THANKFUL FRIDAY

I had some time to kill between appointments on Thursday, so I walked over to a little coffee shop to grab a coffee. At the last minute I asked for a pain au chocolat. I gathered my coffee and treat and settled in at table with a view of the door. The place wasn’t busy at first, then a stream of people started to pour in. I sat there with my coffee and croissant, just people watching. A young woman sat at a table near me, her back turned from me. A few minutes later a young man walked by and stopped to ask her if her avocado toast was any good. She replied that it was and he moved on to settle at his own table.

I watched a woman secure the leash of her little dog to a table outside and then go in. The little dog watched and waited for her return. I watched as people left, passing the dog without a notice. How can you just walk by and not even say “hello puppy!”? A few runners were still out on their morning runs, probably near the end of their run. I wondered what all these people could possibly be doing. It was 9:00 AM on a Thursday. Where did these people work? I’m sure some were students, some retired. It’s possible that some were headed to work in one of the shops in the area that didn’t open until 10:00. Possibly some of the people getting coffee were actual tourists. I recognized some typical touristy clothings, new Kansas City t-shirts.

I sat there speculating about the lives of these people, but they could easily have the same speculations about me sitting in a cafe late on a Thursday morning. I myself am like a tourist without doing all the touristy things. Alone, in a cafe on a weekday morning with minimal commitments and even those are commitments only for myself, feels decadent. A treat. A treat that should not be this rare. A treat that shouldn’t be a treat. It is moments like this that leave me asking why do I put off doing things like this. I get a personal day every year and it sits there lingering while I use up vacation days or sick days. I’m even sparing with my vacation and sick days, saving up for I don’t know what. Later in the day, I cried on the massage table while the therapist pressed out tiny knots between my back ribs. She spent so much time on my shoulders that she left little time for the rest of my body. My upper back feels like it’s been beaten with a ball peen hammer today, my punishment for not taking care of myself sooner.

I’m trying real hard to focus only on the things I can control. I am trying real hard to tuck in moments of joy, to do more dancing, to leave space for being silly. Today, I am grateful for the moments this week when I remembered to leave space for the joy, the dancing and the silliness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tuesday, we had a blood drive at work and when I went to sign in, they looked at my blood type and basically said I had good juice and asked if they could take extra. I shrugged while saying “sure” and they hooked me up to a machine named Alex. I squeezed a squishy heart for about forty minutes until the machine malfunctioned and the nurse declared that I had done enough. I said “Great!” and hopped off the table, grabbed a Sprite and bag of Veggie Wheat Crackers (I love these!) and went back to my desk. About an hour later, I went to meet my new intern. I was sitting in my exam room and decided that I no longer needed my bandage from the blood drive, so I ripped it off. Then I started bleeding. My new intern came into the exam room while I was rummaging around through drawers looking for a bandaid. I said “I’m not a junky. I need a bandaid.” New intern hesitantly said ‘okay’ before handing over a bandaid.

Everything was fine after that. She said absolutely nothing about the scale numbers, but did mention that her mother found some drug helpful with relieving hot flashes. Meaning, I am probably close to the same age as her mom. My new intern could have been my kid. Awesome. She talked me into getting my flu shot and then said we’d talk after I got blood work done next week. Then she started checking for swollen ankles starting with the right one and when she moved to the left one, I said “Yeah…that’s going to be swollen.” Then I told her what I did. She was only concerned about how I was managing the pain. I told her I’ve been managing with ice and grit teeth. She did not think I was hilarious. It was the weirdest meet-and-greet, but she didn’t sound like she had plans to drastically change what’s already working.

The ankle feels mostly better and I have started walking Josephine in the mornings again. The strange thing is that when I fell, the plantar fasciitis pain in the right foot, completely disappeared. Now that the left foot is healing, the pain in the right heel is back. My body has decided that I can only have one injured foot at a time. That is very generous. Meanwhile, I found a shirt that perfectly describes me and I ordered it through Amazon. It’s basically a bloody, dirty t-shirt with I’m Fine printed across the chest. For one whole day, when you asked Alexa about our notifications she would say things like “your bloody shirt will arrive today” or “your bloody shirt has been delivered.” And all of that makes up for the fact that the shirt is a little smaller than I’d hoped for. Michael said we need a Halloween party to attend and I said “whatever. I’m wearing this to work on Friday.” This is not a Halloween shirt, but an any occasion T.

I’m meeting Nurse Jenn for lunch today at the Nelson so we can get a sneak peak at the new Hokusai: Waves of Inspiration exhibit and then we’ll eat fancy lunch in the Roselle Court. It just dawned on me that this sounds like a retired ladies activity and if this is what my retired self is going to be actively doing, I’m ready for it. I’m all in. More of this please. It was recommended (Amani) that I need to have some me time. Lunch with Nurse Jenn is part of that. Next week, I have a dentist appointment followed by a chiropractor appointment and I decided that this was a great time to use my personal day. I went ahead and booked a massage for that afternoon.

Now I recognize that booking a massage is only a small step in the right direction, that I need to carve out time everyday just to care for myself. I am working on this. I am getting myself organized and putting me (not events) onto my calendar. And then sticking to that calendar. Follow through is sometimes not my strong suit when the subject is me. There’s also a tiny bit of me that thinks I shouldn’t bother with me until next year. This year is practically over. Make a resolution. Do better in 2025. Then I slap myself like Cher does to Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck. Time is relative! The concept of years is a social construct of organization. What I really mean to say is that I am working on getting myself out of this current glitch mode. The first step is admitting when you are in glitch mode, not just mentally inside your own head. For me, typing it out for my whole community to see is a huge motivator for getting myself together. Because I don’t want you to know that I am in glitch mode. I want to be able to share a better version of myself.

This week, I am very grateful to have a community who makes me feel safe enough to share glitch moments. I am grateful for a community that roots or each other.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

When Chris and I moved into our house, it came with a large brush pile in the back corner of our backyard. After Chris died, I decided I was going to garden and put in some raised beds. Then I built a compost bin from wood pallets. Don’t ever do that, by the way. It was a terrible compost bin and eventually the wood pallets started to fall apart and collapsed in on each other. The brush pile from the corner got moved next to and into the compost bin. My gardening attempts were unsatisfying and I abandoned the beds. Eventually I broke them down and evened out the yard where they had been sitting, with the exception of one spot. It looks like we buried a body there. Meanwhile, the brush pile continued to grow. Michael and I built the firepit with the intention of burning off the brush pile and sometimes it looked like we were actually going to do that. The pile would dwindle a bit, but a tree limb would fall or we’d clear off the fence line and the pile would just grow.

Recently, over the summer, Michael and I cleaned out the garage and piled all the unwanted big trash items into the backyard. That pile has been sitting there mocking me for weeks. Every time Michael and I had the discussion about what to do with it all, the discussion would just be a great big circle of words without actions. It was too little to fill up a Bagster dumpster, but too big for regular garbage. So now, every time I looked into the backyard I saw two large piles of garbage and hate would fill up inside my heart. Finally we just decided to see how much garbage we could put into the back of Michael’s truck and pay to dump it someplace. Turns out, you can put a lot of garbage in the back of Michael’s truck and for fifty dollars, a place not far from us will let you throw it all into a compacter hole. I don’t know what this says about my life, but throwing stuff into that hole is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time.

After throwing away the big garbage, we came home and started burning up the brush pile. And for the first time since ever, when I look out into my backyard there is not a pile of brush or garbage out there making me scowl. We burned up all of the brush plus a pile of brush from our next door neighbor. If we want to have another firepit night, we will have to buy wood to burn. There’s nothing left to burn. This makes me want to twirl around with my arms open wide while singing The Sound of Music. I can see the potential of a backyard that is inviting and lovely to sit in, a place were we could entertain friends and just relax. Maybe we’ll eventually build a patio and buy real patio furniture and a grill that didn’t come to us free from Facebook market place.

At some point during our firepit night, I could see that this was going to be it for that brush pile and I was giddy. Michael said something like “So getting rid of stuff brings you joy, huh?” and it does. It is beyond pleasing to me. I love throwing things away. Sometimes a little too much. I threw away my power cord for an external harddrive during one cleaning frenzy. I do not believe I threw out Michael’s passports (yes, multiple) even though he has torn the house apart looking for them. I do think they are probably in the garbage, but I was not the one who put them there. But still…it could have been me. I just don’t see a need to hang onto a lamp that broke two years ago and is hanging out in the basement waiting to be repaired. I’m not going to repair a lamp. I am also not going to have a garage sale. Garage sales are their own special kind of Hell and I want no part in it. I don’t have the mental or physical energy for that. Park a dumpster in my driveway and I could cart stuff out to it all day.

It is a little disturbing how the act of throwing things in a dumpster can make me so gleeful. Maybe disturbing is not the right word choice. I’ve lived amongst the hoarding type my whole life and it has given me a great appreciation for less. I think there’s a bout of Swedish Death Cleaning in my future. I think this would be a great uplifting activity for those winter months when I have the winter blues. Today, I am grateful for the view from my kitchen window into the backyard and how it is no longer marred with a giant pile garbage.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I feel like it has been over a year since one of our graduate students gave me a Brazilian wish ribbon with instructions to tie it onto my Vespa. The ribbon (and wish) is tied with three knots around a wrist. The wish is said to come true once the ribbon falls off on it’s own accord. I tried looking back through old pictures to see if I could determine when I placed this ribbon on Valarie and found a picture of it on Valarie back in November 2022. One side of the ribbon was already a bit frayed. So, it has been more like two years since I made a wish and tied my ribbon to Valerie.

I don’t remember what I wished for, but I feel certain that the wish wasn’t something entirely for myself. Wishing on birthday candles or stars, it doesn’t matter. I never seem to be able to come up with a wish for myself. I make my wishes for things I have no control over. World peace. Affordable healthcare for all. Body autonomy. I wish for all young women the rights to make choices for their own bodies. I wish for the US to stop providing weapons to Israel and aiding in genocide. My wishes are complicated things that I want for this planet, my community, my immediate circle of loved humans. They are not always complicated. I often make a wish for friend in their times of struggle and need. Some would say that my wishes are prayers. I might say that prayers are often wishes.

I have read too many stories about wishes for me to feel comfortable wishing for something just for myself. There are so many cautionary fables of wishing for money and the person making the wish receives a fortune but it’s because a loved one died, leaving behind an inheritance. Someone may wish to be famous and then they become so famous, they have zero privacy. A person may wish for the return of a loved one and wake up next to a corpse. Selfish wishes come with a price. These are the fables we have used to condition us into thinking that we cannot ask for something we want, especially if you are a woman. I have heard it so many times all the ways in which I can’t have it all. I wouldn’t even know how to start a wish for myself.

I was helping that graduate student troubleshoot some problems with their lab’s microscope this week. They have graduated and will be moving on to their Postdoc position in California. While I was crawling around under the microscope table, they said “Hold on. I have something for you.” Then they came back with three new wish ribbons. I had mentioned to them months ago that mine was getting frayed and I hated to loose it, even though I know that’s point. They told me that they found the ribbons while cleaning out, preparing for their move. This is one of the things I do not like about my job. I watch these young people come in, help train them, watch them get excited about science and microscopy. I get attached. Then they graduate or their postdoc time is up and they are off to build their scientific careers. I hate seeing some of them go, but also proud because I know they’re going to be successful.

So now I have three new wishes that I can make.

I know two of those wishes will go towards better things for my community and world, like an education free from violence and fear for our children and the end of genocide. The third wish is one I’m saving for myself. If it was not for the job I do, I would not have ever met this graduate student or have learned about wish ribbons. My path has led me to a diverse crowd of interesting and wonderful people and not just at work. My life is filled with color and light and texture. If I have one wish for myself it would be for more. More color and light and texture. More love. More of the good stuff.

More gratitude for that good stuff.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Early in the week, Talaura asked if she could come to my house for a rest stop as she drove from Oklahoma to Pennsylvania. She’s been in Oklahoma, sorting and packing up her parent’s home so that it can be sold. It has been grueling work and during the hottest time of the year. She arrived late Wednesday evening with Sarge and her car packed to the gills. Michael and I made sure both Talaura and Sarge were fed and comfortable before he headed off to bed. Then I stayed up past my bedtime to sit and listen to all of Talaura’s stories of the ridiculousness that is Facebook Market Place. The next morning, I left Talaura sleeping and quietly went into to work to get some things started. Then I went home to help her with her laundry and spend more time with her. Mostly, I wanted her feel slightly better leaving my house than when she arrived and I wanted be there to make sure that happened. Also, I don’t like the idea of anyone having to make the trek down my basement stairs where the washing machine lives. Eventually I was able to send a clean Talaura on her way along with a bag of clean clothes and lots of love.

Recently, I was having a conversation with someone about the skill of listening with an empathetic ear to someone complaining or venting about a problem they are having. The inclination for many us is to want to fix their problem for them. I mentioned to the person I was in conversation with that I had been ‘cured’ of this sort of inclination. When Chris was sick and the doctors determined that there was nothing else we could do, I had to come to terms with the knowledge that I could not fix this. It’s was a real shitty way to be ‘cured’ and now that I’m thinking about, I may not be completely cured. My gut instinct is to say “How can I fix this for you?” I just don’t ever let those words leave my mouth. I’m really good at fixing microscopes but not at fixing peoples’ lives.

So instead of asking how I can fix the problem, I ask “How can I provide you with some comfort?” I still haven’t stopped feeling the want to fix things and this is why I say that I’m only partially cured. Because I do want to fix all of the problems, yours and the worlds’. And sometimes I might still try to fix someone else’s problem before reminding myself that I do I have limitations.

Do what you can, with what you have where you are. -Theadore Roosevelt

I can provide comfort. Comfort comes in many many forms. It’s can be the simple act of opening your home and couch to a dear friend in need. It’s clean clothes or a home cooked meal. But a lot of comfort comes from just being that empathetic ear. What I have come to realize is that I am grateful to be able to provide comfort to my friends. It gives me purpose. My couch will always be available, my doors and arms open. Maybe I need a cross stitch of those words hanging somewhere in my house, not just as a welcome to others but as a reminder to myself.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

My friend Sarah introduced me to Chappell Roan back in July and I’m obsessed. I am always a sucker for a female artist who is not afraid to sing explicitly saucy lyrics. This artist does not disappoint. I had her playing on Alexa while I made Michael and I breakfast a few weekends ago. Michael was in the shower and at one point he came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He was looking at his phone while clutching an imaginary strand of pearls and then said “Have you been listening to these lyrics?!?” I replied “Yes!” and then continued to sing along. He obviously has never been paying attention when I’m playing Missy Elliot or Liz Phair or Wet Leg. I could go on. I want to erase the primitive ideas suggesting that women artists are or should be demure and at the most, PG-13 rated.

I’d like to make the argument that Pink Pony Club is the Girls’ Just Wanna Have Fun of this generation. But more inclusive.

And I heard that there's a special place,
Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day. -Chappell Roan

I am excited and energized by the new artists that have been introduced to me over the past several years. I think it’s easy to settle into the old songs and musicians we know and never open ourselves up to something new. I mean, I still listen to the bands who were my favorites as a teen and young adult. I had The Sundays playing while we got ready for work just the other morning. Even though it’s been a hot minute since the last time I listened to the Flaming Lips, I may have gotten a little jealous about a friend who got free tickets to a concert recently. The Flaming Lips put on a religious experience of a show. But I love it even more when I have a friend ask “Have you heard of…?” and it is someone new to me. Then I listen to this new to me artist and most of the time I fall in love and their music plays on a loop for weeks.

Because there’s more to it than just the joy of experiencing a new artist.

It’s about the joy in sharing. To have a friend who discovers a new artist and then likes that artist so much, they think you will also like them is a gift. It’s like they have found something that makes them feel joy and they want to share that joy with you. This is not limited to music. There is a reason suggested posts about cute animals and hunky firemen show up in my Insta feed. I liked one reel from my friend Wilson ages ago, hence hunky firemen. I’m not mad about it. To share something that brings you joy with others is an act of vulnerability. There’s a certain amount of trust involved with an underlying fear of judgment. “Please don’t make fun of me but I really liked this thing.” I am grateful to be trusted by so many people.

I will never make fun of you.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I have this asparagus fern that I bought two years ago. Every year, I buy some kind of hanging plant for the front stoop that ends up dying from neglect, but I thought I’d try something different when I bought this fern. I thought I would try to keep it alive, like bring it inside during the winter. The problem is that inside my house equals instant death for any house plant except for the ivy I’ve had in a pot on top of the fridge for thirteen years. I just don’t have the window lighting space for inside plants. My olive tree is barely surviving and I moved it outside for the summer. I predict that it will not take kindly to being brought back inside in the Fall. So I decided to take my fern to work.

There are large east facing windows on one whole side of my work cubical. I already had two plants that were thriving in that space, plus an inherited aloe that should absolutely not be thriving because it has basically outgrown it’s container and that was before it was ‘gifted’ to me. As we all learned from Jurassic Park, life finds a way. I named my asparagus fern Sideshow Bob, loaded him up along with the thousands of roly-polies that had taken up inhabitance in the few days I had allowed the pot to sit on the ground, and I took him to work. During the first month, I swept up a lot of roly-polies, but now we are poly free and thriving. Sideshow Bob is a mess. Every time I pick him up to carry him to the sink for watering, he sheds needle like leaves in a trail. Every six months or so, half of him turns brown and brittle. I think he’s dying and pluck out as much of the brown parts as I can. Then he sprouts new limbs and everything is okay.

Sideshow Bob needs parts of himself to die before growing.

Humans do this too. We shed dead skins cells and intestinal cells every day. I mean, women basically build nests in their wombs every month that are torn down and removed from the body. Parts of our bodies die off and get replaced with new cells. Of course our ability to do this gets less and less the older we get and it doesn’t look as visually dramatic as Sideshow Bob, but we still do it. Life, finding it’s way again. All of this started me thinking about how parts of our not physical selves need to die before we can begin to start something new. I know I have a habit of clinging to a routine even when it no longer serves me. I just keep doing the same thing over and over with the idea that it will reset itself into a routine that is useful and healthy again. Then I eventually reach a point were I wonder why nothing is working or feels right and I remember that I never actually made any changes that would lead to useful and healthy.

It’s time to start cutting off some brown crunchy dead parts, in this case an old way of thinking and doing, but not in an attempt to just rush forward into something new. I think I’d like to clear out some of those dead thoughts and ideas and just sit with that cleared space for a minute or two. Maybe take some time to grieve those thoughts and ideas and then wait for new thoughts and ideas to grow flourish. And I get that personal growth can happen on top of old thoughts and ideas. New growth happens like this in the wild all the time. Mushrooms can sprout on living trees. Every year my hostas come up out of the ground with extra hostas. But I have also driven through the Flint Hills after a controlled burn and have seen the softest greenest layer of grass as the prairie replenishes.

When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. -Douglas Campbell, father to Torquil Campbell, lead singer of the band Stars.

Burn off the dead and no longer useful parts and then sit back and watch the new growth come in.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I almost skipped this today. I have plenty to be grateful for this week. This morning, I locked my house from the inside. Then I stepped out into the now very clean garage, pushed a button and watched the garage door open. Then I got on my scooter, rolled it outside and pressed another button, closing the garage behind me. Then I just rode away. And I know that seems like a normal everyday thing to be able to do if you live in a house with a garage, but this is the first time in my life that I have had an automatic garage door opener. This feels like getting an A++ in adulting. It is also the reason that while I may be forty eight years old, I still feel like I’m in my early twenties trying to figure out life. Which is probably why some of my adulting tasks this week made me cry big fat stupid tears.

But I’ve talked enough about my new garage door.

The Cabbage asked to go see the musical Come From Away and if the kid is going to ask to see any form of a stage production, I think it is important to make it happen. So we took them to the Starlight Theater last night and sat outside watching the North American Tour of Come From Away. The musical is based on the true story of when 42 planes were ordered to land at the Gander International Airport in Newfoundland during the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on September 11, 2001. The tiny town of Gander rallied to take in about 7,000 stranded people. It is a beautiful example of the human capacity for caring and kindness during times of great tragedies, but I found the beginning of the musical to be pretty hard to sit through. It starts with how we all started on that day, how we all got up and started doing our normal daily routines until the news interrupted everything. There was a moment when the performers’ reactions to the horror was so familiar and heavy that I almost got up and left.

Later, when we were on our way back home, the Cabbage asked us what our favorite parts were and when it was my turn, I said “That’s going to be a hard moment for me to pin down.” Then I confessed to finding the beginning to be very difficult for me to watch. Michael piped up and agreed. He told the Cabbage that they needed to understand the opening put us in a very different headspace than them. Chris and I used to joke about how that day changed everything, but it truly did. That day in, some ways, brought out the worst in people with lasting consequences for our Muslim Americans (or any brown skinned person). But that day also brought out the best in us. We can really pull together and do good things for one another in times of crisis. This is great and all and there are some beautiful stories out there from those sorts of good deeds, but what about those times when we are not in a crisis?

In the years since then, I have become more apt to notice the good we can do for one another when there is not a crisis. I’m talking about those times we give money to a GoFundMe need or buy something on an Amazon wishlist to help a teacher. Maybe it is just the simple act of saying ‘good morning’ and pausing for short chat with that old man waiting at the bus stop you pass on your morning dog walks. There is joy in being kind to others and I am grateful for those moments when I experience that kind of joy. So my answer to the Cabbage’s question about my favorite part of this musical is this. My favorite part of this musical is the global overall message of kindness.

The practice of daily kindness is what makes us ready for those often bigger acts of kindness required during a crisis.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I don’t consider myself to be a true sports fan. I own one KC Royals T-shirt that ended up as a pj top because it’s really soft. There is not a single red item in my wardrobe for representing the Chiefs. I do have a KC Current sticker on my scooter. I know nothing about the sport of soccer, but I am one hundred percent supportive of this team and what it means to have the first women’s soccer arena in the country. I will listen to updates of the games on our local Bridge radio station. Other than that, most everything is grouped together as ‘sports ball’. That being said, I do get into watching the Summer Olympics.

Most evenings since the opening ceremony of this year’s Summer Olympics, we have just had the TV on with the games playing as background. Sometimes we’re paying attention. The surfing competition has been riveting and watching Snoop-dog and Flavor Flav interacting with the US athletes has been a thoroughly joyful thing to watch. I have always watched the gymnastics. Many many years ago when I was tiny, I was in gymnastics and even competed. I was terrible at the uneven bars, okay with the floor routine, and pretty good on the vault, but the balance beam was my jam. That is the place where I excelled and I really enjoyed it until I got taller. The taller you are, the harder it is to flip yourself off the end of a balance beam. Once scary fall was all it took for me to move on from gymnastics. But it didn’t stop me from watching the sport and watching the US Women’s gymnastic team gives me all of the feels.

My experience with coaches and work-out instructors have all included a ‘no pain, no gain’ mindset. My gymnastic coach was one of the nicest people, but even he had his moments. One of the reasons why I was so terrible at the uneven bars was because I could not pull myself up and often, my coach would leave me hanging on the top bar until I would eventually lose my grip and fall. I learned to hang for a really long time. After gymnastics, came dance coaches who would force a dancer to bend in ways the joints should not bend. There were aerobic coaches that yelled at you to keep moving. I have even been in a yoga class where the instructor encouraged a student to keep forcing their handstand despite the obvious shoulder pain this person was in. Many of us were taught that pain comes with fitness, that in order for you to have a fit and trim body, you must hurt. Muscle tears. Joint pain. Just the price you pay.

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Tokyo, Summer Olympics 2020, Simone Biles had a wobbly twist as she came off the vault. If you were watching and are not a gymnast you probably didn’t think anything was off. She had flipped around in the air and landed mostly on her feet, not her face, something you or and I could not do. But to a trained gymnasts and Simone Biles, that wobbly twist was evidence that something was off with Simone. Then Simone Biles did something that shocked the country. She quit the olympic trials, taking herself completely out of the competition. She cited mental health concerns as her reason. Her head wasn’t in it or in the right place and that disconnect can lead to serious injuries. Simone Biles made her mental health, as well as her physical health, more important than medals and it was something many people had never seen happen before. Many thought that this was it for her, that she would never again compete in gymnastics.

Now, if you’ve been watching this year’s olympics, you know that we had not seen the last of what Simone Biles has to offer. She came back and showed the world that she’s better than ever, but she also showed the world the benefits of making your own health a priority. Simone Biles is an athlete that little girls across this nation have looked up to for years. She is an inspiration, but in that moment she decided to step out of the 2020 Olympics, she became an advocate and an inspiration. I’ve been following Simone Biles for years and I am grateful to see her return to the mat. The joy on her face as she has expertly completed her routines is blinding and beautiful. I am grateful that she has been able to compete with a safe and healthy mindset. But more than anything, I am grateful for the reminder that it is more than possible to step away from something you love in order to heal your mind and or body so that you can come back and be better at that thing you love.

This summer, I have stepped away from doing some things that I love. My personal yoga practice has been garbage. I’ve rarely made it on to my mat for anything other than teaching in well over a month. The same is true for my photography practice. My camera has not left the camera bag since we left Minnesota back in June. These things that I love to do have hit a lull or more likely, I’ve been experience some burnout. I finally made it back to my mat this week for me and I have felt stronger on my mat this week then I have felt in a long time. Breaks are necessary for healing, but also for missing the act of doing. I’ve missed my yoga time and grateful to have it back. Today, I realized that I miss my photography practice too. I miss taking the time to look around me to find beauty in the simplest things. It’s back to school time for many next week. Maybe back to school for me means getting back to my photography practice.

Sometimes I need a break and reminder to ask myself “Why do I do those things that I love?” So far, I have always been able come up with solid answers for why. I am thankful for those reasons of why.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’ve been struggling with today’s gratitude post, something I tend to do when I’ve been sick. I’ve spent the week dealing with an upper respiratory infection. There were two days where I barely left my bed and one day of not moving far from the couch. As per usual, I still have a cough that is not dainty and discreet. It very much sounds like demons are trying to make their way out of my body even though I feel loads better. Which is the thing I should be grateful for this week.

Feeling better.

It’s rather an easy one.

I spent a lot of time away from the internet this week. I didn’t read the news or watch the news on TV. I didn’t post or take any pictures. I tuned the noise of the world out and I’ve been thinking a lot about division. How many times in a day do we hear the phrase “deeply divided country”? It has to be in the hundreds, this constant reminder that we should be at odds with one another. On one hand I see it clearly. During Trump’s presidency, he stacked the Supreme Court to his favor. The results of this has been to take away women’s rights to body autonomy and take away our rights to a clean environment. The list of the removal of rights is even larger if Trump is re-elected. He has plans to remove civil rights such as the same-sex marriage act, reduce the disabilities act and reduce federal employees like my friend Sarah who works for affordable housing. He plans to unfund basic scientific research that leads to life saving medicine. Technically, my job could be in danger. His list of removal of basic human rights is a long one. Those things are scary enough, but it is his ability to rile and incite hate and violence in his followers that truly terrifies me. He has found a way to, without addressing the specific needs of this mostly white group of people, turn their frustrations from being disenfranchised into rage. In a sense, he has created a new batch of terrorists. This rage has blinded these people from questioning his rhetoric and any possibility of civil discourse. [Side note: when’s the last time you checked on how your senators and representatives are voting? You can do that here: https://www.senate.gov/ I like to read the Daily Digest, like a newsletter of the day’s activities.]

They have fully drunk the Kool-Aid flavor of Us vs Them.

Yet, I can’t shake the idea of ‘deeply divided’ as being anything but a social construct, a 1984 tactic to keep all of us at odds with one another so we don’t ever question the rhetoric (or read that Daily Digest), nor do we make an attempt to work together. For a while now, all of that noise of constructed division has had me depressed. A week of isolation from the diatribe has me feeling less depressed and quite hopeful. I still believe that things can be better, but I also know that I do not have to engage with anyone so blinded with rage. It is a waste of my time to point out that allowing others to have those civil rights takes nothing away from them. My time is better spent reading that Daily Digest and staying in communication with my representatives and senators. My money is better spent supporting candidates who support equal rights and legislation that supports affordable health care and housing, and legislation that supports a cyclic economy for its benefits to the environment. My time is better spent breaking down the construct of ‘deeply divided’ with basic acts of kindness within my own community.

All that being said, I’m really grateful that Kamala Harris is going to be our first Black female President of the United States.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

We’ve made it to the middle of summer and Michael pointed out that he has about three weeks of summer vacation before it is time to go back to the classroom. Every time we see something about back-to-school reminders, the Cabbage groans. They are not ready to start their last year of middle school, particularly since a number of their friends are starting high school in the Fall. Michael and the Cabbage have managed to fill their summer vacation up with equal portions of summer time fun and chores.

It’s the chores part that I am grateful for.

The two of them spent two days last week, moving furniture and rugs to clean baseboards and the floor. The rug in the dining area even got washed. Then they turned their focus to the vehicles, washing the inside and out of Michael’s truck and my car. Michael re-caulked the bathtub and it looks like a professional did the job. This week, while the Cabbage is on vacation with their mom, Michael started cleaning out trash in the basement and took our sparky defunct microwave to a recycling center. All of those things were chores that I did not ask them to do and are not specifically on my list. I have dusting on my usual chore list and that includes baseboards, but Michael doesn’t know that. The only thing I asked of the Cabbage this summer was for them to clean out their clothes, getting rid of things they can no longer wear and their ‘toy’ bins. They completed this early in the summer because they were motivated with the prospect of new clothes.

The two of them did all those extra things along with the general day to day chore list. They made dinner and cleaned the kitchen. The cleaned the bathroom once a week and did the grocery shopping. They started the laundry. They took time each day to pick up their daily clutter. And I’ve pretty much done nothing except finish up the laundry and make sure a weekly meal plan gets made. Well…mostly. I still clean out Rosie (vacuum robot) four times a week and do a round with the broom and vacuum on Sundays. I’m not great at doing nothing. I need to keep some chores of my own. Me having no chores during the summer months has been Michael’s plan for a few years now, but this feels like the first summer the two of them have accomplished so much more than the usual chores.

I am truly grateful for all of the hard work they’ve put in this summer.

Next week the two of them are taking the train to St.Louis. They’ll stay two nights before taking the train home. I’m excited for them. I’m always talking about how I’d love to take the train some place. I could have tagged along, but I thought it was more important for them to do this one without me. Some of my favorite memories come from the times Dad and I traveled together, just the two of us. I desperately miss my dad’s enthusiasm for adventures great and small. Where ever we went, I was just as much in charge as he was. He allowed me to have freedom and to make choices for the both of us. But also it was an opportunity to spend time with my dad when he was at his most relaxed. I believe in those moments I saw his true self and he was goofy but thoughtful. I am a better traveler simple because of Dad.

I’d like that for Michael and the Cabbage, but I also hope they enjoy their well deserved trip.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Niki de Saint Phalle

A week ago, we had a family movie night and the three of us went to the theater for Inside Out 2. This was the same day I broke my necklace and was already experiencing some feelings. So I made sure to stash a brand new pack of travel tissues into my pocket. It’s Pixar. I knew there would be tears, but I also knew that there might also be sobs given the day I was having. It turned out to not be that bad. I mean, the movie is great. The puns are hilarious. The storyline is well thought out and maybe a little too relatable for the Cabbage right now, but we all enjoyed it. When I say it wasn’t that bad, I mean that it wasn’t the usual stabby stab of a Pixar movie. There was even a moment when I thought “Oh my gosh! I might make it through without crying!”

I don't know how to stop Anxiety. Maybe we can't. Maybe this is what happens when you grow up. You feel less joy. -Joy, Inside Out 2

And then I started crying.

This takes me back to thoughts and ideas I heard recently on Hidden Brain and which I talked about here before. Neuroscientists know that forming new synaptic connections is a link to feeling joy. Think about firsts. Your first taste of ice cream made your little head explode, but over time that feeling lessened. With that first bite we formed a neural connection that said ice cream equals joy. As we age, that connection we made becomes a known thing. So eventually, ice cream goes from “OH MY GOD THIS IS AMAZING!!!!!!” to “This is nice.” This example doesn’t have anything to do with anxiety, but more to do with habituation. Unless you’re lactose intolerant and then anxiety plays a part in your ability to enjoy ice cream. We feel less joy not just because we are growing older, but because the things that bring us joy have become habits.

The other day, I Mission Impossible moved myself from the front passenger seat of my car (while in motion) to the very back of my car where I grabbed a small block of cheese. Then made my way back to my seat with said cheese so that Michael and I could have a snack while we were out running errands. I ended up doing it again to grab a Coke that had been mistakingly placed in the bag (and not in Michael’s hand). I did this with ease and was pretty impressed with my curent state of agility. In that moment, I felt a large amount of joy. You see, like most women, I am often frustrated with this body. If I sit for more than five minutes, my body hurts when I get up. All of my fat cells have migrated from all other parts of my body to set up camp in my midsection. But I still have the ability to climb around in my car like a toddler who figured how to escape from their carseat.

So what made this a joyful moment?

My actions were new. I had never attempted such a thing in this car before. I’ve done something similar in Michael’s truck. I’ve also stood on the center console and through the sunroof of his truck (sometimes while moving) to take pictures. His truck is bigger than my little Kia. There was a slight danger factor (adrenaline rush) in the moment, but I moved with ease, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment. I even took a moment to verbally acknowledge my awesomeness. I am sure that when I was seven, if I had done such a thing, I would not have put the event into any category of feelings, yet it is probably something I did easily (probably often) at that age. What made this situation a joyful experience was the ability to reclaim actions taken for granted of my youth. In this case, I rerouted a joy pathway. So while it is true that as we grow older we might experience less joy, we don’t have to experience less joy. We just need to reroute the old pathways.

I don’t plan on living a life where I experience less joy. If anything, I expect to experience even more joy. Or maybe it’s that the joy I do experience now is more meaningful? There are things that have never lost their wow factor for me. Fireflies and hummingbirds. Seeing wildlife like deer in my neighborhood. Nature still wows me, but there are many other things outside of nature that can still fill me with joy. Just by making that observation, I have rerouted dozens of joy pathways. It is as simple as flipping a switch.

Here’s to flipping switches.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I was sitting at a bar with a drink when a fairly attractive gentleman sat down beside me. We started up a conversation about this and that. He had a smooth voice with an accent. He was charming. Then he said “Photography is irrelevant.” I gasped and replied “You are absolutely wrong. Photography is evidence of life, the beautiful gut wrenching painful parts of living. All of and everything to do with living.”

Then I woke up.

Later this week, I found myself at a high school graduation taking place at my old high school. I was tasked with photographing the new graduates. I had to fight my way through parents and family to get pictures of smiling nervous faces. Many of those parents happened to be people I had gone to high school with, their children now the ones to repeat history. The whole time I was balancing taking pictures with being polite to some of the people who still look down their noses at me. It was awkward and hard work and I longed for an ultra zoom lens so I could take pictures from the back of the room.

Thank the gods, I woke up.

I rarely remember the exact words spoken while I am in dream land, but I very clearly remember my response to Mr. NotSoCharmer. I also very clearly remember the feelings of inadequacy brought up from that second dream. I’ve been in a photography funk ever since taking my prints down from Westside Local months ago. I cart my camera around to places, but have no umph to pull it out of the bag. I’m just lugging around a heavy backpack. Last weekend, my sister and I took our mother to the Edith Head exhibit at the Oklahoma Museum of Art. I lugged my heavy backpack with us and took a few snapshots of the city. Later on, while I was processing the shots I started cropping the image so that only a bit of the structure was visible in bottom left corner. The rest of the image was open sky. I found the empty space appealing.

It was also expressing a feeling that I might have been feeling.

Now I have a new dream: my dream exhibit. It’s one that takes place in a real gallery and includes extra large prints of empty space. Right now, the idea of it feels just as hazy as regular sleepy time dreams. The only difference is that it has started gears in my head that feel rusted and stiff from sitting still for so long. It makes me want to just sit with this idea while those gears loosen up and form some kind of plan for possibilities. Dreams can come true. The big dreams just take some time and more work than the small dreams, but I’m ready to start rolling up my sleeves.

Today I am thankful for dreams.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This week, I was contacted by an old friend who wanted to honor Chris in a very specific way. We haven’t spoken or seen each other in years, only keeping up with each other’s lives through social media. We spent some time catching up on his now grown children and my life as a step parent. Then he told me about his plan and asked me if I would be okay with him using Chris's name as an author in something he was writing for academic publication. I gave my permission without hesitation but with the stipulation that I can read it before he submits.

First of all, it was really nice talking with this friend. It has been far too long since our last encounter. He is so gentle and kind and understanding, just a great person to communicate with, but he also tells me nice things. Like how I am the one who is kind and understanding. He told me that Chris and I were still his standard and example of how relationships should be and work as a true partnership. That’s very sweet and equally painful to hear for a number of reasons, but it was good to hear this person’s voice and appraisal.

Chris and I were not an island. I have always known that Chris does not solely belong to me. I am sure the same would be true of Chris if roles were reversed. The two of us have always believed in the collective of humanity. We created a family for ourselves with people who believed in the power of support and community. To have such a family and community requires love and respect, but mostly love. Love is the foundation and we all know what happens to houses built on poor foundations. Our house was made to endure the tests of time and loss. It was built to hold an unimaginable weight of love.

Not just for me.

This week was difficult and my first instinct for today’s post was to write about all the hard stuff and how busy our summer has been so far. I have yet to transition into a do nothing phase of summer. I’m tired and my feet hurt. The brain fog is thick and yesterday I discovered a long black hair sticking out of my chin. Lord knows how long that’s been there, pointing at people. That phone call with an old friend was a balm. I am grateful to have been partnered with someone who inspires others, even years after he is gone, to think of him so fondly. I look forward to reading this academic paper and seeing Chris’s name honored in this way.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The weekend before last, Michael and I spent almost the whole day on our bicycles. We cycled up to Brookside to our favorite nail salon for pedis. Then we walked the bikes across the street (so we wouldn’t mess up our new toe paint) to a sushi place that we always forget about until summer time because they have nice patio and reasonably priced lunch bento boxes. After lunch, we rode over to an art festival that was happening in Prairie Village where I convinced myself I wanted a new driveway more than I wanted a new piece of art for the walls. We got ice cream and bought some weird canned fish meats from the cheese shop. Then we rode the bicycles to the grocery store to pick up some salad fixings for our dinner, before finally making our way back to the house.

There was a moment during our bicycle ride when we were leisurely riding down a neighborhood street lined with tall trees. The weather was perfect. We were not baking in the hot sun and I wasn’t struggling up a hill. I said loud enough for Michael to hear me “I really like riding my bike!” Which is the truth. At first I felt a little bit of shame because it is an electric bike, but I’m way over that. It’s about intention and I was never one of those hardcore bicyclists. I don’t care about the exercise. Well…I kind of care about the exercise. I don’t care about that sort of Pelaton style of bicycle exercise. I just like riding a bicycle for the joy of riding a bicycle. My electric bike makes it easier for me to do that. I’m still moving my legs. I’m still feeling the burn. I’m just not giving up halfway up a hill and wanting to die and then hating myself for not being fit enough to get up the hill.

I want to be the kind of person that rides their bicycle regularly to work. There are a few things working against me in this venture. One is uncontrollable and that’s the weather. It’s been risky to ride the scooter lately with all the storms and popup showers. I am not fast enough on the bicycles to ride between raindrops like I can on Valerie. Morning temps have been chilly. There is no joy in having to bundle up to ride my bicycle only to end up sweating inside a coat because I’ve built up some heat through peddling. The other thing keeping me from eagerly riding my bicycle is totally controllable and that is my brain. My brain starts to worry about time and if I have enough of it. This creates anxiety and when it is time to open the garage and get a two wheeled vehicle out, I hesitate.

On Monday, I fought through that anxiety and rode my bicycle and I learned that time was not the only thing contributing to my anxiety.

Going to work on the bicycle is great. It is an easy carefree ride. There is little to no traffic at that time of the morning and I take the recommended bike route which means I should have a bicycle lane. Unfortunately the section of the Paseo I use does not have a designated lane, but the right lane is wide enough for both a car and bike. Unless someone is parked on the street. Which happens all the time. Still, at seven fifteen in the morning, this is not a problem for me because I’m the only one on the street. Coming home is a different story. There’s a lot more people on the rode at 5:00PM and they are all very anxious to be home from a long day of work. Many do not care that you are a bicycle on a designated bicycle route. It doesn’t feel safe and this stresses me out.

The first thing that Michael asked me when I got home on Monday was “how was your bicycle ride?” So I told him about the good parts. Then I told him about riding home on Paseo and how it stresses me out. His advice was for me to just take the Trolley Trail home. Remember that whole brain-time anxiety thing? That’s why I don’t normally use the trail. The Trolley Trail is out of my way. I have to go about one mile west to connect to the trail. Then when I exit the trail, I have to go almost two miles east to get home, whereas the Paseo is a straight shot. I live a block west of that street. Here’s the thing, and I just looked at the map, it truly is not all that far out of my way, but for some reason my brain has decided differently. So when Michael suggests I just ride the trail home, I get whiney and roll my eyes over how much longer it is going to take me to get home.

Wednesday, I rode my bike to work and at the end of my work day, I got on my bike. Instead of turning left to get on Paseo, I took a left and cut through the UMKC campus to the Trolley Trail. Then I proceeded to have the most delightful ride home from work. I stopped to wait for stoplight at an intersection with a family of three also on bicycles. The child was young, maybe six or seven, and the mom was explaining the stoplight and the crosswalk rules for when the light changes. When the light for the opposing traffic turned to yellow, I heard the mom say “Okay, the lights are about to change. Get your body ready. Get your bike ready.” I took off ahead of them, but I thought about that mom’s lesson to the child. It’s a pretty good lesson, but might need one more thing.

Get your MIND ready. Get your body ready. Get your bike ready.

This should be the first thing I tell myself when I get out bed each morning, no matter what vehicle I end up driving that day, especially if it is my own brain keeping me from doing the thing(s) I want to do. So there’s a few points of gratitude here. I am grateful for Michael’s suggestion to use the trail for my bicycle rides home from work. If I had ignored his advice, I would not have had the opportunity to hear that mom giving her kid the lesson of being prepared to cross the street. I am grateful to have overheard that exchange of words. Finally, I am grateful for joyful bicycle riding experiences.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I started working on a writing project in October of last year. It has become one of my UFPs (unfinished projects) sitting in my Google docs, but I tend to visit this one more often than any of the others. It is a writing project that will not be able to see the light of day for (hopefully) a few years and maybe this is why it has become so easy for me to sporadically add to the story. I’ve tried writing a story centered around Chris and being a widow and I probably have five different UFP versions of this story blinking at me whenever I open Google docs. I just get to a spot where there’s nothing to write. I don’t know how to end it or it just feels emotionally better to leave it as it is. Sort of like vague plans or booking the hotel reservation but not doing any research on what you should see and do in that area. This thing I’ve been working on off and on since October feels like something I’ll eventually finish, like I know how to end it when the time comes.

That being said, my writing style is very undisciplined. It seems that I can commit to coming up with content for this space at least twice a week, but any thing with multiple pages and chapters is a really big commitment. I am an ebb and flow kind of artist. When I’m really inspired to be out and about with my camera and working on photography projects, I have little inspiration for writing. The writing flows in when I’m in a photography lull. I thought maybe the practice of combining the two things would lead to more finished projects, but that hasn’t happened. Right now, I am writing. That’s where I am in this ebb and flow. I wrote about a particular time and some events and as I wrote it all down, I found myself crying at my desk. I was surprised because I thought I had worked through my feelings about those events. I thought I had already done the work to release that pain and that there would be nothing to bring up in the writing of this story. But apparently I still had some feelings tucked away that needed to be addressed.

There was a brief section of time when I was seeing a therapist. I didn’t do too much to seek out this therapist, no interview process. I just went with someone my insurance would accept and walked in not really knowing what to expect. Once a week I’d sit in a cushy chair in an office with my therapist and I would just talk. I needed very little prompting and received no more prompting than “how are we feeling today?”, but this was all I needed to spill the bean can of complaints I had filled up since my last visit. At the end of each session, my therapist would say something along the lines of ‘thank you for sharing’ and that would be it until the next week. After about year of this I felt like I had talked all of my complaints out of my system and didn’t feel like I had anything else to contribute to my therapist. And that was it. I never received homework or any kind of “what if you tried…” My therapist was just a listener. I stopped going to therapy and never made an effort to find a new therapist.

The truth is, my writing practice has been the most helpful tool for sorting and dealing with my emotions.

I am by no means discounting therapy. My one time therapist expedition is not a remotely fair measure of the benefits of therapy. I benefited from time with my therapist. I had overachieved in the no complaining department, not speaking up when things annoyed or bothered me. Even on the blog, I avoided complaints. So for a year, I spilled them all out in a safe space to someone who was basically a stranger. I learned to find ways to communicate about the things that annoyed me without whining. I’ve just had a better experience moving through the really hard deeper emotions by writing about them. This makes me very grateful for my writing practice even when there are times I’m not doing much of it. My creative endeavors are part of my therapy and while I have invested money and time into one creative endeavor like new a new camera and a new lens, I realized that I haven’t invested in my writing. So this week I purchased a gratitude gift for myself, a book on writing titled 1,000 Words: A Writer’s Guide to Staying Creative, Focused, and Productive All Year Round.

I don’t know if this means I will be writing a thousand words every day. Maybe this is one way to replace my Fortune Cookie Journal. Who knows? But also, maybe instead of asking the question “will I ever write a book?” I can start asking the question “will my book get published?”

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Gratitude is tricky this week. I got absorbed with the horrors happening in Rafah and I’ve spent extra time contacting representatives and the President and basically anyone who is supposed to be representing my voice in the government to demand a ceasefire and to send aid not weapons. Then this morning, I got trapped in a conversation on Chinese/Taiwanese politics and had to send out a distress text to get out of it. The world is a tight ball of tension. It is really difficult sometimes to step out of the tension and take notice of the good things I am grateful for.

But I know that if I try real hard, I can come up with something.

I have on a brand new pair of overalls. They are navy blue and covered with daisies and I love them. They have been sitting in my drawer all week because I wanted to wear them today. Today is our Team Building event and instead of doing some activity that half of our group will complain about doing, we are volunteering at Harvester’s, a regional food bank that provides equitable access to nutritious food in the Missouri/Kansas area. I have been so excited about this since the idea was hatched a month ago. I don’t know what I’ll be doing, sorting canned goods or filling boxes, whatever, I’m excited and thrilled to be doing it. I’ve been thinking about it all week and it is the thing that is filling me with joy right now. Which tells me that I should be doing more of this.

So, while I’m at Harvester’s I’m going to talk to whoever I need to talk to about how I can volunteer on a regular basis.

I am grateful for my new overalls and all the pockets on my new overalls. There’s one whole pocket for my water bottle! I’m really grateful for this opportunity to help my community. Sure, this sounds cheesy and Pollyanna-ish. I hear it. I get it. I don’t care. I feed on acts of kindness and good works. I’m doing all of this for purely selfish reasons and that reason is that it makes me feel good. Not in a I’m-better-then-you kind of way or this-makes-me-a-good-person kind of way. It just feels good to do good.

Do good.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael and I had the discussion on Monday evening about the possibility of Tuesday being a scooter day. His weather app had declared Monday to not be a scooter day when in fact it would have been a fine day for scooter riding. So he looked at the weather app Monday evening and declared that it would most definitely not be a scooter day on Tuesday. His app showed lightening bolts and clouds. He said “No. You will not be riding your scooter tomorrow.” and I sighed and said ‘okay’. But the next morning, I got up and walked Josephine. It was so nice outside. The sky did not have any hints of menace. When I got home from our walk, I checked my weather app and it looked clear except for a sharp peak of activity around 3:00PM that lasted an hour or so. I looked down at Josephine and said “I’m riding my scooter.”

The weather here has been unpredictable and messy. I feel like this time last year, I was riding my bicycle to work every other day and my scooter on the other days. Cold morning temps and rain showers have made two wheeled rides impossible. The most frustrating part is believing the weather report of rain and driving the car to work only to have a clear beautiful day. I was fed up and reminded myself of my rule of two wheels that I used to follow religiously.

The Rule of Two Wheels: If the temps are 40 or above and the sky is clear, I ride two wheels. If there is a possibility of rain, the two wheel vehicle is the scooter. No rain means bicycle. I only have to get to work dry.

So I rode my scooter on a day where there was one sharp peak of activity. What I didn’t plan for was that the sharp peak of activity was possible tornado weather and when I got to work, I got a little nervous. I sent a text to Michael to warn him that I had made a choice and that it might not have been the smartest choice, but I was prepared mentally for the consequences. Not physically. When I’d opened up my scooter seat that morning to put my lunch in the storage compartment, my rain coat that I sometimes keep in there wasn’t there. I shrugged, put my helmet on and scooted on to work without it. The storm rolled in at 3:00. Michael was trying to decide if he should bring my car up and ride my scooter home or go shelter in the basement and by the time he had made a decision the storm had moved past us. When I left work just after 6:00, the sky was completely clear. The temperatures were perfect with only a slight occasional breeze.

Perfect scooter riding conditions.

When I got home, Micheal had the garage door open for me. I walked into the house and he just shook his head and said something about how I managed yet again to ride between raindrops. Maybe this is one of my superpowers. But I must say, that taking the risk and surviving the risk was exhilarating. Sure, I’m grateful for making it to work and back home safe and dry. That’s an easy gratitude grasp. I don’t usually see myself as a risk taker. I’m sure there are many who would disagree with that statement, but I feel like most of my previous risky behaviors have happened out naivety. I don’t recognize a situation as a risk until I’m in the middle of it and then I might pause and say to myself “this might be dangerous.” But by the time I recognize it, it’s too late. I’m in it. I’m doing the thing. It’s sort of like the thought concept of how you could walk on water if you didn’t know you couldn’t walk on water. Technically I am of an age where people would say that I should know better. Gratefully, I have made it to this age without losing that naivity and that I still think I can do the thing even if it might be risky or a little dangerous.

Today was not a scooter day. It rained on us during our morning walk, cutting the walk short. But there were three good days of zipping down city streets, beeping hellos to friends as I passed by, and the joy that comes with riding a scooter. The risks are worth it.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I put Michael and I on a cleansing diet when I got back from Woods Hole. So for the past two weeks there has been no alcohol, gluten, sugar, and no animal products in our meals. Mostly. I haven’t been a food police. I left in caffeine because I only drink one cup of coffee in the mornings and Michael has a thing of tea. Michael usually makes chicken salad to eat on crisp bread for his lunches and he’s kept that routine. I ate a bagel on Wednesday because it was work birthday treats and the bagels came from Meshuggah’s which is the closest to a New York bagel that you will find in the midwest. I don’t hate myself. I ate the bagel, but my food intake with the bagel exception, has stayed within the guidelines.

And it hasn’t been all that hard to do.

The reality is that for the most part, we tend to eat a vegan/vegetarian diet through the weeknights anyway. My lunch is leftover dinner. There’s a night that includes shrimp or fish. Taco nights include soyrizo and cheese. Those things have been easily replaced or left out. I think the idea of a ‘cleansing’ diet makes people focus on the things on the list they cannot have instead of seeing all that they can have. That’s what makes it so daunting, but when you already mostly eat that way it’s not a big deal. I think back to the very first time I put myself on a cleansing diet and how truly awful the experience was. Chris and I were still in Oklahoma, living with his mom. Oklahoma was not a place for vegetarians, let alone vegans and I got really bogged down by the things I couldn’t eat. I read so many labels. Grocery shopping was a full day adventure. I knew so little about food and nutrition then. I am actually surprised by the amount of stuff I didn’t know about the food I was putting into my body. Doing the cleansing diet changed the way I eat and think about nourishment.

I come back to this diet every once in a while as a reset. Michael has been all on board and rather a good sport about it, even suffering through a tofu vegetable stir-fry. He has incentives though for doing this diet with me. The last day of the cleanse is the day he has to have bloodwork done for a checkup and he will be going in with three weeks of clean eating. My take away from this round of a cleansing diet is how we deal with the weekends. When I made up the first week’s meal plan, I got to Saturday and Sunday and Michael said “what about lunches?” More often than not, we eat lunches out on the weekends and we buy rich, fancy ingredients to cook for dinners. There’s also a fair amount of booze. This cleansing diet has placed a spotlight on how our weekends can be so unmindful both nutritionally and financially. While I might be spending a teensy bit more on groceries, we are saving more than that in eating out fees. This is good practice for when we get back from our moose hunting trip because we plan to go on a financial diet and tighten up our spending/budget.

I want a new drive way. They are not cheap.

In the past, I would probably (and have probably) used my Thankful Friday post to be grateful that a cleansing diet is almost over. This time around is different. I don’t feel like I’ve made a great sacrifice or that limiting my meals to a strict vegan/gluten free foods has been a hardship. At the end of week two, I don’t think I can say I’ve lost any weight. There are no drastic physical changes. I’m less puffy maybe. I feel physically the way I should feel, which is good. I know from previous experiences that my body feels better on this kind of diet anyway. My gratitude this week comes from the insights I have gleaned on how we spend our money and the crap we eat on weekends. I am also grateful for how I have treated myself during the past two weeks. I’ve been able to set an intention for clean eating without guilting myself or binding myself. I’ve given myself some grace (see above about a bagel). I’ve treated myself with kindness and this is a big thing because I’m my own worst enemy.

But I will say that our diet ends on the day we have reservations for Le Fou Frog (a famously popular KC French restaurant) and I am very much looking forward to the escargot in herbed butter. Especially the butter.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Sometime around the beginning of April, I posted a picture of a goose who had decided to set up a nest on the rooftop outside my office. She laid five eggs and then settled in for a month, not moving but to rotate around every once and a while. We saw the goose’s partner only briefly in the beginning. The female goose sat all alone on the rooftop through dropping temperatures and downpours. At one time we even had a camera set up for a live feed of the goose. Then Jeff went to adjust it and accidentally broke the camera. Not just my office, but a number of people became fully vested in the survival of these geese. We worried and fretted over the dangers like our resident hawk and what happens when the eggs hatch.

I was scheduled to be at MBL when the eggs were expected to hatch. So I would check in every once and while to see if any of the eggs had hatched. No babies was always the response. One coworker even went in on Saturday to check. Finally, sometime on Sunday, the eggs hatched and when I got to work Monday morning there were five baby geese poking their little heads out from under their mother’s protective wing. Dad finally reappeared and the family was complete. Then we all started to fret over how these little geese were going to get down from the rooftop. Maintenance installed a ramp, which the geese avoided like it was hot lava. We would stand at the window and watch as they would all get close enough to the ramp to think they might give it ago. Then they’d dart off in the opposite direction. Finally, when the window washers made it to that area, we were able to convince them to toss the babies to the ground. Which they did. Like tossing a beanbag for a game of cornhole. They all landed safely and the family waddled off. We haven’t seen them since.

It does not go unnoticed that these eggs hatched so close to Mother’s Day. For this past month, this mother goose was a daily reminder of the struggles and hardships of motherhood and so many women do this every day alone. They get the kid up and ready for the day. If they’re fortunate, they get this kid fed breakfast before dropping them off at daycare/school. They’re the ones that show up when the school nurse calls. They’re the ones baking cupcakes at midnight for a last minute bake sale. They are the ones most often showing up. My dad did his best to help out with raising me. He volunteered for all the extracurricular activities. He was often in charge my evening meals and Sunday mornings he made mom and I breakfast and served it to us in bed. My dad brought me a tray of breakfast every Sunday morning like I was a gosh dang princess. I think he did pretty well for being raised with patriarchal ideas on gender roles.

Mom also volunteered. She made sure I was up and fed and ready for school each day. She made sure there was a responsible adult around at the end of a school day whether it be a neighbor or instructions to get off the school bus at one of the many church ladies that took turns looking after me. Mom spent countless hours lying on the sewing room floor while I struggled with sewing projects. She listened to me when I said I wanted to play the cello and made that happen by buying me a cello and finding me a teacher. She tolerated my goofiness whenever we were shoe shopping. She was the one who discovered USAO first and told me that this might be the school for me. We visited that school together and the moment we turned into the circle on campus, we both knew she was right. My mom made sure I stayed focused and was prepared for a successful future.

So for today, because it’s Mother’s Day weekend, this Thankful Friday moment of gratitude goes out to all those mothers who diligently sit on those eggs and protect those babies under their wings.

And my mom.