THANKFUL FRIDAY

Thursday morning, I dropped Josephine off at the groomers at 7:45 AM and then promptly locked myself out of my car. I locked myself out of everything. My phone. My wallet. My lunch. All inside the car. I borrowed the phone at the groomer’s and called my insurance company for road side service. This took twenty minutes and my estimated time for service was 100-130 minutes. I waited three hours, walking back and forth, standing near my car, hopping up and down. Every time I tried waiting it out inside, Josephine would start whining. So I stood outside most of the time. I finally gave up and borrowed the phone again to call a locksmith. Then I waited twenty minutes and paid $270 to have the nicest young man with the thickest Italian accent open my car.

I am not kidding when I say that I hugged him.

Seriously, it was the most ridiculous morning and I don’t even know why, but I went ahead and went on to work even though half the day had passed and I was going to have to leave at 3:00 to get Josephine. I just didn’t know what else to do with myself. So without much thinking, I headed to the closest place where I could address my physical needs: bathroom, coffee, food, warmth. That place happened to be work. I am just grateful to be able to go somewhere. That is the very first time I have ever locked myself out of my vehicle. That seems surprising, but it’s true. I’ve locked myself out of the house, but there have been people inside it. All I had to do was knock. I once locked myself out of an email account because I could not for the life of me remember my password. But I had, until just now, never locked myself out of my vehicle. I did it with gusto too.

Later, when I had finally made it to work and warmed up, I texted a friend about what I had done. A giggle bubbled up as I read the things I had written. Then I couldn’t help myself. I just started laughing and laughing. Because it was so much more than just being locked out of my car. I hadn’t had coffee or breakfast. I had no way to pay for anything. I had no way to contact anyone unless I asked to borrow a phone, but who would I call because I don’t have numbers memorized. Even then, who would I call that could come get me and do anything to help this situation? I was in true pioneer wild west territory.

My mother went through a phase where she continuously locked herself out of her car. Her colleagues bought her a special key chain that held her keys on a retractable cord attached to a belt loop. It was a brief phase, but it is something I thought about while I waited for someone to come unlock my car. I hopped from one foot to the other and thought “Oh no…it’s happening.” Then I shrugged and thought “good for me.” There are worse traits I could inherit, but I think I’ve inherited the best of my mother, like her resilience and stubborn independence. I don’t think there is anything wrong with being a bit stubborn and independent. My mother celebrated a birthday on Monday and I am grateful that she could do so.

Today is the last day that this body will ever be forty seven years old. I asked Alexa this morning to play the top hits from 1976 and it started playing a song by the band Kansas. This was followed up with an ABBA song and I remembered that I am not only an inauguration baby, but I’m a baby of the Disco-Rock Wars. Which is probably why I love roller rinks and mosh pits. I left the house singing “There was something in the air that night. The stars shone bright, Fernando.” Even though it’s dangerously cold outside, I felt the sun on my face and decided that today is going to be so much better than yesterday.

OUCH

I sliced my thumb on a can of beans I had just opened to go into the pot of soup I was making for dinner. It’s not bad, not a stitches situation, but when it happened I quietly said “Ouch! Fuck!” and then my thumb started bleeding. Michael took one look at the first drop of blood and said “Oh no…” and then he ran off in search of a bandaid, which once found he applied to my thumb with shaky hands. I almost asked him if he needed to sit down for a minute. A few hours later, I removed the bandaid only to put on a new bandaid five minutes later when my thumb started bleeding again. Thumbs tend to be workhorses of the hands and this particular wound is in a place that gets bumped around a lot. I feel every bump and it smarts.

January.

Every time, I think it will be easier. If anything, the passing of time makes it worse and when I tell myself that I just have to make it through January, there’s a voice that whispers “February is going to be just as bad.” I want to blame it all on the weather, the bitter cold that makes it impossible to move around on this planet. It wasn’t this cold back then when we first moved here. It wasn’t even this cold the year he left us. Passed away, whatever. Some days it’s “he died”, some days “he departed” and some days when I’m feeling really cranky it’s “he left us”. The goddamn nerve of that man and the choices I have made since have set me up for a lifetime of knowing my life was better in the before times. Maybe that’s the why of making those choices.

Sometimes, I get so mad that I am still writing about this. I will write paragraphs around my unhappiness and then I will delete it all. I will fill the empty space with forced joy while asking myself when was the last time I was truly happy. This question always arises during the coldest, darkest months of the year when I’ve been the most stagnant, when the air is the most painful. Every year I make a plan, a strategy for navigation around this time and every year that plan fails not just miserably but epically. With flames and destruction. It is quite possible that my plans have failed more epically this year than any other year, even though on the outside it all looks normal and happy. She smiles. She make an attempt at laughing. She pretends.

I pretend.

After Thanksgiving, I calmly told Michael that I was no longer putting any work into this relationship. In some ways this made my life easier. I have dropped any expectations I had of him being a true definition of the word ‘partner’. That means doing tasks that I’d have to do any way if I lived alone. Shoveling the driveway, clearing the snow from my car, making a meal plan, holding myself accountable. I’ve stopped expecting an equally emotional and intellectual relationship. I had been working and striving so hard for this to be that kind of relationship, that the more effort I made, the more I was reminded that I didn’t have to do this in my previous relationship. I thought for the longest time that I was compromising, but what I’ve really been doing is conceding and with each concession, giving up pieces of myself until I just didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.

Mostly, I didn’t care about the loss of myself but how is that different from the days that followed Chris’s death? So now, in the darkest coldest months of the year I have more time and space for the past. Again with these choices I have made. I am not sure I ever really figured out who I am without Chris other than a bit pathetic. I’m tired of everything but mostly I am tired of being pathetic. When will I ever learn to lean into the stillness and the benefits of rest that come with these months? The truth is that if I stop being pathetic and less conceding, I will see that I am still the person I was with Chris. I had my own identity then and there’s no reason to believe that I don’t have my own singular identity now.

Knowing that doesn’t make this month feel any less poky. January will always be a cut on my thumb that’s deeper than a paper cut but not so deep that it requires needle and thread.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This is one of those weeks where it is challenging to not fill this post up with words of negativity and despair. Tuesday evening, Michael and I parked vehicles in our driveway with the idea that he would be leaving first in the morning. We thought for sure that they would not cancel another day of school. The main roads were clear or mostly clear, but around 8:30 that evening Michael received the call that there would not be school on Wednesday. So we pulled on our boots and coats and went out to swap out vehicles. It was not a well timed or well choreographed event and I ended up having to drive away because a car was coming and Michael wasn’t in the driveway yet. Once you are headed east on my street, there’s not a lot of options for turning around and I ended up slipping and sliding my way up hill on an uncleared neighborhood street. At one point, I thought for sure that I was going to be stuck. It was dark. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and I didn’t have my phone. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled my car into the driveway just as Michael was locking up the house so he could come find me.

This almost could be a metaphor for the week as a whole. There was a lot of slipping and sliding and moments of feeling stuck. The accouterments for snowy weather are heavy and cumbersome. More care has to be taken just by walking to your car. I could have very easily been stranded and stuck in a snow drift, but no one had to come rescue me. I made it home. In spite of the drudgery of this week, I have gotten out of bed every morning and I have done my seven minutes of exercise while waiting for water to boil. Then I have sat in what I call Puppy Meditation. This is where I sip hot lemon and ginger water while petting and snuggling with Josephine. I made time for my own yoga practice and had a few dance parties at my desk. I even made it to the DMV to renew my driver’s license. I arrived fifteen minutes before they opened, was second in line and first to the licensing counter. It took me ten minutes to complete all the tasks, a task I had been dreading since my notice for renewal arrived two months ago.

While this particular week has felt like the length of an entire month, there has been goodness in it to be grateful for. In fact, I will make the argument that weeks that tend to feel more grueling and last longer than some, actually contain more moments of gratitude. Those moments are more clear and vivid in my memory than all the rest of the muck from the week and Puppy Meditation is probably the thing I am most grateful for. I tend to feel guilty for not taking Josephine on walks in the winter mornings. Sitting with her in the mornings and gently rubbing her belly reminds me that she doesn’t care what we are doing in the mornings as long as we are doing it together. She might even prefer Puppy Meditations to the walks. Petting dogs lowers cortisol (bad stress hormone) and increases oxytocin (feel good bonding hormone). Puppy Meditations is not sitting doing nothing.

I am grateful to be transitioning back into a routine that benefits my physical and mental well being.

Today’s weather has so far turned out to be not quite as bad as predicted. We did not receive the layer of ice followed up with more snow, which it is doing right now. Schools are closed again today, but mostly because of the severe cold. My weather app says that it is currently fourteen degrees outside, but feels like negative three. This is a weekend for mugs of tea and bowls of hot soup, for wrapping up in blankets and piling your lap with pets.

This is a weekend for making a choice of stillness.

WHY DOES JANUARY EVEN EXIST?

Three of us braved the icy, snow crusted roads this morning to come into the office. I had no choice. I have service people in town right now to do preventative maintenance of some of our very most popular microscopy systems. Rescheduling would be a difficult option for all concerned. But honestly, I probably would have made the treacherous drive here any way because I have become the First Law of Motion. The act of getting ready to go in to work is the applied force this ball needs to start moving.

And this ball really needs to start moving.

But that’s the thing with January. It is the first month of the year and should feel like a month of possibilities and fresh starts. The reality is that the month of January is my old 1976 Buick Skylark that took three to twenty turns of the key to get the engine started. This is where you decided if you are a ‘glass half full’ or a ‘glass half empty’ kind of person. If you lean towards the half empty way of thinking, you might think that January is here to ruin all of your plans. Michael attempted to make reservations for my birthday dinner in two weeks and there was zero availability at my first two choices. That weekend kicks off Kansas City Restaurant Week and there is the potential for an important Chiefs football game on that day. When Michael asked me for another option, I said “just forget it.” Then four to six inches of snow got dumped on the city and there’s more coming on Friday, canceling plans I had made for my mother and sister to visit so we could celebrate my mom’s birthday. So it really feels like January is looking at me and saying “Hey…I get that you want to do things. I really do, but nope.”

January. Wrecking plans since 1976. Or 2012 (if I’m being generous).

The month of January is named after the Roman god, Janus, the god of new beginnings and transitions. Janus is not the god of good new beginnings or bad new beginnings. He is the god of just new beginnings and new beginnings of any kind requires some transitioning. Back in 2012, I did not see January as a month of new beginnings. It was a month of painful slogging tasks. It was a time of conditioning for a transition into a new beginning that was most definitely not a good new beginning. All Januarys since have been compared to this and treated with an expectation that January is going to be hard as fuck. But I so desperately want to see January with ‘glass half full’ eyes, so here goes.

What would a ‘glass half full’ person think about January’s shenanigans?

January is your therapist telling you that all those things that you want to do requires you to put in some work to do them. There’s no waking up to written manuscripts or finished marathons. Goals are not met by happenstance. You have to put in the work, but January is also forcing you to focus only on the things you can control. It’s going to throw all these obstacles or tests out there that you have no control over to train you both mentally and physically to focus on the things you can control. To a ‘half glass empty’ person, this looks like the bare minimum of activity, but ‘glass half full’ people know that looks are deceiving. The hardest pose in yoga looks like you’re doing nothing while doing nothing, but this doing nothing time allows for molecular level recovery for our bodies.

I can’t control the snow, but I am able bodied enough to shovel my driveway and dig my car out. I made it to work, but did concede to canceling my yoga class this evening (safety first). Plans are not ruined; they have just been rearranged to different dates and venues. Everything could be so much worse right now. January could be really making me do much harder things this year than just navigating snowy terrain and cold weather. Maybe I should give the month of January a new slogan.

January, the month that is the kick-you-in-the-ass trainer you didn’t know you needed.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael and I declared an ‘only stockings’ present year for Christmas and he filled my stocking with ridiculous desk toys. I now own a “Badass” button that tells me how wonderful I am every time I press it and a tiny glowing crystal ball that continuously tells me to '“ask again later.” The Ghostbuster’s trap, I was told, was really more of gift for Chris. So I did the very most Chris thing I could do. I printed out a tiny label with the label maker and gave the trap a name that implies it is a trap for ideas. Good ideas or bad ideas. The trap is an equal opportunity idea catcher.

At the same time I was making the trap label, Amy sent me a picture of a set of books that she would probably have purchased for Chris. It was a series of books of William Shakespeare’s version of Star Wars. She included a shot of dialogue from Scene 1 that included the line “he beepeth on and on.” Michael has a habit of asking me if I know about subject A and then explaining subject A to me even though I said ‘yes, I know about that.’ Now, all I want to do is interrupt him with “Must you, Sir, beepeth on and on?” I am truly surprised that I do not have this set of books already sitting on my bookshelf because while there are many things I got rid of, books were kept. I mean, we should all have our very own copy of Catch 22 stacked next to our bibles (yes, I have a bible, know thine enemy and all that).

I’ve told Michael my theory of soul absorption and how I believe that I have absorbed most of Chris’s soul. It is the reason why he is not surprised when certain phrases fall out of my mouth. He has yet to notice that I sometimes cross my eyes and stare at passengers in the cars stopped next to us at stoplights, not unlike Chris’s goofy-faced alter ego. This was the face he used for Rosco, the hitchhiker Chad picked up during his cross country road trip, the trip that started our friendship with Chad. I have more pictures of this face than I do of Chris’s actual face and I’m not mad about it. We recently started watching Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones and in the very first episode, we listened to a woman who is 102 talk about the importance of laughter, but this is not the first time I have heard such advice. I have experienced it first hand. The amount of laughing Chris and I did is why I never really consider anything I did as ‘grownup’ until I was thirty four and moving us to Kansas City.

The years when I feel I have laughed the least are the years I have felt decrepit and ancient and those are the years I regret the most.

When I started writing this entry, I couldn’t remember the name Chad had given to his imaginary hitchhiker and when I asked him about it, he replied “What made you think of that?” It was so many years ago, so many life changes ago. I told Chad it was because I was writing about Chris’s dumb face, which is true, but it’s really because I’m holding onto joyful moments and reminding myself to be silly. I don’t even need to look at Chris’s goofy face to start grinning; all I have to do is think about it.

I am making it a practice to laugh daily, but I do beepeth on and on.

HUNGRY FOR WHAT

I opened up the editor side of this website and looked around like it was brand new territory. This was not unlike the feelings I had when I walked into the microscopy room at work Tuesday morning. In fact, after taking all of the objective lenses off of one system and cleaning each one, I set them next to the microscope and walked away to do something else. It was about twenty minutes later when I remembered that I never actually put those lenses back on the microscope. I have been away from work (and here) for a week and two days. I let my emails fester in my inbox for nine days before finally giving in and clearing things out. I barely took or posted any photos. After returning home from Oklahoma and furiously cleaning my house, I was down right lazy, not leaving the couch unless it was absolutely necessary. Do I have regrets?

Just one. I don’t feel as though I ate as much cheese as I could have eaten in the last eleven days.

Well before the holidays, I was feeling a constant gnawing hunger twinge in my guts. I wanted to eat all of the things and none of the things. I wanted to fill my body up with something, a lot of different things and not necessarily food. I was hungry for changes. My social media ads went into overdrive, filling up my feed with food prep services, fancy ramen noodles, weight loss programs, face yoga and shape wear. For the most part, I ignored those ads, but every once in a while one would sneak its way into my brain. I’d click on the link and search for price tags. Then I’d come to my senses, shake my head and turn it off. Being so well organized for Christmas allowed for some reflection time and I sat down and wrote out a detailed list/flow chart for what I want in 2024. There is nothing unreasonable on that list, except maybe the part about seeing a moose, but I woke up on January first feeling a little bit guilty for not getting right to work. Instead of getting up and getting on my mat or playing my seven minute exercise app, I snuggled back under the covers and watched three episodes of The Diplomat.

When I finally did that seven minute workout on Tuesday morning, I thought “Damn, why is this so hard?!?” while I coughed between squats and mountain climbers. That head cold I had the week before Christmas turned into a cough that still hasn’t gone away. It has at least changed from sounding like masses amounts of wet cotton is about to explode from my body. The cough has been reduced to an irritant and a wish for a zero gag reflex (yes, place all of your dirty thoughts here) so that I can scrub my esophagus with a bottle brush. Half of the people I follow on Instagram posted pictures of New Year’s Eve plans that included cold medicines and tissues. I don’t feel alone in thinking that a mere seven minutes of exercise right now feels like two hours of torture exercise.

On Christmas Day, Michael and I went over to our Jenn and Wade’s house to have Christmas dinner with them and their family. Upon walking into their home, every visitor was handed a card that contained some kind of conversation starter and then everyone in the room would take a turn at answering what ever question was on the card. One of the questions that came up was “What’s a lie you tell yourself?” Look, there’s a number of lies I tell myself on a daily basis, but the one I was willing to speak out loud to the group was this. I tell myself that I am not a healthy person, that I do not take care of myself. Some of that stems from a month of sporadic yoga practices and a pause in dog walks because of the weather. Some that stems from allowing someone in my life to speak to me on a daily basis in a way that is not healthy and letting it go on because I just didn’t care enough to stand up for myself. But also, if I don’t speak kindly to myself, how can I expect others to speak to me in a positive way?

This is something I’ve been working on before the new year, not just being kinder to myself but demanding kinder and more thoughtful speech from others. So by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, I wasn’t as hungry for change as I was in late November. Just the act of writing down the things I want for this year, filled up some of that empty gut feeling. So many things on my list are not resolutions of self improvement, maybe only two or three items. Everything else is all true wants: camping, joyful movement like roller skating, bike rides. I treated my resolutions like they would be part of my Life List, filling the year up with activities of joy and spacing those activities throughout the year like tapas plates of snacks. I’m walking into this year with a little trepidation (the world is very much a dumpster fire and it’s an election year), but mostly I’m walking into this year feeling peckish and excited about snacks.

I’m going to treat this year like Rick Steve spends an evening tapas bar hopping in Madrid.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I’ve been battling a head cold all week, pretending that there’s nothing wrong with me. Each day has been a progression from sore throat to nasal congestion to barking cough. I refuse to give into the idea that I am actually sick because there’s been no fever or aches. I’ve tested negative for COVID three times now. On Wednesday morning I didn’t nudge Michael to get up. Instead he came to me and when he placed his hand on my shoulder, I opened my eyes and croaked “I’m getting up!” Then we sort of argued because he said “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” and I replied “I feel just fine…cough cough…..I’m not sick.” This week is a short week leading into a fairly long break for the whole institute. Our microscope calendar is full and I have several projects I’m helping with. I may have the available sick time, but I didn’t feel like I had the luxury to use it. Besides, the cough hit by Wednesday and that’s always the last symptom in the head cold progression.

So, I am not sick.

Though, if I was sick (and I’m not saying that I am, just if I was), now is a pretty good time for it. I have been relieved of all chores and duties until Saturday morning when we go get haircuts. My job today is rest and an eventual shower because the Cabbage wants to have dinner at the ramen place down the street tonight. I will shower for soup. The following days will be quiet ones. Our Christmas with the Cabbage is on Christmas Adam/Eve. Our Christmas day will be spent with friends for a low-key dinner with puzzles and games. We will spend two days with my family in Oklahoma and then an evening with Michael’s mom’s. Then our plans are to stay still and ring in the new year quietly at home.

During my Wednesday chair yoga class, I gave my student a little bit of extra time in final relaxation. As I helped each student gather and arrange cushions and blankets to be comfortable for a long savasana, I told them to let this time be their gift to themselves. Sometimes we need to bribe ourselves in order to allow for moments that may seem splurgy. Being still and resting for fifteen minutes feels like a splurge to many of us, me most of all. There’s something about ‘gifting’ those fifteen minutes to yourself that feels like permission. I told Michael I didn’t want anything for Christmas this year. I just couldn’t think of anything that I wanted that I would not buy for myself. I told him to save the money for when we go back to New Orleans. We are only doing stockings, but I think I will follow my own advice and gift myself a holiday of rest.

I hope that you are able to give yourself a similar gift this holiday season.

I am grateful to have the luxury of a long holiday that allows for rest. I think that this is my last Thankful Friday entry for the year. I think that having a holiday of rest includes taking a break from this space. Before we know it, we will be blinking in a brand new year, a year for new adventures. I am excited for the adventures awaiting me. Some of them are going to be big. So, with gratitude, I am taking this moment to rest and prepare my body for those adventures.

Many Happy Holidays to you.

THINGS CHANGE

The Facebook memory that popped up the other day was a picture of a collage of holiday cards that I had stuck to the side of my refrigerator. For a tiny moment, I almost shared that memory but then I looked closer at some of those cards. Many of the cards were photo cards containing pictures of my dear friends and their families. I didn’t share the memory because first of all, it’s not a great picture, but secondly a few of those cards do not reflect a few of those families today. In fact at least two of the families in that picture have had drastic, heart breaking changes in the last five years. One photo card is from a college friend with her husband and two children all smiling brightly for the camera. I considered the husband to be a great friend too, but he left my friend in a surprising and shocking way. He turned out to be not the person I thought he was or who anyone thought he was. After deciding not to share this memory, I studied that photo looking for signs on his face or in his eyes only to shake my head and realize he was the best actor of us all.

I’m sure my friends remember my holiday cards of the past and how different my cards look today. I wanted to hold onto a tradition that could not be recreated with any other person but Chris. I have given up on the idea of elaborate and funny holiday photos. I like to think of my cards now as more of a sarcastic head nod to the suburban family unit. I’ve stopped trying to get a nice photo of all of us together and instead, I patch together individual pictures of us. I’m the hardest to find because I am rarely in front of the camera these days. Maybe it’s time for another 365 day self portrait project. I always seem to quilt something together just in time to take advantage of a big holiday card print sale, even if the picture of Josephine on this year’s card was actually taken last year. It was the best I could do this year. A series of unfortunate haircuts made Josephine not as photogenic as usual and let’s face it. We’ve all experienced a year of unfortunate haircuts.

I had Talaura on speaker phone Saturday evening and we chatted while I roamed around my house doing chores. I had a stack of unopened cards sitting on my desk and I began to open them one by one and then tape them up on bookshelf for display. Anna and Greg greeted me from the cover of their card with a drooling half grinning baby. They referred to themselves not by name but as “Mateo’s grandparents”, as they should. I am kind of in love with their new empty nest status and how they have entered a stage of life that is less parenting and more spoil the grand baby. The card also arrived from a different address than where I sent my card to them. So, hopefully that gets returned soon so that I can put the correct address on it. Then I opened the card from Todd and I said out loud to Talaura that these children are unrecognizable. That’s not entirely true. I still recognize Todd’s boys, but they’ve mostly lost that ‘boy’ look and have moved on to ‘young man’. Talaura and I chatted about how strange that those two were now closely resembling adults.

Michael has been struggling to get the Cabbage to send them a Christmas wish list this year. They finally responded with “I’m a teenager now. I’m not supposed to want or like things.” They have grown past the surprises and excitement that comes at Christmas when you believe that a white bearded old man is going to break into your home, not to steal your toys, but to give you more toys. I still plan on setting out a nice beer and some pretzels for Santa because I like a bit of whimsy with my holidays. It feels strange to see everyone growing up and getting older when I feel as though I have not changed. It took me so long to finally do “adult” things like buying a lawnmower and a house, cremating a husband. I feel stuck at an in between stage of life where I’m just responsible enough to stay employed.

For a brief period of time as a small child, I can remember spending hours pretending to be Wendy from Peter Pan. I’d interrupt adventures and insist that it was bath time or tea time or bed time. I would tell my stuffed animals who were playing the Lost Boys to be more sensible. I’m sure many of you are nodding your heads and thinking “of course you did, Cindy.” Commanding sensibility is my brand, but as I watch my dearest friends’ children growing up, I find myself wanting less sensibility or more silliness. I don’t want to be a Wendy any more. I don’t want to be Peter and leader of the pack, but I think I’m ready to try fitting in with the Lost Boy crowd.

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.