THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael once asked me what camping trips were like with my dad. When I pull up every camping trip from my memory bank, I see Dad puttering. He was always messing with this or that on the camper or the truck. On our annual fishing trips to Colorado, he’d have us up before the sun. He would be loading the truck up with fishing supplies while we rubbed sleep from our eyes and ate breakfast. After half a day of fishing, we’d come back to the campsite where Dad would unload the truck and start cleaning fish. Then he would get his little grill set up. He would cook fish while Mom would make side dishes. When dinner was finished, we would all help with cleanup, then sit down at the table where we would spend the last of the daylight prepping lines and lures for the next morning. I think I have one photo of Dad sitting in his camp chair enjoying the campfire. It was taken during the summer of my Senior year. Dad made a big deal about that trip and about going to a campground called Fun Valley. The two of us joked the whole time about how fun it was at Fun Valley. He painted ‘Fun Valley’ on one of our campfire logs and gave it to me at the end of that trip.

A few weekends ago, Michael and I went down to my brother’s cabin and set up our camper that we had parked there for the winter. My brother and sister-in-law joined us a day later and we got to spend the weekend together hanging around their cabin. My brother would sit down for a few minutes and then he would be up, puttering around, digging through their shed or moving stone pavers. They had spent the whole week there recently as their vacation and Katrina told me that as soon as my brother got home and sat down in his chair, he fell asleep. I see so much of Dad in my brother Randy. Dad was rarely still. The only times you would see him sitting still would be in the evenings. That is when he would sit down in his worn-out recliner and promptly fall asleep while reading the paper. Unfortunately, after he retired and started up his peanut roasting business, evenings were spent roasting peanuts for the next day. He would get a batch going in his roaster in the garage and then come inside, sit down in his recliner and fall asleep. Dad burned many a batch of peanuts.

Because of our age difference, Randy has often taken on duel rolls of big brother and father figure. I guess that is why I always try to send him something for Father’s Day. Even though I give him a hard time for his choice of ‘news’, he’s still the man in my life that I look up to. He’s still the man in my life who I know will always be there for me. I miss Dad and his ridiculous dad jokes and his constant puttering about. Randy may not have the ridiculous dad jokes, but he’s got the puttering part down. When I see Randy in puttering action, I smile because I see our Dad and then I’ll see Randy do something that is completely and totally Randy.

In that moment, I’ll think to myself how lucky I have been to have them both and how lucky I am to still have my big brother.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Chickens

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Every morning, I walk into the backyard while carrying a cup of coffee and I open the door to the chicken pen. Then, as I turn and start to walk back to the house, all four of the chickens follow me to the center of the yard where they start to peck and scratch. If I sit out there with them for a brief moment, Marguerite will peck her way to me, stand just out of reach and tilt her head at me while murmuring a song. They spend the whole day roaming the back yard or laying in the shade. There is a pile of wood scraps and pallets near the fire pit and sometimes you can look out the kitchen window and see Foghorn standing on top of the pile, surveying the land. There is one particularly good dirt spot in the yard and all four of them will take a turn rolling around in it. At night, just before I head off to bed, I go out to the pen to shut the door. I always take a moment to lift the hatch on the coop and count the number of chickens. One, two, three, four. All four present and accounted for, I close the pen and then put myself to bed.

I knew nothing about raising chickens. I just knew that I wanted some backyard chickens. I had a romantic vision of a backyard farm with chickens roaming free and walking up to me for an occasional cuddle. The reality was a bit different. That was mostly our own fault. The old chicken coop forced us to work harder to care for the chickens; not smarter. The chickens turned out to be ambivalent to our love. There were discussions about what would happen when they all moved on to chicken heaven. The result of that discussion leaned towards not getting more chickens. We did it. We raised some chickens. Now let’s move on to something new. After building the new pen, Michael and I both agree that there will be chickens roaming the backyard for many years. We learned a lot with this first group. The new pen makes chicken care so much easier and the chickens are now living their best chicken lives.

Michael and I met seven years ago in June. After Micheal’s hickup, he threw himself into things (maybe unintentionally) that would make me happy, like buying a scooter. Then he built the chicken coop. He didn’t build it because I had asked him too. He built it because he knew that I wanted chickens. Michael did not know any more than I did about raising chickens, but he dived into learning about chicken husbandry. The chickens are probably more his than mine, though he can never remember their names or who’s who. Our relationship is like the chickens. A lot of times we worked harder for it than smarter. We learned a lot about how to communicate with each other. We had to expand and stretch ourselves to encompass this new relationship. A relationship that is different from previous ones we both had. But I think we have both settled in. I mean, it’s not perfect. There’s no such thing and at times I still find myself working harder, not smarter, but we have found a rhythm. Michael mentioned a few weeks ago that this is the longest relationship he’s ever been in.

So I guess that means we’re doing something right and that we are also living our best chicken lives.

THANKFUL THURSDAY

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Sunday marked the 99 year anniversary of the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. You can find information on the Tulsa Race Massacre here and here and I am sure there are many other resources out there. It is often referred to as the Tulsa Race Riot, but really the events that took place in June of 1921 was a massacre. White men completely destroyed a prosperous and thriving black community. If you click on one of those links, you’ll see pictures in which thirty five blocks were left in charred ruins. A town was left in charred ruins with, what historians now believe, 300 people dead. This event is considered to be one of the worst incidents of racial violence in the U.S. and it was not even mentioned in any of my school lessons. Not even in Oklahoma history. I grew up in the Tulsa area and had no idea that this had happened until I was probably in my late twenties or early thirties. At the time I learned about the massacre, I had someone tell me that “the blacks instigated it.” Implying that it was all their fault. It was up to me to research this topic thoroughly to find the truth because not for a minute did I believe that the black community was responsible for the destruction of their own town. I can see why white people would like to sweep this bit of history under a rug because the why and the what happened in Greenwood that day shows the ugliest side of white people and the destruction of their racism. It is shameful. But that’s what white people do, re-write history to make it look so our actions are justified.

When I found out about the Tulsa Race Massacre, I started asking myself “What else don’t I know?” I learned about George Washington Carver in middle school. The history books told us he was a peanut farmer, not an agricultural scientist and the developer of crop rotation as well as numerous other inventions. George Washington Carver was a scientist. Yet another tidbit of information that the school system did not teach me. What about Henrietta Lacks? How long had I worked with HeLa cells before discovering that I was working with a cell line taken without permission? Too long. But I read about the injustice towards the Lacks family and I educated myself. That is my responsibility, to stay curios, to stay informed and to use my knowledge to stand up against racism and injustice.

I follow number of African American women in social media. I am not saying that as a brag. I would follow and support these women no matter their color because they post beautiful and inspiring content. This week many of those women have shared their stories and reading material. They have done this for their white followers who have been asking “what can we do? how can we educate ourselves?” As a scientist I know how exhausting it can be to have to explain science to non-science people, but I am sure it is no where near as exhausting as having to explain privilege to white people. Yet these women, while having to deal with all of this shit on a daily basis, have indulged us and provided us with resources. To all of those women, I want you to know that I know it is my responsibility to educate myself and to not lean on you. You need to be able to lean on me. To those women, I want you to know how grateful I am for the stories and reading material that you have shared and that you continue to share.

I see you. I hear you. I stand with you. I stand beside you as a pillar to be leaned on in times of need. I will willingly lift burdens from your shoulders. Not for just this week, but for always.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

When you wake up and decide to make blueberry muffins.

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I am not much of a baker. There was a time in my youth when I did a whole lot of baking, often for 4-H related events. Mom always had a pantry stocked with cookie ingredients so that chocolate chip cookies could be whipped together at a moment’s notice. Over the years though, baking has fallen into the bucket of things that I used to do mostly because I had to do them, but now I don’t have to do anymore. Like singing on a stage in front of an audience. I rarely have a pantry stocked with the things one would need to bake a cookie or a cake or even cornbread. The few baking tins that I have yet to donate to Goodwill are all crammed into the cabinet above the refrigerator. In order to access them, I have to stand on a step stool and pull down all the wine boxes/bottles just to open the cabinet door. I have a sourdough starter that I feed irregularly sitting in my refrigerator that I mostly only use for making pizza crust.

Saying that I don’t bake is not the same as saying I can’t bake. Pies are generally my specialty and about twice a year I will make some sort of fruit or lemon meringue pie. I do this to only to keep my crust making skills honed, because I might only eat a small sliver of the pie before I take the rest to work for my coworkers to devour. Cakes and pies go to waste in this house. They just don’t get eaten. Michael is not big on baked goods and the Cabbage only likes six things (poptarts, cherry tomatoes, cheese pizza, refried (no spices!) beans, mac-n-cheese, candy). I don’t bake for people who will not eat the things I bake or who complain about the thing I have chosen to make. But like many of us during this pandemic, I have discovered a renewed joy in creating a baked good. It started with an angel food cake a few weeks ago. I had purchased a large carton of strawberries meant for snacking, but thought about how much better they would taste on top of a fluffy slice of angel food cake. We had two dozen eggs sitting on the counter that needed to be used up and for once, I had all of the things in my pantry for baking except the cream of tartar, which was easy enough to get ahold of. I carefully separated ten eggs to make this cake, knowing that the tiniest bit of yolk contaminate would prevent the egg whites from whipping up into soft white peaks. That was the only time consuming part of the recipe and the truest act of mindfulness because I do not have an egg separator. The result of that mindfulness was a mixing bowl filled with beautiful, soft white fluff. That fluff was folded into dry ingredients and then baked, creating a cake so light that when it was done I was surprised it didn’t float out of the pan on it’s own. For a whole week, we ate angel food cake topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Or at least I did.

Tuesday night, as I sat on the couch, I started thinking about the blueberries I had purchased that I knew where not going to get eaten. I thought “blueberry muffins sound nice.” The last time I made blueberry muffins, I used Bisquick and used the recipe on the back of the box which is basically just add sugar, milk and egg and blueberries. This was years and years ago. I can’t even tell you the last time I bought a box of Bisquick. I looked up a recipe for blueberry muffins online and ended up using one from the food section in The New York Times. It was simple: mix flour, baking powder, salt, in separate bowl cream butter with sugar and then add two eggs and vanilla, stir into dry ingredients with a half cup of milk, fold in blueberries, bake. Wednesday morning, while everyone else was still sleeping, I spent my morning meditation following that recipe and making blueberry muffins. As I spooned the batter into the muffin tins, I knew that these muffins would not get eaten. The Cabbage might eat one. Michael might eat one, but the rest of them would sit in a container until I threw them out. None of this seemed to matter to me because I realized as I slid the muffin tin into the oven that I was not doing this for any one else but me.

I’ve eaten six blueberry muffins since Wednesday.

No…maybe, but I didn’t make those muffins so that I could eat a blueberry muffin every other hour. I made them for the shear joy of baking, the mindful process of blending ingredients to make something lovely. I think I have started baking again for the satisfaction that comes from doing something well. It is a way to compensate for not being well adjusted to working from home. I can’t solve any problems on a microscope today, but I can bake a beautiful and delicious angel food cake or soft and lovely blueberry muffins. This is something I can put on my list as something I can do well right now.

That’s all I need for today.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Turns out, if you're very careful, you can use a Spirograph on your iPad.

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Tuesday evening, I stood at our bathroom sink blankly staring at my reflection in the mirror while brushing my teeth. As I shifted my toothbrush from one side of my mouth to the other, I had a thought that maybe this was the first time I was brushing my teeth that day. Did I do this when I got up that morning? I paused to really think about it, listing my day’s schedule in my head. I had gotten up and showered. Then I think I brushed my teeth. No…I’m sure I brushed my teeth. Then I had to ask myself if it was still Tuesday. It felt like I had done more than one day’s worth of tasks. That morning, I sat through about twenty minutes of video for class and then I presented a paper for Journal Club. Then I started working on my last mini coding project for the class I’m taking. I got tired and frustrated with it around two in the afternoon and so I went outside to haul dirt to the east side of the house. I spent the next two hours hauling, grading and tamping dirt. Then I went inside to shower again and work on the computer some more before making fish tacos for dinner. I cooked. I cleaned and then we played a few rounds of Boggle.

By the time I was standing in that bathroom, brushing my teeth before bed, I was literally swaying with exhaustion. I suddenly realized that I have been doing a lot of manual labor. On top of my job, I have been taking care of the inside of the house, grocery shopping, doing the laundry, maintaining the yard, taking care of chickens, dog, cat, sometimes people, cooking dinner most evenings, no…cooking TWO dinners most evenings because of the Cabbage (that’s coming to a halt), and helping Michael build a retaining wall by hauling dirt and gravel and twenty five pound pavers. I am tired. So on Wednesday, I only did my job. Other than washing my own plate or bowl, I did not clean the house. We fend for ourselves for dinner on Wednesdays any way. So I didn’t make dinner for anyone but me and I didn’t go outside to help Michael with the wall. I was there to witness him place the last stone, but I did not touch a shovel or lift a finger except to take a few pictures.

It was great except for the guilt that would nudge in every once in a while, but I got good at shoving that guilt back. I finished my mini project and graded four assignments. I met with a science teacher in New Hampshire who wants me to talk to her seventh graders next week about my career path. I payed attention and took notes for at least half of the Wednesday Lecture Series. I started pulling microscopy images to show to students next week and travelled back in the way boat machine to find images of the things I did when I worked with Margaret and Phillip. We did a lot of cool stuff in that lab. Then I surprised myself by becoming excited to talk to kids about being a scientist. When I went to brush my teeth that night before bed, I was no longer questioning what day it was or when the last time it was that I brushed my teeth. I was simply getting ready for bed.

The majority of the wall is complete. Michael wants to cap it, but we need to buy those stones. We still have a generous portion of dirt that needs to go somewhere, along with leftover gravel. The neighbors may take some of the dirt and there are a few spots around the yard that could be filled in. We need to order mulch and plant grass seed. We are down to just the final touchups of this project. I am thankful that the neighbors are going to be the ones shoveling and hauling dirt away. I am thankful that we are mostly done with the retaining wall. It is a project that has consumed us for longer than necessary. I am thankful to be finished with my first Python coding class so I can now move on to learning how to use Python in ways more pertinent than game building. I am thankful for the opportunity to share part of my story with a group of seventh graders.

But mostly, today I am thankful for Wednesday.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

For three days this week, I have hauled dirt from the west side of the house, all the way around to the back side of the house. There is only one way in and out of our backyard right now and it is on the east side of the house. The first day of loading up the wheel barrow with dirt and dumping it in the backyard felt like I was moving dirt a teacup full at a time. I looked at the pile of dirt that we excavated for the new retaining wall and felt defeated. I had hardly made a dent. The second day, after losing count of the number trips I had made, I looked at that pile again and felt a little better. By the third day, I had moved enough dirt to regrade the backside of the house. Which I did and then I tampered that dirt down. My bones felt like they were made of jello by the time I had finished. I get to do this all over again for the east side of the house, but I’m waiting until the wall is finished and we’re not having to traipse back and forth through that space. The weather was also predicting rain all day for Thursday and the rest of the week. So Michael and I both gave ourselves a break from wall building for a few days even though the rain didn’t happen until much later.

Even though my body hurts and my fingers go numb if I sleep on my back, there is some satisfaction in taking on this task myself. I am reminded that I have tackled so many piles of dirt in my lifetime. Mental piles of dirt and physical piles of dirt. They all start out in the same way. At first, it looks like I’ve done nothing. Like I’ve only moved a tablespoon worth. I tell myself that I can’t do this; I can’t move all of this on my own. Sometimes I don’t have to do it on my own. Sometimes I have someone to help shovel, but a lot of the time, particularly with those mental piles of dirt, I’m on my own. It is all up to me. So I keep shoveling. Eventually that teaspoon worth has become a teacup full and then buckets full. It starts to sink in that I can do this. Sure, there might be some dirt left over to deal with at another time, but I’ve handled the bulk of it. And in time, I’ll handle the leftovers as well.

Today, I am thankful for every pile of dirt I have had to move in this lifetime.

I am also thankful for the break we gave ourselves.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Gifts. Thank you @mistikae

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I am going to make a confession that Michael doesn’t even know about. After every grocery shopping trip, when I have everything loaded in the car and I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, I take off my mask, rest my head on the steering wheel and cry. I know. It sounds dramatic and depressing. I am not crying over the trauma of grocery shopping. I am not fearful of contracting COVID-19. I take it seriously, but it does not strike a cord of terror in me like it has for others. I am crying because I am mourning a way of life. I cry for the way things used to be. I cry because grocery shopping has become an actual chore. I also cry over the good parts, the way everyone is so respectful of each other’s space. I cry over the grocery workers who I know are exhausted, but still manage to greet each person with a cheerful ‘hello’. I cry over how polite we have become to each other, the patience we have with each other as we shop for the things we need while maintaining our distance. I also cry for this moment I am alone in my car.

And I am grateful for those tears.

While I miss things like going to the office everyday and my Saturday morning grocery experience and being able to sit in the same room with friends and family, I feel like I am settling into this new routine. I spend Mondays and Tuesdays in Python class and coding my assignments. Wednesdays are spent watching an Illustrator tutorial on figure preparation for journal submission and reading the manual for the electron microscopy image processing software. Thursdays have become grocery and cleaning days and Fridays are lab meeting, reading the paper for the next Journal Club meeting and Friday Science seminar. Then there are slots of time between all of those things for me. Every morning around 9:00 AM, Josephine pats me on my leg while I work at the computer. That’s her way of saying that it is time for her walk and I take her on an exploration of the neighborhood. I still take a moment every Monday for my Buddha Board project and once a week, I mine the tarot cards for writing some short fiction. Then there is that hour in the middle of the day when I roll out my yoga mat. My yoga practice has gotten hella strong. I do up to twenty to thirty rounds of sun salutations with warrior I and warrior II. I work on poses that I never really do because they’re too much of a challenge. The other day, I was in a wide leg forward fold with my forearms on the floor and I just spontaneously popped myself up into a head stand. Then I started laughing at myself and fell out of it, but when Michael came in I said “Hey! Watch what I can do!” and did it all over again.

So, I can take my moment to mourn. It’s really just a tiny slip of a moment that is growing smaller each week, and then I can resettle myself into this new routine, new life, and this new version of myself.

I am doing a fucking great job.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Curb side vet care at Noah's Ark Veterinary in Brookside. Josephine's fine. Just needs shots.

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I took Josephine in for her annual checkup on Wednesday. Our vet clinic is doing curb side vet care. You park, call them, and a technician comes out and gets your dog. Then you wait in your car while they examine your pet and administer the necessary shots. Do not be fooled by that look on Josephine’s face. Though she looks really unsure about what’s about to happen, right after I took this picture, Josephine turned her head and started kissing the tech right on her face mask. I sat in my car, playing Animal Crossing (because that’s what I do now), until the veterinarian called to discuss Josephine’s exam. The vet said that Josephine has lost a pound and half, but she still thinks we need to count more calories for Josephine. Last year the vet recommended having Josephine come in for an expensive teeth cleaning. This year Josephine’s teeth looked so nice that the vet said that the teeth cleaning thing wasn’t necessary. Then she wanted to know our secret to Josephine’s clean teeth. She has a cow bone she gnaws on all the time and occasionally she gets a Trader Joe’s denta bone.

The vet said Josephine was healthy and then she said “I have to say, it is such a joy to have Josephine in here. She was so happy to see all of us and so sweet.” I smiled and thanked her. Then the tech brought Josephine out to the car. As she was depositing Josephine into the passenger seat, the tech said to me “She is the sweetest, most loving dog.” I nodded my head in agreement and thanked her. I looked at Josephine and said “Everyone loves you!” Well…maybe not everyone, but Josephine sure is a little fur ball of love. There were mornings where I would give Josephine love and treats before putting her in her crate for the day and think about how nice it would be if I could take her to work with me or just stay home with her all day. Now, I can tell you that it is nice to stay home with her all day.

Since the stay at home order went into effect, Josephine has not been far from my side. If the weather’s nice, the two of us go for a walk sometime around 9:30 in the morning. She has started reminding with gentle paw taps when it’s time to go for that walk. The bed I have for in the bedroom that she rarely sleeps on has been moved to the floor in front of my desk so she has some place comfortable to lay when I am working. Sometimes I move my workspace to the bedroom where I set my computer on my cedar chest and I sit on a meditation pillow on the floor. Josephine follows me and during Zoom work meetings she can be seen laying on the bed right behind me or in my lap on the floor. She’s right there either on my mat or next to it while I do my yoga practice. When I lay down for final relaxation, she curls up between my feet and watches over me. She lays next to me on the couch and if she gets too hot, she lays on the floor under the couch, directly beneath me. Josephine is my shadow and I am a little worried about what it’s going to do to her when all of this ends. Right now I am doing my best to soak up this time I have with her because we all know that we don’t get to keep them in our lives forever.

I have a lot to be grateful for this week. I’ve focused on changing my attitude and being a kinder person and I’m ready to have the Cabbage back with us. Actually, I almost suggested we go get her on Tuesday. Supplies for re-building the retaining wall on the west side of the house all arrived early. There are two pallets of pavers, one of sand and a mound of gravel all organized at the top of our drive way. Our incentive to getting the project completed quickly is being able to get to the scooters inside the garage. Though, I think I can just barely squeeze my scooter out, which you all know that I will attempt to do so. Then, my friend Kristina contacted me about buying a print this week. I was able to respond in a some what professional manner with pricing information instead of “Uhhh…..” A print was ordered. Money exchanged digital hands. Then I started singing “Wow” by Beck because it’s like wow; it’s like right now.

There is a light at the end of this tunnel.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Poops

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While most people are posting their high school graduation photos, I am sharing a photo of a food grinder. This isn’t just any food grinder. I’ve had this thing since early middle school. It was an important tool for a serious 4-H project where me and a few other girls talked about Oklahoma grown stuff. We would set up tables at county and state fairs. Someone talked about dairy. Another girl focused on pecans. I believe there was even a table about cotton. My table was all about wheat and showed the farm to table process from growing it in a small bucket to making it into bread. I used that little food grinder to grind up wheat for making bread that I would hand out as samples. Sometimes, the dairy girl would churn butter and there would be butter for the bread. I did this because I was Lisa Simpson. I am 100% certain that an episode of the Simpsons exists with this very same story line. Any way, the project ran its course and the little food grinder got put away in the far recesses of my Mom’s kitchen cabinets. Occasionally it would make an appearance to grind up something like chocolate or nuts.

When we cleaned out the old house, Mom finally let me have the grinder, like she felt that by the age of forty I had finally proven myself responsible enough to take possession of it. I use it about as often as it was used after the wheat table ended. Mostly, I use it to grind up spices and the flaxseeds I use to wash my face (yes…I am hippie). The little grinder has been getting used daily now that I have to grind my own coffee beans. Then, the other day, my trusty little grinder broke. That black piece laying there on the side is meant to be attached to the lid and is required to make the grinder grind. That very important little piece broke. I know what you’re thinking. How can this possibly be something for a post on gratitude?

Well… I can think of a couple of reasons why this is something to be grateful for.

First of all, the grinder still works! I can hold that little black piece in place and engage the ‘run’ button. Sure, it’s janky, but who cares as long as is it still gets the job done. Secondly, it reminds me to be grateful for the little things that make our lives easier. I am privileged to have coffee beans and I am privileged to have a means for grinding those beans. Heck, I’m privileged to have any kind of coffee at all. I am stocked up on coffee right now. So I don’t want to wait until I am almost out or completely out of something to be grateful. My little grinder is The Little Engine Who Could and I don’t want to wait until it can’t to appreciate its usefulness. I mean, that’s usually when we notice those things. When we are without, we realize how much we appreciated something. I want to remember to appreciate stuff now, while I have it, while it is working.

If I remember to do that, I can remember to be grateful for the big stuff.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Yoga outside

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The week before they officially closed the Institute was really hard. There were just three of us left in my department, which left me dealing with all eleven of our microscope systems as well as a handful of small microscopes we keep on a different floor. We still had scientists using these systems. The Institute is a home for many graduate students and postdocs who’s research and experiments are vital to them being able to graduate and move on. The lab is their life. Near the end of the week when my supervisor finally closed all of our microscopes, I spent the rest of my time telling people “no” and “I don’t know.” The look of despair and disappointment on their faces when they realized that would not be able to do just one more experiment, wrecked me. I sat at my desk crying while reading texts from Jeff and Sarah, my coworkers who were already working from home, telling me to go home.

I just felt defeated.

There was more to it than just the feeling of defeat though. So much of what I do is hands on work. My job is centered around solving other people’s problems. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself or how I was going to be of any value by working from home. Michael has serious fears and anxiety over contracting the virus. He dreads the odd errand that has him leaving the house. My fears and anxiety are centered around not leaving the house. So, I had to do something to ease those fears and soothe those anxieties. I had to find a way to fill up my day with something of value. The Python coding class I am taking does some of that. My department also meets for a Journal Club Zoom meeting once a week and there is a tutorial on using a new image processing software that started this week. We have lab meetings on Fridays, as well as Friday Science Club.

I am busy.

My job has shifted from solving other people’s problems to solving my own problems. The shift has been a HUGE adjustment. I can’t remember when I have ever had a block of time to just focus on solving my own problems and at times I am literally solving problems. Coding is hard. Getting that imaging processing software installed on to my work computer was hard, but I did it. I am doing it. My group all meet in Zoom for tea time earlier this week and some where saying that they kind of like working from home. I smiled, but shook my head. I do not like it and I look forward to going back to solving others’ problems. That’s okay. I don’t have to like the current state of things. I do things I don’t like all the time, like torture class for example. I do those strength training exercises because they are good for me; they make my body a better body. I like to think that spending this time focusing on my own problems is going to make me better at solving those problems for others.

I love myself and see challenges as a way to grow stronger — Manifest Your Unlimited Potential, Mark Guay

I have stuck pretty well with this week’s goals. I’m working. I’m taking a moment in the day to be creative. I am somewhat active. At least, I seem to be shrinking. The number on the scale was a happy surprise this week. Little by little, the new enclosure for the chickens is coming together. My yoga practice feels strong. I got myself (safely) into a pose that I have not been able to do since I turned forty. At the end of each day, my body and brain are so exhausted that I have no problems going to bed at my usual hour. The day to day of things sometimes wears on all of us in this house and there have been some snappy moments, but there have also been moments of stupid laughter. So the gratitude for this weeks comes in the form of settling in to the things I don’t like to do.

And the moments of stupid laughter.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

We've been busy

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Stuff that I am grateful for this week:

• avocado toast that just appears magically before me right at the exact time I need to eat something or kill everyone in the house

• every single time I get on my yoga mat

• a backyard that is now very neat and tidy

• making the highest score I could make on my Python class quiz because Michael helped me to understand a math concept I should have learned in middle school

• that one evening where I made everyone dinner while Micheal started burning off yard crap and the Cabbage and Michael ate outside while I ate inside all by myself and watched the latest episode of Little Fires Everywhere.

• music

• a simple glass of wine

• my chiropractor

It’s been a long time since I have resorted to a list for my Thankful Friday post. I couldn’t figure out how to narrow this week down into one tidy little box of gratitude. Mostly because I don’t think it is possible. If you are like me, struggling to just get through the week, you are going to find gratitude in all of the things that have gotten you to Friday. Like that moment when Michael asked me to hold up the garden hose so he could mow right up next to the house. I stood there holding the hose over my head and yelled “I love you so much right now!” He gave me an inquisitive look because he couldn’t really hear me with the mower going and his headphones in, but I think he got the message.

Last night I had a dream that my house ended up as some sort of quarantine camp. Multiple people were sleeping in one bed. You had to step over people sleeping on the floor and I didn’t even really know any of them. They were all friends of friends, some with babies and toddlers. Micheal followed me into the kitchen where some random person was helping themselves to the last of our cereal and said “This has to stop. Who are these people anyway?” I nodded my head in agreement. Then I grabbed a pan and a wooden spoon. I started banging the pan with my spoon to get everyone’s attention. Then I said “Anyone who does not know my middle name has to leave right now.” Then I started kicking people out of my house. Things could always be worse.

There could be more people in this house.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This is what is currently happening behind me while I'm starting my first day of Python class.

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Well, it is day four of me working from home and I am happy to say that I am settling into a routine. Meditation happens every day. Yoga happens every day. I shower and put on a bra every day. Twenty minutes of some sort of cardio/strength exercises happen twice a week. I spend my mornings in a Python coding class. Then I take a break for lunch. Some people from work meet after lunch to watch some tutorials on electron microscopy. There is another meet-up in the afternoon to see what everyone else in the group is up to and then the whole family goes for a walk. The Cabbage chooses a game for us to play after dinner and then it is close to bedtime. I read some before getting ready for bed and then I get up and do it all again the next day.

There has been surprisingly little TV. In fact Michael and I are kind of behind on some of our shows. I also thought I would be spending more time writing or cleaning or re-organizing, but I haven’t done much of any of those things. I am surprised how I have managed to fill up my time. I think about this weekend and how that will be my time to do some chores and watch TV. I will sleep past 5:30 AM and maybe not wear a bra. Maybe I will spruce up the backyard and create some sort of hangout space. My Saturday is wide open. We have food and no place to go. I was worried that my weekdays would blend into my weekends and that I would start to lose track of time. Work/life boundaries would become blurred. So far, this has not happened. If anything, this experiment in social distancing is causing me to rethink my concept of time and how I choose to organize myself in those minutes.

Of course, I know this is only week one and as the days and weeks progress it will get more difficult to maintain boundaries, to take that shower after meditation, to put that bra on. I am not dwelling on the days and weeks to come. I am focusing on right now. One of Michael’s co-workers gave everyone an assignment this week to come up with a mantra to get them through this time. He loved it so much that he made the Cabbage and I participate. I keep hearing people say “this is the new normal” or “welcome to the new normal” and these words resonated in me. Normal seems to me to be one of those things that you make of it. So I typed up these words and placed them on a photo I had taken earlier in the week: Stop calling this the NEW normal; Just make it your normal; We’re still breathing, working, laughing; The environment just looks a little bit different.

This is my normal.

This morning, after my yoga practice, I stood at the stove waiting for the kettle of water to boil. I thought about how I could do this part of my morning every day. I could get up every week day and do a yoga practice before meditation. It would mean adjusting and tweaking a schedule here and there. I might have to make sure Michael gets up and into the shower before I sit down for meditation. I would get to work about twenty minutes later, but I would just stay twenty minutes later. This ‘stay at home’ practice may be a bit of a challenge but it is giving me opportunities to experiment with my schedule. I am finding out that there are parts of the way I was doing things before that could use some tweaking and adjusting.

It is kind of like taking that horrible tasting medicine. You don’t want to. In fact, it is so gross, it makes you gag, but you take it. You do it because it is good for you and it is going to make you better.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The first ones of the season

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There are three of us left working in the office and two of them are my supervisor and boss. People who can work from home are asked to do so. There is talk of everyone working from home by the end of the day, but nothing new has been announced. I have been stressed out over the idea of working from home mostly because so much of my work is hands on. There’s not much I can do from home except read articles. I have been happy to go to work this week and maintain some sort of routine, some sort of normal. It has been lonely here though. I like the people I work with. Those of us still here sort of mope around the place. I found myself crying at my desk on Wednesday because I couldn’t get my thermometer to work and that old man who has cancer in that news story the day before couldn’t go to his daughter’s wedding. It is a good time for meltdowns. No one’s here to witness it.

At lunch time on Wednesday, I threw on my jacket and marched myself out of the building. The sky was overcast, but the rain had stopped leaving the air cool and brisk. I started walking, taking the risk that it might rain on me and had the sidewalk all to myself. Crossing roads was easy due to the light traffic. As I walked, I noticed the greening of things, like the tips of bare tree limbs with tiny green buds breaking free. The black and white of Winter is slowly being colored in with red, purple, yellow and green. The bright yellow blooms of forsythia, our earliest bloomers, are a striking contrast to its still bare surroundings. I made my way up to the Nelson, which is closed right now. The sculpture garden remains open and I walked the winding trail that leads up to the east side of the Block Buildings. There, in the grassy space between the first two Block buildings, was a young woman just lying on her back staring up at the gray sky. I wondered how long she’d been there before sneaking a picture and then continuing on my way.

When you reach the space between the next two buildings, the path zigzags its way down to the south side of the Nelson. From my vantage point at the top of the zigzag, I could see just a bit of red peaking out of the courtyard and I picked up my pace. There are two small flower beds in the sculpture garden where the tulips have bloomed. Tulip greens have been up out of the ground for weeks now, but none of them have bloomed. These bright red tulips in these two almost hidden away flower beds were the first ones I have seen this season and my heart swelled at the sight of them. I had an almost unproportional reaction to the sight of them. Like something so simple should not be able to make me feel such joy. These bright little beacons of goodness popping up out of the soil were just so beautiful. Tulip season is always my favorite season but this year, more than ever, I needed to find these blooms.

Americans do not like being told what to do, but now is the time to set aside that stubborn willfulness and protect each other. Yes. It is hard. It is scary. At times it is lonely. I cannot visit my family. All of them fall into the high risk category and I cannot take the chance of the possibility of exposing them to this virus. I will not take that risk of losing them because I couldn’t follow orders. I take solace in knowing that eventually all of this will pass and this time will become a distant memory. So, for now, we hunker. Let’s not forget that we Americans are resourceful. We have been able to connect without being in the same room. Within minutes of hearing the mandates to shut down our city, dozens and dozens of people started posting about live concerts, live yoga, free books, free education classes. Online groups featuring distractions and games started forming. We have found ways to laugh and make the best of things. The CDC says we can still go outside as long as we keep our six foot distance from other people. So, GET OUTSIDE! Even if you have to bundle up or carry an umbrella or both.

Get out there and find your tulips.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Looking for the bright side

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My car is in the shop. This week has been an adventure in car pooling and scooter riding. Tuesday was one of those days where we had a goose, a bag of seed and a fox. Only one of us could fit in the rowboat at a time and we all had to get to the other side of the lake. We had several arguments/discussions on the best way to do this. I was pushing the idea of me riding my scooter. Michael was totally against me riding the scooter considering the temperature was thirty two degrees. My attitude shifted over to a you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do attitude, while Michael was just trying to get us all over to the other side of the lake without the fox eating the goose and the goose eating the bag of seed. I can tell you that I am not handling this without a bit of whining or flopping over with how exhausting the hassle of being down to one vehicle seems to be.

I am a spoiled brat.

For most of our time together, Chris and I barely had one fairly functional vehicle. There were a few rare years where we each had our own fairly functional vehicle and then there were the years where we both had scooters. I say that our vehicles were fairly functional because they always made the kinds of noises that made us believe that the only thing keeping the car going was hopes and dreams. Chris and I had an abundance of both hopes and dreams. We worked at the same place, which made things convenient and when I was teaching yoga, Chris just tagged along. He worked out in the gym while I taught class or joined my class at the studio. We were also fortunate enough to be near to Chris’s brother Brian, who can fix just about any car. Rumor has it that Todd’s/Chris’s Mazda that once hit a cow and had more than a quarter of million miles on it by the time we gave up on it, is still somewhere out there on the road thanks to Brian. I have no idea why now having one vehicle is such a big inconvenience other than I have just grown accustomed to the independence of having my very own car. There are a number of households who do not have any access to a car, the majority of those households are African American. They have to rely on public transportation or a friend just to get to work. Talaura relies on public transit every day. It’s great. When it’s working. Or when you don’t have to cart home bags of groceries. Public transportation is even more unreliable in areas of urban sprawl like much of the midwest.

I have made it to work on time, if not a little early, every day this week. I have made it to various appointments and classes. Michael has been able to continue with his open mic gigs. Our lives have not really been all that disrupted. I know I am privileged, but my reaction to being with out a car this week reminds me just how privileged I am and how easy it is to take that privilege for granted. In fact, I feel a bit ashamed of myself to tell you the truth. I mean, I can make excuses for myself. I was worried that I would need a whole new engine or stressed over coming up with the funds to pay for repairs. All of my excuses can be boiled down to one thing: inconvenience. I am going to be inconvenienced. And it isn’t even a big inconvenience. It will not cause me to lose my job. I will not have to choose between fixing the car and eating. There are too many households that have none of those luxuries.

This is not so much a reminder for me to be grateful for my privileges, but to be empathic, kind, and generous with those who do not have these privileges.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Margaret laid a petite egg

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When my alarm went off Thursday morning, I turned it off and then rolled back over to sleep. My body was tired and sore and I wasn’t ready to move. Tuesday’s torture class was truly torturous. Wednesday’s yoga class was more challenging than I had anticipated. Then I taught an equally challenging yoga class that evening. So, yeah, by the next day, this body was stiff and sore. I was still feeling bad about myself over Tuesday’s class and how much I struggled. I keep thinking that at some point this class is going to feel less torturous, but Tuesday had a lot of burpees, box hops and jumping jacks followed up with mountain climbers and pushups. My ankle hurt with every jump. My right thumb area of my palm hurt. My nose was running and all the sinus drainage left me with a cough that made it sound like I had a cold. I noticed the other women in the class not struggling as much as I seemed to be and I am easily the largest most unfit one of the bunch. I left class feeling like a big sweaty loser.

I tell my yoga students all the time to ‘stay on your own mat’. That means not paying attention to what others are doing and only focusing on your body. I forgot that this applies to me. I forgot that this goes for off the mat times as well. My ankle and my thumb were hurting not because muscles were working. I have joint pain because I’m not so young any more. The whole sinus issue that is happening when I exercise is not because I am out of shape. It’s actually a thing called exercise-induced rhinitis. Basically, the high intensity aerobic parts of the class are exacerbating my allergy symptoms. I just need to sniff some Flonase before class. Mostly though, I need to stop comparing myself or competing with the others in that class and just focus on doing the best I can in this body.

I need to give myself a break.

So when I woke up with a groan Thursday morning, I made the choice to sleep in, to make breakfast and then get in the shower when Michael was done in the bathroom. This is the opposite of my usual morning routine. Usually I am so attached to the timing of a routine that I don’t allow for any flexibility even at the expensive of my bodily health. The only consequences for my tardiness are the ones I give myself. The choice to rest really only set me back about fifteen minutes any way. I got to work and started my morning chore list without rushing myself or allowing myself to feel behind for the day. I snorted some Flonase and then went to torture class and focused on my own self. I did all of the jump roping and went up to a heavier weight for squats, taking breaks when I needed to take breaks. Then I high-fived myself in the mirror. I left class feeling like a medium sweaty winner.

I am not a house of cards that falls apart at the slightest disruption.

Giving myself breaks is not an excuse to not do the work; I can do both.

I might be allergic to exercise.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

8/52 Buddha Board Project Fading octopus

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Prints have been ordered for my April showing and the large prints finally arrived this week. I was the most worried about these because I have ordred large prints before from some place different and they did not turn out well. The photo paper was the desired size, but the actual photo printed onto that paper was smaller. So when I placed my order for six 16x20 prints (costing me almost $100), I set the computer down and headed to the bathroom to throw up. I’ve been waking up in night sweats and mumbling ‘disaster!’ with a jolt of panic because I have had yet another nightmare about picture sizes. When they finally showed up, I hesitated in opening them, but they are good. Actually…they are really good. I am fascinated by the one of a Japanese beetle. The size of the image makes it possible to see the battle scars and scratches on his beetle armor. I am happy with these prints.

Of course, now that this worry has been removed from my plate, others have taken its place. Wednesday night, as I drove to teach my yoga class, I started to feel overwhelmed by all of the things. I have spent every spare moment this week taking online courses for CPR training and I will spend four hours on Saturday in more CPR training, which feels like a lot of CPR training. My class that I’m teaching at the Y is struggling with attendance and I have started toying with the idea of finding an alternative teaching venue. We have been going through the process of refinancing the house and it is taking months. I have called twice, been sent to voicemail and emailed twice about what is going on and I have heard nothing back. I made Michael cancel spa-birthday because our debt is out of control and a spa day is an inappropriate use of funds right now. I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to hang pictures on a brick wall or figured out when I am supposed to get into the building to hang pictures. I need an HDMI cable and a way to hook up my laptop or even my iPad to a projector. I need to start putting together my lesson plan for my photography workshop.

Shut up! I know the workshop is not until June!

Michael has a comedy showcase Sunday night. March has Michael headed to San Fransisco for a conference and then he comes back to spring break. We need to pick up a chicken coop that JP has so generously gifted us. I need to figure out something really nice to give or do for him and his partner. I am behind on keeping up with people (Terry, how are you doing? You doing okay?). I think I’m volunteering for the AIDS Walk Open in a few weeks. At least, it is on the calendar. All of these things need to happen on top of normal day to day chores. I still don’t know who I’m voting for in the primaries AND I just got an email with a DIY video on how to tighten up your turkey neck that I have to watch. I also need to schedule my yearly exam, a haircut for Josephine, and an eye exam. When I think about all of it at the same time, my chest tightens and I struggle to draw a deep breath. I have been focusing on making mental lists and categories each morning during meditation to keep myself from hyperventilating. I have been mentally filing stuff into two major categories: things that I can do and things I have no control over.

Quite a bit of all of those worries have easily been placed into the things I have no control over category.

Thank goodness I got a firm handle on my meditation practice, particularly at a time when I have decided to fill my calendar with a whole bunch of things. The things I can do category is organized by timeline and what needs to happen first. I imaging these things in a manilla file folder, placed in order, and on the outside I’ve written with a fat Sharpie “SLOW YOUR ROLL”. I have assignments but those assignments are not due tomorrow. I am not, nor have I ever been, a procrastinator. I invested in a calendar so that I could keep myself organized and on task. All of the things that need to be accomplished and that I have control over will get done in the time it needs to be.

Slow your roll. And take a deep cleansing breath.

I’ve got this.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tonight!

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I gave Michael a Christmas list last year to give him some gift ideas. One of the things on the list was tickets to see the New Pornographers. I really wanted to go to this concert and I knew I would not buy those tickets for myself. Michael and I don’t listen to the same kinds of music and so I am hesitant to drag him to a concert where I know he’s going to look for a corner to curl up and nap in. I knew that the New Pornographers was that kind of a concert, so I was surprised that he actually bought two tickets for me for Christmas. When he presented me with the tickets, I told him “You’ll enjoy it! Neko Case is in the band. You really liked that concert.” What I didn’t tell him was how much the two differ in musical style. They were playing at the Truman, which is a small warehouse venue near downtown. We walked in Wednesday night as Diane Coffee, the opener, was crooning into the microphone. Standing near the back of the crowd, Michael turned to me and said “I’m really surprised by this crowd. They all seem to be about our age.” I shrugged and said “yeah…the band’s been around since 1997 or something like that.”

We found a spot near the front right of the stage. I could see backstage and kept pointing out every time Neko Case walked passed the half open curtain. Then we waited for them to clear the stage and set up for the New Pornographers. I suddenly felt like something was missing and I pulled my phone from pocket as I realized what that was. I opened up messaging and pulled up Todd’s number and sent him the following: “We are at the New Pornographers concert and I can’t help but feel you should be here.” He responded a few minutes later expressing how much he wished he was there. Then I was flattened by a nostalgia tsunami. There was a time when most of my concert going experiences happened in small warehouse venues and half of the time Todd was right there with me hopping up and down to the music. When the Flaming Lips released Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, they played at the Coca-Cola Plex in Bricktown. You tag on the words ‘Coca-Cola’ and you would think this to be a big arena, but it really was just a little bit bigger that a roller rink. Liz Phair was the opener and Todd and I ended up standing on a slightly raised area in the back. Family of the Flaming Lips stood next to us. I remember overhearing conversations as the band played. “Isn’t that your claw-foot bathtub?” someone asked while the video for She Don’t Use Jelly played in the background. An older woman that could have been Wayne’s mom replied “Yeah, they pulled it out of the upstairs bathroom.”

I never stopped moving during that concert and the same could be said for the New Pornographer’s concert. From the moment they took the stage until the moment we left just after their last song, I was bouncing and swaying and singing along to the music. About an hour into the concert, Michael yelled into my ear that he had to go find a seat. He left me near the front, still bouncing and swaying. Only when I knew they were nearing the end did I finally stagger off to find him so we could retrieve our coats from coat check. I zipped up my coat and pulled on my hat and gloves, preparing myself to step out in the freezing temps. Then Michael and I took one last look into the main concert area.

Less than forget but more than begun
These adventures in solitude never done
To the names of our wounds
We send the same blood back from the wars

We thought, we lost you
We thought, we lost you
We thought, we lost you
It will all come back

I turned to look at Michael. He looked down at me and I could just barely hear him when said “That’s nice.” Then we turned and stepped out into the cold.

As we navigated our way through one way streets to get on the highway, I told Michael thank you for spending his evening listening to my music with me. He played it off by replying “I always listen to your music.” I disagreed with him. I told him that when I select music for us in the mornings, I select it with him in mind. More folk. A little bit country. Something he will recognize. The New Pornographers are really outside his musical wheelhouse.

So I meant it when I told him that I appreciated him for spending his evening outside his wheelhouse.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Rainbow road

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I dreamed I had a pet octopus. He was tiny and his name was Charlie. I got him from a kiosk at a mall. It was one of those operations where you build the habitat and then stick an animal in it. I was really mad about the size of the box I had to work with, but I put some white sand in the container with a nice rock. Then the attendant plucked a small pink octopus out of a tank full of octopus and placed it in my container. I gave Michael a solum look and said “He is going to die if we don’t move him into something better than this.” We took Charlie home where he then escaped his container and disappeared. I woke up before finding him dead or alive. I can only hope that Charlie found his way back to the ocean. All the way from Missouri.

I’ve a had a few people checking in with me this week what with it being Chris’s birthday, soon to be followed up with the anniversary of his death. Michael and I have so much on our calendars that we actually printed out the months of February and March and stuck them to our fridge. We’ve written in all of the things and we add things when necessary. I put Chris’s birthday and his death day on the calendar. I did this because every year Michael says something about not knowing the dates and wishing he knew the dates. I don’t want to be constantly reminding him because every time I do, it’s a reminder to me. And by golly, I KNOW those dates and I do not need the reminder. I also don’t want special treatment. I don’t want to be tip-toed around. I just want to go about my daily life, take a moment to be a little sad and swear at Chris for being dead, and move forward.

I am not pretending or protesting too much when I say that I am in a really really good place this year. My meditation practice is solid and consistent. I am not just being responsible for my own happiness, I am taking charge of my own happiness in fact, I’m putting it on the top of my list of things I need to take charge of. I have taken some chances that I did not ever see myself taking like teaching workshops and showing my photography in a space other than my own home. These are things that I never would have volunteered to do, nor are they things that I would have thought would bring me so much joy.

I am Charlie and I am escaping my tiny space for the big wide world.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I heart you

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What is the current state of your heart?

This was a question posed to me earlier in the week at the beginning of yoga class. We were taking our focus to our hearts. Every time I am prompted to focus on my heart, to visualize the state of it, I always picture a living anatomical version. I never picture a cartoon or paper mache version. It is always the real deal, as if I have ripped it straight out of my own chest and I’m holding it in my hand, looking directly at it. I guess I imagine that my own heart is about the size of the palm of my hand. Except when I look at my hands, which are small, I think that my heart has to be bigger than that. Then I start to wonder about the weight of that muscle, what it would feel like to hold that weight in my hand. Yes, I realize that picturing myself holding my own beating heart in all its gory detail makes me sound a bit disturbed. Please remember that I have a very scientific brain. You should have seen how excited I got this week over tissue sections of cavefish ‘eyes’ (they don’t have have eyeballs, only fat cells where their eyes should be, fascinating).

So there I was in yoga class, holding my beating heart in my hand and really studying it and I have to admit that it is not a pretty heart. There are wounds that have been partially sealed up with Frankenstein’s monster like sutures. Some of those sutures have seen better days and are worn thin and frayed, straining to hold together some wound that just doesn’t seem to ever want to heal. There are places between sutures where those wounds sort of gape open, irritably. I mentally give my heart a little shake, tap it with a finger and put my ear to it. I am surprised to discover that my heart sounds better than it looks. I have a Timex heart; it takes a licking and keeps on ticking. The next thing I do, only because I don’t know what else to do, is to mentally re-stitch those frayed sutures and tighten things up as best I can. I mentally clean things up a little before setting that heart back into place. Then I laugh at myself because it’s only during yoga or meditation where I mentally pull out an organ to study. And it always seems to be the heart. It probably wouldn’t hurt to repeat this process with some of my other internal organs. What is the current state of my spleen, for instance.

Sometimes, when I am meditating, I imagine thoroughly sweeping my brain with a broom.

After putting my heart back into place, I can tell you that my heart is holding together just fine. Michael says that I am not allowed to use the word ‘fine’, but it is suitable for now. Despite those unhealed wounds, the muscle is beating strong with a steady rhythm. I only feel a slight ache when I’m still enough to really pay attention and even in my morning meditation practice, my thoughts do not settle into that ache. My thoughts move about randomly as thoughts do. In a sense, I am never really still enough to pay that much attention to it. So I’m going to use the word ‘fine’ describe the state of my heart because it’s not a pretty one, but it is functioning properly. There is maybe even a little flicker of joy tucked inside of it. It seems almost monumental for this to be true for me in these winter months that I tend to hate so dang much. I am grateful for every wound on my heart. I am grateful for every suture holding those wounds together.

I am thankful for the strength and the determination of my heart to continue to beat strongly day in and day out.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tilt

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I hear it a lot.

I’m giving up Facebook!

I don’t like what I see on Facebook, so I’m shutting my account down!

I’m tired of all the hatefulness. I’m cutting out Facebook!

It’s not just Facebook. The internet brings out some pretty gross human (?) behavior. I was reading a blog entry the other day from a woman I have followed since the birth of blogs. The entry was about the death of her dog and the comments left by some people were so awful and hateful. Some of the trolls on her site would even attack the nice comments left by her other readers. There is something about the online world that just brings out the ugliest in a person. Facebook is a bit more complicated than the blogging world, mostly because it is far more crowded. The idea was to create a space to bring people together and Facebook has done just that. I’m just not sure the founders realized how those connection would sometimes be made, like through a shared hatred for diversity. Facebook makes it so easy to share the worst, most reactionary drivel that it is no surprise to me that someone would hit a limit of seeing that crap and say “Enough!”

I have felt this way on a number of occasions. Especially when I see a hateful, often racist, posting from someone that I thought to know as kind and Christian. I mean people change over the years. Things go wrong in a life, but when you follow up a post about the good Lord with a post about hate, then somethings must have really gone wrong with your life. I see these posting and the rants and they disgust me. Yet, I’m still there. I am still on Facebook because I believe in that space to connect people in a good way. I don’t live near my family and some of my closest friends. I use that space to help me stay close, but I also try to use that space to share information, to create a space for open and effective communication and to spread goodness. This is why every time I get a birthday notification, no matter if I only know that person in passing, I will tell that person to have a spectacularly happy birthday. I want you to know that I don’t just type the words to type them or in hopes of some sort of acknowledgment. I truly, with my whole heart, mean the good wishes that I post on a person’s Facebook page. I feel that by posting heartfelt birthday wishes, reliably sourced information and an open and effective communication platform, I am creating a Facebook that I want to see.

You must be the change you wish to see in the world. - Mahatma Gandhi

So I am so thankful for each and every person who left me birthday wishes, not just for the kindness of being told “Happy Birthday”. Whether you realize it or not, your birthday wishes play into my plan to make Facebook a better place. Thank you.