DEAR WHITE HETERO MEN OF AMERICA

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

How disappointing.

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

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

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

Sincerely,

Disillusioned White Woman of America

HEAVY

It happened last week. I was lying face down on the chiropractor table and heard a snap that did not come from body. It wasn’t until I was sitting up and about to leave that the source of the not-human snap was discovered. Dr. Fran collected Chris’s ring, my scooter charm and my now broken chain from the table and said “Oh no! I know how much this means to you.” She poured the chain and other items into the palm of my hand and at first I couldn’t register what she was talking about. I exclaimed an “Oh no!” right back at her and then I shrugged as if it was no big deal. I think I even said “no biggie.” My insides did not reflect my outsides. That feeling of cutting open a palm or finger and watching the blood pool up and then that lightheadedness that comes just before passing out, those were the feelings that washed over me. I walked out to my car with shaky legs but with a smile plastered onto my face.

I pulled myself together and then felt silly for having a gut wrenching reaction to a broken chain. This is fixable. I didn’t lose Chris’s ring or my scooter charm. It’s a good excuse to walk into the Tiffany’s store (I thought had closed) and on Friday, after subbing a yoga class, I scooted right on over. My Elsa Peretti olive leaf ring has been sitting in my jewelry box for ages. I caught the ring on my car door and seriously bent it out of shape, lucky to have not ripped my finger off in the process. I plonked the ring down along with my chain so that both could be repaired and polished. While a sales rep filled out all the necessary paperwork to ship my things to the New York store, I thought for a moment about just buying a new chain. I said something about this out loud and the sales rep stopped me. She said “Tiffany’s is no longer making that style of chain. The new chains are much thinner. You’re going to want to keep this thicker chain for it’s sturdiness.” I leaned back in my chair, slightly disappointed but remembering clearly the day I purchased that chain. The sales rep then had been equally attentive, making sure the chain was sturdy, yet elegant.

That happened almost twelve years ago to the day.

Exactly twelve years ago, Talaura and I, along with Kizz and Amber, took the very first boat out to the Statue of Liberty. We were the first people on the island on the 4th of July and our mission was to leave some of Chris’s ashes somewhere. We found our spot, a rock on the other side of the fence that surrounds the island. If I’d taken a picture from the water, it would look like Lady Liberty was looking down at a little pile of Chris. I didn’t get that picture. In fact the picture I did take just looks like some ashes on a rock. There is nothing in that picture to clue you in on the location. The Statue of Liberty was the first pancake of ash dispersals. A few days later, I walked into Tiffany’s and bought the chain that has been holding Chris’s wedding ring ever since.

Now it’s broken and Chris’s ring is sitting on my jewelry box and not resting on my sternum.

I had a fleeting thought that maybe the broken chain was a sign that it was time to stop wearing Chris’s ring. It is a heavy ring, chunky and sometimes painful if it hits me in the face during yoga. I do feel lighter. I picked up the coffee can that holds Chris’s ashes so that I could clean there recently and I noticed that this can feels lighter. It doesn’t have the heft it had at the beginning of all this and I might be able to fit Chris into a smaller coffee can. I took an empty 15 oz Cafe Du Monde can to pick up Chris’s ashes and was kindly told that I’d need a bigger can. Amy and Chad went on a scavenger hunt for a larger coffee can to put Chris in for his Celebration of Life service. I think Chris would now fit in that Cafe Du Monde can. So…things do get lighter and I bet Michael would be thrilled if I stopped wearing Chris’s wedding ring. It is something we do not talk about, but something mentioned years ago leads me to believe he wouldn’t mind the absence.

Except…

I don’t like the way this particular lightness feels. It has been six and half days without the weight and comfort of the ring resting near my heart. I don’t want to get used to the feeling of being without it. There is no relief in this weightlessness. I am a helium balloon that needs that metal ring tied on the end of my string to keep me from simply floating away. And I will be floating for another two to three weeks. What I am realizing is that while some parts of my loss feels heavy, it is a heaviness that feels like a weighted blanket. It is obviously not a struggle to be carting it around with me. I’m more than strong enough. The weight of it all brings me comfort.

So when you see me standing with my hand on my chest, positioned with my palm pressed against my sternum, know that I am just holding this space. This is the temporary metal ring at the end of my string, a very poor place holder for the next weeks.

WE WERE BLOGGERS

A month ago, I started writing a blog post where I waxed nostalgic about the old days of BlogHer. I had been thinking about how nice it had been to be in the room with these women I follow online and meeting new people, hearing their stories and reasons for blogging. I would walk away inspired to do more with my blog, be a better writer, take better pictures. That conference was something I never expected to be drawn to attend, but I never really expected to be a blogger. When Chris built my first blog in 2000, I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said “What am I supposed to do with this?” He told me that this was a space where I could keep our friends who had scattered themselves across the state and country up to date on what was going on with me. I did not think that the blog would ever be anything more than that.

Over the years, this space has been my soapbox, my navel gazer, my practice in creative writing and my therapist. When Chris built that blog, he opened up a world of other voices and I found a community of women who awed me, inspired me, made me feel hopeful, and made me feel like I was a part of something. Many of those women I never spoke to in person, only on the rare occasion when I would be brave enough to leave a comment and maybe a word of hello at BlogHer. I never failed to fan girl geek out whenever I was face to face with some of these bloggers who I considered to be celebrities. I knew I would never be as cool or popular as these women, but I could cheer them on from the sidelines and buy their books. Even though I didn’t know these women in real life, a number of them reached out to me when Chris was sick, sending cards of support and care packages. I’m not sure I ever really expressed my gratitude for their thoughtfulness. Then things changed. Most of the women I followed in the blogging community have stopped blogging and have moved on to other things.

Except me. I’m still plunking down words full of navel lint as if anyone else might still be paying attention. 

When I saw the news of Heather Armstrong’s passing this week, I immediately reached for my phone to text Chris. Then I was just standing there at my desk, my phone in my hand, blinking at the screen. I felt untethered and between worlds. The one person I knew who would understand what I was feeling was no longer available. Heather Armstrong of dooce.com was one of the first women in the community of bloggers I followed and it was through her blog that I found other women like Maggie Mason, Alice Bradley and Karen Walrond. I wanted to meet women like her, women who bravely shared their ups and downs with us on the internet. Without even knowing she was doing it, she challenged me to be a better photographer and her words inspired me to keep writing. I have her books prominently displayed on my bookshelf along with the books by the other women bloggers I follow. Her words gave us all permission to be honest and open about our flaws, but she was also hilarious. I mean life can be a real shit show. We are better off finding the humor in it all and Heather Armstrong was pretty good at doing this. I never met her in person. I only very rarely left a comment on her blog. There is a small subset of women in the blogging community who did know her personally and seeing them sharing their memories of their time spent with her has been beautiful and sad. While Heather Armstrong could be a magnet for internet trolls and haters and she sometimes said things that we disagreed with, we can’t deny the impact she had on the internet and communities that were formed from her influence. I mean, dooce became a term we used for someone who got fired for their blog. It was a Jeopardy! answer. She opened up space for talking about uncomfortable things.

In the beginning, I remember having to make explanations about what a blog is or why someone might blog. People outside the blogging world thought we were crazy and often met the word ‘blog’ with some disdain. “Oh…you blog.” they’d say as if they had something sour in their mouths. There were people who just couldn’t understand why or how we could write about personal things and share it for the world, THE WORLD, to possibly read it. Whatever. Blogging is not for everyone, but I will say that we were the beginning wave of a mental health revolution. Women read about other women struggling with parenthood, jobs, sexuality, anxiety, depression and so much more and they could see that they were not alone. Many of those women bloggers normalized talking about mental health. We normalized talking about our bodies and all the weird things they start doing with age. We normalized talking about the hard adult things. I count myself as one of the smallest voices in this revolution. I’m grateful to the women like Heather Armstrong who were some of the biggest voices in this revolution, even if she was messy and flawed. And while it may seem odd to mourn the loss of a woman I never met, never really knew, I find that my grief over her loss encompasses the way things used to be. She was a part of that.

It is a more than unfortunate loss and I can imagine how unfathomably difficult this is for her family. 

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals in the United States. 988lifeline.org

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Beads

5 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Beads"

Yesterday, I was chatting with Amy and I asked her how everything was going. She told me about the things going on in her life and with her family and the struggles they are experiencing. She said that recent events have made her all too aware of our mortality. Her words hit me hard, like being hit with a rock. You would think that you would only need the lesson of our fragile lives one time in order to be fully aware of our mortality. You would think that your first loss would help prepare for the next one and the next one and the next one. In some ways it does at the very least make us aware of the inevitability of loss. 

I told my therapist once that I was really good at throwing away things. I told her how I'd thrown away a whole rats nest of cords only to discover later that one of those cords was the power supply to my external hard drive. The weekend everyone left my house after Chris died, I pulled all of his clothes from the drawers and closet, stuffed them into bags and took them to Goodwill. I did it partly because it gave me something to do, but also I knew that if I didn't do it right then, I may never do it. When I come into savasana and practice the act of saying goodbye, I have no problem saying farewell to all things. Farewell sun. Goodbye to this moment. Bye bye life as I once knew it. I should be really good at loss by now. Yet, I, like so many others, fall victim to complacency. I get caught up in the day to day chore side of living, cleaning up dog vomit and fixing microscopy problems. I let myself believe that loss is easy because of how well I can throw things away. I let myself forget that those abilities to say goodbye are on my terms. I'm the one in control and loss, true loss, is something out of our control. 

Of course, I have always known this. It is why every day is important. I am grateful for these lessons that make me stronger. I am thankful for these lessons that remind me how important it is to reach out to others in loving kindness. I am thankful for the reminder to make the most out each day. I am grateful that Amy and her family are safe and sound. Tell those you love that you love them. Put the phone down and turn off the TV and sort through a pile of old photos together. Practice saying goodbye to something you find impossible saying farewell to and allow for a loss of control. 

Be grateful.

TURN ON YOUR HEARTLIGHT

Oklahoma sunsets. #365

"Oklahoma sunsets. #365"

So there we were Sunday afternoon, having a nice lunch of sardines with Brie, pickled things and crackers. For some reason or another, E.T. was on TV and we were telling each other stupid E.T. factoids. Michael said something about every kids closet in America looking like Gertie's stuffed animal closet with E.T. hiding among the toys. I told Michael how the science teacher in that movie is Harrison Ford. The movie got closer to the end and tears welled up in my eyes as I crammed a cracker in my mouth. I sniffled and Michael looked over at me. I just shrugged and said "every time." That movie gets to me every dang time I see it. I know it's coming. I've seen this movie dozens of times. Every child of the 80s, including me can quote this movie, so I know what's going to happen at the end. Yet every time, we get to the end of that movie, I turn into a sobbing mess. E.T. is not the only movie that does this to me. Up, The Color Purple, Little Women. There's a slew of others. 

There's just something about all the goodbyes at the end, E.T. telling the older brother "thank you" and a sobbing Gertie to "be good". The moment that truly stabs me in the heart is that final goodbye between Elliot and E.T. E.T. looks at Eliot and says "come" and Eliot's answer is to say "stay". Just that simple tug-o-war of words is the moment that breaks me. It's when a simple movie about a boy and an alien becomes this complex story of love and loss and learning to say goodbye. Eliot is not just saying goodbye to E.T. He's saying goodbye to a part of his childhood. He will never be the same Eliot, forever changed by his connection to E.T. and how something that sounds unbelievable has the possibility to be believable. Every one of us has been that age where we believed in something that couldn't be possible. Fairies. The Loch Ness Monster. Witches. Aliens. Ghosts. Then there comes a time when most of us just stop believing. But it's the stay or go part that is the strongest most painful struggle for me in this movie. 

What if it were that easy to just say yes to going, to getting on the space ship? Or if you look at it from E.T.'s side, staying on a foreign planet? Of course I know why E.T. couldn't stay here. Human beings in general are just not kind to things drastically different from us. He would never be free to explore and learn or just simply enjoy the wonder that is our planet. The thing I never understood was why Eliot couldn't go. I've never been able to tell if he just didn't want to go or if he just realized he was needed more by his own family. Maybe he was scared. I don't know. All I can think is that I would go. I would have hopped right on up into that space ship. I would have then and there's a part of me that would still get on that space ship today. I don't see it as an escape as much as I see it as an opportunity for a great adventure. 

Except...I wouldn't. The things that compel us to stay or go are bigger and stronger and more complex than possibilities of grand adventures. I think I understand that more than I even want to understand it. I'll be right here.

THAT'S THAT

Well..that's that. Yesterday I let Chris's domain name, Numbskullery, expire. I have all the content stashed away in a file on dropbox, so all is not lost. But when the notice came through from the hosting company, I felt the blow a little more than I had planned to and there was a moment of panic. I felt that all too familiar tightness in my chest and heat flush up into my face as the tears welled. Oh my God, what have I done!?!?! I sent a chat to Talaura. "Tell me I've done the right thing." She assured me that I had. I pulled it together after that, but for a moment I considered buying it back. He had a list of domains. BalisticNylons. FuckableRobots. Just to name two. But Numbskullery was the first. The beginning of it all. Numbskullery was the father of our blog family. The Patriarch. 

And I've let it go. Holy fuck.

Part of that holy fuck comes from standing on these new blog legs. They are as wobbly as a newborn foal's. In fact I was still under the impression that it would all just fall to shit when Numbskullery expired. I was positive I'd done something not quite right around here somewhere. Forgot to dot an i or cross a t. I am the Queen of self doubt. But, by all tense and purposes, things are still standing. Look how far I've come! 

The days after Chris passed, I put on a pretty brave face. I set my chin up, but on the inside I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't fall all to shit. There were days where I kind of did just that, laying on the couch, drooling into the pillow as I stared mindlessly at the TV. It's so hard to believe there can be any kind of life after that kind of loss. Yet here I am thriving. I am at times flabbergasted that the world didn't stop turning. These events have become to big for me to wrap my brain around and I hear the Talking Heads and I do ask myself "how did I get here?". Maybe the how is not as important as the just being here. And this entry has rambled so far off the path in order to avoid the truth.

Dumping that domain name was hard. Like H.A.R.D. hard. That domain name was such a part of Chris. I could get rid of the clothes, the Star Wars collectibles, the seemingly endless supply of Battle Star Galactica paraphernalia, his whole nerdy arsenal. It is his written words that hold me hostage. It will make me a hoarder of notebooks and computer hard drives. Reading it all is like dipping your fingers in hot wax, painful and soothing all at the same time. The problem with the domain name was that it didn't just pass on to me after Chris's death; it was passed on to all of us. There's guilt in taking that away from you. Yet, it is no longer a place that Chris can haunt. Exercising a small section of the internet. I'm sorry for it, but feel like I've done the right thing. 

He sure could spin a good yarn. 

LOVE THURSDAY

Today's entry is about loss and moving on. Many of you remember what happened to our Christmas ornaments a few years ago, but the story is here if you are new to the scene. I think my reaction to the whole destruction was due to a number of things. I had just lost and given up so much that the loss of all of our Christmas ornaments was the straw. It was easier to morn and weep over the loss of the ornaments than it was to morn all the loss and disappointment leading up to that moment in time.

But there comes a time where you have to move forward. You have to pick up the pieces and rebuild or some times you just have to start over. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had been more adamant and forceful in my refusal to move in with Chris's mom. Would we still be living at the old place? What would we be like today? Would it change anything? I know now that the answers to those questions don't even matter; that I don't even care.

Chris and I have been collecting new Christmas ornaments over the last couple of years. Last week, we are able to find a replacement for an ornament that had been lost. And this year there is talk of actually setting up a tree. It may end up looking a little sparse, but that just means there's more room for a little more love.

Happy Love Thursday!