contact Me

Need to ask me something or get in contact with me? Just fill out this form.


Kansas City MO 64131

BLOG

Filtering by Category: Thankful Friday

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

2021-01-27_07-46-55_375.jpeg

Weeks ago, Michael discovered a woolly bear caterpillar on the rug outside our garage door. I don’t know how the little guy never got stepped on or froze to death, but when we found him there was a thick layer of snow on the ground outside. So, we didn’t want to just toss him out into that kind of weather. Michael scooped him up into a mason jar and I named him Harry Styles, for obvious reasons. Not long after we saved him, the Cabbage was with us. She was sitting at the coffee table, eating dinner, when Michael asked me how Harry Styles was doing. The Cabbage sat up straight and exclaimed “Something’s happened to Harry Styles?!?” in a panicked voice. I quickly reassured her that the real Harry Styles was fine and then I explained that we had named our new pet after the famous (cute) pop star.

And he/she really has become our new pet.

This week, Michael carefully extracted Harry from his jar so that he could transfer the woolly bear to new a clean jar filled with kale and spinach. This is something we do once or twice a week. Every time one of us does this, we are amazed that Harry is still alive and well. Neither one of us have any skills in caterpillar husbandry. From internet research, we know not to fill the bottom of the jar with water. A misting of water every day is great. We have learned by watching that Harry prefers the stems of the spinach to the actual leaf. Michael had provided him with a stick so that he can form a chrysalis and eventually make his transition into an Isabella Tiger moth. By the time all of that happens, it should be warm enough outside to release him back out into the wild. Somehow, between the two of us, we have managed to keep this little guy alive.

This feels like a miracle, but I don’t know why. We have managed to keep several living creatures alive. We bought four chickens instead of three because I was worried one would die. All four chickens are happy and healthy. There have been days when I didn’t feed the Cabbage because she never asked for food. She’s still alive. The cat, for goodness sake, is surprisingly still with us. Josephine’s the only one in the house who I am not surprised is still happy and healthy. She is the most well cared for creature in this house. Pretty much every day, I will cradle Josephine’s head in my hands, look her in the eyes and sing I Honestly Love You to her as I am sure every dog owner does with their dogs. Maybe what makes Harry Styles the Caterpillar a miracle is that he exists at all. He made it through the dog door and into our garage during a snowstorm. That in itself is miraculous.

We are surrounded with tiny miracles. The scientific explanations for those tiny miracles only enhances my feelings of amazement for them. Beck isn’t wrong when he sings “It’s like wow!” because it truly is ‘like wow!’

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

IMG_3434.jpg

When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade
We've braved the belly of the beast
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice

And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it
Somehow we do it
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished

We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one
And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man

And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside

We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another
We seek harm to none and harmony for all
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew
That even as we hurt, we hoped
That even as we tired, we tried

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious
Not because we will never again know defeat
but because we will never again sow division
Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
And no one shall make them afraid
If we’re to live up to our own time
Then victory won’t lie in the blade
But in all the bridges we’ve made

That is the promised glade
The hill we climb
If only we dare
It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy
And this effort very nearly succeeded
But while democracy can be periodically delayed
it can never be permanently defeated
In this truth
in this faith we trust
For while we have our eyes on the future
history has its eyes on us

This is the era of just redemption
We feared at its inception
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves
So while once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free
We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation
Our blunders become their burdens

But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children’s birthright
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,
we will rise from the windswept northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked south
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful
When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it

- Amanda Gorman

We have a short amount of time to show the world that we are better than our past. I believe we can do it.

Today I am grateful for hope and the belief that we can be better. I am grateful for the inspiring words from this amazing young woman., Amanda Gorman. I have made bold some of the lines that have been swimming in my ears since hearing her speak. I am grateful to have celebrated my birthday on such a historic day. I am grateful for all of those beautiful wishes of happiness, love and joy.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

IMG_3887 (1).JPG

Today is my mother’s 80th birthday. She probably doesn’t appreciate me telling the world that she’s turning 80 today, but I find the idea of aging and living a great number of years to be wonderful. Have you y’all watched Soul yet? It truly is a work of art and shows the beauty of living. That movie and I share a life philosophy. Each year, your life fills up with something wondrous and by the time you’ve come to the last year of life, you can look back and say ‘Wow!’ Every year you survive is a year worth celebrating.

The year my mother was born, the US had not yet entered World War II. During the month she was born, Franklin D Roosevelt was sworn into his third term as President of the United States. Starting on January 13th, all persons born in Puerto Rico are considered US citizens by birth. On January 23rd, Charles Lindbergh tells Congress that the US should negotiate a neutrality pact with Hitler. On January 27th, The US Ambassador to Japan tells Washington that there’s a rumor of a planned surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. A lot happens in that first year of my mother’s life. Captain America and Wonder Woman make their comic debuts. Joe DiMaggio starts his 56 game hitting streak in May against the Chicago White Sox. The Mammoth Caves become an official National Park and Roosevelt signs an order to make every fourth Thursday in November, Thanksgiving Day. Walt Disney would release Dumbo, it’s fourth animated feature. That rumored attack on Pearl Harbor would happen in December, near the end of the year, and catapult the US into World War II.

All of that was just one year. Just think about all of the stuff that has happened between then and now. All the amazing discoveries and art and music and culture. My mother has been alive for all of it and is still well and kicking enough to see and experience so much more. Her life is so full and yet there’s still room for more. This is what I want for myself. I want a life so full that by the time I get to the end, my body can no longer contain the fullness of my soul. Of course, we are not under ideal circumstances to celebrate my mother properly. We’re going to do the best we can without exposing her or others to COVID. Hopefully this time next year, we can have a big Happy 81st Birthday party or I can take Mom on a trip. Something non-virtual. It doesn’t matter to me how we celebrate Mom’s birthday this year. I am just grateful that we get to celebrate another year of her life. I know how fortunate I am to still have her with us.

Happy Birthday Mom!

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

BEFA0C92-F692-4C7A-BA64-1A4B509727A5.jpeg

The other day, I watched a How To video for expressing anal glands on a dog. I should probably tell you why I was watching this video. You see, Josephine has been licking her butt more than anyone should ever lick their butts. She has not been scooting around on the carpet or anything. Just licking and making annoyingly gross smacking noises while she does it.

Warning: This is going to get real gross.

Michael keeps telling me that we need to reel in our spending. Christmas put a dent in our budget. I thought I was being resourceful by looking into Josephine’s problem with out paying for vet visit. I started looking into Josephine’s butt problem and the number one reason for this behavior is anal glands. So as a way to save us some money, I thought maybe I could teach myself to express her anal glands. I watched the video and I saw things I wish I had never seen. Ever. I am doing you a favor. DO NOT EVER WATCH SOMEONE PERFORM THIS PROCEDURE! This is not an area for cutting back on spending.

So I decided that I was calling the vet. I could also have them look at a suspicious lump Josephine has on her right shoulder. It’s been there for ages, but it has recently gotten bigger. I thought I’d just get her into the vet and get all of these little things taken care of, but before I could make that call, that bump that’s been getting bigger burst open. And some awfulness ensued. I managed to clean the area without throwing up and then I called the vet and told them what happened. They managed to find me an appointment for that evening. My vet is still doing curbside service. Someone comes out and gets your pet and then the vet calls you talk about her discoveries. So I spent the evening waiting in my car while Josephine got poked and prodded. The bump, though very very very gross, is not a big deal. It’s just a simple sebaceous cyst, that now is clean. If it returns, we’ll have to discuss options, but for right now there is no need to worry. Josephine is on antibiotics just in case and after flushing out the cyst, the vet took care of Josephine’s butt.

There is a list of gratitudes here. At the top of the list is that Josephine is okay. A very close second is for the privilege of being able to pay someone to care for my dog. There are 10 million fewer Americans in the work force this year as compared to last year. Many have considered surrendering their pets because they can’t afford to feed them, let alone pay for veterinarian care. I am very grateful that I do not have to make such a difficult choice. While Josephine’s excursion to the vet will tighten our budget, it will not break the bank. I read a blog entry a long time ago about a woman’s massage experience. She ended it with “Life is gross. Carry a flashlight.” That line has stayed with me. Those two simple sentences are such sage pieces of advice. It says to me that you should always have a light to guide you through the grossness of life.

We should all be carrying flashlights right now.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

AF1E1FCD-98B3-4BAF-A196-2F2BF70132FA.jpeg

Michael and I are both members on the Nextdoor app. If you are not familiar with this app, it’s like Facebook for neighborhoods. I tend to ignore most of the postings because often they’re someone complaining about a person walking in their neighborhood. Earlier this month, one woman posted a “Be On the Look Out!” post about seeing a woman wearing a ‘beanie’ taking a picture of a house. Michael and I were sitting on the couch when we read that one. We looked at each other and I said “That could have been me.” Really…it might have been me she was talking about. There’s just too many ‘be suspicious of everyone’ posts for my liking. Sometimes the app comes in handy when you’re getting rid of crap or when you want to know what animals have been spotted in the area recently because some guy posts a monthly animal sightings list.

This week, we noticed a post from a woman asking the neighborhood “Is this your cat?” with a picture of a white cat that could have very well have been Albus. She said that the cat in the picture looks just like her cat, Zero (I’m real jealous I didn’t think of that name for Albus), but that it wasn’t her cat. She said that she knows there are two identical white cats because on one evening, she had both of them in her house at the same time. The woman was okay with this cat being in her home. She just wanted to know where Zero was. Michael responded to her post saying that we have a white cat that looks just like the cat in that picture, but our cat was home with us. At least we think he’s our cat. Now I don’t know. I don’t think it was Albus at that woman’s house because she said he was snuggled up with her kids. Albus is skittish with people. He is a rare sighting for strangers that walk into this house, but now I’m wondering if sometimes these cats switch places. Like they are Parent Trapping us. It is even possible that there are three identical white cats out there, since we know that Albus isn’t the cat in the picture she posted. These cats are just rotating through houses around the neighborhood.

There is a peace of mind in knowing that Albus has a safe, loving and warm place to go to when he gets fed up with us. He’s never happy with us when we leave him for a weekend with a bowl of kibble. Albus has been very vocal about it whenever we return home from a trip. Every time he starts bitching, I’m surprised by it because he’s so indifferent to us in general. Well…except me. He comes to me when he can see the bottom of his food bowl. My lap is his favorite sleeping spot. Albus wants nothing to do with Michael, the guy who saved his life. Last night, I really studied Albus’s face while he was curled up in my lap. I took particular notice to the two scratches across the bridge of his nose. He has a nick in one ear. Not a big one, but a tiny little notch. His tongue sticks out a little bit because he has teeny tiny front teeth, like he never lost his baby teeth there. His eyes are yellow-green but sometimes they look black in certain lighting. I’m trying to memorize him in case I have to point him out in a line up of white cats.

We’ll keep our pet door open for Zero too, if he ever needs a place to stay.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

A88515C1-2AA6-4E47-8EF6-2DC1A43F769B.jpeg

Last night Michael and I celebrated the first night of Hanukkah. We lit the menorah candles. We ate latkes and some candy we’d purchased for the holiday. We said the Hanukkah prayers. Three blessings are said on the first the night of Hanukkah. The last blessing is the one that made me pause.

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.

Neither of us are Jewish, but I, at least, have found that lighting the menorah during Hanukkah to be a grounding and meaningful way to celebrate this time of year. In the times that we have been doing this, I have said the prayers with more of an emphasis on just saying the words correctly. More reflection has gone into the act of lighting the candles than the words being said. I realize this now probably because the previous years have been fairly easy. I have been taking these blessings for granted. Isn’t that just the way? When life is good, we take it for granted that it will always be good. Sometimes I think that I should be above that. That after all my losses, I would always remember that each day we survive is a blessing.

Today I give thanks for this reminder. I give thanks that we have survived and that this family has been lucky enough to survive this year without any losses.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

0DB67C61-384F-4D54-B363-89DAC02A856E.jpeg

On Thursday, I finally dug out some Christmas decorations. I wasn’t thinking about the Christmas tree when I redesigned the dining room and I ended up not leaving any space for it. There’s no option to move furniture around to other rooms. This is a small space and I have puzzle pieced my furniture into it in a very specific way. Maybe it was a subconscious decision. I always get a little bit twitchy about Holiday decor. It is too much clutter and it seems like such a hassle to lug all of the decorations out, set them up and then take them all down. I do it and every year I complain about doing it. So I thought, maybe this year I’ll just hang our stockings and set out the menorah. I’ll make a new wreath for the front door and be done with it all.

While I was in the basement, digging through a box of decorations that usually get recycled for wreath decorations, I came across the small aluminum tree that I had purchased many many years ago. I ignored it at the time, but later on I kept thinking about that little tree. I thought about how it wouldn’t take up very much space and could even sit on the dining room table. I pulled all the little aluminum branches out of that box and plugged them into the old wooden stand. Then I strung a small strand of battery powered lights all around it. I dug out the ornaments that Michael and I had collected together and the Babar replacement ornament Chris found for me. I carefully hung them onto the little tree, set out a funny gnome and the Abominable Snowman. And Voila! We have a Christmas tree. It is small and simple and represents the Christmas we plan on having this year.

The memories of Christmases of past are sometimes too much for me. Last week, I finally finished the Table Story about fried oysters and it was the hardest thing I had ever written. It is a story of Christmases of past. Finishing it left me feeling hollow and raw around the edges. Like a scraped out pumpkin. Honestly, I haven’t really felt like writing anything since. This time of year is difficult under normal circumstances. As I placed the final touches to the tiny Christmas tree, the Flaming Lips’ Do You Realize started playing through my speakers. I sort of melted because I do realize and sometimes happiness does make me cry. Sometimes remembering happiness of the past makes me cry a lot.

There is gratitude here. Gratitude for the happy memories of the past and gratitude for the happy memories we are creating. Gratitude for this big bowl of bitter sweet soup.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

2020-11-19_17-15-32_492.jpeg

The first week of November, I entered my word count on the website for NaNoWriMo, all 1,535 words of Table Stories. I have not been back since, but I have been slowly working on this project. On Wednesday this week, I started work on the fifth story in the series. It is a story about fried oysters and our family’s Christmas dinner tradition. I even had a text conversation with Katrina about what goes into making fried oysters. I still have no idea what goes into making fried oysters. Sometimes there’s milk involved. Cornmeal seems to be always involved. All of that is making its way into the story, but as I started writing, some feelings bubbled up inside me that I didn’t know I was holding onto. Then I wrote the most painfully honest sentence and the weight of that sentence slammed into my chest so hard that for a moment I could not breathe. I sat in my desk chair, with my head resting back and cried. I was not prepared for the memories those words would end up conjuring. I sent a text to Katrina telling her that I did not think I could write this story. It was too hard.

But I kept writing.

Because at the heart of that story is a story of joy.

I may not be keeping up with the required word count for NaNoWriMo, but I have noticed that I am more organized this time around. Creating an outline centered around meals has brought order to the stories rattling around inside this brain. Though many of those stories are happy ones, there are moments that contain great sadness. I am finding ways to blend the joy with the sad. That’s not right. I think I have always known how to blend the joy with the sad. That is what this exercise in writing has really done. It has reminded me that while I know too well how to tell a sad story, I also know how to tell a joyful story. I know how to blend the two together with words the the way I live my daily life. We live in a blend of emotions.

November is not over, but I don’t see me hitting a 50,000 word count in a weeks time. Still, it has given me a start. It has given me a direction. It has brought me a clear path. Sometimes that is all I need.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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

Cindy Maddera

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.