t attempt to cosplay my outfit to match something she would have worn out in the field. Being a fan of a celebrity or sports team or anything happens when the individual forms a phycological connection to that person, place or thing because they can identify with that person place or thing. I am not one to attend vigils or bemoan the loss of many a celebrity. Sure, it’s sad and the talent and entertainment they provided for the world will be missed, but I don’t get choked up over it. I was deeply saddened when I heard the news of Dr. Goodall’s passing. I even cried at my desk and this is when I understood the phycology of a fan. Dr. Goodall was someone with whom I could identify.

My friend Lauren said “A part of me is grateful she doesn’t have to live to see the world come further apart.” It is true that Dr. Goodall was a champion for this planet and while her voice was quiet, her message came through as if spoken through a megaphone. We are terrible stewards of this planet and if I were a god believer, this in itself would be enough to abandon us. I mean, it was the very first thing he gave to us, this divinely appointed act to care for this planet and we’ve done the opposite. So maybe there is something to be said for Lauren’s gratitude. Dr. Goodall lived a long, full and active life right up to the end and she made good use of her time here doing good and leading with kindness.

his alone is an attribute to be admired.

I am truly grateful to have had that opportunity to hear her speak, but I am also grateful to have lived in her timeline. She greatly influenced my science trajectory, but now I’m thinking of her methods in activism, how she advocated for science and the planet without screaming and was still heard. If you speak with authority in a quiet voice, people tend to lean in to hear you. She was a master at this tactic. I’ve started following more scientific journals (the real ones with peer reviewed articles) on Instagram. I’m changing my tactics in the battle against misinformation by flooding my Insta stories with science from those peer reviewed accounts. No more arguing or doing the research to fact check other’s latest dumb meme. Just flooding the interwebs with actual science.

I am learning to speak quietly with authority.

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.

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.

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.