THANKFUL FRIDAY

Mom sent home this elephant plush toy for Josephine. She said she found it in the pet section of TJ Maxx, but there is what sounds like a baby’s rattle in the head of the elephant. Josephine loves it. LOVES it. We’ve even managed to keep it inside the house. New toys usually always do a tour in the backyard. Sometimes they make it back in, but often they get left out there until they are nice and soggy and a bit muddy. The football sized hedgehog Michael bought her a couple of weeks ago is out there now. Usually, after a big snow melt, I grab a laundry basket and go collect all of the babies in the backyard. Josephine frantically hops around me, trying to snatch them from my hands as I lift them up from the ground. Then she does that head tilt thing as she watches me through them all into the washing machine.

She hasn’t learned that Michael will mow right on over all of them. He will not pause to rescue a single baby.

The elephant Mom sent, though, has been a real hit. She has carried that thing around with her all week, nudging me with it, shaking it, sleeping next to it in her bed. I have not seen her become so enamored with a toy since the IKEA rat. The IKEA rat is currently in the basement. I meant to wash it ages ago, but it has just been so nice to not be startled every time she comes in from outside with it, that I kind of just left it there. The cat brings in a live rat one time and that ruins all rat like toys for eternity. Sometimes, while I’m in the shower, Josephine will just start bringing her toys into the bathroom. When I pull back the shower curtain to get out, I will see that the bath rug in front me is littered with stuff like a ball, a bone, stuffed animal. The other day, I went to step out of the shower and the elephant was the only thing on the bath rug.

I have never had a dog before that was all that attached to toys. Hooper had a squirrel toy that he was mildly interested in, but mostly he always acted like an old man. Odie, who got booted to the outside, loved a good game of tug-of-war, but never really attached himself to anything. He did have a deflated tractor tire inner tube that he dragged around the yard. You could look out the window and see him tossing it into the air or sleeping in it. Josephine has a stash of toys and it is delightful to watch her play with them. Every time she picks up a toy and nudges me with it, I can’t help but pause in what I am doing and play with her. We could all use moments in our days where we are encouraged to pause what we are doing and just play.

Josephine and I are very grateful for my mom for providing this current play time break.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I am currently in Oklahoma visiting Mom. She had a fall on Monday while raking leaves and ended up with stitches in her forehead. Michael saw the picture my sister sent me and he said “We’re twinsies!” Mom is fine. No concussion or anything life threatening. She’s just a little bit bruised. I had planned this trip before her fall, but now I especially glad I made the trip down this week.

I have not seem my mother since February.

I know that there are many people who do not get to see their parents on a regular basis. I know that being able to see my mom as often as I do is a privilege. I have always been the one that would go off to camp and never call home, not even once. When Mom took me to preschool on that first day, I dropped her hand and walked right on with barely a wave goodbye. I am a terrible daughter. I do not call Mom once a week or even once a month. I think about calling her. I will send a text or mail her a random card, but I am not good at talking on the phone.

So these one on one visits, when I can see my mom, are important for our relationship.

There is a habit I have had since I was small. Early on weekend mornings, particularly if it was cold, I would crawl into bed with Mom. We would both be awake and often we would whisper talk to each other about what we were going to do that day or what to make for breakfast. I still do this. Whenever I am visiting with Mom. I still crawl into her bed and we talk about coffee or how long we did or didn’t sleep. We talk about getting up and getting the day started while we pull the covers up over our shoulders. I am forty four years old, but I will never ever be too old to crawl into bed with my mom.

I am really grateful that I got to that this morning.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This happens maybe once a year. One of us will buy the wrong dish soap. We will forget that it is the wrong dish soap and bring it home. It is not the wrong dish soap because I’m allergic to it or that it doesn’t clean. It is wrong because it smells like Chris during the last two days of his life. Sunday afternoon, I opened the new bottle of soap and squeezed a dollop onto the sponge . I frowned, but continued washing dishes. Michael walked into the kitchen and I said that we bought the wrong soap again. It’s Ivory. Ivory dish soap smells like dying Chris. You know, just for future reference.

Michael asked if he needed to go get new soap and said 'no’. It just seemed so wasteful. I could get through this bottle of soap, but then Michael sent a text to his ex-wife, Erin. She was picking the Cabbage up later and he asked her if she wanted to swap dish soap. I don’t know what he told her, but I can image that it sounds like a pretty weird request. “Hey, you wanna swap dish soap with us because ours smells like a dying husband?” Erin handed over two bottles of dish soap, a Meyer lemon one and a small bottle of extra strength Dawn. I honestly don’t know if she brought both bottles over because Michael had said the why for swapping or if she didn’t want to give us a half empty bottle of soap. I don’t really care. I’m just grateful they have the kind of relationship where they are still friends enough to request such a thing as swapping dish soap.

I’m also grateful that I do not have to wash dishes while seeing Chris’s face on his last days.

This has been a good but very weird kind of week. Work was crazy with little fires popping up all over the place. Then Michael sent me a text about a truck he was interested in. We’ve been talking about upgrading his truck for years now. The three of us with the dog just don’t fit in his tiny single cab Tacoma. Long camping trips are out of the question because in order for me to drive the truck, we have to move the bench seat. Then people really don’t fit in the cab. Michael has been crunching numbers and looking at our budget. He thinks between now and December are the best times to buy, but he’s always had his heart set on another Tacoma. I think our last camping trip really sold him on the idea of just getting a truck that works for us. He called me Wednesday evening but I missed the call. He was at a dealership, had test driven a truck and was about to walk out with it. If I had returned his call, he would have. Instead, he came home and we talked about it. Then Thursday, I went with him to look at the truck.

Thursday night we came home with a new truck.

It’s probably the fanciest thing either one of has ever driven. My favorite part is the sunroof that opens all the way. I have visions of standing on the seat with my torso sticking out the window and my camera in my hands. Michael says not at highway speeds. I’m all “whatever. I just need goggles.” We did not use the camper as much as we should have this last year, but we have plans to make up for that next year. We have big camping goals. I think the Cabbage qualifies for the Every Kid in a Park pass and we want to take advantage of it. It’s time for the Grand Canyon. I can’t believe I have never been to the Grand Canyon. I haven’t left Chris’s ashes anywhere since D.C. in 2019. I’m desperate to remedy that.

This is has been the strangest, hardest, and at times spectacular, kind of year.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Two, maybe three (?), years ago I impulsively bought a skirt from the sale rack at Anthropologie without trying it on first. Big expensive mistake. A few days after the purchase, I put that skirt on to wear to work and the buttons strained across my belly. I got all of the buttons buttoned, but the one at the waist was nearly cutting me in two. The skirt was too small. I frowned and shoved the skirt into the back of a drawer. Yes, I realize that I probably should have returned the skirt, but I am not good a returns. Particularly if it was a sale item. I feel like I am pulling off a scam or cheating on a test. A few months ago, I bought a dress online (from the same place). It is too big, but I like it like that. When I put it on, Michael said “but…you have no shape.” I cheerfully responded “I know right?!? I love it!” and I do love it. It’s like wearing a soft tent.

Clearly I do not know my size or how to pick up a tape measure and measure my damn hips.

I am reading Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty. It is about a group of people attending a somewhat radical wellness retreat that promises to change their lives. The ten day retreat begins with five days of ‘noble silence’. No cell phones, laptops, TVs. No talking or making eye contact with each other. Diets specialized to each person. Individualized daily schedules. Daily blood draws and blood pressure checks. Counseling, yoga and meditation. It sounds extreme. It sounds downright awful and challenging. It also sounds heavenly to me. One character in particular is attending the retreat to specifically lose weight. She’s desperate to get her body back into the shape it was before having four children. She is recently divorced for the old cliche reason of the husband wanting an upgraded model. This character dived full in to this retreat, without any complaints or objections. In her first counseling session, she asked several times if she had lost weight. The woman in charge never answers her because she doesn’t want this character’s life change to be just about her weight.

Women said they needed to “lose weight” with their eyes down, as if the extra weight was part of them, a terrible sin they’d committed.

Every pound of fat that I have allowed to settle onto this body has made me feel shameful. This wasn’t always the case. In fact I have a very clear memory of the day and moment that my weight became something that made me feel ashamed of myself. Sometimes that memory gets pulled from the back of my brain and placed front and center. I see myself in my hand-me-down swimsuit inherited from my sister and my reflection in the mirror is wearing an expression of shock over not looking anything like my sister did in that swimsuit. I hear the words that came out of my mother; how those words made me curl up with shame. Now that memory makes me burst into flames of rage over how that moment, that one moment, had me wasting so many years trying to get this body to look like someone else’s standard. This week, I pulled out that skirt from the back of the dresser drawer and I tugged it up and over my hips. I buttoned all of the buttons. There was no straining or stretching of fabric. My waist was not being cut in two. The skirt fits. The skirt fits perfectly and I am hyper aware of just how much this body has changed in just a year’s time. Those changes are the side effects. I did not set out to change the landscape of my body. I set out to lower my cholesterol and prevent the Type II diabetes that is so prevalent in my family. I did not lose weight. I gained health.

I have created my own standards.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Bonnet

Each morning during my walk with Josephine, I take a moment to practice some flash photography. I am learning. I find it to be pleasantly challenging and humbling because I end up taking so many crap pictures. Sometimes I even post the crap pictures. It’s important to me to show the crap pictures. There is an honesty in showing them. This practice in making my own light is making a difference and not just with my photography. This was a dark week for me. I have been hearing stories from others. We are all struggling. We all suffer from pandemic fatigue and the added strain of keeping ourselves and our families healthy. I follow some pretty great women in social media and I have read their stories of stress. Everyone of them follow up with a reminder to find the goodness and joy in the day.

There was a schedule change this week and I ended up not going to the office on Thursday and Friday. I spent the first half of Thursday doing a thorough scrubbing of the house. I pulled down the curtains and threw them in the washer. Then I started in the kitchen, wiping down cabinets and walls. I moved to the bathroom where I crawled on the floor to clean behind the toilet. I dusted every surface of every room. I moved the couch and tackled cleaning the windows. There was about two inches of dirt on the window that I had been ignoring. Every winter you can feel cold air blowing in through these windows and we always end up sealing them up with that shrink wrap plastic stuff. I went through four rags and almost all of the multipurpose cleaner removing all of the dirt. I put new covers on the couch, swept, vacuumed and hung the clean curtains.

I woke up the next morning to a cold house and a stuffy nose. For a minute, I indulged in the idea of not walking the dog, but I rolled out of bed and bundled up. Josephine and I went on our walk and I had no intention of stopping for a photo. My fingers were numb with cold and I just wanted to get our walk done. But on our way home, I stopped at the house that grows all the dahlias every year. They’re still blooming, still bright and fluffy. They won’t be for much longer. Soon the man who grows them will dig them all up to be stored in his basement until next year. So I paused.

As I continued with my day, I noticed a little lift in the darkness. I took note of the actions I use to console myself. Putting the things I can control in order, soothes me. Pausing to admire the last of this season’s dahlias, brightens me. Working on a new skill, empowers me. All of these things make me stronger and lighter.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I missed a large chunk of scooter season to the pandemic shut down. Weekends were the only times we were going anywhere or venturing out and we tried to take the scooters as often as possible, but weekend errands/outings more often than not happened in the car. Then Michael broke his arm. His elbow is healed, but he still doesn’t have the strength to hold up his heavy scooter. Now that I’m back at work, I ride my scooter as often as the weather allows for it. The weather has been kind because I have been able to scoot to work almost every day of the week.

It has been amazing.

Wednesday afternoon, I scooted down to Union Station to vote and when I told my boss what I was doing, he was seriously jealous. It was summer like temperatures outside and I pulled off my sweater. If I had had flip-flops, I would have kicked off my socks and shoes and put them on even though I know I’m not to wear flip-flops on the scooter. I could easily imagine myself on an island, scooting my way to the beach, a surfboard bungie corded to my crate. This week someone stopped me in the hallway to say something about how I must be loving this weather on a scooter. I agreed that it has been wonderful. Then I said that I was going to see how hard I could push myself this year by seeing how much cold I could tolerate. Once the temperatures drop down colder than a simple jacket and gloves requires, I might try layering on coats and just keep riding until the first freeze or snowfall. Last year the first snow hit us in October. I think my scooter days for the year are very numbered. I’m soaking in as many days worth as I can.

Michael once asked me if I would ever consider buying a different scooter. Michael is the original Goldie Locks. It takes him some time to find the ‘just right’. He is flabbergasted that I would not even want to consider anything else. I’ve had V for twelve years now and I can’t imagine owning any other scooter. I am sure the day will come when I have to replace V, but my plan is to just replace her with a carbon copy of herself. I knew that I wanted a Vespa the first time I saw Audrey Hepburn gleefully and recklessly take off on one in Roman Holiday . I think I was nine or ten when I watched that movie and it gave me grown-up goals. I thought to myself “Cindy, when you grow up, you will ride a Vespa scooter and wear ballet flats. You will have sassy short hair and maybe wear scarf.” Well, I’m all grown-up and I ride a Vespa. I do not wear ballet flats or a scarf (unless it’s cold), but I do have the sassy short hair.

On my ride home from Dr. Mary’s this week, I passed a man walking with his three daughters. The girls ranged from age two to maybe six. The oldest one saw me first. Her face lit up and she stopped short. Then her little hand went into the air to wave at me. I waved back and then beeped my horn. All three girls hopped up and down with glee. I like to think that I became their Audrey Hepburn that day and that they will grow up to ride scooters.

V is still the best investment I have ever made.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This guy. He was hit by a car. We spent the morning at the emergency vet. He's banged up, but he's going to be okay. Cats are jerks.

The neighbor knocked on our door Wednesday evening. I was the only one home. He told me the cat had been hit by a car and where I could find the cat. He told me that the cat’s face looked messed up. Our neighbor, Brian, was very sad and apologetic even though it wasn’t his fault. I said ‘poop’ and then put on some shoes, grabbed a towel and went to collect our cat. As soon as Albus saw me, he ran off and then Michael and I spent the evening worrying about Albus’s injuries and whereabouts. The next morning, Albus was home and laying in the dog bed. He gave me a weak ‘meow’ and let me pet him before he moved himself down to the basement.

I managed to get him into Josephine’s crate, the only pet carrier I have other than a duffel bag. I tried the duffel bag first and Albus and I both agreed that the crate would be better. I loaded him into the car and made my way across town to the emergency vet clinic that our usual vet recommended. Albus cried the entire time. Which means that I too cried the entire time. Then I waited in the parking lot for rest of the morning. Albus is going to be okay. The vet said that there is obvious blunt force trauma to the right side of his face, but after careful probing he did not appear to have broken bones. I opted out on an x-ray because they would have had to sedate him. Since all of his vitals were good and the ultrasound showed no internal pulmonary issues or other problems, I figured that putting him under anesthesia was not a good idea. He got some pain management medication and he is now locked in the basement with food, water and a litter box and he hates it. He’s just going to have to keep on hating it because that’s where he’s staying this weekend while we are away camping.

We both got really mopey when that cat ran off injured and we didn’t know if he was okay or holed up dying somewhere. Michael was particularly upset. He considers Albus to be his cat even though the cat comes to me when his bowl is half full and it is my lap he lays in. But Michael is the one who rescued Albus as a kitten. It is Michael’s fault the cat is part of this family. That’s the thing. As much as I curse the cat, I have to admit that he is part of our family. We miss him when he doesn’t show up. We are concerned when he shows up with a scratch on his nose. We are sick with worry when he shows up with blood all over his face and a messed up jaw. We know that because of Albus’s lifestyle that just him coming home every day is probably a miracle. We are grateful that he is going to be okay.

Man, this year is trying really hard to kill us. We are managing to stay alive, though slightly broken and bruised. Broken things can be fixed. Bruises will heal. Both of these are things that make you really appreciate that you are still living and breathing. Let’s try to keep it that way for a while.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Aum

My boss walked into the office on Tuesday, looked at the microscope schedule and then said “Cindy, go home. Things are not busy here.” I frowned behind my mask. It is true that I have been the on-call person in our office for the past three weeks. Most of that time, I have been entirely on my own to clean and maintain five different systems and troubleshoot any problems that might come up, but I’m good with that. I’ve been good with being in the office. I didn’t want to go home, partly because I’ve been on a roll with the number of steps I’m getting in each day. I knew if I went home, I’d just become a couch slug for the day. So I stayed. I worked on coding while I ate my morning snack. Then I grabbed my yoga mat and walked up to the Nelson. When I got to the front lawn of the Nelson, I made my way to a shady spot created by one of the giant shuttlecock sculptures. I rolled out my mat and did an hour of yoga.

It was an hour of time well spent.

The Nelson is closed on Tuesdays right now and the sculpture gardens that surround the museum were mostly empty. The temperatures outside were prefect with a light cool breeze. Every time I looked up, I would see a monarch float by or a family of swallows swirling around. When my timer sounded to end my final relaxation, I carefully sat up and slowely opened my eyes. Then I rolled up my mat and strolled back to work, relishing my yoga high. I paused at Kauffman Gardens to take some pictures. I did not rush myself and as I got closer to my office, it suddenly occurred to me that this is what self care looks likes. I mean, I genuinely felt at peace, relaxed and focused. I realized that I had felt real joy in my yoga practice that day, something I hadn’t felt in some time. Yes, I know I’ve talked about my yoga practice and how it has been a touch stone for me this year, but my time on my mat has not always been necessarily joyful. It’s been good. It’s been the most useful tool for giving me at least one hour of quiet brain time. It just hasn’t always filled up my heart with joy.

Being okay is not the same as being filled with joy. While I do not expect to always feel joyful, I do expect to recognize moments of joy. What I learned this week is that I have not been paying enough attention to moments of pure joy. This year has not been a year without joy. This has just been a year where it has been more difficult to recognize and hold onto the joy that flutters in and out of daily life. Of course, the more difficult it is to recognize and hold onto joy, the more important it is to do so. So right now, I am holding onto that joyful hour of yoga at the Nelson, but I’m also strolling through my memory bank to make a mental list of joyful moments that I failed to notice.

When was the last time you took the time to give to yourself, what you endeavor to give others? - Sarah Blondin

When was the last time you took the time to find joy for just you?

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Walking a tightrope

There was an editorial I read the other day about how it’s okay to be okay right now. The author talked about her fears and worries at the beginning of the pandemic. When none of the things she was stressing over happened, she was relieved and grateful. But then she felt guilty for having those feelings. Physiologists call this a meta-emotion.

Feeling guilty about experiencing joy, happiness or wellness during times of crisis is a negative-positive meta-emotion. These secondary feelings are powerful because they are linked to depression and can be an indicator of our level of emotional awareness, the study shows.

There were a number of things in this article that struck different chords with me. Like the author, I had many fears and worries at the beginning of the pandemic. Most of those fears and worries centered around job security and the health of my family. I stressed over what would become of me if I no longer had my usual routine. I was sure I was going to fall into complete ruin. While I still worry about the health of my family and those around us (this virus is still a real thing, there are about 108,000 reported cases in MO, numbers are going up here, not down), I am no longer worried about job security. I adapted and did not fall into complete ruin. There have been real traumas. Some scary and bad shit went down, but we survived it.

Maybe I feel guilty for surviving.

I have never felt deserving of joy, happiness or wellness since Chris died. It is a “I can’t have nice things” mentality. I know this is not true, but it does not stop me from feeling like I am not deserving because I didn’t do enough to hold onto the so much joy and happiness I had with Chris. So finding any kind of ease in this current life seems something I am not worthy of. Look, I know how stupid all of this sounds, but we are our own worst enemies. I also grew up in a home environment where feelings of joy and happiness were only very subtly expressed, if expressed at all. The norm in that house was disappointment and unhappiness. My relationship with Chris was centered around the opposite of my upbringing. We took on the act of finding joy as a daily project. Even in times of crisis.

“When we try to push away negative feelings, they start bubbling up in odd places. So many of us don’t want to feel bad feelings,” she said. “We think of all these negative feelings that we think we shouldn’t have because we should be ‘focused on the positive.’ But until we acknowledge the negative things that are getting us down, we can’t break them down. And that’s what we need to do, break them down.”

Dr. Kirmayer added that it’s also important to normalize negative emotions.

I am guilty of focusing on the positive without acknowledging the negative. Then and now. “Things could be so much worse.” “I’m lucky and fortunate because…” I play off the negative thing because at the end of the day, I am still breathing. Those negative feelings never really go away because I don’t allow time for acknowledgement of those negative feelings. So, I am going to tell you that there have been moments in the past six months that have suuuucked. There have been moments where I have felt like I have been struggling to keep my head above water, moments where I wanted to scream and cry and throw a fit. This is not me complaining. This is me acknowledging the negative feelings. Those feelings are valid. But it does not mean that I am not deserving of some joy and happiness.

I am working on not judging myself and normalizing the truth that I am capable of many emotions and that all of those emotions are valid. In this moment, right now, I am content. My mornings are lovely. I exercise and then take the dog for a walk. When we get home, I leisurely get ready for work. I even have a cup of coffee before I head off to the office. It is quiet in the office, but I still have plenty to keep me busy. Yet I still manage take a moment in the middle of my day to get on my yoga mat. At the end of the day, I am pleasantly tired at the end of the day, worn down from the day’s activities and not the stress of the what if.

I’m okay.

Wear a mask. Social distance. Wash your hands.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Changes

I officially resigned my teaching position at the Y. They called me last week to ask if I had plans of returning any time soon. This call came after the fourth email ( in as many weeks ) from the Y where I teach confirming another positive COVID case. So I told them that I don’t know when I would feel comfortable coming back. The person I spoke to was very understanding and told me that I was always welcome to come back. I am officially no longer teaching yoga and I have mixed feelings about this.

I once introduced myself to a yoga teacher here and when asked where I was teaching, I said “I teach at the Y.” He grimaced and said something about how the pay is terrible and yoga was better in a studio setting. While I don’t disagree that yoga is better in a studio setting, I did disagree with his general philosophy that yoga should only be taught in a studio setting. I have always seen myself of less than a yoga teacher and more of a yoga ambassador. The first yoga class I ever took was in a gym. I could barely afford the gym membership. I could most definitely not afford a gym membership and a membership to a yoga studio. I may have hated that first yoga class, but it put me on my yoga path. When I completed my yoga teacher training, I knew that I would end up teaching more classes in a gym setting than a studio. I wanted to bring quality, safe for your body, yoga to people who could not afford the gym and the studio. I also wanted to change some preconceived notions that some people have about yoga.

Good Lord, if I had a dollar for every time someone said to me “I can’t do yoga. I’m not flexible.”, I’d be rich.

Yet despite how I feel about making yoga more accessible to the masses, I am a little relieved with my resignation. My class at the Y had become a bit of a challenge. The space provided for the class was an open space and often someone would wander in from the gym area and set themselves up on one of the stationary bikes that lined the wall. I was always raising my voice to compete with the clanks and clinks and other noises of the gym. Wednesday evenings at 6:30 was just not a great time slot for a yoga class and my class size rarely exceeded more than three people. Driving the fifteen minutes to teach this class where I had to yell at the few students that attended once a week was become less fulfilling and more of a chore. I hate to say it, but if it hadn’t been for this pandemic, I would still be yelling at my three students and interrupting class to ask some random Joe to leave because this was a yoga class and not a spin class. I would still be holding onto this thing that no longer serves me.

I don’t know what this means for me as a yoga teacher. I know I have mentioned some sort of video series, but the reality of that ever coming to fruition is highly improbable. One of the things I love most about teaching is the connection I make with my students and I just don’t think I would be fulfilled by teaching to a recording camera. Not to mention all the cringing I would have to do during editing because of my voice or my how my body looked. I’ve over come a lot of self esteem issues, but watching myself on screen with out feeling completely humiliated is going to take more work. I guess my gratitude today comes in recognizing that sometimes the things you love are not necessarily serving you well. It doesn’t mean you have to stop loving it. It just means you find a new way to love it. For right now though, I’m content to settle into what is left of this year and maybe start finding a new way to do something I love.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I started a Thankful Friday entry that didn’t really come across as something of gratitude. So I deleted it. Tuesday evening, I sat down on Dr. Mary’s couch and I told her about all of the things that happened since the last time I had seen her. I started with almost losing my favorite sweater and ended with how my mom did not get raped and murdered in her own home. Dr. Mary was shocked by all of it and said “Cindy! How are you keeping it together?!?” I opened my mouth to tell my usual lie and was surprised when the truth fell out instead. Suddenly, I realized the effects of all of these recent micro traumas and the toll they’ve taken on my body and brain. I let it all spill out at Dr. Mary’s feet and then felt my right shoulder move away from my right ear.

There is gratitude in releasing all of the things that normally (for me) feels like complaining.

There is gratitude in going in to the office to work.

There is gratitude in spending hours at a microscope (particular if the samples are good ones).

There is gratitude in receiving notes that make you laugh out loud in the mail from a friend.

There is gratitude in a grilled cheese made with Brie, Shiitake mushrooms and arugula.

There is gratitude in closing a noisy group chat window so that you can focus on the task at hand.

There is gratitude in how infectious Josephine’s excitement about going for our morning walks can be.

There is gratitude in spending the day in an absolutely empty office.

There is gratitude in buying that pair of pants in that online sale when you are not sure they are going to fit and then they fit.

There is gratitude for the reminder to be kinder to yourself; you’ve been through a lot and you deserve to give yourself a break.

There is gratitude in a list.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Dog walk find. Though it's meant for kids, it really applies to adults too. Every 👏🏻 Thing👏🏻is a choice👏🏻. Kindness, acceptance, tolerance, doing the just thing. Choices.

This week I have seen the return of something similar to before the start of the pandemic. I am now on an every day work shift from 9-1:00, but every day I have ended up staying later than that because I have had so much to do. Which pleases me. Michael is back at school preparing for a hybrid learning situation. His wounds are healing nicely. Though this routine is similar to before, it is still new and a bit different. There have been a few navigational snafus and there was a moment this week when I realized that I had fallen into the same old pattern of working really hard to accommodate others.

The thing is, I’m a born accommodater. Mostly, I’m more than happy to do it. I genuinely want to make the lives of those around me easier, but I am discovering that this is a trait that can be taken advantage of. Before I know it, I’ve contorted myself into a very uncomfortable position that leaves me cranky and exhausted. Then I’m asking myself “Why am I so cranky and exhausted?!?!” It takes me a minute to realize that I have been working so hard at accommodating others. That realization is usually prompted by the actions of those I am accommodating. It becomes clear that I am being taken advantage of and I need to set some boundaries or reestablish boundaries. My time has value. My time should also be taken into consideration by others. I do not need to work so hard to accommodate people who do not respect or value this and instead take advantage of my willingness to be so accommodating.

I never really had to set these kinds of boundaries before this version of my life and it does not come easily to me. I struggle with guilt that comes from putting myself first, making me the priority. I worry about the consequences of putting myself first, the feelings of the other because I am no longer prioritizing them. It is a difficult balance to prioritize someone just enough so they know they are cared about, but not so much as to sacrifice one’s self. And there is nothing like a new routine to remind you of this delicate balance. My self care is not getting a pedicure or a massage. It is working on maintaining boundaries. It is, at times, making myself the priority. It is me proudly wearing a badge that says “did not please everyone.”

It is me assuring myself that I do not have to please everyone.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Wednesday

Josephine and I have been hitting the pavement for our morning walks right around the time the sun is coming up. It’s hard to believe that there is a little over a week left in August, but I can clearly see September on the horizon. The morning temperatures have required long sleeves on our walk and a jacket when riding the scooter. The sun is setting a little bit earlier in the evenings and it is a little bit slow to rise in the mornings. As we crossed Troost to head towards Tower Park on Monday morning, I looked at the sky to the East and it was beautiful. So I stopped and took a picture. Because that is what I do. Later when we got home, I sat down to upload that picture, labelling it ‘Monday’ and then I decided that my photography project this week would be a view of the sunrise every day this week.

When I looked up at the sky on Wednesday to take a picture, I was a little disappointed. The sunrise was not all that spectacular. This was the first thought that entered my brain as I went to frame the shot. Then I repeated that thought out loud so I could physically hear how stupid that sounds. Any morning I am up to see the sunrise is spectacular. The fact that the sun rises and sets at all every day is spectacular. After all of these months, you would think that there is nothing left to be taken for granted. Apparently sunrises are something I can still take for granted. For six months out of the year, the sun does not rise in Antartica. Once the sun finally shows up, it stays up for another six months. If you lived in Antartica, you would only see the sunrise once a year. When Talaura and I visited Maine that one year, we made it a point to be at Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park in order to watch the sunrise. We were not the only people present and there was a sense of excitement and anticipation for those very first rays of light to make their appearance. I can only imagine how those feelings would be intensified for that sunrise in Antartica.

The earth turning and the sun rising and falling is one of the only constants I have right now.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Monday

There was a Facebook reminder that popped up this week that I did not share. It was picture taken ten years ago of Talaura and I unlocking a lock inside a church. It was the first time I had visited New York and Talaura had the keys to the city. Those keys let you unlock secret places like the power box to a lamp in Bryant Park, which I did. When I opened that box, it was full of notes from others who had been there before me. This was the first time I had spent any length of time alone with Talaura and we had such a wonderful time as she toured me around, showing me her city. Then I dreamed about Talaura. She was showing me the ropes of the new office I had just started working in. She was glowing, healthy, relaxed. She seemed happy. I don’t know what else happened in that dream. All I know is that I woke without an urgent sense of dread and worry, which is rare these days.

Talaura called me from somewhere in Arizona that very same morning after my dream. Her sister is moving to Hawaii and the two of them were driving the family cars to California to be loaded on a ship. Talaura called me to specifically tell me about all of the things she knew that I would want to photograph. She talked about the landscape, the sparseness, the poverty and all the random shacks of people living off the grid. Talaura said “I know you would want to stop all the time to take pictures.” As she talked of all that she was seeing on this drive West, I wished with my whole heart that I was sitting in that car with her. I told her that I would never make it to California because of all of the stopping. It was so good to hear her voice, but it was more than good to hear the joy in her voice. It made my heart swell. It does not go unnoticed to me that this memory and that dream would show up at the same time; nor does it go unnoticed how well Talaura knows me. She saw the magnificent landscape around her and thought “Cindy would want to photograph all of this.”

Hearing joy and excitement in the voices of those you care about is infectious. Having a friend who knows you so well that they call you with joy and excitement because they know you would appreciate the description of the view they are witnessing is priceless. I am a very fortunate human being.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Roar

I went to bed and laid there waiting for sleep. I could hear a heated basketball game happening at a house somewhere behind our’s. The thumping bass of a car stereo vibrated my heart as the car rolled up the street. Josephine softly growled at the dog we could hear barking somewhere in the distance. I finally drifted off to sleep with the sounds of the neighborhood as my lullaby. Then I was standing in a bar with Michael, who had been carrying a crate of junk. He set it down and said he was getting a drink. I was annoyed. He was supposed to be taking me home. I looked at him and said “I guess I’ll call an Uber then.” He got bent out of shape because I didn’t want to sit at the bar and drink with him. Josephine was with us and I set her down to call for an Uber. When I hung up, Josephine was gone and I spent the rest of my time desperately calling her name and looking for her. I woke, disoriented and patting around on the bed, searching for my puppy. I sighed with relief when my fingers touched her warm soft body. Then I looked at the clock.

I had only been asleep for an hour.

The rest of the night continued in this pattern of nightmares and waking every other hour. The losing Josephine dream is the only one that I really remember. Probably because all of it is plausible. I remember all too well when Josephine went through her escape artist phase and getting a call from animal control while I was on a plane to NYC. Josephine has caused my heart to seize up in fear more than once or twice. The problem is that I might just love her too much. Dr. Mary and I discussed this when I saw her this week. Dreams and dogs. She told me about a movie she saw where the recent widow had to then bury her dog. I told her about how I had to do the same thing. We were both crying by the end of it all. Then I told her about the dream I had about sitting next to Stephanie as she lay in a hospital bed. It was a terrible dream that had me texting her the next day. Checking in. Touching stone. We are living in an environment where we are all too aware of what we have to lose. Some of us are living in an environment of loss and are clinging desperately to things we know we could lose.

My friend Sarah’s new mantra: Pandemics are hard.

I have been thinking about what exactly makes a pandemic life so difficult. This has been a battle week, a week of fighting brain fog and sleep demons. I burned my kitcheri in the Instapot because I forgot to add water. Yesterday, Michael refilled the water bin for the chickens and without thinking, closed the door to the pen on his way out. The chickens couldn’t put themselves to bed and when I went out there to check on them, they were freaking out. Two were fighting for space in a window well. One, Foghorn our flyer, was on top of the pen. Margaret was huddled under a chair and made a beeline for the pen as soon as the door was open. The remaining three had to be herded into the pen and they talked about it the whole time. They were tired and they just wanted to go to their bed and they had complaints. The chickens are creatures of habit, just like us.

Pandemics are hard. First there was the loss of a habit, your daily routine. Then there was a moment of mourning that loss, which might sound silly or trivial. But loss is loss. You go through all the same emotions as any other kind of grief. Sadness, despair, denial, anger. Sometimes tucked in between all of those is a moment of joy and eventually we get used to the loss of our routines and daily habits. This week I have felt that shift where I am not necessarily grieving for the loss of my routine as much as I am preparing myself to grieve for the loss of something more important than a daily routine. I am very aware of what I have lost. Who I have lost. It is only natural for me to be fearful and anxious about what else I could lose. I am all too aware and so I spend my nights dreaming of holding onto the things I could lose with the tightest of grips. I need to loosen that grip.

Today I am thankful for the reminder to relax my grip and to stop holding so tightly to what I could lose.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This is the only copy I have of my thesis. I've come close to throwing it out so many times. A researcher at a company contacted me this week asking me for information about this work. I had to dig it out of the back of the filing cabinet to answer his questions.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever read.” That is what my advisor told me as I handed him the key to his lab while balancing a box of my belongings on one hip. It was my last day. My departure date had been written into his calendar for more than two months. He chose this moment to tell me that he wanted me to completely re-write my thesis, the same thesis he did not read until after my defense. I left in tears, enrolled in another semester of thesis hours and then moved to start a new job. My advisor said that he would give me notes and revisions, but months went by without hearing from him. So, I started working on it on my own, mirroring the style of journal articles. I sent my revision to my advisor, but never heard anything back. Finally, Chris camped outside the man’s office with the final copy and sign-off form. My advisor signed the form. I don’t think he ever read any version of my thesis. Two years later, my advisor died from a heart attack. One of his then graduate students contacted me with a manuscript that he wanted to get published. It was written in the style my advisor preferred, but by then I had some experience and new something about the writing style of a journal article. I told the student that the data was good, but that the paper would never get published written in that style. The graduate student replied that he didn’t want to change the style in honor of our advisor.

My work in that lab was never published. I never heard another word from that graduate student. I never received any notification of publication.

Graduate school wrecked my confidence and self esteem. I left with my masters, pretty sure that I was never going back. I told myself that I was not smart enough to get my doctorate and I wallowed in my failure for a few years. I had been under the impression that graduate school was meant to wreck you, but I have seen time and time again that this does not have to be true. I just had a bad experience. I have also worked with enough PhDs to know that I am smart enough to get a doctorate. The reasons I have not gone ahead with it now has more to do with a lack of interest. It wouldn’t get me anything but bragging rights, but I will admit that I’ve always held on to some bitterness over the unpublished work I did in graduate school. I do not have any digital copies of my thesis. All that is left is a hard copy, a thick stack of papers that I have been carting around with me for twenty years. Every time I clean out the filing cabinet, I think “I should just throw this out.” But I never do.

This week a researcher from a spectroscopy company tracked me down to ask about the work I did in graduate school. I was at work and I sent a text to Michael asking him if he would see if my thesis was still in the filing cabinet. He dug it out and sent me a picture of it so that I could confirm his discovery. I replied “Holy shit. That’s it!” I still can’t believe I never threw that thing away. That evening when I got home, I skimmed through it so I could find the answers to some questions the researcher had asked me. I cringed the whole time while reading through it. It still holds the taint of being the “worst thing” I’ve ever written, but I found the answer to the researcher’s questions. I don’t know if they’ll end up using any of my data or information, but there was something validating in their request for information on my work. Maybe finally it will actually be put to practical use.

And it only took twenty years.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Thursday

Just about a block down the street, there used to be this large overgrown patch of land that was often a dumping ground for garbage. It’s where people left old mattresses and broken chairs, tires, anything easily tossed from an open window. Then one day the city came in and cleared the whole lot. They replaced the overgrown unofficial garbage dump with a park. The did this in a few areas of my neighborhood. The parks are part of a pilot water drainage system designed to take the stress off of the street gutters and funnel that water into useful irrigation. The one they built to the south of me is bigger, includes a playground and a new metal art structure. All of the parks are filled with native plants that require little maintenance and have nice walking paths that meander around and through. The parks have been a wonderful addition to this neighborhood.

Two or three times a week, my walk with Josephine takes us through the neighborhood and includes a walk through the park at the end of my street. We see rabbits and snails and birds. Yesterday there were muddy deer tracks crossing the sidewalks. This week, Josephine and I have arrived at the park around the same time as a group of black women. This group of women range between the ages of thirty something to sixty and they come dressed for working out. Which is what they proceed to do. Someone sets a timer on their phone and the women start walking the loop of the whole park, round and round until the timer beeps. Some carry small hand weights. They all have masks and wear them. Every time I see these women, I smile and say “good morning!” and they respond cheerfully with their own chorus of ‘hellos and good mornings’. Josephine and I move on and leave the park to them, but on the inside I am high-fiving and cheering these women on.

According to the U.S. Department of Health, four out of five African American women are overweight or obese, which leads to higher probabilities of type 2 diabetes and heart disease. There are many factors, mostly socioeconomic, but a lot of it has to do with having access to affordable healthy options. Keep in mind what I said before. These parks are a pilot program. They didn’t start it in the expensive neighborhoods like Brookside or the Country Club. They started this program in the poorer communities. The city saw the value of investing in healthy spaces in poorer communities because when we create healthy spaces for communities, we create an environment for healthy living. Regardless of race. This group of women is proof of that. Every time I walk or drive by one of these parks, I see people walking the paths. These people are proof of that.

I feel very fortunate to live in this neighborhood.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Not social distancing mushrooms

There was an article this week about Japan banning screaming on roller coasters as they move to reopen amusement parks. Their message is “Please scream inside your heart.” and I have taken this message as my new mantra. It might even be a new tattoo once that is a safe thing to do again. I have been screaming inside my heart for years, but to have it worded so politely makes me giggle. I can image using that sentence at someone who is in the process of directing their rage towards you. Holding up a hand and gently saying “Please. Scream inside your heart.” is a great way to diffuse a situation.

Or get yourself punched in the face.

I thought the week should have been over by Wednesday. It has been an intense week with my first COVID test and signing up for research testing on top of trying to work from home. The thing about taking this virus test is that you have to wait at least three days for your results. It is not instantaneous. So, you go fill up a tube with spit and then drive home and wait and worry. Because the results of that test do not just effect me. They have an impact on this whole household. That is a heavy weight to carry around on one’s shoulders. Then I was contacted again by the Y about resuming my yoga class and I again had to tell them ‘no’ because infection numbers are only going up. Working out is very aerosolizing, meaning there’s a lot of heavy, open mouthed breathing happening. The COVID virus loves group work outs because it is the best way to spread itself all around. I felt terrible saying ‘no’ but I just couldn’t in good conscious be part of potentially spreading COVID around, particularly when so many of my students are older adults.

My concern and care for the well being of others is greater than my frustrations over not being able to lead the kind of life I was living before the pandemic.

I am happy to report that I am COVID free and I plan on staying that way.

Wear a mask. Keep up with social distancing. Consider the greater good and do some screaming inside your heart.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Delicate wishes

This is what I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Well…it isn’t the only thing I’ve been thinking about, but it has been taking up a lot of brain space this week for some reason. I’ve been thinking about what this pandemic would look like if Chris were here. I talked to Dr. Mary about this on Tuesday. I talked to Dr. Mary about a lot of things on Tuesday. I only see her once a month now. So the minute I sit down in her office, I just start babbling. It feels more like I do a lot of complaining and after I finish whining about something, I try to end it with something positive like “at least I still have a job.” Because that’s no joke. I complained a lot before I got to Chris and imagining an alternate reality.

The thing I miss the most at this moment is his sense of humor. Good God, I miss the way we would just laugh. He had a way of taking those dark serious parts of life and turning them into something we could laugh about. Not in an irreverent way. Okay…sometimes in an irreverent way, but we knew when to be respectful. Mostly. I have spent this week desperately curious about his take on our current events. I miss the sharp razor blades of his wit and I miss his silly antics. You know his face mask would look re-damn-diculous. I came across that picture of him in Chad’s jeep the other day. His face all dorky and hair messed up as he played the part of Rosco the Hitchhiker. Imagine that face wearing a face mask. He could make me laugh like no one else and he saw the value in the need for laughter.

The value in the need for laughter.

Life is a struggle. At times it is a grueling slog. We are living in a dumpster fire right now. I have friends who have lost jobs and have had to make some really difficult decisions. Science has been politicized in such a way that it has put peoples lives in danger. POC are still being murdered by police. STILL. It feels like we’re on a hike that went horribly wrong and have ended up trudging through a swamp up hill with only one good hiking boot. We’ve run out of water and snacks. The compass broke, it’s raining and we are being swarmed by mosquitoes. I one hundred percent guarantee you that Chris would have us in stitches with a running gag about that one boot and that broken compass. Of course this world needs more empathy, more compassion, more understanding of otherness. Of course we need those things. But we also need laughter. If Chris taught me anything, he taught me this.

To tell you the honest truth, I don’t even know if all of this would be happening if Chris were still with us. I still believe that his death altered our timeline significantly. One thing is for sure though, he would still be making us laugh.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Heart

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We bought a new blender because I broke my old blender. I mean I buhroke it. About a year ago, I went on a cleaning bender and collected all of the kitchen appliances that only get used when every other planet aligns and carted them to the basement. My arms were full of appliances, including the blender, and I took one step down the basement stairs when the blender pitcher toppled off the base. It bounced all the way down the stairs and shattered on the basement floor. At the time, I just sort of shrugged it off. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had used that thing. I don’t like margaritas.

Just before the dumpster fire that is the current state of affairs, Micheal and I started intermittent fasting during the week and we just stuck with it. It means skipping breakfast and having a snack around 10:30 am. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, my snack has been some cottage cheese with some fruit. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s avocado toast with a boiled egg. (Shut up. I know I am lulu crazy pants.) Then, I started to get a craving for a smoothie. Not just any smoothie. I wanted a really green smoothie. One with kale and spinach and maybe a bit of celery, a squeeze of lemon. The more I thought about it, the greater my craving became until I finally decided that we needed to buy a new blender. So I told Michael that I was going to buy a new blender and he said “Wait a minute. Don’t you think I have a say in this?” Then he went down a rabbit hole of research into blenders. By the time I woke up the following morning, he had ordered one and as soon as the delivery person set it down on our front porch, I grabbed it up. I pulled it from the box and then immediately sliced open my finger on the blade while I was washing it. Appliances work better after they have been given a blood sacrifice.

That was two weeks ago. Now, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I put half of a banana, a stalk of celery, a handful of kale, a handful of spinach, a dollop of plain yogurt, and some ice into one of the individual blender cups that came with our blender. I squeeze half of a lemon into it and then blend it all up. Michael thinks it tastes like a pasture, but I love it. I drink it up, relishing the gritty kale bits, while watching a tutorial on electron microscopy or Numpy coding crap. Then I go do about an hour and a half of yoga before lunch. I just realized as I re-read those last two sentences that it sounds like I have fully gone granola hippy chic. Don’t worry. I’m still shaving my armpits and using deodorant that is not made of crystals, but I am one pound away from just barely being in the ‘healthy weight’ section of the BMI chart.

And I know that all of this sounds like a really lame thing for a gratitude post, but this week has not been easy. The dumpster fire has gotten worse. People are not wearing masks and social distancing. The lack of effort makes me think the worst of them, that they are either so selfish or too ignorant to separate science from politics. I had a phone call with my mother that had us both crying and neither one of us handle tears in an effective manner. I have been short and snappish with others. I have been disappointed with myself for not handling things better or doing more or walking more steps or just more everything. Many times a day have been a practice in containing the rage that threatens to boil up and out of this body and exploding over the smallest incident like the inability to put recyclables in the recycle bin (the kitchen counter is not the recycle bin). I know we are all feeling the strain and stress and frustration. Our lives are different and change is hard, but some of the most rewarding transformations come from the hardest changes.

The other evening, I held a firefly tightly in my fist. I watched its tail light blinking through the cracks between my fingers. When I finally opened my fist, the firefly crawled out to the tip of my index finger. It sat there, flashing yellow-green light, for two or three breaths and then it floated up and away. That is how I am approaching the feelings of this week. I’m going to take a moment to squeeze them in my fist and then I am going to gently release them. I am going to find gratitude in green pasture smoothies that bring me joy. I’ve never been a part of the ‘healthy weight’ section of anything. So I’m going to take a moment to celebrate that.

I am going to take today to see gratitude in tiny victories.