Hold The Line, Super Girl

In the days of yore when I was a youth in the 70s and 80s, I wore my Super Girl T shirt with pride, and we young women, in our seemingly eternal optimistic youth, believed that girls could do anything that boys could do. 

We read the articles and saw the news and were told the stories of heroines like Barbara McClintock, Mary E. Clarke, Susan B. Anthony, Sandra Day O'Connor, Elizabeth Dole, Sally Ride, Geraldine Ferraro, and Joan Benoit, to name just a few.  Woman, including women of color, making strides in science, politics, athletics, the military, and more. Fields dominated by men, particularly white men, to be sure -- look at us, we can be there, too. It was beautiful to know that we, too, had a place at the table. We could do anything. 

Sure, there were always stories. The sexism, the groping, the crude language and the arrogant dismissals of our work because of our gender. Those stories persist to this day, decades later. Because these things still happen, decades later. Don't be fooled. It hasn't ever gone away. Remember the MeToo movement? The price paid to get our seat at professional tables was sometimes very high. 

And now here in 2025, the country is under Presidential executive orders to scrub federal government websites and policies of anything relating to DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion). We can discuss what the purpose is of those executive orders, another day. The end result, though, is that pages and pages of information relating to the achievements of women and people of color are being scrubbed from the internet. Don't deny it. We can see it happening before our eyes. 

The stories that little girls like myself grew up on, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Access by the most common source of information -- the internet -- is no longer available. Yes, we can still go to the library and find a book. For those little girls for whom the library is distant, or for whom the books have been removed: what recourse do they have? Where do they go, to learn that women do, still (for now) have a place at the table? Are we to resort to Word Of Mouth? An oral history of Women? 

-----

I was flying home yesterday from a meeting. On the first leg of my trip, the pilot turned on the intercom to welcome us aboard and give us some information about the flight, and LO AND BEHOLD: IT WAS A WOMAN.  I wanted to cry.  It may seem like such an inconsequential moment to some, no doubt. But when only five percent of commercial pilots for this airline are women, it's not. 

There she was, with her soothing professional voice communicating with us, performing her job beautifully (such a smooth landing), going about her business. It might not have been a big deal for her -- just an ordinary day at work. But for me, it was a shining moment of Girl Power. We are still at the table. 

Hold the line, Super Girl in the cockpit. Your presence means more to some of us than you will ever know. 

Thirty-two

 Offspring the First has turned thirty-two.  Where has the time gone? 

You are a ray of sunshine, a tender and thoughtful heart, a kind warmth to all you encounter. You are out there in the big world now, and I hope that the world is not too much for you, because the world is cold and can be cruel. But you create your own bubble of light wherever you go, and that may be enough to protect you. I wish for the best of everything for you, always. 

Go forth in joy for your next year, Offspring the First. I love you so much. Happy birthday. 

What!?

Why is she looking at me like that!?

The Things We Carry

 Herself speaks.

Offspring the First and her charming husband were in town over the weekend, and we were able to see them briefly for a bit. It was lovely, as always, to see her and her smiling face. Offspring the Third was there as well, and it was reassuring to see him too, as always, and delightful to have the two of them in the same room together. There was an Offspring the Second-shaped hole in the room; I have missed his presence so much, and am trying to walk the line of respecting his independence and freedom, while still wanting to reach out and encourage him to come home for a bit to ease the ache of his absence. 

I don't know when I will have all three of the Offspring together in the same room at the same time again. I try not to think about it. The weight of that unknown future can be a heavy grief for me if I allow it to grow in my heart, but I will not do so. It is important to be glad for the Offspring as they move forward with their unique lives, and not to try to hold them back out of any sort of obligation. 

I will not ask the Offspring to help me carry my own feelings. That would be unfair to them. They should be Free.

Fly, Offspring, fly.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

-Kahlil Gibran, On Children

Relaxed

We should all be as relaxed as our lovely big bun.

 

Speaking of Mad Max

 I came across this screen grab-meme whilst perusing Facebook the other day, and it both amused me highly, and had a truth to it that warrants sharing. (I do apologize for the photo being teeny-weeny; hopefully you all will be able to enlarge it and read it. I have found out that it is from a Tumblr post, which you can find here: https://www.tumblr.com/ohwaugh/158085956252/faun-songs-broliloquy-skelefolk. Full credit to them for this brilliant piece of writing. I've put the first bit down below, to tempt you into reading the whole thing). 

I love the idea of the Peacekeepers of post-apocalyptic world being all the pro-kink, community-driven, alternative Peoples. That would be magnificent Justice, and I fully support it. 

What I wanna know is why the spiky kink warriors are always the bad evil marauders. They might be into some weird shit and unafraid to show it but that doesn't mean they want to go around killing dudes. They're a tight-knit bunch. A lot of them are queer. They understand the importance of community. If the government collapses and all laws come to an end, the people rampaging around killing and looting are gonna be like, frat boys and 4chan rejects. You can mistrust the bondage raiders all you like but they're definitely the ones you're going to run to for help when the neoliberal blood cultists and Nazi meme demons lay siege to your survivor enclave. 

Dusty

 We have had SO MANY National Weather Service Emergency Alerts (Severe) this month.  Dust storms, the likes of which I have never seen in all the years of living in this corner of the desert.  It's shocking. Visibility near zero, even within city limits (not just in the outer edges where the empty desert lies). 

It does not bode well for the area, nor for the planet.  Mad Max, here we come. 

Girl Crush

 Herself speaks.

I try to avoid certain types of movies/songs/media, because they are just... a bit much for me. I don't watch rom-coms; I don't read books in which the love interests don't end up together; don't listen to lovelorn music. Especially now, when the world is a flaming dumpster fire, and Depression still sits quietly in the passenger seat of my car and stares at me from the corners of my room at night.

Once in a while, though, I accidentally come across something, and -- almost against my will -- it catches my attention.  I heard a snippet of a song on TikTok the other day, and now it is stuck in my brain. I feel compelled to listen to it, even though it brings up Feelings that I do not enjoy and would like not to experience. (Empathy: currently the worst kind of curse.)

I wish I knew what to do with Feelings that are Too Much. Feeling them by myself is acutely painful; all the same, there is no one in front of whom I would be comfortable feeling them. Yet one can only squash down feelings for so long, before they coalesce into the living, breathing Depression that is my secretive companion. I would not wish that on anyone. 

At any rate, here is the earworm that is plaguing me. Girl Crush, sung by Harry Styles. Suffer with me. Perhaps, if we suffer together, we can get through. 

I want to taste her lips
Yeah, 'cause they taste like you
I want to drown myself
In a bottle of her perfume
I want her long blond hair
I want her magic touch
Yeah, 'cause maybe then
You'd want me just as much
I've got a girl crush

All Squares are Rectangles (But Not All Rectangles Are Squares)

 Do you remember the expression: all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares? It's such a great turn of phrase. I like it for its literal correctness -- few things more satisfying than a specific mirror-image definition like this. 

It occurred to me today that it could also potentially be used metaphorically. (Yes, I'm slow sometimes.)  I contemplated this morning, how it could be applied. (I was doing so, to avoid thinking about current events. Because they are all horrible. THE HORROR. Ironically, it was through mulling over current events that I ultimately came up with a situation that is analogous.) It goes like this:

When someone hurts another person through actions, an apology made through words can help.  But when an injury is caused by words, an attempt to make reparations through actions is not always successful. Even when actions are intended to show remorse or repentance or a change of heart, there will always be those previous words lingering in the background, and the thought that they may resurface again. Words can only be negated by words, not by deeds. 

Perhaps only I place so much emphasis on the value and import of words. (And perhaps that is why I spend so much time trying to explain myself with a hundred billion words.) Am I alone here? Give me the words, peoples. 

But perhaps not. Surely I am not the only person horrified by the words being used in public arenas right now. When our current President says the VERY TERRIBLE things he says, so flippantly, so carelessly, it is shocking and appalling and I cannot watch because the words stick in my head and I immediately want to argue and yet I cannot, because what good would that serve? What kind of terrible timeline are we living in, that the leader of our nation spews forth such cruel and crass verbal garbage? And it's not just him, either.  But surely I am not alone in my horror. 

Could amends be made through actions at this point? No. Absolutely not. The words need to be denounced. Better words need to be put forth. Only with Good Words, can we truly move forward. 

Dreamscape

 Herself speaks.

Last night, I had a dream that I was on a beach. It was not sunny - I think it was early evening, perhaps? - but it was a nice ambient temperature, neither too warm nor too cold, and the breeze was just right, and the water was the same level of nice. There were good stones on the beach, and fine sand, and some people relatively nearby, but not too many and they were not too close nor too loud. I don't know what I was wearing, but I do know that my body was comfortable, nothing hurt, everything was good. 

I was there with someone I have not seen in far too long. I held their hand and looked into their face, and they had a true smile, and I thought about how it has been so long since I have seen their smile. And I was so happy that they were happy. I just looked and looked, trying to capture every millimeter of that smile, knowing that my time with them was so short and that I had no idea when I would ever see that face again. 

It was lovely to be there for that moment. 

I saw you in my dream
We were walking hand in hand
On a white sandy beach of Hawaii
We were playing in the sun
We were having so much fun
On a white sandy beach of Hawaii
The sound of the ocean
Soothes my restless soul
Sound of the ocean
Rocks me all night long

White Sandy Beach - Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole

Yikes

That's... even weirder, DuoLingo. 

I Don't Know

I came across a meme the other day, and it sparked a tiny memory from a hundred thousand years ago. 

I am not sure how old I was, but I was somewhere in my preteen years.  My weird little homely self was overwhelmed by something, to the point of tears, and my poor beleaguered mother, attempting to discern what was happening (no doubt wondering what is her problem THIS time, as I was -- once upon a time -- a tearful little creature), asked me what was wrong. I responded, "I don't know," because I genuinely did NOT know. Something was wrong, but I could not put words to it. Things were just not right, somehow. I did not have adequate means to describe. It wasn't a Thing That Had Happened, it wasn't a Crisis, it was just... I don't know. 

"That's not an answer," she told me, exasperated. "Maybe when you're a teenager, that might be an answer. But not now." This confused me, but also stopped me from crying: both because apparently I did not have a reason to cry, so I was supposed to stop; and also, because I had to think about what it meant that teenagers were allowed to have some kind of complex feeling that could not be put in to words but still afforded them the opportunity to cry openly -- but that I, a mere grade schooler, was not allowed to do so. 

Ultimately, I eventually (painstakingly) learned that people are not at all comfortable with any form of upset feelings or with crying, so it's best to keep that to oneself and out of view of other people; and that being a teenager does NOT, in fact, allow one to cry openly, regardless of whether one has an actual 'reason' or not. 

I do still have times when I do not understand why I feel the way I do; it is so hard to identify feelings right as they are happening.  I wish they came with a little sign: "this is sadness because X" or "this is anxiousness because Y" or "this is overwhelm because A and B and C all happened in short order". 

Feelings: so much work. 

No wonder I'm tired. 

Young at Heart

 Beloved Husband is fifty-[mumble] years old.  Eternally young at heart, always willing to try new foods, new activities, and new places, he will always be the cheery, born-under-a-lucky-star person that I have known him to be since the very first day we met. 

Happy Birthday, Beloved Husband. I wish for you -- with great love -- continued health, happiness, and adventures, for many, many years to come. 

Oort Cloud Bun

 Alert and in the Oort Cloud!

The BunLoaf is Melting

She does enjoy loafing on top of her cardboard house. It looks a bit as though she is slowly becoming one with it. 

 

DuoUmmmmm...

That's... a little weird, DuoLingo. 

Thirty

 Offspring the Second has turned thirty. 

My intelligent, witty, ever so slightly sardonic, independent, handsome, wonderful son. I am so proud of the man you have become. I hope you are proud of yourself, too. The world in which you have grown into adulthood has not been an easy one, and it is increasingly difficult in this political and economic climate (not to mention in the face of global pandemic and post-pandemic difficulties).  You have made a solid life for yourself. Well done.

I hope that you continue to grow and to flourish, and that life brings you All Good Things, always. I love you so much.

Happy birthday, Offspring the Second. 

Nose to the Grindstone

 Herself speaks.

Whoops, it's been nearly two weeks. I have been buried in Things and Work and Extracurriculars. It's not bad, necessarily: honestly, having so many things to do keeps me from Ruminating, which is a very good thing. One of my projects in particular has required a certain amount of creative writing, which is my favorite pastime, and that has helped a great deal in building a ladder out of the Pit of Despair and Obligation where I had been dwelling for so long. 

One hard part, though, is not falling victim to the News. Because Jesus Hallelujah Christ on a bike, the news is SO TERRIBLE. I don't even know where to begin, or what to mention, because I don't want to risk thinking too much about what is happening. The state of the country's government, though, is... just Horrid. . 

It's as though the orange man is deliberately choosing individuals who are the worst possible options for every position. His neo-Nazi henchman, meanwhile, is marching around slashing and burning hundreds of government positions, cruelly, needlessly, thereby endangering our national parks and untold other government institutions and programs. The director of health and human services is an anti-vaccine, anti-antidepressant fruitcake who would like to set up 'wellness farms' for drug rehabilitation (that's not suspicious at all.)  There are newly proposed laws that would make it inherently more difficult for women and people of lesser economic means to vote. Oh, and the GULF OF AMERICA. (Eyeroll.) It is all terrible. TERRIBLE. 

And so I keep my nose to the grindstone, doing my work, trying not to hear the News, doing my best to take care of myself (still kind of poorly, but someday, I'll do better). One day at a time. 

It's going to be a really long four years, though. 

How Far

Today's earworm: How Far Will We Take It? (Orville Peck & Noah Cyrus).

He really did such a lovely job of picking other voices to harmonize with on the Stampede album. 

As visually striking as many of his music videos are, I think this particular song is best listened to with eyes closed. It's even in the lyrics themselves. 

Being in your arms is what I came here for
I'll close my eyes if you close the door
I felt the fire, but couldn't see the flames
You didn't say it, but I know that you felt the same

I hope you enjoy. 

Witness Me

She was tiny. She came up from her watery depths, and her last and greatest effort was so that she could see the world bathed in a light that, for once, was not of her own making. 

And we, creatures of land and light, were privileged enough to see her final journey. 

This fish breaks my heart. 

Godspeed to her. 

Paintings by @sydbecrafty. Lovely. 

Current Events

With eternal thanks to cartoonist Scott Metzger, for capturing exactly how it is. 

Cripes. I canNOT read the news. I canNOT look away. It's like a clown car and Opposite Day rolled into one: finding the most contrarian and least competent person for a government job, and installing them in it by unceremoniously shoving the current capable person out of the position.  People with no experience, but with openly anti-science, racist/bigoted views, now having access to all sorts of information and more - all while clamping down on free speech through forbidding publication of data and reports that have previously been regularly, and more. It changes and evolves into new and more horrible forms on the daily. I can't keep up. 

It's shocking. 

Help. I am all puffy. 

The Pettiest of Petty Things

 Herself speaks.

Recently, Beloved Husband had his vision surgically corrected. It was something he has spoken about for a while as wanting to do; he up and decided at the turn of the New Year to take immediate steps to put it on the calendar. And so, it was done. 

He mentioned afterward that for the procedure, they offered all patients a teddy bear to hold. And while I know that's essentially a distraction so that the patient's hands are occupied and they won't accidentally touch anything they should not (such as the sterile eyeball field), all I could think was, once more, his lucky star was shining through -- he was offered a comfort item to hold, during an elective procedure he chose to have. 

Never once, in the history of ever, in all the various non-elective (and varying-degrees-of-unpleasant) procedures I have needed to have, have I ever been offered a comfort item. It's hard to bring your own stuffed animal when you're an adult -- no one wants to seem juvenile or afraid. But a teddy bear would have been helpful on more than one occasion. Moreso than, "Don't cry, you'll get all stuffy." 

Help, I'm envious of this seemingly inconsequential thing. 

I am truly glad for him, that he could undertake this elective procedure that he wanted. And that it went well, and all was good. 

And at the same time, inside my heart, I envy his good experience, and his comfort. Because those are not things I have gotten to have. I carry memories of some very unpleasant medical experiences within this body. How I wish I could forget them. 

Perhaps next time (because we all know I will have a Next Time), I'll bring my own comfort item. 

Duo-ing the Lingos

It's not much, but it's honest work. 

The Dream Keeper

Find Me A Zookeeper

 Herself speaks.

As I have alluded before, one of the side effects of antidepressants has been more time to Think, and  also, to Feel. Parsing regular Feelings from depression is tricky. But when I sit back and look objectively at the whole picture, I understand that a regular person in my shoes would feel these Feelings. That's natural and expected. Life ebbs and flows. 

Right now, I am at a stage of midlife Grief that is hard to process: face to face with the realizations that there are things that I want, that will never come to pass; that my needs will not always be met; that the Universe requires each of us to find our own way in solitude, to prepare us for the possibility that those nearest to our hearts will not be there at a time when we yearn for them. 

Sometimes I want to say, No Thank You. This grief is so much. But if I can walk through this fire and come through the other side, there will be peace to be found. I just need to get there. 

-----

I had an annual visit with the cardiologist yesterday. He's a lovely tiny little man, so cheerful, so upbeat.  My heart is in good health, and he'll see me in a year. 

And I think to myself, it's broken, but it works just fine. 

-----

Between feeling the Feelings, and my many Responsibilities, though, I am having trouble accomplishing Routine Self-Maintenance. Things like exercising and eating right and looking after myself. I just... can't. It's the very last priority and completely uninteresting. 

This is why I need a Zookeeper. 

I need someone who will treat me like a cranky, middle-aged, slightly overweight, uncertain rescue chihuahua: provide me with a warm place to sleep, offer me nutritious meals to slowly slim me down to the right shape, take me for walks, make sure I have a spot to hide when I feel overwhelmed. Sit on the couch with me and watch TV, and partake in other forms of quiet enrichment together. Stuff me in a crate and take me to the vet when I need to go. Praise me when I do something right. And be happy to see me.

Maybe this is why I adopt medically needy/elderly pets: I want to give them the life I would like to have. 

-----

The challenge, of course, is to be my own Zookeeper. Can I do it? 

I can try. Can I? 

In The Desert

I'm Already Angry

It's going to be a long four years. 

Why?! What purpose does withdrawing from WHO serve? Why be isolationist in this global economy? When one person carrying COVID-19 can get on a plane and infect another entire continent of people? It makes no sense. 

I don't think I can stand to be livid all over again for a second term. But what choice do I have?

I am nauseated already. 

Two

 It's been two years since my lovely Daddy died. 

I worked at home today. I didn't want it to be just an ordinary day yet. Even though it is. Because it still isn't. 

I'm fine, in that I am not grieving any more than usual. Beloved Husband and my very sweet Mother-in-law are being kind and remembering him. That's thoughtful. The Living do like to acknowledge the Dead, because they are still very much part of our hearts. 

The Dead are only gone when no one thinks of them any longer. 

-----

I'm weirdly uncomfortable when people are nice to me. 

I almost would prefer that they... not. 

Because then I don't have to wonder why they are being nice, what their ulterior motive is, what they really want from me. Or why they like me in the first place, to warrant being nice.

My general feeling is, people don't interact with me unless they want something from me. That's most of my interactions -- people need me to do something for them, and that's why they reach out in the first place. They wouldn't otherwise. And they generally don't. No one is nice just to be nice. That doesn't happen. 

I might be a little jaded. 

I'm a tiny bit sad for myself that I feel this way.

-----

Today also happened to be the inauguration. I don't want to talk about that much. 

I will say only this: I am glad that my lovely Daddy did not have to witness it.

-----

Rest in peace, Daddy. I miss your wit, your quiet calm and your wisdom. I miss your precise memory about all kinds of details, and the way you would weave those details into your stories. I miss your love of math and Sudoku and word puzzles. I miss the way you would take a walk around the block with your walking stick. I miss feeling that someone was looking out for me from afar - it was a warm fuzzy feeling, like your plaid flannel shirts in winter. I miss your presence. 

I miss your phone messages. "Hi [nickname], it's Daddy."  The one I had saved was automatically deleted over time, and I don't have it any more. That's a tragedy. Although I don't know if I could bear to listen to it again, anyway. 

Thank you for everything, Daddy. 

I am doing the best I can. I hope you are proud of me. 

Twenty-hour Triptych

I can't go back. 

Whither TikTok

 TikTok's being banned! No it isn't! Yes it is!

-----

I know that many people decry social media as being a bane upon society. And sometimes it is - it has allowed the growth of hate groups (and individual haters) and the spread of misinformation and other malignant societal ills. 

On the other hand, social media has provided an opportunity for community and friendship and support for people who might not have such things in person (particularly during the isolation of the Pandemic). It has allowed dissemination of small joys, and assistance for people in need, and love for those who are hurting. People with common interests have come together across ages and distances and time. People who are lonely have found others to talk with. Those who are unsure of themselves, have internet cheerleaders to bolster them and provide the confidence they need to tackle new or tough situations.  People have been able to diagnose mystery illnesses, and find treatments -- or at least consolation in the knowledge that they are not alone in their suffering. And we have all found enjoyment in a million videos of silly or wonderful animals. 

These are all Good Things. And yet they might disappear, because Government Reasons that I do not quite understand. I would drill down into the theory behind the ban, but life is hard enough without learning more about things that annoy me right now. 

I am sad for everyone, because if the ban goes through, it will be a tremendous loss.

This is why we cannot have nice things. 

Think of the Animals

 Mr. Mustache decided to try to die, yet again. He's King of Stasis, bless his heart.  

I knew it was bad when they had me go to the very back treatment room (you know the one - where they do procedures and perform surgeries) to talk to the vet after they took Mustache's x ray. He was Not Right. He had what looked like a blockage, smack in the middle of his digestive system. Too low to reach from the top, too high to reach from the bottom. Not surgically fixable. The vet, who is an absolutely lovely, kindhearted, and extremely talented vet of many years' experience, said she'd do what she could. 

And she performed a miracle. She pumped Mustache full of fluids and meds, and got his guts working again. He came home, disgruntled and fur askew, but alive and kicking. Good boy, Mustache. 

I am glad that he did not spend the day like I did while he was in treatment: worrying and wondering what to do with his companion Smudge, if he died -- should I take her to say goodbye to him? Would she understand? 

To fret about a small animal, to whom you cannot explain things, and for whom all you can do is pray and hope to minimize their suffering, is a special kind of Hell. 

Sometimes, I am not sure why I even have pets. All they do is break my heart. 

Perhaps, though, I continue to have pets because when they are safe and warm and fed and content, and have all that they need and want, I know that I have molecularly increased the amount of happiness in the world. God knows the world needs it. 

If they are happy, then perhaps I can be happy too. 

-----

For the past few days, terrible wildfires have raged throughout large portions of California. I have hardly read about it, because the destruction is so severe, and the scope of the tragedy so immense, that it is Too Terrible To Contemplate. 

Every now and then, though, a snippet of footage crosses my news feed on some form of social media. Endless flames. Seaplanes scooping water out of the ocean. People putting masks on their pets to walk them outside, because the air is not safe. A kind soul donating his entire collection of Squishmallows, so that children who have lost everything have something soft to hold. 

Poetry from devastated souls speaking in front of the crumbling ashes of their homes: 

I hope houses go to Heaven.
I hope it didn't hurt [when the house burned].

And the animals. Oh my God, the animals.

Posts from rescues and farms, indicating how much room they have for displaced pets of all kinds. Offers to transport animals free of charge. People turning their horses and donkeys loose, in the hopes they will somehow make it to safety. Exhausted skunks. Raccoons. An owl who was rescued, though her feathers were burnt so she could no longer fly. All the creatures. 

We cannot explain to them what is happening. They do not know. The level of fear and panic is unimaginable. 

I could barely stand one rabbit in stasis. I cannot even think about this level of Terrible. So much in ruins. 

God help them. 

Front Row Seat

 Herself speaks.

I am a very slow learner. 

-----

It took me a long time to become a fully developed human being. People were always difficult to understand, and neither college nor professional school really taught me what I needed to know to navigate Life in a sea of people of assorted motivations, attitudes, temperaments, needs and goals. (This is why I always loved school, though -- academics were my strong suit. People? Notsomuch.) 

I was engaged very young (at 21), and married young (just a few days after my 24th birthday), and had my Offspring young as well (at 25 and a half, 27 and a half, and just a bit after 31 - getting old there!). I was able to hide my social insufficiencies behind the roles of "Fiancée" and then "Wife," plus "Mother". And overlapping with that time, I spent many, many years telecommuting, so my interactions with other people were often very limited. I did not need to learn more than I already knew. 

Then, there came a time when the needs of the Offspring necessitated particular activities, and I ended up having to out of my comfort zone of my usual roles. It began at the taekwondo gym, since Offspring the Third (who was being bullied in grade school) needed both the means to protect himself, and a group of peers with whom he had a sport in common. And (somewhat begrudgingly, and rather terrified-ly), I interacted with the other adults at the gym, and became Friends with some of them. And it was delightful.

As time went by, I discovered that there were cliques and whispers and problematic interactions amongst the people at the gym (and the teenagers, too), and that was my first lesson in adult heartbreak: not all people were to be trusted, and not all people were honest or forthright, nor said what they meant. Not everyone is kind. Not everyone is nice. It was a shocking and bitter lesson.

Nevertheless, the greatest good came out of that experience: I made, and have kept, my most Cherished Friend. 

-----

In the time since then, I have continued to work on my people skills and my people experiences. Time has shown me that my original roles of Wife and Mother were too limited: one cannot be a full person, if one exists only in relation to others. 

Children grow up and become their own fully-fledged human beings (and lovely ones at that, I might say, my beloved Offspring), who no longer need their Mother (as much). And as entwined as my life is with Beloved Husband's, and even though there exists in movies and literature this romantic notion that one's spouse is one's Everything, the truth is that it is both unrealistic and an unfair burden to ask one human being to fulfill the entirety of another's needs. It takes a village to raise a marriage. A spouse must have -- beyond their husband or wife -- siblings, parents, family members, and friends, to support and to spend time with, to enjoy and to enhance the human experience. Sometimes a spouse cannot (for a multitude of reasons) Be There. Other people are a necessity. 

Beyond family, there are acquaintances, colleagues, friends, professionals, and even public figures, as well as all sorts of People who impact one's life, whether directly or indirectly, either momentarily or more long-term. A world of People-ing.

I have also learned, though, not to expect much. Because People... disappoint. 

-----

One of the characteristics I appreciate about Cherished Friend, is the depth of his understanding of People. When I have been mystified or dismayed, I have been able to ask him Questions about People, or have been able to talk through what is perplexing me. And to his credit, he has never made me feel Stupid for my incomprehension. He has listened. And explained when necessary. 

It occurred to me today, that Cherished Friend has had what is essentially a Front Row Seat to my gradual disillusionment with People. He has seen it all: my annoyance with generic human misbehavior. My anger at Pandemic misconduct and at political shenanigans. My rage at injustice (both large, and very personal). My despair at words and happenings that have broken my heart. Rumination and loss. Everything. 

Has it been hard to witness my gradual loss of faith in Humanity? 

He is such a patient soul. 

Never did I imagine when I walked into the taekwondo gym all those years ago, that the Universe would bestow upon me there, a gift of a tiny seed of Friendship; and that over the years, that seed would be watered by innumerable tiny moments to become the sheltering tree it is now. 

He has made the sting of Life Lessons more bearable. I am so grateful.

Oceanside tree, March 2022.

Indigo

 TikTok occasionally pushes a particular song clip to the forefront of the algorithm. Right now, it's a snippet from Indigo (Sam Barber, featuring Avery Anna). It's a very sad song, far more grim lyrics-wise than I currently feel capable of listening to, though I like the melody and harmonies very much. 

There's one couplet -- from which the name of the song is derived -- that does stand out for me right now, though:

I used to shine bright like gold
Now I'm all indigo

This, I understand. 

-----

Once upon a time, I was a very warm person. Nothing made me happier than to tend to other people, to be kind without expectation of return, to be generous of my time and attention and care. People should be loved. It seemed simple.

Ah, but People. 

I am a very slow learner. The lessons have been unduly painful. But at long last, I have come to understand: People will take Everything.

People will take what is given, and take more than what is given, and take with expectation, and twist what is given for their own purposes, and take without thanks or understanding. Sometimes malignantly, because sometimes People are Terrible. Yet not always maliciously -- sometimes merely self-centeredly. Or because they Need. Or because they are afraid of Never Having Enough. Or because they are simply accustomed to putting themselves first. 

The end result: my warmth has been spent. I am cold and tired. 

I used to shine bright like gold, now I'm all indigo. 

-----

I do love the color indigo. I do not want to be indigo, though. 

I would like very much to feel safe enough to let out a bit of warm glow once more. 

Grapes, Laundry, Rhodonite, and Other Things We Do Not Believe

Las doce uvas de la suerte, tradition dating back to 1800s Spain, dictates that at the stroke of midnight of the New Year, one should eat twelve grapes in under a minute, while under a table, in order to bring good luck for the upcoming year. 

And so last night, I crammed myself under the dining table with assorted members of my in-law family, plastic cup of twelve grapes in hand, watching the World Clock on my phone. We all dutifully counted down to midnight, and then stuffed our grapes into our mouths, each no doubt with our own personal wishes that 2025 will somehow be Less Awful in our own private ways. 

I do not necessarily believe that these traditions work. Or even help. But if there was even a chance that it might direct the path of Fate into a better direction, I was going to do it, just in case. 

-----

There is a belief in Chinese superstition that one should not do laundry on New Year's Day, lest it wash away good luck. (There is also a saying I have seen circulating in various fluff-news-pieces as well as on TikTok, that to do laundry on New Year's Day, is to risk 'washing away' a loved one in the upcoming year.)  Well: the laundry -- particularly that for Mustache, who still needs his washable pet pads cleaned since his health is still precarious -- needs to be done, and so I am doing it today. 

Did I wash away the good luck of last night's doce uvas? Am I risking losing someone?  

The likelihood of my laundry causing harm is small enough that this was a superstition I was willing to overlook. At best, I've moved back to neutral after last night's grapes. At worst... well, the past two years have been so full of grief in assorted forms, that I almost feel as though no loss would surprise me. I would simply acknowledge that the Universe has chosen this path for me, and look to see if I can find the way forward. Again. 

-----

I have always liked polished stones. Texture, color. Pretty. I had to put away the ones I kept in my little zen garden while the kitties were staying with us because the kitties tended to knock them off of the table. Sometimes, I try to identify the stones I have, and then I end up down the rabbit-hole of "what do these rocks signify?" I do not believe in crystals or their meanings, necessarily (any more than I believe in horoscopes), but it's interesting to see what meanings people ascribe to which rocks.

There's a nice pink stone, with veins of black -- rhodonite. I looked up its 'crystal properties': rhodonite is associated with love, compassion, and healing, especially for matters of the heart, and is said to help heal emotional wounds and release emotions that are no longer serving you. It is said to improve communication and facilitate mutual understanding; bring peace and balance to one's life; help with forgiveness; facilitate inner growth; mend broken hearts. 

After the past two years, I might need a piece of rhodonite as big as my actual heart, to hold in my hands, in order to truly move forward successfully into the New Year.  

I'll settle for a small piece to wear. Will it help? Not likely, any more than the twelve grapes. Will it hurt? Not likely, any more than doing laundry today. But overall, it might it bring me the smallest bit of comfort. And we take what we can get.