THANKFUL FRIDAY

In these last few weeks of December, I’m finding myself to be at a loss. I’ve finished my Christmas shopping. Things at work are slowing down so that no one is on a microscope on Mondays and the calendar doesn’t fill up until Thursdays. Then I have two days of being busy and the rest of my time has been spent reading up on live cell nuclear stains. I am also spending a large amount of headspace on squashing the feeling that I’m missing something. For instance, did I really book the Airbnb for Christmas with my family or did I dream that part? Have I purchased enough gifts to make all the people happy? Have I made any real plans for the coming year or are those still roaming free-range in my head?

I can tell you that the answers to those questions are yes, probably not, and a nope.

I’m sure that being this organized around the holidays is meant to be a good a thing, leaving time for just enjoying the moments. This is the reason that I make the effort to be ahead of the game this time every year, so I can sit back and bask in the holiday glow. Maybe do some baking (that’s hilarious and I said maybe). Avoid the crowded mess of people shopping for last minute gifts. Turns out that I’m not so good at basking and the doer inside me can’t stop thinking that I need to do something.

Karen Walrond sent out a recent newsletter with journalling prompts for reflecting on the past year and taking time to celebrate your joy. I know many people who really had a rough go of things in 2023 and they’re more than ready to start anew in 2024. This makes me think back on years when I had a rough go of things and I wonder if I have the experience to encourage people to take a moment to celebrate your victories of this year before moving on. I’ve had plenty of years when my joy to celebrate is just the act of getting out of bed in the mornings. I don’t feel that 2023 has been much of a struggle for me. I did some things that challenged me and were outside of my comfort zone, but those things led me to goodness.

I have yet to sit down and do any of the journal prompts, but I did go ahead and compile an album of pictures for the year. There are pictures from this year where I had to pause and ask myself “Did that happen this year?!” not because I don’t remember it happening. Some of it just feels like is happened ages ago. Usually my end-of-year slide show goes on and on. This year, I made a real effort to only include pictures with people and animals, but it was hard to not throw in some pictures that I took of places. Some of my best pictures do not include a single person and they were taken in moments of great joy. But today, I’m celebrating moments of joy that includes the wonderful people in my life.

JOSEPHINE IS NINE

On the very first day of December, I lugged all the boxes containing the Christmas decorations up from the basement. I put together our little tree and decorated it with my favorite ornaments. I set out the menorah and Abominable Snowman. I hung the wreath on the front door and set my light-up elephant on the front stoop. I hung all the Christmas stockings on the wall by the tree. Then I packed up the boxes and put them all back into the basement. I was like a Tasmanian Devil of decorating and I only half noticed the order in which I had hung the stockings.

But the Cabbage noticed straight away.

You see, the order of the stockings from right to left is me, Michael, Josephine, The Cabbage and finally, Albus. The Cabbage saw how the stockings were placed and viewed the order as order of importance. Meaning Josephine trumps the Cabbage. When the Cabbage mentioned this, Michael said “I’m less important than Josephine.” Now…that’s not…true…..Maybe there’s a little truth there. Anyway. I’m the one that decorates. I can do what I want. The only time the other two have any interest is when I decide to not decorate and then there’s complaints. So if the stockings end up in an “order of importance” so be it.

Josephine turned nine on the eighth of December (I believe this is right because the earliest picture I have of her is for December 2014 and her eyes were barely open). We didn’t really celebrate. There may have been an extra treat that day and the discovery of an old lost toy. [Complete side note: I’m missing two spoons from my silverware set that I received from a favorite college professor when Chris and I got married. I made Michael look under the couch for them because who knows?. Instead, he found an old bone and Josephine’s stuffed snail. The spoons are still missing.] I don’t think to celebrate Josephine’s birthday in December because she didn’t come home to us until late January, but also I tend to celebrate her existence every day.

It is winter temperatures and that means, Josephine and I opt out of our morning walks for snuggle time under the covers. She will go outside only because I’ve told her to go outside, but then she runs back inside as soon as she’s done, and hops up onto the bed to burrow under the comforter. The two of us lay there with me scratching her ears or belly until it is my turn for the shower. Sometimes, there is competition from the cat where I’ll only be able to pet with one hand because the other hand has to scratch Albus’s ears. I don’t think Josephine likes sharing, but she tolerates it because like I tell her every single day, she is the best puppy in the world.

And she is.

Josephine is everything I could have asked for in a canine companion. She’s smart and inquisitive. Her personality far exceeds her size. Everyone who has interacted with her all tell me that she is the sweetest puppy. She is so much more than a pet. She is a member of my family and a true companion. Josephine is always by my side. Or on my lap. I choose to celebrate her life every single day because the life of a dog is shorter than a human’s. Which, come to think of it, is how we should probably treat each other. Every day is a gift.

Take a moment to celebrate that gift.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There was a house just outside of Collinsville that every year, would have the most beautiful and elegant Christmas light display. We would pass by this house every time we drove into and out of town. One year they did not decorate at all. I can remember riding in the backseat and driving by the house on our way home from an evening church service and asking my parents why the house was not decorated for Christmas. My mother answered “They had a death in the family and will not be celebrating this year.” I remember nodding my head in understanding. We had experience our own loss right around the Holidays a few years earlier. There was a tree that year and presents, but very little joy.

This feels like an age old question: When is it appropriate to celebrate during and after times of great loss?

Michael and I are not Jewish, but during our first holiday season together, we listened to a story about celebrating Hanukkah on NPR. We found the story to be so beautiful and moving that we decided right then to start our own tradition of lighting the menorah. Over the years, it has become the most meaningful holiday ritual for me. We do not do eight days of gifts. We do have latkes on the first night, but the most important part is that we all take a moment to stand in one place together, lighting the candles and being grateful. Merging families with different backgrounds and traditions can be messy. We both came from a particular way of life that included other people, traditions we were use to in previous relationships. Celebrating Hanukkah became our tradition.

I woke up around 3 AM on Thursday morning and then laid in my bed thinking about the Palestinians in Gaza and their families who live in places outside of Gaza who are hearing of loved ones being slaughtered. I couldn’t stop thinking about how more than half of the prisoners released by Israel during the cease fire were all eighteen years or younger. Many of all of the prisoners released were being held without charge. I can’t imagine that the continued bombings of civilians in Gaza is going to bring about the release of the remaining Israeli hostages either. My heart is split between the Palestinians who are suffering from losing most of their family and their homes and the Israeli families who lost family members in the Hamas attack or are still waiting the fate of their family members. How do you celebrate a holiday so connected to this suffering?

I had to go back to all of those years ago when I heard that story on NPR. I had to remember what it was about that story that struck me with the beauty of Hanukkah and how it embodies the daily gratitude practice. I thought of that first Christmas after we lost J. No one felt the holiday spirit, but we gathered and celebrated because it was always J’s favorite thing. We celebrated to honor the one we had lost. This year with Hanukkah, I am lighting the candles to honor those we have lost but also to spread light.

Praised are you, lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who has given us life and sustained us and enabled us to reach this season.

This year, I am lighting the candles for those who cannot. This year, I am bringing light to those trapped in the dark.

NOTHING TO SEE HERE

Look, the world is a bit of a dumpster fire right and I don’t have anything nice to say about it. So I’m not saying anything. I am subbing yoga classes for a fellow yoga teacher this week and my life currently looks like 2010. Which is busy. My life looks busy and not in a Christmas Holiday busy kind of way, but I’d like to leave you a list of things that are bringing me a lot of joy and happy distractions during this time.

• My wonderful, adorable friend Amani has started a tiny mic series where she critiques her neighborhood Christmas displays. The one with the giant Abominable Snowman is my favorite so far. The look of joy on her face is infectiously wonderful.

• It is advent calendar time and my favorite thing has been watching Ollie and his little brother Tato, doing things from their advent calendar. Last year’s advent calendar was the one that brought Tato into the family. So watching these two together this last year has been wonderful. I love their adventures.

• Speaking of advent calendars. Every year I get a newsletter that waxes poetically over the Aldi cheese advent calendar. The newsletter always warns that this calendar is hard to get. This year, I was in Aldi at the exact right time. This cheese advent calendar has been sitting in wait in my fridge since the beginning of November. So far, it does not disappoint. The cheese portion has been the perfect size for cutting into two tasting pieces for the both of us. We’ve had a super sharp cheddar, a pepper Gouda, and a smokey cheddar. Monday night’s was some weird apple blend. I did not love it, but I did not hate it. Even though it is early days, I give this advent a 10 out of 10.

• I am terrible at crossword puzzles. Word finding games, matching games, hidden treasure finding game. Those are fine, but the crossword has always confused the crap out of me. Last week I started attempting the New York Times daily crossword. I go through and get what I can and then after dinner, I make Michael help me finish the crossword. Tuesday’s I did most of it all on my own and only needed help with four clues. I’m learning the tricks of the crossword. Go brain!

• All of my Christmas decorations are up and cards are in the mail. Hanukkah starts on Thursday and after much debate, we(I) decided to continue our tradition of celebrating. I have reasons that I might expound on later. We have latkes planned for our evening meal and I am looking forward to lighting the first candle.

• One of my coworkers eats a breakfast burrito from our grab-n-go area of the cafeteria almost every day. Each burrito comes with a packed of La Victoria hot sauce. He never uses the sauce, but doesn’t feel like it’s a good idea to throw them away. Our office fridge has a crisper drawer full of these packets. They have become an enormous joke to all of us. We needed a topper for our Christmas tree in the office and I made this:

This is probably the best craft I’ve ever done.

What about you? Where are you finding light these days?

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This week has been hard work. Even though the scheduling for microscope usage has been light, there have been serious troubleshooting issues on some them. One problem was so bad that after spending two hours trying to figure out how to fix it, I gave up and called the company who made the system. Then while I waited for them to call me back, a coworker went to look at the problem and promptly fixed it in about five minutes. It was a really dumb fix and easy for me to miss considering the software that runs this particular system is a complicated nightmare. I also understand the benefits of having fresh eyes on a problem and this is one of the reasons we all work so well together as a team.

Still, it was frustrating.

Then there were some difficult conversations that needed to happen in my personal life. I have hope that those discussion will lead to good changes, but I am remaining realistic in abilities. Changes do not happen overnight. The results from these difficult conversations is that I’ve seen a glimpse of an old self, a less numb Cindy. For a really long time, I’ve been like a wooly mammoth trapped in the tundra and I’m starting to thaw out. I’m a little tentative. I mean, imagine being a wooly mammoth and being awakened into today’s time. It’s disorienting and exhilarating and a little depressing given the state of things. I am less tolerant, but leading with kindness and only time will tell if good changes unfold. I am prepared either way because I have come to realize that holding myself in one spot for so long is exhausting.

I’m tired of being tired.

Today is the first day of the last month of the year. Usually this thought would set off alarm bells in my body. I could give you a long list of things that I have left to do before Christmas or a whole bunch of woes on what I didn’t accomplish in 2023. I will not be giving out that list because I don’t feel like I have an unmanageable task list to complete and I don’t care about the things I didn’t accomplish in this year. I was going to say that I have plans for next year, plans that include taking responsibility for my health and setting clear boundaries in my relationship. This is true. I do have plans but I am not waiting for the start of a new year to start implementing those plans. Every morning we wake up, we set new intentions or maybe just commit to an old intention and then do our best to honor those intentions. I don’t need to wait for a ball to drop to start doing things and I don’t need the pressure of making the year count to discourage me. Switching my mindset to this way of thinking is the reason I am not panicking this year.

I am excited about the things to come in the New Year. I have pictures going into a local restaurant in March and some fun travel plans. I think maybe I’ll track down a moose and finally see a real live moose in 2024. It may be time to drag out my tent and invite myself on some of my friend Melissa’s camping trips. I miss camping and reorganizing my camp gear to fit into my car is a great winter time activity. At the same time, I’m proud of the things I did accomplish this year. My pictures hung on a wall inside a freaking Starbucks. I sold my art! I fell in love with riding a bicycle around this city. My four week beginning yoga class was so well liked that they asked me to just keep teaching a beginner like yoga class (there’s a giant picture of me pretending to teach yoga in the Stowers Report, which is a little embarrassing). And probably most importantly, I have actually survived without major injuries this year.

I have gratitude for the things coming my way, but more than anything I am grateful for this moment right now and opportunities to work on today’s intention.

TIS THE SEASON

To my knowledge, Chris has never been to Iowa. I haven’t ever really been to Iowa, though Michael told me we drove through the state on our way to the Apostle Islands. We drove through while I was sleeping in the back seat because Michael had decided to drive us to Wisconsin in the middle of the night. His idea was that I would sleep while he drove and then we would switch drivers in the morning. His plan mostly worked. I drove us from Duluth to our campsite near Bayfield WI as the sun rose up in the East, with Michael snoring in the passenger seat. Chris was left in Wisconsin on the banks of Lake Superior during that trip. The night before leaving for Heather’s in Des Moines, I realized that Chris had never actually made it to Iowa.

As I pulled his coffee can down from the bookcase, I tried to remember the last time I had taken Chris anywhere. It’s been awhile. Maybe the last time was over a year ago when we visited Vancouver and I left in the hand of laughing sculpture. Our travels of late have all to been to places where Chris and I have already gone. I was in the kitchen, opening the can when Michael and the Cabbage walked in. “What’s that?!” The Cabbage asked as they opened the fridge in search of a snack. Michael answered for me and then there was a brief but frank discussion on human remains. There’s not a whole lot of Chris’s ashes left. Enough left for a few more adventures. Once we made it to Heather’s we sat around the table discussing possible locations to leave Chris. I had looked up some places listed on the Atlas Obscura website. One spot happened to be a cemetery and it was Terry who asked “Have you ever theft Chris in an actual cemetery?”

The Huston Cemetery in Wes Des Moines used to be the center of a roundabout. The intersection has since been remodeled but the tiny cemetery of maybe ten headstones still remain. The last person buried in the space was James B Huston in 1889, the man who founded the settlement. I walked all the way around the cemetery, looking for a good spot to leave Chris. The headstones were all so worn that barely any lettering stood out. I finally settled on a spot close to the tree and in eyesight of an old farmhouse. Really, it was too cold to stand outside debating too long on the perfect place and too cold for tears. There have been a number of times Chris has been left hastily and rushed, mostly because it’s not quite legal. This spot was probably the most legal of all, being it is an actual cemetery.

This is the time of year where everything starts to feel like a scratchy hair coat for those of us who have experienced loss. The memories of our past lives float in to remind of us what it is that we have lost and the Holiday season becomes a mix of pain and joy. Good and bad. Our grief can cause us to lash out in unexpected ways and I am reminded to speak mindfully and tread softly. I am not the only one to have experienced loss. I am not the only one with a ritual for celebrating the life of someone I love. Leaving Chris in all of these different places is a reminder to myself that I do not live in a vacuum. We all have broken or bruised hearts.

This is the time of year for more then ever leading with kindness.

FRIENDS LIKE THESE

Our weekend plans with my brother and sister-in-law fell through rather suddenly and it kind of paralyzed us for a few minutes. We had done all the weekend chores ahead of time. Laundry was done. The tiny grocery list for the week was taken care of. The Cabbage got to go to the school dance that they were originally going to miss. It was Michael’s birthday weekend and the weather was really nice. It seemed a bit dumb to spend it sitting on the couch. So we decided to drive over to Lawrence and explore the shops on Mass. Street. I was a little concerned that this would be a bad idea because it was Sunflower Showdown weekend. Kansas named their rivalry game after a flower; in Oklahoma its’ called Bedlam. Maybe Oklahoma rivalries are more rowdy. I mean, just two weekends ago Oklahoma State fans threw our goal post into Theta Pond in celebration of our win over OU.

There were a few day drinkers out stumbling from bar to bar, but the game started later in the evening, so the crowds were not bad. Truth be told, those day drinkers were normal day drinkers for a Saturday in a college town. We had an easy time of strolling up and down the street and browsing around in some of the shops. We found a really great thrift clothing store where the Cabbage found a clunky pair of Mary Janes in their size. I nabbed a wool dress coat that still had the original tags and a comfy sweater. Then we wandered around a used bookstore. At one point, I was standing in front of a display of old books. My back was turned to the cashier and I could hear her talking to someone on the phone. This is what I overheard: “Look, you’ve made it this far. You only have two more months. You’re doing really great. I’m so proud of you.”

I stood there for few minutes, pretending to be interested in the books in front of me and I thought what a great friend this person is. She sounded honest and genuine in her support for the person on the other end of the line. Most of us have that person who will call with similar words of support, but it is nice to know and witness that sort of support in the wild. I bought a ridiculous old paperback, purely for the cover and when I walked up to the cashier, I saw a skinny mangy looking black cat pacing along the counter. A small child was trying to pet it and the cat eyed him with suspicion before moving securely out of reach. I paid for my book and met Michael and the Cabbage outside. Later on Michael asked me if I had seen that woman in the bookstore talking to the cat. I looked at him and relayed the words I had heard. Then I said “She wasn’t on the phone?” He laughed and replied “No. She was saying all of that to the cat.”

What a lucky cat.

We left Lawrence in time to go over to Jenn and Wade’s for the tail end of their Friendsgiving, an even that we thought we were going to miss. We walked in and were immediately embraced with strong hugs and plates of food. All the others had eaten already and the crowd of guests with small children were packing to leave. Wade sat with us at the table while the three of us ate, giving us his full attention as we discussed everything from our day to where’s the best chicken in the Kansas City. Then we sat around the backyard fire pit with people Michael and I do not know well, but conversation was easy and we laughed so hard at ridiculous things. Eventually we got the nudge from the Cabbage that they were ready for home and bed. We packed up and received more hugs as we departed. I was so grateful that we made it and that they made space for us, that they were genuinely happy to have us there. Making new friends after a certain age and after moving to a new city where you don’t know anyone is not easy. But, I’ve managed to do it. I’ve always been good at collecting interesting people, but I am surprised that I have managed to collect people who think I’m the interesting one.

I would say get yourself someone who speaks to a mangy skinny cat the way that cashier in the shop does, but I suspect you are like me and have number of those someones in your life already.

We are lucky cats.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I often forget that this is the month for gratitude because I practice gratitude every day and share it here every week. So, November is just a month that happens to contain a holiday. There are those who use November for more than a gratitude month. November is also National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for short. I have a handful of friends who have honored the month with working diligently on a novel and I have on occasion officially thrown my hat into the writing ring, signing up for NaNoWriMo. The challenge of committing to writing daily on a thing you might send off to be published as a book is enticing and intimidating. I have always failed miserably to finish anything.

This is true for any month.

Before you get excited for me, let me say that this year is not any different from any other time. I did not officially sign up for NaNoWriMo. I did not quietly make any commitments to write daily for NaNoWriMo, but I have been writing. I have been writing on a project that I know I have time to write because I don’t have plans to share it in public. At least not now. I am waiting for an appropriate time. The thing I started writing is based on an idea for a book title that just randomly floated into my brain. Since then, I have been fleshing out a story to fit under that title. This is, I just realized, the same way I write my little fortune cookie stories. I use the title of the page, in this case a fortune, to inspire the story. I never really finish a story for this, but I don’t think that I am incapable of it. I always run out of room to write before I am given the chance to finish. Turns out the Fortune Cookie Diary has not just been a practice in creativity but a lesson on getting a writing project off the ground.

This project may end up like all the others and I would not be disappointed with myself if it did. There’s plenty of UFOs on my computer and about half of those make me feel a number of negative feelings most of which revolve around my lack of discipline (I blame Chris). I can finish this or not finish this current project without any of those feelings because in the process of writing, I have let go of some stuff that has not been serving me. Each written memory gives me greater insight and understanding and unlike many of those other projects, I have yet to reach a wall that I can’t seem to write my way around. Maybe this one will keep going because it feels really good to free some of these thoughts that I have been holding onto. They are thoughts that do not serve me well and the foundation for many of my feelings of inadequacy. Those thoughts are where the not enoughs come from. After each writing session I have felt stronger in not just saying, but believing that I am enough.

So for the month that celebrates writing and gratitude, I am thankful for my writing practice.

We are traveling to Iowa next week for a friendsgiving in Heather’s new house. I’ve never been to Des Moines and from what I’ve been told, it’s really great or really boring. It depends on who you’re talking to. I’m leaning into Des Moines being really great because we missed friendsgiving with Heather last year. Up until then, our Thanksgiving gathering were beginning to feel traditional. I am a creature devoted to routine and habits. So to have our gatherings back feel comforting. I don’t know what next week will look like for this space. If I end up not posting anything, may your holiday be filled with light and comfort.

Peace.

FORMULATING A RAMBLING PLAN

I just made an appointment for my next chiropractor visit, which tends to be scheduled two to three weeks out. This means the next time I get my bones shoved back into place it will be December. People around here already have their Christmas lights up and on. I’ve passed a number of houses who have beautifully decorated Christmas trees on display in their front windows. I still have pumpkins on my porch. Jane and the rest of the Halloween decor made back to the basement just last weekend. Or was it the weekend before last? Maybe it was the weekend before, but I still have pumpkins.

I need more time to muster any kind of holiday cheer. The often talked about but forever elusive Aldi Cheese Advent Calendar was finally available at my neighborhood Aldi. It might be the only thing I’m excited about for December. My brain power has been divided between work and the daily images of death and destruction pouring out of Gaza. I worry for my Palestinian friends here in the US who still have friends and family there. I worry about the Jewish community in the US because the rise of antisemitic violence which was already on the rise, is even worse now. Hate crimes against Muslims and Jews are increasing daily. My brown skinned friends have to be even more careful walking down a sidewalk, ever vigilant for the attack that may come at them. That is an exhausting way for them to live and as American citizens, unnecessary because this country is supposed to be better. Except we’re not. What Israel has been doing to the Palestinians for decades is exactly what white colonizers have been doing to native people for centuries. Acts of genocide are more familiar to us than true acts of humanitarianism. Terrorism is a consequence of displacing, confining and massacring populations of human beings. If we continue to treat other human beings in this way, Terrorists will always exist.

Wow. I thought I was sitting down to write about how I’ve been thinking about forming new habits in the next year. Instead, I sat down and vomited out the imaginary conversations I have with people in my head. While I was all ready to map out a plan for living a happier, healthier life in 2024, maybe I just cleared some space for that mapping by vomiting up this ranty bit. These ranty bits tend to leak out in moments of helplessness and in regards to what is happening in Gaza, I feel very helpless. 5 Calls is a free app that makes it easy for you to contact your members of congress and provides helpful templates for what to say when you call them. I feel very limited in my abilities do anything to help the Palestinians in Gaza right now and it is really hard as someone who wants to fix things, to not be able to fix things.

Do what you can, with what you've got, where you are. - Theadore Roosevelt

Calling my congress members and asking them to demand and support a de-escalation and ceasefire in Gaza is something I can do. Maybe it’s something you can do too.

MY LATEST COLLECTION

That kid that looks surprisingly a lot like Chris is still in high school and still part of the drama department. I know this because I watched him stumble his way through a production of Fame on Saturday night. Chris played up his tone deafness and lack of rhythm for comic relief, but would not have ever thought to audition for one of our college’s musical performances. So in a way, I got a glimpse of what Chris would have been like in a musical and it was just as entertaining as you would think it to be. Does anyone even remember that play Chris and Drake Matney wrote together? Chris’s character limped around the stage with toilet paper stuck and trailing from one shoe and his fingers superglued to his chin like the Thinker. Now set all of that to song and dance.

I figure I have about two more years of this kind of torture before that kid graduates or Michael takes a full time drama teacher position at another school.

Any way. It was a lovely evening. I dragged Terry and our friends Jenn and Steve along for the show. We had drinks at Terry’s before hand and Michael, who had been in charge of building the set, told us about a giant mirror they had built to wheel out for some of the scenes. So every time the mirror came out on stage, Terry and I cheered quietly. I think Terry even took a picture of the mirror. We were it’s biggest fans. I’m proud of Michael for doing the thing, making changes in his career that he needed to make to save his sanity. He still complains about his students, but just as much as he complains, he talks about this aspect of his teaching career with excitement and enthusiasm. The next day, we had lunch at a Chinese place. My fortune cookie fortune said “The path to success is often lonely.” and Michael’s said something about excitement and enthusiasm being infectious. They felt like honesty fortunes rather than advice kind of fortunes, but then I called bullshit on my fortune. I said that if you are excited and enthusiastic about the thing you are trying to succeed at, then the people around you will be infected and be excited and enthusiastic in their support of your success.

Maybe I should write fortune cookie fortunes?

The best interaction came at the end of the musical when everyone was exiting the auditorium. I was wearing a green romper with wide legs that could easily fool people into thinking I was wearing a dress. A little old black lady walked up to me and gripped my hand tightly. She said “I just wanted to tell you. I loooove that dress. I think I could look good in a dress like that.” I smiled and replied “Of course you would look amazing in a dress like this, but guess what? They’re pants!” Then I did my little jig that shows off this aspect of the outfit. She gasped and said “Shut up!” Then she leaned in closer and said “Do you want to hear a joke?” I nodded and replied “Of course!” Then she proceeded to tell me a hilarious and inappropriate joke.

What did the black lady’s tampon say to the white lady’s tampon?

We’re both stuck up bitches.

We laughed and then she went on her merry way. Then my friends asked me if I knew that woman. I told them that I had never seen her before in my life. Then I added that this is just a thing that happens to me. I’m magnet. I collect interesting people. And that lady is not just the epitome of interesting. She had a really strong grip for a frail looking woman and stylish in her floral print dress. Now that I really think about it, after reading Karen Walrond’s book Radiant Rebel, that woman defines rebellion. I mean, here is a woman who, despite appearances, is very strong. She’s bold and brash and not timid about speaking her mind. She tells off color jokes to complete strangers! I bet she has some really great off color stories she could tell me too.

It’s encounters such as this, that make me very appreciative of my interesting people magnet.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

If you have not ever watched the series Big Love, I’m sorry. There are major spoilers ahead. In the series finale, Bill the head of the family is no longer with us. What is left behind is his three wives and nine children. They are still living in their three separated houses. Those houses are right next to each other, looking like all the other houses in the neighborhood from the front, but with one giant communal backyard in the back. This is how they lived through out the series. The thing that is different in the finale is not just the missing father head, but how these women have come together to make this family work in a way where everyone feels supported in their choices for their own lives. In fact, the family unit works better and more harmoniously now than when Bill was around.

I was riveted with the concept of this show. Chris and I watched every episode, having long discussions about the events from each episode, breaking down scenes. The show ran for five seasons and usually when one gets invested in a TV show, there is a little bit of sadness to see it end. I wasn’t not sad to see the end of Big Love, but that final episode was the perfect way to wrap up a show of complicated relationships. The final scene of the family all coming together, making time out of the lives they have built for themselves (and thriving in) to sit together for dinner has never left my brain.

I want a house with a crowded table
And a place by the fire for everyone
Let us take on the world while we're young and able
And bring us back together when the day is done

- Crowded Table, The Highwomen

On Monday evening, Robin and Summer came to my house where I fixed a pot of stewed tomatoes and black-eyed peas with collard greens and cornbread. It was a meal of comfort and as we sat slurping spoonfuls of black-eyed peas, I once again thought of that final episode of Big Love. I even talked about it with Robin and Summer. I said “This is what I want.” Tuesday evening was my last evening to spend with them. This time they made me dinner and we sat at the table in the Airbnb, enjoying our meal together. There is comfort in sitting around a table at the end of a crazy work day and breaking bread with your chosen family.

I have said this before. I have talked of my dream community of friends with one giant backyard and evening meals shared at a great big table. I imagine the table filled with chatter and busy with passing around serving dishes of steaming nourishment. Laugher is always involved. Demanded even. The care of the community is not the sole responsibility of one, but the responsibility of all of us. Community is not defined by proximity. Amani sent out a call for stories of goodness to pull her out of a dark funk early in the week. It did not take long for her little post to fill up with comments of goodness. Not surprising. She has a collected a large number of good humans. Many of us have a similar collection and this is our community.

Sometimes, I scroll through the list of people Facebook thinks I know and who I should send out friend requests to. I am always so intrigued by the connections between the people in this list and my current Facebook friends. I am even more intrigued by the mutual friend situations that happen in Facebook, how these friendships overlap. My community of good humans overlaps with Amani’s community because my community includes her and when I share my own stories of goodness those people in Amani’s community see’s it too. In caring for one single person in my chosen community, I end up caring and supporting an entirely different community than my own.

I still want my imaginary community of houses with a shared backyard, with a fire pit we gather around in the evenings. I want a great big table where we sit together for our evening meals. I want all of that, but I don’t need it. I don’t need it because I already have a beautiful community and we all may be spread out across the country, but we still care and support one another.

Because this is how communities work.

THE IMPORTANCE OF

Robin and Summer have been visiting since Friday and on Saturday morning, I lured them to the Nelson-Atkins Art Museum with the curent Monet exhibit. The ticket entry for the Evelyn Hofer exhibit includes the Monet exhibit. So I sort of lured them there under false pretenses because the Evelyn Hofer exhibit was the thing I wanted to see the most. I mean, I love Monet and he’s one of my favorite French Impressionists, but if you’ve seen one (or three all displayed together) waterlilies painting a handful of times, you probably are not impressed to see it again.

But Evelyn Hofer?

My brain was on fire with thoughts and words as I studied each and every one of the photographs in this exhibit. Evleyn Hofer is best know for a series of travel books published between 1959 and 1967. I would consider her to be one of the best and most unheard of photographer (male or female). Borne in Hamburg Germany, she and her family moved to Geneva to escape the Nazis and then later to Madrid. While in Madrid, Evelyn started taking photography lessons. It was never a thought that she would be able to do photography professionally. Her parents encouraged photography as a hobby for her until she found a suitable husband. When Franco came to power, the family moved to Mexico City and this is where she started working as a professional photographer. She moved to New York City in her twenties and began working as a photographer for Harper’s Bizarre. Later on she would collaborate with Mary McCarthy on The Stones of Florence, which led to other book collaborations.

The whole time I was studying Evelyn Hofer’s work I could not stop thinking about the Rule of Thirds. This photography rule is easier to show than it is to describe, so I’ll just link the definition. Evelyn Hofer astringently sticks to the Rule of Thirds. So much so that sometimes the people in the photograph are themselves arranged as the Rule of Thirds. Picture after picture, your eyes are drawn to the object at the bottom left of the picture or the bottom right. Until suddenly you find yourself standing in front of a photo that places the subject of interest smack in the middle. It is a complete breaking of the rule and it forces you to stop and confront the image before you in the most direct way.

And this is what I loved the most.

Evelyn Hofer breaks the rules. It almost feels like when she’s breaking the rule of thirds, she is doing it as a protest to all of the rules. The rules of photography and even more so, the societal rules placed on women. Photography was going to be the nice little hobby she’d do until she was matched up with a suitable man. She did marry but in all of the articles and wikipedia pages about this photographer, the most that is ever mentioned about her husband or marriage is for when she took pictures in Spain for The Presence of Spain, written by James Morris. “She traveled to Spain with her husband.” That’s it. He was part of her personal life in a way that keeps him separated from her artistic life, a trait in men almost unheard of at that time and breaking yet another rule of relationship normatives.

You have traveled a long way. We have been serving the traveler since 1835. What kind of host would I be not to offer you a seat at my humble table? I will treat you, my friend, with the finest snails, a block of Manchego, and a basket of bread. Wait, and there will be another seat and an extra glass for the wine. I only ask one thing of you. Tell me where you come from and where you go and if someone waits for you.

-Jose Faus, poet imaging the voice for The Proprietor of “Caracoles” Barcelona, 1963

I want see my art as an offering to my humble table where I invite you to sit and enjoy the good food and drink. In return for a seat at this table, I only ask for you tell me your own story, to share something of your own art. It is through this shared art experience that we can learn to understand one another, how the lives we have lived and are living shape the art we create. I let my Nelson membership sit expired for months and months this year. It wasn’t until I saw the announcements for this exhibit that I finally renewed it. As I walked through this photography exhibit and then on through the Block Building, I noticed so many new and poignant pieces of art that had been added since the last time I’d been into the museum. It reminded me why my art membership is so important. I left with a clear vision of how to display my photos for the next showing (that’s happening in March of next year) and I left inspired and moved by the new (to me) artists on display.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

The temperatures dropped over night here. One day it was seventy eight degrees and the next day the high was forty six. Then it snowed. Then temperatures dropped to freezing and kids had to bundle up for trick or treating. There’s a whole list of complaints that I could make about it. I definitely did/do not feel ready for freezing temperatures, but to be fair I’m never ready for it.

A big factor in how seasons are determined is the maximum intensity of sunlight in a given area. That intensity changes as the Earth makes it’s way around the sun because of the Earth’s axis tilt. Really digging in to understanding the physics of all of this makes me want to puke and is the reason I am not an Earth scientist or physicist. I much prefer the biology of super tiny things, but my understanding of the very basic physics behind the seasons is how I know what times of the year produce the best rainbows from the glass on my cubicle.

We are creeping into peak rainbow season here in my office.

This week, the most perfect rainbow was projected onto the wall by desk. It was a textbook example of what we would use to teach people about wavelengths and colors. Okay…some physics has rubbed off on me. I can’t do my job in microscopy without some knowledge of how light, excitation and emission wavelengths work. Even though I know how it works, I am still blown away when it happens on my wall or even in the sky because I know how precise the conditions have to be in order to make a rainbow. With outside rainbows that happen after rain, you are lucky to see four distinct colors. Often, one color dominates the others. This happens with the sun and glass on my cubicle too. The rainbow will be more blue, yellow and green and faint. As the season changes into late Fall and early Winter, those colors even out and get brighter. Then comes the days when that rainbow contains the whole roygbiv of colors and it is bright and vibrant.

And it lasts for about five minutes.

I took my picture and then answered an email. Five minutes later I looked at the wall and the rainbow had faded to hints of color. It does not just require the right angle of light and reflective source, but it requires the right time of day. You have to be standing at my desk at precisely 8:19 AM because by 8:24 AM, the rainbow is mostly gone. There’s something miraculous in all of this, that it happens at all, that light is white until we bounce it through different refractive indexes and surfaces. Knowing the science behind the how and why light does this doesn’t diminish the amazement and joy I feel whenever I encounter a rainbow happening.

In fact, I think that knowing the science behind it and how everything has to be perfectly aligned to make a rainbow happen, makes the experience of seeing one an awe inspiring event every time.

WITCHERY

Thursday night, I dreamt of snow. There was a bunch of other things in that dream that I only remember in a hazy way, but the snowing part I remember clearly. Some time early last week, someone said something about living in Kansas City for at least ten years now and not remembering that it snows in October sometimes. I told that person that it does because I have pictures of my Halloween decorations covered in snow. Yesterday Facebook wanted to share a memory of four years ago where I took a short video of snow falling from the sky. Sometimes it snows in October. I dreamt of snow on Thursday and it snowed on Sunday.

Clearly, I am a witch.

I was thinking of witches and spells while I was in Cape Cod. It’s hard not to considering all the history surrounding that area and witch hunts where in one year fourteen women were hanged for witchcraft. Could you imagine giving someone the death penalty for witch craft today? Can you imagine how completely ridiculous that sounds? Part of me believes the human race has evolved beyond that, but while I was taking pictures of the Founding Fathers National Monument, a woman popped up out of nowhere talking about the need to take this country back to the government of our Founding Fathers, back to a time when she didn’t have the right to vote or have her own bank account.

We are prone to believing ridiculous things.

I was reading some thing recently, it was probably a random meme, about how you shouldn’t dismiss your woo. “Woo” referred to the mystical lala crap that I not only dismiss, but completely ignore. I have many friends who thoroughly embrace woo. They follow the complicated version of star signs where you don’t just know your astrological sign for the month you were born, but the moon phase at the time of their births. Some of them not only know this about themselves, but they know it about others and how to use all of this to understand their relationships. I cannot hold any of that information in my brain. I seriously have to look up my star sign whenever I think to ironically read my horoscope. Even that feels complicated because I’m some sort of Acquires Capricorn blend because January 20th is more than an Inauguration Day. I’m more woo adjacent. Like I’m the one you text when you’re worried about mercury poisoning from your pot because I can tell you if mercury forms a bond with the THC compound. It can because THC is a thiol compound which is also why it smells very much like a skunk. Skunk stink is also a thiol compound.

Organic chemistry is my witchcraft.

I’m just the type of personality that believes there is a scientific explanation for everything. Once someone asked me if ghosts were real. The person didn’t ask me if I thought ghosts were real. They wanted to know if ghosts were real, which felt like a loaded question. Like the person was testing my scientific credibility. I told this person what I tell everybody who asks me about souls and spirits. The Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can neither be created or destroyed, only converted to another form of energy. Humans contain energy. Sometimes that energy stays close and does weird shit like make the lights flicker and sometimes it goes back into the planet, helping trees grow tall and strong. It goes somewhere and scientists are still working on figuring out the wheres and whys. It is of yet to be explained.

Sort of like this rambling post.

Years ago, while on a trip to Boston, Michael and I took a day trip up to Salem. Salem is pretty much what you’d expect it be. There’s historic witch houses and people walking around in costumes depicting the 1600s. Every other shop is a spells and crystals shop. It feels more like Silver Dollar City without the rides than it does historic despite it being an early European settlement. Any way, we spent the hottest day of a Massachusetts summer there, exploring the town on Bird scooters. I found a lovely journal in one of the shops that reads “Book of Spells” on the cover. I bought it thinking that I would write down ridiculous spell components, but I only wrote one or two before the journal was abandoned along with a stack of other abandoned journals. That’s a Chris thing, to have stacks of journals with only a few pages of written things in them. Another bit of energy I must have absorbed because now I have a similar stack. My book of spells was abandoned because I couldn’t really think of any spells I’d like to cast. I mean really. How many spells does one need to live a happy life? Maybe I should start writing spells for living a content life. Or maybe I should just devote this journal to revisiting organic compounds. As of right now though, that journal’s fate is still yet to be determined or explained.

Like ghosts.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

There have been two different incidences this month where a male driver has physically attacked me with his vehicle. Now while “physically attacked” feels a bit dramatic to say, when I think about what happened that’s exactly what it was. The first incident happened when I got over in front of a minivan and then the light changed and we all had to stop. He was more than car length away when I moved into the lane but the man driving the car was angry. He laid on his horn and then pressed the front of his van into the back of the basket that is attached to the scooter. He then proceeded to nudge my out into the intersection. It was getting really scary and I finally turned around and yelled “Please stop!”. Luckily the light changed and I was able to ditch him, but it did leave me slightly shaken.

The second incident happened this week while Josephine and I were on our way home from our walk. We were waiting for the crosswalk because even at 6:00 in the morning, Troost can be a little crazy. Plus I can’t see well enough over the hill to risk it. The light changed, my crosswalk light came on and there was a truck turning left onto Troost (moving towards us). Josephine and I stepped into the crosswalk and the truck moved into the intersection. He slowed, but then he sped up so that I had to physically jump out of the way, with him narrowly missing me. One of our neighbors who is there every morning because he rides the bus was on the other side of the street watching the whole thing in horror. I yelled at the truck and then made it across the street. My neighbor looked at me and asked if I was okay. I shakily said yeah, but then we hugged each other and started laughing. He said “OH! Thank the Lord, you’re al-right!” We then told each other to have a nice day and went on our merry ways.

I had almost forgotten about the first incident when this second one occurred, but then it dawned on me that both of these events happened in the same month. They bookend the month of October and has me questioning if this month was trying to kill me or if the universe is trying to tell me something. I am prone to move through this world oblivious to actual dangers. I am not spooked by walking down dark alleys because I can’t imagine what’s dangerous in a dark alley. A rat might scurry by? A hissing stray cat? Not really threats. I’ve always approached everything in the same way I’d approach a wasp. Leave the wasp alone and the wasp leaves you alone. It is naive. I know that, but I’ve never seen myself as the person that someone looks at and thinks “there’s my victim.” Not because I look tough or like a loud screamer, but because I believe that I am invisible.

Not for one minute do I believe that the above events are messages from the universe saying that I need to be more fearful. I am a firm believer that one of the biggest problems in today’s society is how we have and are continuing to be conditioned to be fearful of one another. Case in point: the (telephone game) story that went around about Hamas decapitating babies. Not a true story, but a nice one to spread around to make you fear and hate Hamas and thus all Palestinians. Decapitated babies is the horrible thing that remains stuck in your head and you will never grasp the idea that not all Palestinians are Hamas. It’s the same trap America fell for when we went after the Taliban. Religious fanatics only see other religious fanatics. But any way, before I fall into a rabbit hole of what Israel is doing is wrong trope, I’ll just say that we are taught to fear each other (fear leads to hate - Yoda). I refuse to listen to the universe if it’s trying to tell me to be more fearful.

Proceeding with some caution seems like more reasonable advice for me.

Maybe I needed a little rattling to open my eyes to possible dangers and some proof that I am not invisible. That neighbor? I hardly know him. I know that he and his wife and two kids live two houses east of us. Michael and I had one conversation with them late one evening when we were all standing in the street watching emergency responders clean up an accident. I know from that conversation that they used to have chickens and we swapped chicken husbandry stories. I say good morning to him every morning when I pass him at the bus stop. That’s it, but I don’t know what he or his wife do for a living. I’m not even sure I know their names but now I know he gives the greatest hugs.

Its a pretty intense way for the universe to point out the importance of making connections with the people in your community, but I’m really grateful he was there to celebrate my survival with me.

CAUGHT

The last two months have been overwhelmingly filled up with social functions and moments that have acquired me to be ‘on’, smiling and engaging, pleasant and appeasing. During the weeks, I take care of the household chores so that I can say yes to things asked of me on the weekends, even if I don’t feel that yes in my heart. Sometimes it is just easier to say yes and go along because I’m too tired to advocate for my own time. Advocating leads to arguing and disappointment and it just takes up too much energy. So for the last two months, I’ve been on the go, actively listening, trying to participate in the conversations, making too many decisions for others and sleeping for maybe five hours a night.

What happens when you drop someone like this off in a place of isolation?

Well…at first there’s a little bit of panic. I got into my rental car and had to navigate through Boston traffic all alone. My route included driving over the Sagamore bridge which had me clenching all of the muscles. All. Of. Them. I made it to Woods Hole, checked into my room and once I was standing in that room, I kept looking around to see who else might be there. Was I sharing this space with someone? I was not. I was alone in a dorm room with a bathroom all to myself. I looked at the two twin sized beds, took the pillow from one and placed in on the one I would sleep in and unpacked my things. Then I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. I was too brain dead to start work, but it was too early to go to bed. I hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning and it was close to dinner time. I ventured out in search of food and waited around until it was close to sunset. Then went on a walk with my rented lense. I walked to Stoney Beach, but was disappointed with the view. Too many houses blocking my view of the sunset. I walked away from the beach and over to a public dock. I looked at the sky and gasped. Then I ran to the end of that dock to start taking pictures. This is the moment I felt something break open inside me and I thought I was going to weep with relief as the weights I’ve been carrying lifted. The truth is, I didn’t realize until that very moment just how worn thin I’d become.

I spent the next day working in the lab, taking a break for lunch and eating in solitude. By lunch time on Thursday, I’d finished up all that I needed to do in the lab and decided to drive over to Chatham. I saw so many wild turkeys. There were times I’d have to stop because there would be a group of them in the road. I laughed to myself as I thought about all the depictions of the first Thanksgiving I’d seen that always included a turkey. I drove down a country highway with colorful trees on my left and an ocean on my right. The sun was bright and sparkled through the gold and red leaves. It reflected off the water. Every where I looked, I was struck with ridiculous beauty and tears would just roll down my cheeks without me even realizing it. Once I made it to Chatham, I found a place for lunch and was seated next to two women who were traveling around the Cape together. While I waited for someone to bring me a menu, they asked me if I was traveling alone. When I told them that I was indeed traveling alone, they both exclaimed “Good for you! You’re so brave!” I just smiled.

Was I brave?

I think I can remember a time when I was brave, but lately…even while doing brave things I have felt cowardly. But yeah, there was a time when I had no choice but to be brave. Maybe I fell out of the habit of bravery? Maybe ‘brave’ isn’t the correct word. I’d run out energy to advocate for myself. Maybe this just made me feel cowardly. The whole time I was on this trip, I kept a list of thoughts. I made an effort to write down my wants and needs. I wrote down snippets of things that would would pop up into my head amidst all this silence and alone time. I created a road map for better communication and how to advocate for my needs. I made a pros and cons list for the rented lens, which wasn’t hard. There’s only one thing on the con side of that list. I even allowed myself to think about the next art showing.

While I was still Chatham, I wandered into a little boutique with the charming name of The Fisherman’s Daughter. I browsed around, caressing the hand knit sweaters and thinking about a hat. Then I stumbled onto a jewelry case and found a sterling silver bracelet with a fish hook latch. There was something about its simplicity that made me purchase it. I told myself it was a treat for me, something I had earned for doing the hard things. Hooks are meant to catch things and I’d just spent a week catching ideas and releasing some mental garbage that is not serving me. Now I look down at the bracelet encircling my wrist and see that I have caught myself.

I went to the land of witches and hooked myself.

THE LAND OF THE WITCHES

Saturday evening, Michael and I sat by ourselves at a table in the corner of a reception hall and watched as our friends Jenn and Wade made their way through the crowd, thanking people for coming to their wedding. I looked at the people in the crowd and realized that I hardly knew anyone there. There were less than a handful of people that I knew. I did not care about this because I was really only there to celebrate the union of Jenn and Wade. Also, Jenn had asked me to take some pictures of her during a private moment between Jenn and Wade when they would see each other for the first time before the ceremony. So Michael and I sat at our table, filling out the wedding games that had been left on the table and eating charcuterie. I said to Michael “I don’t get it. Why has Jenn latched onto me? Of all the people we’ve met through camp, what is it about me?” Look, I’m not saying that there’s something unlikable about me. It’s just that Jenn is cool, like Pink Lady Rizzo cool and while I’m not as prude as Sandy, I am probably as dorky and unhip as Sandy.

Michael said “Well, look at who Jenn’s just married. Wade is just a really good person and Jenn’s a really good judge of character. She recognizes good people when she sees them.” He’s not wrong about Wade. Wade is the nicest, most generous human. He’s interested in whatever you have to say no matter what you’re talking about. He’s a total nerd like me and he gives excellent hugs. Plus, when he looks at Jenn, his face says it all. She’s his one. Finding the one and having the opportunity to share your life with that person is a very special gift. The next morning, Jenn sent me a text thanking me for being there and taking pictures. I was in the middle of editing those pictures when she texted. I responded to her with a similar question I’d presented to Michael and told her that I was editing those photos for her now.

Honey just you being you. You are a beautiful genuine soul who is always willing to dive deep and talk about REAL shit. Idk. I just love you. You’re stuck with me.

Jenn’s a pretty amazing human to be stuck with, but I am still awed by how it is possible to continue to make these important friend connections as we grow older. Making new adult friends is hard. We are all ruled by ridiculous color coded calendars. Life is busy. I am lucky.

Jenn’s text surprised me, not because of the nice things she said, but by how she sees me as someone who is willing and easily talks about the hard things. It’s one of those comments that made me tilt my head to the side like a curious puppy and ask “is that true?” I think she might be a little right. Like for instance, I write about a lot of difficult things in this space. I pour my heart out here, but there’s some environments where this is not true. I have a grievance that I have been holding onto because I cannot seem to find a way to broach the subject without encountering defensive maneuvering. This is with a person that I have struggled to communicate with for years and a grievance that comes and goes. Recently though, it has become intolerable. I’m noticing that the longer I go without saying anything, the more likely I am to say something mean or snappish. I have done a lot of biting of my own tongue. This person does not create the kind of environment where I feel comfortable with talking about real shit. At least not in the way that Jenn does or some other people in my life.

Tomorrow, I fly to Boston where I will then take a two hour drive by myself down to Woods Hole and the Marine Biology. I will stay in a room by myself. Take meals by myself. There will be a few solo adventures in between doing an inventory of our lab space and closing it down for the winter. I predict there will be hours and hours of nothing but the voices in my own head and that this will be a good opportunity to organize and write down my thoughts. Watching Jenn and Wade make promises to each other, made me think about what I want in my own life. My want is going to require me to create a comfortable environment where I can dive deep into talking about the real shit. This means that I will need to be able to present my grievance in a clear and constructive manner. Basically, I’m going to spend a week not talking while trying to find a way to talk.

I’m going to the land of witches in in hopes of finding my voice and the courage to use it.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I don’t know how to start this dialogue. I was going to talk about prying open my washing machine to get the clothes out and having to buy a new washer. But I found it difficult to write about my washing machine woes while seeing and hearing about the horrific acts of violence happening in Israel and Gaza.

First of all I support my local Jewish communities and friends. The attacks by Hamas have sparked an extra fierce round of antisemitism in this country with far right agencies praising attacks on Jewish people. This country has never been good at supporting our fellow Americans of races other than white, religions not Christian based, and ethnoreligious groups. While I can’t change the whole country, I can do my part as an American in protecting and supporting these groups. Our Jewish friends need to know we have their backs and will do what we can to protect them form racism.

Secondly reacting to violence with more violence will never fix any situation. The counter attack on Gaza by Israel has left more than 300,000 innocent people homeless, not to mention the deaths of hundreds of thousands of women and children. Their announcement of a total blockade to Gaza is considered to be a humanitarian crime by the UN. Women and children are in the most danger. Israeli missiles have hit schools and places of worship, both of which have been filled with women and children seeking shelter from violence. There is no where for these people to go to be safe.

Here are some ways to send help to the victims of the horrific acts of violence brought on by Israel and Hamas:

• Doctors Without Borders

• International Committee of the Red Cross

• International Rescue Committe

Feel free to share other resources in the comments.

DOING THE THING

All the inspirational memes I’ve seen have been about not being afraid to do the thing. There are workshops and motivational talks on getting one’s self together and doing the thing. When I say ‘the thing’ I’m referring to that life goal that you might have set on a shelf because you don’t have enough time, or don’t feel like you’re prepared, or you don’t know how to get started, but you know some day you want to do it. It’s the activity you want to do but have a million excuses for not doing. There are loads of advice out there on how to move past those excuses. But what happens when you finally get past your own excuses and do the thing?

A thousand years ago, I sat down to write up a Life List of one hundred things I’d like to do. The list was not necessarily a ‘bucket list’, but more of list for just living. It was not meant to be stagnant. If you did something on the list, you crossed it off and maybe added something new. I struggled with separating the things I wanted to do from the things I should do. I’d always end up writing something about getting organized on the list, which is stupid. Sure, there are parts of my life not organized (photos and albums), but most of my daily life is organized. I know where all the things are. My calendar is up to date and color coded. There is no need to have anything about organizing on a Life List. Still, I struggled and it took weeks to finish a list of one hundred fun and enjoyable wants.

The Life List was abandoned when Chris died. There have been times when I thought about rewriting it, making a new one that wouldn’t involve him, but I have yet to make some time to do this. One thing I know is that having a showing for my photos would probably not end up on that list. It has turned out to be something that has fallen into a gray area of something I should do and the thing (goal) or want to do. After all this time of taking photos and posting and creating my art, sharing it in a tangibly public way seemed like the next step. So I did it. I did the thing. And now I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m looking for the motivational memes that would tell me how to process having my first artist reception. It’s a large bag of mixed emotions that I feel needs to be organized and compartmentalized. I am appreciative of all the praise but simultaneously cringe from it. It’s a good feeling to know I am so loved, but also want to put up walls to block some of it out.

Those motivational memes, those workshops on accomplishing goals don’t ever talk about the after you do the thing because getting you to do the thing is easier than suggesting ways to process the mixed bag of feelings you end up with after doing the thing. So here’s my motivational after take. If you are cringing at praise being given to you, it is because you have an inner critic telling you that you do not deserve the praise. Those walls you put up to shield away love are walls built from feeling inadequate to reciprocate that love at the same level as what is being flung at you. If those who came to the art showing were insincere in their praise they would not have spent money on purchasing my art. The last one is a little harder, but I hope my friends and family know how much I love them.

I am not likely to ever add “art showing” to any kind of Life List, but I am not ruling out the possibility of doing another showing some time in the future. I only say this because I can envision what I want for the next showing. I not only know what I’d do differently for the next one, I know how to make those changes. I’ve learned to separate my wants from shoulds.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In my tweens and teen years, any time I went off to do some 4-H activity, Mom would send a camera with me and instructions to take pictures. At the end of the year all 4-Hrs filled out record books that were judged with awards often being scholarship money. The best record books earned the most money and the best record books not only contained a write up of all the things you did, but pictures proving that you did the things. Inevitably I would come home with zero pictures because I was too focused on doing the actual activity. Or even worse because it cost money to print rolls of film, I’d come home with a camera roll full of pictures of my camp lunches or a neatly made bed.

I wasn’t a camera person.

Then Chris gifted me a tiny sky-blue Sony SureShot and sent me off to New York for BlogHer and time with Talaura. I didn’t go with the intention of taking great pictures. I didn’t go with the intention of taking any pictures, really, but this was the trip that changed me and sent me down the photography path. Chris eventually upgraded my camera and I started reading manuals and attending workshops. I participated in photo challenges and I set photography goals for myself. I’ve researched lenses and I’m even renting one that I’m thinking of buying for a trip I’m taking in a few weeks. This practice has kept me curious not just about learning the technical aspects of photography, but also learning about other photographers. The photography section is usually my first stop when visiting any art museum.

I recently came across this quote from Dorothea Lange, the photographer and photojournalist best known for her portraits like Migrant Mother during the Great Depression:

The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.

I feel this quote in my bones. My camera has taught me to see the world around me but it has also opened me up to the perspective of seeing the world through the eyes of others. No one sees their surroundings in the same way as the person standing next to them sees it. I have been sharing my view of the world for a long time now, but tonight is my first ever artist reception centered around that work and I’m nervous. I keep thinking about all the what ifs that all seemed to be tied together with the not enoughs. Then Terry reminded me that this reception is for me to enjoy. It’s a celebration. The art work has been up for a month. My friends and family have been seeing my work in my online posts for years. The only difference here is that my work is tangible; it’s printed and framed and hanging on some walls.

I am grateful for this practice that has changed the way I see my surroundings. But I am beyond grateful for the love and support for this practice from my family and friends. You are the ones that make me believe that I am enough.