Is This Thing On?

 "We're going live in 3.... 2 ..... 1"

(Thump thump) "Is this thing on?"

...

"Thanks. Thank you! Great to be here. Really."

It's been 2 years. Two.Years. My last blog post was post-Trumpocalypse and - whoa - has a lot changed since then, huh? So, how you doin'?

Me? I waiver between 1) utter despair, constant dread and dreams of a life in Canada married to Justin Trudeau leading our country to Be Best and 2) a boot camp level of Extreme Self-Improvement. I've been studying Zen Buddhism, meditating, keeping a gratitude journal and being my personal version of "best." I've also been focusing a bit more on my physical state, working out again and trying to be mindful of what I put in my body. I'd like to think that all the self-improvement is inspired by the ol' "if you can't beat 'em, lead 'em" attitude, but the fact is that the current administration has turned life into a bit of a drinking game for me. I needed to find a healthier escape than 3 gin and tonics before breakfast and all that consumption caused me to grow very, very fat (for me anyway). 

The ultimate goal is to have the body of Rachel Brosnahan, but I am fairly certain that I'd have to rearrange internal organs and remove a few ribs to accomplish that. Also I hate pain. I don't like to 'feel the burn;' I hate to be sore the next day; and I really don't like to put effort into things in general. I also love carbs. And wine. And cocktails. And appetizers. And dessert. Also cheese and crackers. Plus, I am nothing short of genius at inventing 3 to 4 thousand different reasons not to work out. Leading the pack are my conflicting responsibilities, of course: work, laundry, cooking, cleaning, Driving Miss Dia, eating, watching TV, staring out the window at a lizard and, of course, who has the time it'll take afterward to shower, dress and deal with hair and make-up?

There are days when my willpower does prevail, however. Today, in fact, was one. I was walking to the bathroom with an armful of clean clothes preparing to shower and start my day while that nagging little voice followed me all the way in there, poking at me and telling me to "turn right around, young lady, and get that workout done." Fine. I turned on my heels and went to change. Brilliant will power! I win! Until...

The worst deterrent to my exercise routine struck: The sports bra. 

Today I chose one of those back closure deals that still has to go over your head due to the permanent criss-cross back (why???). Just to get it that far, I dislocated my shoulders one by one all the while considering if I should audition for "So You Think You Can Dance."

 

Finally, I get this thing over my head and in the general vicinity of my back. I reach around, grab a hold of the left and the riyyy... Wait..... What's this? 

Start again. I grab a hold of the left closure and .... reaching... Where?? Grab hold of the right closure? No...what the...? 

It appeared that the right side - the one with the hooks - was deeply hooked into itself up in and among the mesh of that criss-crossy bit and I can't ... quite ... get... it.... Are you kidding me? 

So off comes the bra, thrown with the force an MLB pitcher only wishes he has, directly into the cat who is innocently grooming himself on my bed. This sends him soaring into the air as only cats who have been pummeled by sports bras are known to do. 

As I watch my bra, still attached to the cat, run out of the room and around the corner, I feel simultaneously defeated and justified in scrapping the workout for the day. Still - remembering that Trudeau is already married and I must carry on with Plan B - I begrudgingly open my lingerie drawer, choose another somewhat less complicated version, sqwiggle my way into it and readjust every external body part I own. 

Yup. This thing is on.

But it ain't comin' off.

Sadness

I’m sitting here with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. It’s a rich, deep melancholy that fills my chest and tightens my throat. It’s a physical weight that twists my gut and stings my eyes. It is not something of which I am familiar.

I have no real justification for feeling so despondent. I have not had a personal tragedy, nor is my health threatened and all my loved ones are accounted for.

So I take inventory:

Cheyanne just broke her leg. Perhaps that is it. The uncertainty of where this latest injury will drive her journey in life, even temporarily, weighs on me.

Or maybe it’s residual from the stress when my entire family (save for my brother) was threatened by Hurricane Matthew. Though their persons are all safe, whole and intact, their homes, yards and towns were not so lucky. And though a beach house that holds a special place in my heart was spared for the most part, the beautiful dunes it lived among are flattened. The sight of the expanse of sand where there once was life feels final and restoration seems futile. Rebuilding is a monstrous task. Perhaps that is enough to justify my sorrow.

Or it could be that too frequently I must stand by and watch my wee Dia bounce between complete wellness one hour and writhing in pain crying out in pleas of desperation the next. She drops precious weight and my mind races with worst case scenarios, yet I can do nothing but encourage her to carry on.

That could be why. It would be justifiable, I’d imagine, if it was - but that is not why. Not entirely, anyway. Ultimately? It’s futility. This feeling of absolute futility. I feel … helpless. Powerless.

“Take back your power.” I just said those words to Cheyanne in my attempt to offer her strength and support but more likely in a subconscious moment of brilliant projection: “Take.back.your.power.”

But what power do I have to reclaim? I am one person. One not particularly charismatic, rather awkward person who has no influence, no following, no voice. Indeed, this very post will be read by people who know me and likely agree with my views. At best, I may reach a few who lovingly ‘agree to disagree.’

You see, I lied. I do know ‘why.’ I’ve known for some time now. At the root of my despair is the witnessing of a people I never thought I’d live to see again. A history I naively believed was behind us as a nation is undeniably beginning to repeat itself. The progress I proudly watched being made, bit-by-bit on the backs and bloodshed of those long gone is seemingly hellbent upon being undone very, very soon.

Racism. Back with a vengeance.

And we are voting it into office – the highest office in our country.

Oh, I know… you are just picking between the “best of two evils.” I’ve heard it all. I hear you begrudgingly admitting you will vote for that certain candidate knowing his views, knowing the worst of his followers, knowing his influence BUT… BUT your religious convictions, BUT your hatred for the other candidate, BUT you are concerned about your pocketbook… The BUTs outweigh your disdain for his disregard of the most human of beings.

BUT that is what ‘they’ are, you know: They are Human Beings. Whether to you ‘they’ are The Blacks or The Gays or The Muslims or The Refugees or The Mexicans or The Disabled or The Women, THEY are human and their lives are about to be turned upside down, if they are not already.

I could cite recent events to prove my point – nooses being thrown over students at schools in the South, racial epithets being hurled like it’s 1964, the overt sexualization of women, churches burning, the KKK’s renewed public activity…  but this is an emotional post, it isn’t meant to be a paper. It’s not even meant to be a political statement. It’s merely me trying to get through this feeling of powerlessness, watching my faith in humanity drain out of me and praying that Tuesday will relieve my concerns and lift this weight off me so we can go about the work of undoing what this man has already managed to do. Rebuilding is a monstrous task, yes, but we can put it back again – even better maybe – if we can hold back the storm from causing further damage.

So here I am, taking back what little power I have. Take this as encouragement to carry on. I know it hurts, but when it is all said and done I will be here and I will stoop with you to pick up all the broken pieces and put us together again. 

Even if you broke it.

 “History is not just facts and events. History is also a pain in the heart and we repeat history until we are able to make another’s pain in the heart our own.”

-kec

The Far Left

I have an amazing deck in my backyard.  You’d probably gasp if you knew what I paid to have that built. I had to have the feet sunk deep in concrete because it’s on the hill. I had to buy a slide that wasn’t a standard in height or color. It had to be that height and color to come off the deck and hide in the tree just so. Now, in its second summer, it peeks out from behind a great California Pepper tree and hides its inhabitants from the rest of the world.

There’s a hopscotch path that leads to the deck on one side. It actually leads to a path to the deck - a curving, almost hidden path with hand holds on the side in case going up or down is ever an issue. A beautiful honeysuckle-covered archway marks where the hopscotch path begins, and to the right of that is a pagoda-shaped shaded sand box filled with beach sand of the most amazing texture. Scattered among all these paths are messages welcoming angels and fairies and friends. There are impatiens planted around a crab apple tree and blue-blooming flowers on a bush I can never remember the name of, and in the spring the magnificence of it all is astounding. It’s a true fairy garden.

On the far side from the fairy garden is another path up the hill. This one is rigged with a rope along the fence to help with the climbing. There’s a secret path to the deck from here. It’s small – too small for me, but completely accessible for the wee one that slips quietly through. There are stairs built now too. They lead up to a terraced garden – but not on that side. No, the far left - against the fence - is reserved for mountain climbing and ‘search and rescue’ and all sorts of adventures that have been had and many that have not yet even been imagined. 

There’s not one day that goes by that she doesn’t visit some part of her magical world. As I watch her traipse in and out of view, her lips moving inaudibly playing out the script she’s written where she’s a super hero or a fairy or a shark… I realize this backyard – this house - so far out here and isolated and so much too dear for my current state of finances… This house, this backyard… gives her a childhood that someday she may not take for granted. Or maybe she always will… but …it gives her a childhood.

And you see, with this one. . . That may be all she’s got.

Perhaps that is true with all of us. Perhaps whatever we have of life, whether it be 100 years or 30 or 10, it’s only as wonderful as we let it be. And perhaps I’m foolish in thinking that spending money I don’t really have to give a child a bigger life than the doctors predict, will give her a bigger life. After all, they say ‘30’ and a lot happens in 20 years. (So much happens in 20 years.) But, is there a place I can conjure up where I’d regret giving her a world where fairies live and magic happens? Is there a life too long where that could ever be a regret? Of course not.

So I will. 

I will stoke the magic and the fantasy. I will encourage the buds and fruit to bloom. I will help bend the branches to hide us from the world. We. We will travel and explore and hug and kiss and draw and create and love. We. We will hope and support and nurture. And we will do this no matter what the rest of the world does. While its inhabitants hide behind its paranoia and fear and want for weapons and hate and blame and ugliness against the unknown. We? We will battle on facing our very real foe. We will take up no weapons but love and we will engage no soldiers save our own resolve but we will be truer and braver and we will live more.  

#SupportiveSpring

Ah...spring. Who doesn't love it? The world comes alive again. Bulbs prove their hidden existence pushing their color through frozen soil, the hillsides dress in bright inviting shades of green and the days grow longer and brighter. We find ourselves smiling, feeling hopeful and carefree.

It's an especially special time for us women. We look forward to wearing that favorite summer frock, those sleeveless tanks and our shortest of shorts and, of course, our favorite teeny bikinis. So what time is it girls? Time to brush off those diet and exercise programs and get motivated. This year we are going to get that perfect BEACH BODY! 

So, who's with me? Let's all start our green tea cleanse and reward our efforts with the sweet dessert of 75 burpees and 1000 russian twists!

I bet we can get into April before we start having recurring dreams of murdering our husbands for a bag of Doritos. I've got confidence that we can get through tax day before we throw a hand weight through our plasma screen over a Carl's Jr. ad.

OK, no. Let's get real (and screw these women and their photoshopped perfect bodies).

I have a real women's challenge to propose. How about this - how about starting right now we support each other every single day until the first day of summer. Let us go into summer with a BEACH SOUL. 

So here's how my #SupportiveSpring challenge goes:

1. Declare your commitment to the challenge on Facebook! Use the SupportiveSpring hashtag so we can search for it.
2. Every day do something. Yup. SOMEthing.
3. Every day share what you did on FB (with the hashtag again)
4. Whenever you see someone post what they did, be sure to comment or like their accomplishment. 

The hard part of all this is Step 2 above. Every day you have to do something. Here are some examples:
I ran a marathon.
I did some yoga.
I parked 3 spaces down from an open parking space to walk the 10 extra steps.
I only smoked 5 cigarettes today.
I stopped before I ate the entire bag of chips.
I purposely got out of bed.

Got it? If not, watch my Facebook for my daily 'dones.' Today will be better than others because I kind of 'did' stuff, but don't worry - I'll have days where "didn't kill the cat" will be my greatest accomplishment.

WHO IS WITH ME!?? #SupportiveSpring

I am the Threat

While everyone goes on about their business, posting selfies, funny memes and chatting about how big of a douche Kanye is, 6 people abruptly left this earth. They were simply random victims of a random act of violence in a tiny town in Michigan. You know... shit happens.

At this point we're all so worn out by the repeated fodder for gun violence conversations that we're not going to bother addressing this one on Facebook because - shit - who wants to open that can of worms? I mean ... how tired are we all at this point? How many times can we post the words 'enough already' before their very posting is  enough already. Besides, I can already predict the responses. I could pre-populate the replies:

"It's our constitutional right to bear arms!"

"Guns don't kill people, people kill people!"

"Those Liberals are constantly threatening our freedoms. They are the real threat!"

That one is my favorite. 

No, but seriously, it is my favorite. You see, I am the threat. I'm the one threatening your lifestyle.

But the dude with a gun. No, he's just fine.

They will all be missed.

Guess which one of us killed 6 people Saturday?