THANKFUL

It’s been a really long time since I skipped a Thankful Friday post. I also have not taken a week of vacation to stay home since…well, since a really long time. I don’t want to write about the last time I stayed home for a week. Let me tell you about this week, well last week, but you get it. First, I went on a wonderful retreat with a lovely group of women. We dug for crystals and made magic under the light of a full moon. I knew that I would want a day of recuperation from this retreat and I first intended to only take off Monday. Then my friend Melissa said “We need to go see The National at Grinders!” and I said “We do need to go see The National at Grinders!” That concert was on Tuesday and I knew that I’d be cranky and tired if I went to work the next day. I looked at my vacation time and it suddenly made perfect sense to just take the whole week off from work.

So, what did I do with a whole week to myself?

Well, one day I did absolutely nothing but go grocery shopping and lay on the couch watching TV. Then there was one day when I had breakfast with my friend Jenn and cleaned a lot of the house. Like behind the toilet cleaned the house. The next day, I scrubbed the kitchen and even cleaned the dog door flap so that you can now see through it. I took everything out of my dining room hutch and took the hutch apart. Then I bought paint and new hardware. I spent one day painting the hutch. I made pizza dough. I put the hutch back together and took the Cabbage to the dentist. The new handles for the drawers required new holes drilled because I could not find anything to fit the pre-existing holes. Michael took care of this on Saturday, as well as installing a new closing mechanism for the doors. Everything was put back into place and the hutch looks like a new piece of furniture. Also, it no longer squeaks and rattles when you walk by it.

Two of my camp/self care circle buddies rode with me to the retreat and one of our topics of discussion was on how the Self Care Circle thing was working for us. This is what I told them. The goals I set for myself at the beginning of the year have gone mostly nowhere. I haven’t actively worked on at least two of those goals in months. One goal was to get to know my new camera and I’m counting the moments I pick this camera up as time spent working on that goal. Everything else has sat gathering dust bunnies, but here is how the circle has helped me. I have a visual record of all the things I do everyday with my color coded calendar and I have gotten better at not being my own personal bully. The very idea of taking time off work just to stay home would have been a hard pass not a chance concept for a past version of me. Even now, I have a growing list in my head of things I did not do last week and this would normally leave me feeling guilty and regretful. I have learned to have grace for myself and instead of being left with a not enough feeling, I feel very impressed with the things I accomplished last week. Sure, I could tell you all about the things I did not do, like get on my yoga mat or write. I barely even took any photos. I sure didn’t walk the dog (I did wash her). The things I didn’t do, doesn’t matter.

Last night in Self Care Meeting, we talked about minimalism and cleaning out spaces. I’m really good at purging my closets and books. What I am not good at is purging things from my calendar. This is where I need more space. Last week was kind of about that. It was me taking care of all those home chore tasks and projects so that I can free up time for the things I want to be doing. Now all I need to do is figure out what it is that I truly want to be doing.

FEMININITY

How do you express your femininity?

That was a question on a questionnaire that I had to fill out for this retreat. I had zero answers. I ended up writing something about a favorite dress, but even then I felt I was just putting down place holder words. That favorite dress is basically a tent. I might even make it my Halloween costume this year because it makes me look like an umbrella. But I LOVE it. I have always gravitated to clothing that hides my shape. Baggy t-shirts and jeans, oversized slip dresses with giant cardigans, large draping tunics. Clothing that doesn’t touch my skin. That’s my jam. Amani introduced me to a clothing store in Vancouver filled with crisp, clean drapey clothes. With unlimited funds, I would have purchased one of everything.

Expressing my femininity has never been a thought in my brain. Until now. Now, I sit around pondering this question and every answer I come up with is still place holder words. I have excuses. They all center around the patriarchy and living in a ‘man’s’ world. I was a very determined and driven youth. So I hid the feminine parts of myself to avoid unwanted attention and groping. Nothing would deter me from my goals: get to college, be a scientist. It worked so well that I didn’t have my first kiss until I was almost seventeen and it was one hundred percent on my terms. Boys did not look at me and I only had to say a few sentences for them to decide that this was not a girl to hang with. I had too many thoughts, too many views. Chris was different, but then again he was more man than boy when we met. My femininity took second place to my brain. He didn’t mind the thoughts and the views. He relished them.

Hilary Clinton recently revealed her reasoning behind her famous pant suits. She was wearing a skirt while on a visit to Africa. A picture was taken of her sitting on a couch with a diplomat and even though she thought she was sitting properly, apparently her underwear was showing. Photographers took advantage and before she knew it, that picture was being used to advertise lingerie. After that, she questioned every time she walked on stage and the angle of a photographer’s lens. Her answer was to wear pants and not worry about it ever again. So much of our femininity tends to be wrapped around our appearance and the judging eyes of men. We’ve been conditioned to the idea that femininity is in the dresses we wear and paint we put on our faces.

fem·i·nin·i·ty

/ˌfeməˈninədē/

noune

qualities or attributes regarded as characteristic of women.

"she alternated between embracing her femininity and concealing it"

Seeing the written definition of a word has a way of striking cords and changing perspectives. Over time, words sort of lose their original meanings or the meaning becomes hidden, construed. Whenever I am struggling with a word, I always take a moment to remind myself of that word’s basic meaning. One of the things that I told Roze before heading out to this retreat was how excited I was to be going to something like this and not having to do anything. I would not have to teach a class or help with meals. I would not have to care for any one but myself, but after our morning of digging for crystals, I found myself stepping into the kitchen and helping Erica with dinner preparations. I was not asked. I just saw a need and stepped in. Of course I was breaking the rules. Roze had already put a “No Cindy In the Kitchen” rule in place, but in that instance, I ignored the rule.

This is how I express my femininity. I do not express it with appearances. I express it in my actions, in how I care for those around me and in my willingness to step in and help in times of need. Caring. Nurturing. These qualities feel soft to me and my first instinct is shove aside the idea of softness, as if softness is a weakness. But caring and nurturing others requires strength.

I am embracing this softness with open arms.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I did a long list of chores on Sunday, but there are still projects that I need to do around the house. It is time for a deep cleaning, washing rugs and sweeping behind furniture. I would also like to paint our dining room hutch since Ikea is never going to have the replacement cabinet in stock. I am taking a week of vacation time to do all of those things, but before I dig into cleaning, I’m escaping for the weekend.

I signed myself up for an all women’s retreat in Hot Springs, AR and two of my friends from camp will be riding in the car with me. We leave in a very short few hours and I can’t really wait to hit the road. When I left work yesterday, I left behind some smoldering fires. The 488 laser is out on our spinning disk confocal and people are supposed to be here (supposed to be) today to start in on the repair. The plate loading robot for our high content confocal is currently stuck holding a plate because it lost connection with the microscope and as much as I tried to communicate with tech support for this, I was unable to get any answers or replies. I did the only thing I could do and that was to throw my hands in the air and walk out of the building.

I almost feel the same way about home. The lawnmower is in pieces and we’re still fending off raccoons. Michael trapped one yesterday. I think it was Ralph. Emerson is bigger and I have yet to determine if there is a Waldo. I was told that if you think there are two raccoons, then there are really four or five of them. The light for Micheal’s new ceiling fan is not working properly and might involve an electrician. Instead of sticking around here and dealing with this current state of chaos, I’m hopping into a car to spend a weekend digging crystals and doing yoga. There’s some sort of moon ceremony happening. Basically, I’m playing witch for a weekend. Or pretending to be a little bit Scarlet.

Today is about trust. I leave here having to put all of my trust in other people to handle the smoldering fires until I return. I have to trust that Michael will remember to close the dog doors at night and that the techs who are supposed to show up will actually show up and fix the laser. It’s okay if some of those fires are still smoldering when I return. I have to trust that other people will tend to the smoldering fire to keep it from becoming a full blaze before I return.

Now I’m off to dig up some crystals.

WHAT WE DO ON THE WEEKENDS

Here was the original plan for Saturday. I would get up and do the weekly food gathering. Then I would go buy new gym shoes, some candy for the Cabbage’s birthday stocking, and some new makeup. After this, I would meet Michael back at the house so we could regroup for lunch. While I was doing all of the above, Michael was supposed to take the camper to the dealership for repairs and stop by Bass Pro for raccoon repellent before meeting me back at the house to regroup for lunch. After lunch, we’d hit up a hardware store and a fancy grocery store before coming home to clean the basement.

Morning went exactly as planned. It was the afternoon that got derailed. The derailing of this plan started when Michael was left unsupervised in Bass Pro. All he needed to buy was Fox Pee. That’s it, but not only did he come home with the Fox Pee, he also returned with a very cruel and inhumane trap and a pellet gun. After some serious discussion that included me suggesting he place his own ‘paw’ into the trap to demonstrate how the trap “doesn’t harm the animal”, he agreed that we should return the trap, but keep the pellet gun. I let him keep his pellet gun. He’s going to shoot at some paper targets and then the gun will go into some safe hiding place and never see the light of day again. Five years later, he’ll be cleaning out some box and find it. He’ll exclaim “When did we get a pellet gun?!?!” It will be just like Christmas for him.

So our afternoon was spent driving out to the suburbs to the closest Bass Pro. Then there was a stop at a sporting goods close-out store, Home Depot and the Price Chopper that sells piñatas and has bulk bins of jalapeños. By the time we made it home, I lacked the energy to do anything in the basement. Which I think was Michael’s plan all along. I believe this is his plan for every Saturday, to drag me around all over the city for unnecessary reasons so that I don’t have time to clean and take care of things around the house. These are things that I end up having to do on a Sunday, usually while he’s sleeping or take vacation time just to stay home and clean. That’s what I’m doing next week. Except, I can take the basement and garage off my list because I did get around to cleaning those spaces on Sunday.

While Michael was sleeping.

Turns out I can accomplish a whole lot of chores while Michael is sleeping.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

After holding my egg up to a candle, I discovered that there wasn’t anything growing inside of it. No puggle. No puggle with dragon wings. Nothing but egg goo. The egg wasn’t stinky and rotten though. So, I cracked it open, scrambled it up with some green onions and cheese, and I ate it. It was delicious. With every bite, I pondered my reasons for even picking up the egg in the first place and what I could learn from the experience of holding onto the egg. It’s a lot of analogy and vagueness for conveying that I am not moving to England.

Instead, I have thrown myself deep into my work and I am focusing on learning some new tricks.

If the egg was a lemon, I’d be making lemonade.

It seems fitting that I am shifting gears and focus right as we move from August into September. The fireflies gave way to the cicadas and crickets a month ago, but in the last two weeks I’ve noticed a stillness in the mornings that doesn’t always exist in the hottest months. Nothing has started buzzing yet and the sun is just barely up when Josephine and I return from our morning walks. The sidewalks are littered with cicada bodies. A few trees are getting patches of yellow leaves. The air smells different. Everyone but me is leaping into it all and saying “hurry up, Fall!”. I’m over here whispering '“not yet.” I’m not ready for the end of summer not just because I’ll miss the weather. I’m not ready because I want more time to marinate in this current mental state.

I want to formulate some new goals and edit my old goals. I haven’t felt this relaxed about making life changes in years. Usually, the thought of even attempting to make a goal made me so anxious that in the end, I would drop it because I am just going to fail anyway. This summer, forty six years into my life, I realized that I can fail at lot of things.

Every failure here branched off into a success for another Evelyn in another life. Most people only have a few significant alternate life paths so close to them. But you, here, you're capable of anything because you're so bad at everything. - Alpha Waymond Wang (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

Maybe I’m not bad at everything, but I don’t I have to be good at everything either. I can have lots and lots of eggs. Some of those eggs just might contain something wonderfully magical. Most of those eggs are going to be filled regular egg goo, but even those eggs will not be a waste.

I know how to make a lot of things with eggs.

BURGLERY

There was a loud crash that came from the kitchen, waking me up around 3:30 Wednesday morning. At first I thought that Albus might be chasing a mouse or something around the dining room, but then the noises started to sound like someone rooting around in our kitchen drawers. I laid there imagining some person rummaging through our things. I peeled myself out of bed and put on a robe. Then I looked around my dark room for some sort of weapon. I grabbed a yoga bolster, opened my bedroom door, and quietly stepped out into the hallway, prepared for a pillow fight. I poked my head around the corner and made eye contact with a raccoon. The raccoon then scurried from the dinning room and into the kitchen.

I jumped back, my heart beating in my chest and whispered “I can’t do this alone.” So, I did the thing I loathe doing and went and woke Michael up. I said “Hey, I’m really sorry to do this, but there are raccoons in our kitchen and I can’t do this alone.” I don’t know what part of my sentence made Michael suddenly very alert, but he sat up and looked at me with wide open eyes and loudly whispered “There are raccoons in the kitchen?!” I nodded, still clutching my yoga bolster and said “there are raccoons in the kitchen.” By the time we made it back to the kitchen, the raccoons, two of them, had scurried out into the garage where they tried to hide in plain site. We sealed off all of the pet doors and then he proceeded to convince the raccoons to exit the garage while I started cleaning up the mess they left behind inside.

It could have been worse.

They ate the cat food that was still in the cat’s bowl and they pulled pizza out of the trash bin. They had dragged the open bag of cat food into the center of the kitchen but had yet to dump the contents out on the floor. The biggest mess was left in the dog bowl and water dish. Michael had a small planter sitting on the window ledge where he has been trying to grow a banzai tree for the last three years. The small little tree had finally reached a size where it not only had leaves, but it could be shaped. Michael had fixed a paperclip to the stem to encourage it to grow with a bend. The raccoons had knocked over the whole thing, dumping dirt and tree into the water dish and food bowl. I rescued the tree from the water dish and we set it aside so Michael can re-pot it.

As I was washing out the water dish, Micheal came back inside from clearing the raccoons out of the garage. He pouted as he delicately lifted his tree and said “I think one of the took a bite out it.” Then he looked at me and we just sort of stared at each other for a minute. He said “we had raccoons in our kitchen.” I nodded and replied “we had raccoons in our kitchen.” Then we went back to bed, except I laid there staring up at my ceiling and listening. At one point, I was sure they had come back and I got up and did a perimeter check. All of the pet doors were secure, nothing in the basement. I peeked out the front door and watched as one ran down the sidewalk. I narrowed my eyes at the creature and then I went back to bed.

Later, at a more reasonable hour, Michael was getting ready to leave for work. He paused outside of our bathroom where I stood applying face cream. He said “Thank you for asking for help earlier.” This is one of our biggest topics of disagreements. I do not ask for help. Even if it is clear to everyone around me that I need help, I will not ask for help. I will be dragging all of the groceries up the hill to the front door as Michael is on his way out to help me. He will ask “Need help?” and I always respond “No. I got it.” I can spend twenty minutes trying to open a jar, determined to not hand it over to larger hands. “Do you need help?” he’ll ask and me grunting with the brute force I am applying to the lid will mumble “No.” It drives Michael insane.

I believe we both have learned my limits. It’s raccoons. My limit is raccoons in my kitchen.

I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES ABOUT HOW MUCH I WEIGH

For many of you, this is back-to-school time. You move back into a routine of getting the kids out the door and onto the bus in the mornings. Your schedules shift to accommodate after-school pickups and activities. That happens a little bit with me too because of Michael, but for the most part it’s not a big change. This time of year for me means annual health check-ups. In the last three weeks, I have been probed by my gynecologist, had two vials of blood taken from arm, and consulted with my general practitioner about the results of that blood work and preventive screenings that I need to consider for my current age.

I dread this time of year just as much as every kid going back to school.

I go to these annual check-ups expecting to hear the worst like abnormal cells, crazy glucose levels, and high cholesterol. High blood pressure is now something I get to the add to the list of hereditary conditions along with diabetes and brain disorders. Every visit, I wonder if this the year that the doctors decide to add a new medication that I must then adjust my life around. Aging is a glorious yet, medically lucrative, process. It’s great. I highly recommend it. This year, all of my tests came back looking good and healthy. My blood pressure was excellent and almost perfect. My cholesterol levels are holding at a moderately okay level. Overall, both doctors were pleased with how I am doing and neither one of them said anything about my weight. In fact, when I brought up the subject with my primary care physician, she brushed it off and said “You’ve been on vacation. It’s probably all water weight.”

WHY AM I THE THE ONLY ONE CONCERNED ABOUT WHAT THE NUMBER ON THE SCALE SAYS?!!?

In the last three months I have not been as physically active as I was this time last year. I just wrote that sentence and started to write about the things I am doing, when it struck me that I am as physically active as I was this time last year. What the actually fuck, Cindy!?!?! I get almost 12,000 steps a day. I do a twenty to thirty minute strength training class Monday through Friday and I get on my yoga mat almost every day for about an hour. I stand half the day at work and often have dance parties at my desk. I’m eating ridiculously healthy meals and less of it because I set a timer for twenty minutes and force myself to slow down and chew my food. I am a moderately healthy individual.

So why am I so obsessed with what the scale says?!?!

I have no memory of a time in my life where I wasn’t thinking about my size.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Beans.

I’ve been trying to write this post of gratitude and all I can come up with is that I am grateful for beans.

When Michael and I came home from Vancouver, he decided that he was going to eat a specific meal plan and this has turned us into a fend-for-yourself household. I kind of love it because I get to go back to eating all the meals I would fix for myself in my single days, the kind of meals that when I tried to put them on the weekly menu, Michael would screw up his fast in disgust. Sunday night, I made a pot of purple hulled peas with stewed tomatoes and kale, Monday was pan-fried gnocchi with zucchini and cannellini beans, and Tuesday was a southwestern bowl of sweet potatoes, black beans, spinach and avocado. Every meal this week has featured a bean.

You might be thinking “Cindy..that’s a lot of beans. You must be very gassy.” I am not. My guts are feeling great.

These are the kind of meals that make me feel whole and grounded, meals that require a bit of meditation while preparing and only have to please me. Making the weekly menu has become so much easier. I don’t think I can express just how difficult it has been to sit down every week and create a meal plan that Michael will agree on. He might say that he is not a picky eater, but his words do not match his actions. Most of the meals I have suggested over the years have been met with a frown and a heavy sigh, followed up with a passive aggressive “I guess…”. He is not an easy person to please. I didn’t realize how stressful making the meal plan had become until this week when I’ve been able to eat beans every single day and not hear any one complain about it.

So…yeah…beans. I’m taking a moment to be grateful for beans.

SPONTANEOUS

Here is what was on my weekend to-do list: laundry, grocery shopping, bin buying, camper clean out, general household cleaning, balloon ride.

I checked all of those things off my list except for the hot air balloon ride. That got cancelled because of wind, but I’m not too upset about that. When I got home from grocery shopping, Michael helped me unload the car and said “let’s be tourists today.” I was still a little bit pouty over the canceled balloon ride, but shrugged and replied “I’ve never been to the Toy and Miniature Museum.” So, we hopped on our scooters in search of lunch before heading to the museum. We found Earl’s Premier while we were looking for something else and it turned out to be a very very good accidental find. It is the kind of restaurant that feels like someplace we’d visit while on vacation. Oysters consumed, we made our way over to the Toy and Miniature Museum, marveling at tiny replicas of chairs and feeling nostalgic over toys. There was one display that contained a grouping of toys for certain years. I looked at this display and said “I had that toy from the 70s, most of those things from the 80s and that Beanie Baby from the 90s.” And since this made me feel old, I dragged Michael over to the Art Deco exhibit at the Nelson so we could look at things older than us.

When it was time for the balloon glow, we decided it would be better to ride the bus than it would be to deal with parking and I am really glad we did this. The event was filled to capacity. Luckily, Michael and I arrived early enough to not have to wait in line too long for food from a food truck, but we were meeting the Cabbage and that side of the family. They did not arrive early. I sat on our blankets as a place holder while Michael and the others scattered off to the food trucks. I waited for ever for someone to come back. I kept watching the fading light and then I’d look up at the spot where I really wanted to be to get good pictures. There were already some people camped out in that spot. Finally, I sent a text that basically read “I might not be here when you get back.” and I started climbing my up to a good vantage point.

I made it to that spot, but there were already three photographers set up there, two of them with tripods. I kind of stood back hesitantly like a wallflower. One of the women noticed me and said “Hey! You want to come over here? We can make space for you!” Then she slid some gear bags over so I could get in the space. I set my camera up on the stone wall and then proceeded to make myself as small as possible so I wouldn’t be in their way. This was unnecessary and a direct symptom of my own insecurities. Two of the women chatted with me about small talky subjects and camera preferences. Then when the show started, we all started clicking shutters and giggling. Trying to capture a balloon all lit up was like trying to capture lightning. It was like we were playing a photographer’s strange version of whack-a-mole. Eventually, I decided to leave that spot for something closer. I thanked all of them for sharing the space with me and they said they’d see me next year.

That was the best part of my day.

For a brief amount of time, I was pulled into a circle of photographers and I was treated like an equal. I got to hang out with the cool kids. I saw respect and understanding when I talked about the reasons for choosing my current camera, because I didn’t just sound like I knew what was talking about. I knew what I was talking about. The moment reminded me of all the times Chad and I went on photo walks together. In that moment, every irritation and annoyance disappeared. Tension and stress from things happening in my life melted away. In that moment, I allowed myself to stop pretending to be a photographer and just let myself be a photographer.

I stopped judging myself.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I found an egg that was still warm to the touch and decided to sit on it in hopes that it might hatch. The thing is, I don’t know what kind of animal laid the egg in the first place. Will this hatch out something with feathers or scales or fur? Half of you read that and shook your heads while thinking “Oh, Cindy. Furry things don’t come from eggs.” Duck billed platypus. They’re the only mammals that lay eggs and freshly hatched babies are called puggles. How freaking adorable is that? I sure hope this egg is holding a puggle. It is more than likely that there is nothing viable inside this egg, but I’m staying on it anyway. It’s either going to start stinking, at which point I will get up and walk away or it’s going to hatch. Then I will be left to figure out how I’m going to raise whatever creature hatches. Maybe it’s a dragon! Maybe it’s a puggle with wings like a dragon.

It’s almost just as fun imaging what might be inside the egg.

Making the decision to sit on this egg was an impulsive one. The other day, I saw an add for tethered hot-air balloon rides and I immediately, without pausing, bought myself a ticket. I didn’t even think of buying two tickets. I knew Michael would not be interested. Heights are not his thing. Particularly being in a basket that is being lifted by a giant balloon is not his thing. I sent a text to Michael telling him what I had done and he replied that we had the kid this weekend. So I scrambled to get a second a ticket, but they had already sold out. Even though I have been waiting forty four years to ride in a hot-air balloon, I was willing to give my ticket to the Cabbage. As it turns out there was a schedule change. We don’t have the Cabbage and I am riding that balloon. Michael said he wouldn’t have let me give the ticket to the Cabbage anyway.

Both of these impulsive decisions are direct results from feeling my heart explode with a resounding “YES!” Roze told me recently that I am on the bus. She said to just stay on the bus. Now, I am all for a good touristy bus ride around a new city to get my bearings, but this bus ride is not one for tourists. It’s fast and furious and bumpy with a little bit of clutching hold of the seat for dear life. I almost want off the bus, but the thrill seeker in me is all “No…Roze is right. I need to stay on the bus.” So here I am making impulsive decisions and on the bus with my egg that may be filled with unfertilized goo or a puggle with dragon wings. And IT’S FREAKIN’ TERRIFYING! But also exhilarating.

It feels vaguely familiar. Like the difference between just existing and really living. That whole really living thing is something that I’ve either been forcing myself to do or not doing at all. It is a pre-loss feeling. I feel like I am leaning into the person I used to be. That right there is something I can truly be grateful for this week.

HACKING

On Sunday, I received a Facebook message from my friend Tom that included a link for someone I might have know who recently died. I clicked on the link because I’m a dummy, but to be fair it did kind of look like something Tom would send me. Tuesday morning, when I finally opened up Facebook, I was greeted to a number of messages from people (as well as a number of text messages) of concern. So then I spent the morning securing my Facebook account and sending out messages that “no. that link is not from me.” Seriously. If you clicked that link, please go change your passwords and secure your account. The nice part of all of that was that I ended up having four different chat windows open with people I hadn’t talked to in a while. It was nice to reconnect.

I forget that sometimes.

Say what you will about the internet, but I still believe that it is a resource for good. When Chris built my first blog twenty two years ago (holy goats….I’m an old lady), he told me it was for letting our friends know what was going in our lives. By this time, we’d secured a framily but our framily members had moved to other cities and states. We all had blogs as a way to stay connected. Also, Chris saw something in me that I still struggle to really see in myself, a person with creative potential. The world of blogging had a number of benefits. First, it did make it easier to stay connected with our framily. Secondly, it introduced me a number of amazing women all across this country who blog. Some of these women, I would even call ‘friends’ even though we may have only met once in real life or not at all. Some of those women no longer blog and I miss them. Some of those women might write a new post once a year and I miss them. Some of those women have new life views that have veered radically away from my own and I don’t follow them anymore. Those who remain on my list are all women that I admire and who inspire me.

Yeah, the internet can be gross. There are some pretty awful people out there who really get off from spreading their hatefulness and misinformation. But I think there’s enough of us out there who are committed to sharing truths, light and goodness that we can drown out the voices of those awful people. Which reminds me. I need to reach out and leave more words of encouragement and support, not just for my blogging friends but for those distant friends who I haven’t spoken to in a while.

Again. IF YOU CLICKED THE LINK IN MESSENGER CHANGE YOUR PASSWORD! SECURE YOUR ACCOUNT!

MY ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

We wandered into a very neat and tidy little independent bookshop on Granville Island in Vancouver and there was a table covered with classic books. Except, when I picked up one of the books and flipped it open, I discovered a blank page. All of the pages were blank and I knew that I had to have one of these journals disguised as books. I chose a blank copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It has been sitting on my desk ever since our return. That’s not unusual. I often buy a new notebook and then wait for a while before I start writing in the thing. I find the new, clean pages of a notebook to be the most soothing aspect of owning it. I am always hesitant to put ink or pencil lead on any of the pages for fear of messing up the beauty of the page.

Of course, after all this time I never thought of flipping that way of thinking. Instead of messing up the page, I could be adding to the beauty of the page.

I’ve been focusing on where I feel the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ when I say them out loud and when I came across this particular journal, my heart leapt with a resounding yes. I had no idea what I would do with it, nor did I have a need for the book. I just knew I wanted it. I do recognize that I am beginning to fall into a recognizable habit of owning journals that never get filled up. I have a stack of notebooks in my cedar chest that only have writing on the first four or five pages, leaving the rest of the books blank. They are Chris’s notebooks. I never go in and read them, but I will never throw them away. Now I have become the person with multiple journals floating around the house. This one contains a story idea. That one is more than half full of yoga classes I prepared for teaching. Let’s not forget the mostly full Fortune Cookie notebook. That one, right now, is the winner. Not only is it only twenty or so pages away from being filled, it is filled with inspiration. Part of returning to our regularly scheduled program around here, includes me getting back into the Fortune Cookie notebook.

I sat down with that notebook on Saturday morning for the first time in a long time, and I didn’t know how to even begin. Then, just as the story really got good to me, I ran out of room on the page. There is a very disciplined side of me that almost refuses to even place a dot of ink in the new journal before I finish the Fortune Cookie notebook. But I have a packet of fine tipped colored markers setting on top of the Wonderland journal and a clear image in my head of drawing fanciful mushrooms and intricate flowers and maybe filling this one up with something other than words.

I am not an artist.

I am an artist.

Cindy’s Adventures in Learning to Be. That’s the true title of this book.

Thankful Friday

I have struggled to keep track of days and times ever since we got back from Vancouver. One day last week, I thought I had over slept so that I couldn’t take the dog for a walk. I jumped out of bed and rushed to get ready for work, but when I walked back into my room to get dressed, my clock read 6:20 AM. What it should have read was 7:20 AM. Not knowing what else to do, I finished getting dressed and I went to work. I repeatedly refer to the current day as the day before. This week, I arrived to an appointment an hour early truly believing I was ten minutes late. Michael has spent the last two weeks telling me what day it is and what day it will be tomorrow.

I have also gotten into a habit of not even taking a glance at the weather reports. Wednesday morning, I rode my scooter to work even though I could see dark clouds in the west. I just shrugged and figured they would move on and it was just going to be another typical hundred degree day. Instead, it rained and rained. At around three in the afternoon, Jeff checked the radar and said that now was the best time to get home without getting rained on. I raced home, feeling a few drops of rain hit my face and chest. I pulled Valerie into the garage and shut the garage door just as the downpour hit.

Time is just something I have stopped noticing while I focus on other things at the moment.

The earlier version of me would be really annoyed with myself for not being able to keep track of time. This version of me is only mildly anxious. I have meticulously put things on my calendar and my daily list appears on my desktop. I have reminders for appointments and Michael to remind me of what day it is. I am just organized enough to be able to know what’s happening and when. This is good enough for me. The gratitude here comes in the form of letting go. It’s like I am slowly popping off the restrictive rubber bands that I have wrapped around my own body. Each band represents some ridiculous rule I’ve made for myself.

And it feels really good to break those rules.

THE TIME BETWEEN SECONDS

Michael and I rode our scooters out to Lees Summit on Sunday to get our hairs cut. It is not a particularly far distance, maybe fifteen minutes from the house if you are taking the highways, but I don’t do highways when I’m on the scooter. We stick to the smaller side streets, which turn into back country roads. There is a lake and plenty of forested land between our house and our hairdresser’s. It’s a nice scooter ride. As we made our way home, I noticed a doe and her fawn bounding across a yard to my left. They reached the road just as we were nearing and we had to stop so the two could cross. When they reached the edge on the other side, the doe paused, one foot hovering and her head turned looking straight at us, while her fawn darted into the thick brush. Once he disappeared, the fawn quickly followed after. The whole moment was just mere seconds, but the seconds felt stretched out and everything was crystal clear. It was like a dance of quick, quick, slow, slow.

That evening, I wiped off my dry erase calendar clearing away the month of July. Michael moaned as he saw what I was doing and said “Not August! Not the end of summer!”. He goes back to school in few weeks and only has a week and half left to sleep in late and do what he wants. It’s funny to hear him say that summer is over when we are still having hundred degree days. Our August calendar doesn’t look too different from July’s. Still busy. Still filled up with events and appointments. A little bit of travel. Most of the things have been clustered into that week and a half. Then we are back to our regularly scheduled program.

When Josephine and I leave the house in the mornings for our walk, the sky is now dark with only a hint of light in the East. The sun is shifting and preparing for the next season regardless of temperatures. Tuesday morning, as we started onto the side walk of the park at the end of our street, I saw a fox sitting on the side walk at the bottom of the hill. He turned to look at me and then darted off into the tall brush and trees that line the park. Quick, Quick, slow, slow. Slow, slow, quick, quick. These are the dance steps of August and I’m in the process of modulating the music to slow the speed of the song that we dance to. We are traveling to St. Louis to see Andrew Bird next week. I am stuck with the idea of slow dances, the kind where you rest your head on your partners shoulder and just sway gently from side to side.

That’s how I want summer to end, in a gentle swaying motion. I want to ease into our regularly scheduled routine, like maybe getting up an hour later to go grocery shopping on Saturday mornings. Maybe I will get organized enough to start doing weekend chores on weeknights. I want to gradually need to add layers for warmth. No sudden movements, just a gradual shift onto the next season.

Quick, Quick, slow, slow.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This has been a big week for vulnerable moments. On top of the vague thing I did in the middle of week, I also submitted a photo to the New York Times in hopes that it will be featured on their Spelling Bee Forum page. Then a co-worker/friend asked me if they could have a photo or two to use in their presentation on the intersection of Art and Science at the Innovation Festival. After a moment of hysteria, I provided them with a small handful of photos to choose. Then the big vague thing contacted me and asked me to complete a few tasks and that is where I am today. I am in the rare position of wishing that the work week had an extra day to it. I think I will be spending a few hours with my laptop at a cafe somewhere this weekend.

There is a lot happening.

Rose sent out more information on Human Design and Split Definitions this week and there was one part that really hit home.

You naturally draw in people that bridge your split and spark collaborations

Once, a long time ago, Michael said something about I even know some of these people. He was referring to my friends, ones that I made here and those from before. At the time, I just shrugged and said “I collect interesting people.” Michael laughed at this and said that I should wear a button that says that. Since that conversation, I have added to my collection and what a wonderful collection it is. I realized this week that these are the people who are my bridges and sparkers. I feel you cheering me on and supporting me while I do the big vulnerable things.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

REVERSE-THINKING IN EXPERIMENTAL DESIGN

I started writing this post weeks ago after reading this article Hypothesis-driven fluorescence microscopy - the importance of reverse-thinking experimental design because it pertains to my job. The article started feeling like a personal attack. So, I started reevaluating the goals I set at the beginning of the year, but some of the blocks I’d put into a particular place shifted into a new place. It’s like I built a very specific pyramid structure with alphabet blocks sometime in January and now that structure looks like steps, really wonky steps like the ones in my basement. That last one is a doozy.

I have been writing here, spilling my guts out for all to read for twenty two years. With each posting, I think I’m being real vulnerable and brave in my sharing, but honestly, I never get that queazy-oh-my-god-i-can’t-believe-i’m-putting-this-out-there feeling when I hit the ‘publish’ button. That queazy-oh-my-god-i-can’t-believe-i’m-putting-this-out-there feeling has happened more times in this year than ever before and has had nothing to do with blogging. At the beginning of the year, I filled out a form answering some really hard question, for Self Care Circle. The questions were part of Human Design and the answers determine what kind of human you are. I am a Generator. Look, you know me. You know how I feel about auras and energy bodies, but I have to admit that there is something in the description for Generator that resonates. As a Generator, I am not a chaser of life. I am at my best when I have to make a decision or have an interaction if the moment comes to me. I need to wait for the moment.

Well, the moment came or I’ve gone off script.

I saw a thing and when I saw it, my heart said “yes!”. For a week, I sat with that yes while doing nothing but thinking about that yes. And I know I’m being vague, but I’m just going to have to be vague about the thing because the thing is not important (yet). The important part is that the thing I saw made me really question my own complacency and complete lack of ambition. I settle into whatever is comfortable and easy, never really pushing myself. This thing caused me to push. It’s made me giddy and simultaneously nauseated. I’ve had to think about what it means to feel valued and if where I am currently is meeting that need to feel valued. Is feeling valued in what I do important to me? I think it might be.

Just a little.

I have no expectations. Either something will happen in regards to my yes or nothing will. For me it’s enough that I did the thing that I was scared to do and put myself out there in a really vulnerable way.

WHAT TO TELL

Bits and pieces. Flashes. Snapshots. I don’t know what to tell you about our trip. The first two or three days of my time was spent in conference rooms, listening to people present their research and chatting with my peers. I walked into the conference believing that I wasn’t smart enough to be there only to discover that my name was on at least four, if not five, posters being presented at the conference. Then three different people who I work with at different times told me how glad they were to see someone from the microscopy group attending the meeting. So, my mental state went from not smart enough to just about smart enough to be sitting at this table and that maybe it is time to update my resume.

While I conferenced, Michael and the Cabbage roamed the streets of Vancouver. They hopped on and off the bus and in and out of shops. They filled their bellies with raw fish and sweets. The Cabbage collected Canadian coins and buttons. They visited the Diaso multiple times, emerging with new flavor of Poky each time and some trinket. When I joined them for dinners, we’d eat more raw fish and I’d listen to them talk about the things they saw. Each day, I listened and watched as Michael fell more and more in love with the city. By the end of the week, he was looking up housing and the steps to becoming a Canadian citizen.

When I was finally done conferencing, Amani drove up from Seattle to spend the day with us. We laughed, we ate…Lord, how we ate, and we toured the city. We took Chris to the A-maze-ing Laughter sculpture and I left him in the hand of one of the laughing statues, laughing at the perfection of leaving Chris in the middle of laughing statues. Amani, ever so gently and sweetly, moved Chris’s ashes around to work him into the grooves of the statue hand, so that his ashes would linger there a little longer. She took the most hilarious and obscene photo of me with a statue. Our laughter over this photo was so deep that it became the soundless, breathless kind, leaving us gasping for air. The four of us walked ourselves to a foot spa for foot rubs before dinner. Highly recommended. Amani and I bought ridiculous matching t-shirts so we could laugh our heads off even more when we parted ways. How special it is to find such a friendship at this stage in life.

The next day, the three of us explored the markets and shops of Granville. The Cabbage discovered a water park where we let them play in the clothes they had on, being totally unprepared for a day of water play. They played for hours, while Michael and I roamed the shops, periodically checking in with them. This was our very last day and we savored every sight and meal. The next morning, we walked out of the hotel for the last time into a cool and overcast day and we made our way to the airport. The weather was fitting for the mood. We arrived in Vancouver under similar weather conditions, but the clouds broke away so that our week was filled with sunshine. Just like in my yoga classes when I start the class with a focus on the breath and end the class with a focus on the breath, we started our trip with clouds and ended it with clouds.

Since we were on separate airlines and flights, all of us had a different re-entry to this country. Yet both of us felt the same way, like we’d we returned to the land of hot and angry. People were no longer polite and kind, like the people in the city we had just left. Everyone in Vancouver was so nice, quick to say ‘Thank you’ and ‘excuse me’ or ask about your well being. The people in Vancouver were quick to show respect for the Indigenous people, admitting to stealing their land. They are open and accepting and welcoming. Michael came home with new goals, good life altering goals. We arrived home late and the next day we dragged ourselves out, jet-lagged, to buy groceries. We kept reminding ourselves to ‘be Canadians’, reminding ourselves to be patient and kind not just with each other, but with every person we encountered. This is why it is so important to experience international travel. You learn some valuable lessons.

Michael feels like there are some big changes for us on the horizon. We definitely had some serious conversations about our future and what that looks like for our relationship. I don’t know if there’s big changes ahead. For me, it’s enough to come home inspired for change. I feel like I’ve been gone for months and that I came home to a house that should have been covered with sheets before we left. I’ll spend the next few days unpacking and resettling into this space before I let myself begin to plan for possibilities. In the meantime, I am holding onto our new found mantra and making it a daily practice to be patient and kind.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’ve hit a little bit of a writing wall. This is why you are not seeing anything new here this week. I’m leaving Sunday for a science conference and I’ve been spending a lot of energy looking over the program and making calendar notes for the sessions I want to attend. I have not attended a conference in person since December 2019 and I’m really excited to be going because online conferences are a struggle for me. I need to be in a room filled with people who are excited and fascinated with what other scientists are doing. This is where my brain space is right now, planning and packing.

The summer before I started my senior year of high school, I was away at so many different camps that I was only home for about two weeks before school started. There was a time when my summers were filled up with travel. As an adult, that shifted because I was no longer held to school time calendar, at least not until Michael came along. Summers are the only times he can travel and it seems like we fill up every summer with it. This one is no different. We’ve been to camp. We’ve spent time at a lake house. There’s a quick getaway planned in August to see Andrew Bird in St. Louis. Michael and the Cabbage are tagging along with me next week and playing tourists while I play science. I did schedule in some breaks from the conference for myself so that I can meet the two of them for dinner or lunch, as well as some tourist time of my own.

I’m grateful to be able to travel again for science reasons and I’m grateful that I can drag Michael and the Cabbage along. I am grateful for all the travel we get to do in the summer time, but I am aware of how all of my travel seems to be limited to this one season. So I am making plans to remedy this with some solo adventures. Solo adventures used to be a common, unquestionable thing that I did and not just after Chris died. We were both really good at the practice of JOMO. It is time that I allow myself to do these things again without worrying about hurting someone’s feelings by taking off without them.

Look at me, securing my own oxygen mask.

MY HEART WANTS FRIED CHICKEN

Last week, I met with Roze, my self care vibrational advocate and guru. I’d scheduled the meeting to talk about cannabis titrations and developing a plan for taking advantage of the actual medical properties of cannabis, but before all that we chatted about other things. One of things had to do with my tendency to say ‘yes’ to everything. They told me that I needed to make space for me and that requires saying ‘no’ sometimes. Then they said the thing that wrecked me. They said “We are taught to put the oxygen mask on our own faces before helping the person next to us. Cindy, you’ve been holding your breath for a really long time.” There’s a whole a bag of feelings to unpack from this. Anger and shame and relief. Relief from being seen and understood without saying a word. Roze can see right through all of my walls and barriers. It’s something that I hate and love all at the same time.

But yeah, I’ve been holding my breath for a long time.

So, I’ve been practicing with putting my oxygen mask on first. I’m practicing with saying ‘no’ more often instead my default ‘yes’. In our time together, Roze and I established that I feel true yesses in my heart and nos in my guts. I need to pause long enough to notice if my yes is a true a yes. Do I feel it in my heart when I say it out loud? This practice of breaking my habit of ‘yes’ is so incredibly difficult. When Chris died, I jumped off into the deep end of yesses with the idea that this would keep me from becoming a recluse. I somehow got it fixed in my head that saying ‘no’ was a negative response that results in needless disappointment from others. But every time I was saying a not so truthful ‘yes’ to someone, I was saying ‘no’ to myself. I say ‘no’ to myself in so many different ways. No to foods. No to rest. No to loving this body. No to easing up on myself. No to releasing any and all guilt for the few times I give myself the ‘yes’.

We spent the holiday weekend at a lake house with Robin and Summer’s family. I told myself that I was getting up early every morning and getting in a kayak. That first morning, I stepped out onto the deck at 6:00 AM and hauled the kayak into the dock. I spent almost an hour out on the lake by myself. There were no other boats out. The lake water was smooth and calm. It was the quietist moment I have had in a really long time and it was the only morning I made it out for the kayaking experience. After that, I said ‘no’ to the early morning wake up time and ‘yes’ to just floating in a tube like a bobber. I said ‘yes’ to eating the fried chicken my family would drive two hours to eat when I was a kid. The inside of the restaurant looked exactly the same as the last time I was there in maybe 2004 (?). The chicken was almost the same, but not quite. I said ‘yes’ to the memories of Dad which floated around everywhere because we were in the area of Arkansas where we had camped almost every year of my childhood. The Graham produce stand where I’d get my pumpkin every year is abandoned, but still standing. We passed it on the way to the chicken place.

I said ‘no’ to taking pictures.

I said ‘yes’ to eating a chili dog.

I said ‘no’ to immediately going back to work when we got home and instead, took a day to rest.

I’m working on making sure my oxygen mask is on securely before helping others. I might just discover that once my own mask is secure, I’ll look over at the person next to me and find that their own mask is already on their faces. Because as it turns out, not everyone needs help securing their oxygen mask.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

“We haven’t had our anniversary dinner at Bella Napoli’s yet. Let’s go this week.” he said. He says this every year in June, the month we met. We are usually off on what the actual day was because we can never really remember. This year we were off by a few weeks. Michael had to look it up. He’s better at keeping track of these things, anniversaries and lengths of time. When he suggests Bella Napoli’s, I always think of the song for the opening credits of Parent Trap (the original one with Hailey Mills).

To set the bait, recreate the date, the first time cupid shot ‘em. - Richard M. Sherman/Robert B. Sherman

I met Michael at the restaurant Tuesday after work. He got there first and I parked my scooter next to his. He walked up as I was taking off my helmet and I immediately apologized for being late. I’d texted him telling him that I was leaving work in five minutes, but five minutes turned into fifteen. He leaned in to kiss me and said that he was worried and was just about to come looking for me. We went inside and were seated at a table with a view of the front door and patio. We ordered a bottle of wine to share and I people watched. This is a neighborhood place. People walk here from home and there is a diverse crowd of elderly couples mixed with young families. Small groups of teenagers sit outside, sharing pizzas.

I watched as the owner greeted familiar faces, asking how a trip was or when the grandkids were visiting. “How long has Bella Napoli’s been here?” I asked as I swirled the wine in my glass. Michael shrugged and answered “Twenty years?” Michael asked our waitress when she came back with our order of steamed mussels, telling her that we had been coming here for about nine years. She confirmed that Bella Napoli’s was a little over twenty years old. Later, when she brought us our check, she said “You guys have been coming here for nine years?” Michael told her that this was were we met on our first date. We watched as our waitress turned to goo and then exclaim “Oh my gosh! This was the place of your first date and you’ve been coming here for nine years?!? That’s so cool.”

It is a bit of a romantic story.

The last three years have not been easy. There have been moments when the words around ending things have rested on the very tip of my tongue. The space between our emotional and intellectual planes has felt too vast. Yet every time those words have rested on my tongue, I have refrained from speaking them out loud. I have paused to remind my self to find empathy and understanding. Next year is a contract renewal year and he has mentioned this a number of times. He ends his sentences with ‘if you want to renew the contract’. It is never if he wants it or if we want it. The renewing of the contract is all on me. My response to this is never with full confidence for a number of reasons. It shouldn’t just be my decision, but I suppose he wouldn’t bring it up if he wasn’t into renewing the contract. Recently, I rediscovered my voice and requested some changes, changes he immediately started working on. Those words no longer rest on the tip of my tongue and I am getting used to the sensation of that lifted weight.

He will jump through hoops to make this relationship work.

He will jump through hoops for me.