Happy Halloween

The Gauntlet is Thrown Down

What's The Secret

When I was facilitating the packing and shipping of Cherished Friend's household possessions, I encountered a throwaway question that stuck with me afterward. It gave a standard socially-expected answer; however, I'm not sure that there is, in fact, a correct answer. 

Mover: Are you from here?

Me: I've been in [this desert land] since 1997, so I'm "from" here at this point.

Mover: Where are you from originally?

Me: [Big city 2500 miles away]

Mover: How on earth did you end up here?

Me: Married a native [person from this desert land].

Mover: Are you still married?

Me: Yes, 29 years now.

Mover: I'm married and divorced and don't think I could do it again. What's the secret?

Me: A lot of compromise.

Mover: Yeah, I've heard that.

------

I said, compromise, because that's a socially expected and acceptable answer. In reality, though, I don't think it's the right answer. Each marriage is unique, like a fingerprint. In my various Facebook groups, marriage issues and questions are frequently raised, and if there are 10 women in the conversation, there may be 11 different opinions. Some marriages are fortified by compromise; others contain little compromise, but much sacrifice. Some are naturally harmonious and require little upkeep. Others require the frequent mental exercise of contemplating, are we better off together, or not?  There are a thousand little factors that go into 'succeeding' at a marriage.

I know the Mover was just asking a simple, socially polite question. He probably has already forgotten he asked it, or what my response was. He wasn't asking me what has made my personal marriage work for nearly three decades. Nevertheless, I gave that question some thought later. 

And I realized again that there is a reason I do not write much about my marriage with Beloved Husband: because it cannot be distilled into a few words. A marriage is a whole ecosystem: it is not just a relationship between two people, but rather, encompasses children, siblings, parents, extended family, friends, and coworkers -- all of whom rely on on the married couple to have a foundation of marital strength on which they can depend and rely. It is a responsibility and not to be taken lightly. 

If I had a real answer to provide to the Mover, it would have been something along the lines of this:

Marriage requires an understanding of yourself and your needs; the acknowledgement of the strengths and limitations of your spouse; the ability to ask for what you need and to accept graciously what can and cannot be offered in return; and a willingness to make compromises or sacrifices to better the ecosystem of the marriage. It requires time together and time apart. It requires not just grand gestures, but tiny, daily ones; it needs appreciation and patience and forgiveness. It needs tenderness and kind words. It does not live in a vacuum -- it needs the support and care of friends and family. It needs listening, and it needs being heard. 

That's the just beginning.

Kahlil Gibran can provide insight:

On Marriage (Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet):

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart, 

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

Move

 A couple of days ago, I facilitated the packing up and shipping of Cherished Friend's household possessions, from storage, to his Oceanside. 

It went fairly smoothly, all things considered.  Hopefully, all will arrive safe and quickly at the other end. 

-----

I am not sure how I am feeling. There was a fair amount of nostalgia floating in the air along with the dust and the chatter of the moving crew. Recollections of Cherished Friend's house that he once had here in my corner of the desert (it was a Good House, a Safe and Quiet Space where I once fed his fish while he was away). Echoes of saying goodbye when he moved from this corner of the desert to a different corner of the desert. Remembrances of our own packing and storing of various boxes and possessions at different times over the past few years, and the mental energy that these past few years have taken from him. It's been hard. 

Overarching all, is the realization that as much as I would love to be there to catch the moving van on the other end and help him get sorted and set up and established in his new Abode, I cannot do so. This pains me on a very visceral level. It rolls in to my pandemic-associated grief, and spotlights being unable to go anywhere or do anything or find ways to fill my needs or tend to my own feelings. 

I am exhausted and bereft and need a Day Off. 

One foot in front of the other. On we go.

Wilbur helped.

All organized.

Off it goes. 

Brrrr

The earliest ever recorded snowfall in this desert land. 

It is beautiful, despite everything. 

Oceanside Lizards

Alert

 The pandemic not only continues -- it grows. 

The past week, my desert city has "shattered" records for new and active viruses cases, positivity rate, hospitalizations (including ICU admissions) and ventilator use. News articles exclaim: "The massive Covid-19 surge... went from extremely bad to critically worse on Saturday as all-time highs were shattered for a half-dozen critical markers...."  the Mayor is encouraging people to "stay home".  The local convention center is being converted to a makeshift hospital.  The text news flashes from the City are all labeled "Imminent extreme alert."

I just... cannot. 

The politicization of wearing a simple facemask has turned a simple and easy action which demonstrably reduces infection rates into some kind of STATEMENT. One hundred thousand lives could be saved in the next four months if 95% of Americans wore a mask in public. Only about half of that number apparently do so consistently, though. 

How has it come to this? I am sure that there will be plenty of hindsight analyses of the year 2020. I am not sure that I will ever be able to read them, because even trying to contemplate how we ended up here fills me with anger and disappointment. 

And meanwhile, the election is nine days away. Please, let it make a difference. We are so exhausted and need some Hope. 

Stay safe, peoples. 

Festive

I think it will be really hard to feel festive this year. Not for lack of trying by the home goods store, though. 

Make Me Feel

 Today's earworm: Janelle Monae, Make Me Feel.  

She is so smooth.  So alluring. Her performances -- and particularly this one -- remind me of those of Prince in many ways. 

I hope you enjoy. 

Tone

Herself speaks.

The other day, while working my way through a rebound headache and trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, I was chatting with Beloved Husband in the kitchen. I made a statement, and Beloved Husband commented that it sounded as though my comment was critical and sarcastic; in my head, though, it was just a statement of fact. I let him know, and we continued the conversation. It got me thinking, though. Perhaps the Angry Eyebrows of the headache contributed to my tone of voice. Or perhaps it's something else.

----

I've wondered for a long time -- ever since Offspring the Third's diagnosis -- whether I too am on the autism spectrum. The difficulties I have understanding other people's points of view and recognizing certain social cues, and my odd/unnecessarily complex use of language without the apparently customary intonation, (along with other factors) might suggest so. Perhaps that is why I am most comfortable with the written word: it's easier to express myself with 1,000 words rather than through a single tone of voice. 

I wonder if it's hard for the people I talk with to understand how I'm feeling or what I really mean based on my spoken word. Does this mean that I need to work harder on modulating my voice (or at least to be more cognizant of what my voice is doing)? Do ordinary people have to watch their tone, too, or does it come naturally? How much time do other people spend thinking about their words and exactly the trajectory of how those words should leave their mouths and blast off into the air? That seems like a lot of work. With the amount of time it takes for me to formulate something to say and present it out loud, the addition of extra moments to reflect on intonation might make it nearly impossible for me to maintain an ordinary conversation. Or perhaps I just need more practice. 

A lot of practice. 

I'm tired just thinking about it. 

This probably ties in to why I prefer to interact with one person at a time -- it's so much more complicated with more than one. 

The pandemic has been, in a strange way, a relief: fewer social interactions. And though I occasionally am lonely, I am also occasionally relieved that I do not need to participate in more small mentally taxing conversations.

If we have an in-person conversation - please forgive me, lovely readers, for possibly being difficult to understand. And please don't hesitate to ask if you are not sure what I mean. I'm always happy to use 1,000 extra words to try to explain myself. 

Biden Island

 Animal Crossing: New Horizons has been one of my regular pastimes since the beginning of the pandemic, when I purchased the game so that Offspring the Third and I would have a common activity to enjoy adjacently and together. It's been a delight, to pick fruit and to go fishing and catch bugs; to acquire, build and rearrange furnishings in my house; to grow plants (especially enjoyable, since in the real world I cannot keep even a resurrection plant alive); and even to scuba dive in the waters around my island. A good escape. 

It came to my attention that Presidential Candidate Joe Biden has an island. So I went to visit. It's a beautifully arranged, carefully curated island. Someone clearly, lovingly, spent much time and effort to create and decorate it. It is a tiny detail in the morass of politics, that is a refreshing, optimistic breath of air. 

Whatever happens election-wise: Well done, Sir. Thank you. 

Small Dog Rest

In these very dark times, to know that a small creature sleeps peacefully is a great comfort. 

Rebound

 Herself speaks.

I've been battling an ongoing headache/migraine/rebound headache cycle.  It has been... a nightmare, in short. The issue is complicated by the fact that I have multiple headache trigger foods, and it is nearly impossible to determine whether it is a new trigger causing a new headache, or whether it is rebound flaring. It makes it difficult to sleep. And hard to work, although there is usually a respite mid-afternoon when I can be productive. 

The hardest part of it all is that when my head hurts, the Dementors make an appearance. All happiness is sucked out of the world, and I am left with my most grim thoughts. And right now, with the state of the world, there are a LOT of grim thoughts. Thoughts I cannot really entertain, because there is nothing I can do to resolve the matters. All I can do is... be afraid.

I desperately need to get Away to a safe place; to not have to think, for a little while, about politics or pandemics or about the physical distance between me and so many of my Important People. Yet I am boxed in by pandemic restrictions, and my own dark thoughts. 

I need Peace. 

I think we all do.

Let's listen to Rag 'n' Bone Man, Skin, for consolation.

No.

"Warrior."

No. 

Through Someone Else's Eyes

 Herself speaks.

My father has written his biography. I've started reading it, so I can tell him if there's any parts that might benefit from further details.

I've now read about his early years, and the way it is written is heartbreakingly lovely. All the small details are there: of his dog, who would take the shortcut through the woods to meet him at a relative's house; of my grandparents in their heyday; of the two-room schoolhouse, the high school hangouts and activities, the 14-cent Saturday matinees. It's beautiful. A slice of time that will eventually be forgotten -- except through his written word. 

One of the most fascinating aspects of his autobiography, is seeing the world through his eyes. He's a quiet, kind, and brilliant man, and hearing his 'voice' and his stories from his point of view is wonderful. It brings tears to my eyes.

Perhaps it's time for me to write a little more about the people who are important to me. One day, possibly, someone may find it meaningful in learning more about this slice of time in which we now live.  

Views from Oceanside

After so many years in this desert land, the ocean is such a marvelous thing to behold.

Copyright 2020, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Beautiful Pie

 Today's earworm: Sara Bareilles, She Used To Be Mine.

It's a sad song, but speaks to inner strength and finding one's way. 

I hope you enjoy. 

Safe

Today's everyday object: this pin.

The world can be a hard place. You are safe with me. 

Old

 Herself speaks.

I might have officially obtained Old Crone status.

Facebook, in its ever-increasing desire to somehow show me something I will find entertaining, provided in Videos you may enjoy, a few clips from the Ellen show. That's fine, I find Ellen entertaining (although her shows in which she sends one of her employees, clearly terrified, through a Haunted House have always given me pause). This time, though, one of the clips related to Channing Tatum and the Magic Mike Live dancers. 

Oh, good Lord. No thank you. 

I've apparently reached a point in my life where the idea of chiseled men gyrating in my lap or on the floor or a stage in front of me is horrifying rather than alluring. Oh, honey, no. Put your shirt back on. You don't really want to be that close to me, any more than I want you that close to me. Let's have a root beer or something and talk about some kind of science. That would be much better. 

Way back when I was young, I wanted to be desirable. (I  still do, somewhere deep inside, much as I try to let that go.) Right now, I would be far more grateful for an actual interest in my thoughts and opinions. 

Talk with me. Ask me questions. This is the way to an Old Crone's heart. 

In case you're not yet an Old Crone, here is the clip in question. 

Another Yard Sign I Could Get Behind

 I found this on the interwebs. We might be close to endorsing a giant meteor, given the current state of things. 

BFF

 Herself speaks.

Four months in, Cherished Friend has begun to put down roots Oceanside: he has a new Abode. I'm happy for him. The next step is to ship his household possessions, which have been in storage here in this desert land, out to him. As Keeper of the Storage Key, I have gone to the storage units to meet with potential movers so that they can assess the situation and provide estimates. 

The potential movers have all been congenial people; it was a little odd to make small talk with strangers after months and months of Pandemic Social Distancing, but not unpleasant. Two of them asked about my role in the situation (a reasonable and not unexpected question, given that Cherished Friend is Afar, and I am Near, and we do not share a phone number or last name). 

One, more generally:  Are you related to him?

Another, more specifically: Is he your....(pause, hoping I'd fill in a word).... boyfriend?

I told them both: "He's my BFF."  It seemed the simplest answer.

-----

I know it was a nearly throw-away question; no one was particularly interested in an actual meaningful answer. Even in casual conversation, though, I did not want to minimize. "A friend" would have been insufficient. "Just a friend" would have downplayed the importance of Cherished Friend for me.  I suppose that people with a large and well-connected social group would find "friend" to be enough of a descriptor. When there are very few people in one's close circle, though, friend takes on a larger and more significant meaning. 

Retrospectively, the question was unexpectedly upsetting. Perhaps I have not yet come to terms with the fact that Cherished Friend is so far away; with his possessions still in this desert land, his transplant to Oceanside has not yet seemed real. His full establishment of his Abode, complete with all of his possessions, will make things much more Absolute.  

I am glad for him, that he is close to the ocean, and near boats and sailing and Dreams to come true. I am still bereft for myself, though. Facebook flashback reminds me on nearly a daily basis of the places we have visited and the adventures we have had, together as well as with Beloved Husband and even occasionally with various Offspring as well. I do not know when any of us here in this desert land will be able to enjoy his excellent company similarly again. And the Pandemic is a cruel presence, denying me even thoughts of what it might be like to visit Oceanside -- for if I do not know when it will ever be possible, how can I imagine it coming to pass? 

I'll get past this moment. He has moved, this is true, but he has not dropped off the face of the earth. He is still within reach, by phone, by mail, by internet call. I'm grateful for that. 

Stay well, my Cherished Friend. There are still more adventures to be had. In time. 

Sunset

The weather really is lovely this time of year. 

Pocket Reference

 Today's everyday object: The Pocket Reference. 

Offspring the Third spontaneously sent it to me. He said that it is the most useful book he has ever had, and that he thought I would like a copy. 

So sweet. Thank you, Offspring the Third. I will use it, and think of you every time.

A Yard Sign I Could Get Behind

 From the interwebs:

Oceanside Insect

 I have been remiss! I received these marvelous photos of an Oceanside insect over a month ago, and have not yet shared them with you. LOOK HOW AMAZING.

Unsurprising

 It's been a few days now since Donald Trump tested positive for coronavirus. To which we can only say, in that tone of voice: quelle surprise. This is what happens when you don't wear a mask, when you don't socially distance, when you refuse to acknowledge the seriousness of a pandemic. There has been an ever-growing number of republican leaders also testing positive over these days, too - we open the news each morning, like an Advent calendar of disease. 

It is impossible to know what really is going on -- news reports differ, information conflicts, the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing (or saying). 

I don't wish ill on Donald Trump. (I would like to think that I don't wish ill on any human being.) Nevertheless, now that he's infected, I wonder whether it will be serious enough (and that enough actual factual information is released regarding its severity) that his MAGA-hat followers will at last be persuaded that this virus is something serious, something that we all need to tackle together. 

Wear your fucking masks. It's not hard. It could save a life. That life could be yours. Or the life of someone you love.

You can buy this sign here:
https://agoodsignabq.com/product/ready-made-whatever-just-wear-a-mask-ver-1/

Baila Conmigo

Herself speaks.

I'm not a TikTok person (or even an Instagram person). I'm a middle-aged crone; Facebook is my demographic. Nevertheless, sometimes when I scroll aimlessly through Facebook to pass the time before bedtime, TikTok videos are highlighted as something I might be interested in watching. (Along with various episodes of a Chinese telenova. Which, to be honest, looks rather entertaining.) 

Lately, I've seen several TikTok compilations of various people enticing their loved ones to dance, using a lambada-like version of Lewis Capaldi's song, Someone you loved..  (We'll gloss over the fact that the song actually is quite sad.) The vast majority of the videos are young couples, sometimes with young children or pets who jump up to participate; occasionally, though, there's a "grandparents" compilation, too. The videos are quite sweet and charming. 

I'm not one to create my own TikTok. It would be lovely, though, to experience that kind of moment. 

Here's the song, if you'd like to take a listen. And, possibly, find someone with whom to dance. 

Apple Loaf

I cannot remember the last time I saw my in-laws. They live half an hour across town, but Pandemic and Older and Fragile and Reasons. 

Beloved Husband has stopped by their house on occasion, keeping social distance and masked. He's on his way there now, and so I baked an apple loaf to send along.  It's a pretty loaf. 

It may be a year, or more, before I see them in person again. 

Alas.

In The Neighborhood

Foggy

 This past weekend, I logged in rather early to my Animal Crossing island, and discovered that it was foggy. So foggy, I could hardly see the ocean. It remained foggy for a bit, and then began to rain. 

Nice. 

Hard to find that type of weather here in the desert. Perhaps, someday, I can travel to fog and rain.