Month: July 2023

Barbie-Queue

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(Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

Friends, Romans, country(wo)men, and sentient beings all around, lend me your ears. I come to bury occasional things, not to praise them (unnecessarily). 

The evil men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones (from Julius Caesar, spoken by Marc Anthony, written by William Shakespeare)

So let it be with the occasional things….

O judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there (...) and I must pause till it come back to me (from Julius Caesar, spoken by Marc Anthony, written by William Shakespeare)

FatherHerisme loved this speech and quoted it many times over his 83 years. I mean to say that it is stunning to be a world where he no longer physically exists. He was steady and explosive. He was wise and clueless. He was a curious learner and blind to some hard truths. He was my dad who wanted to be remembered as my “pop who was carbonated!” He would have guffawed and cried at the Barbie movie for all of its punchy points at societal flips/missed expectations. He was more than Kenough.

With FatherHerisme goes the knowing of parental guidance and safety (whether real or imagined), buried among the personality, smell, touch, conversation (which was indeed a challenging effervescent carbonation), books, ephemera (a zillion books and santa-embellished suspenders), and the hidden secrets of a life we only understood through our distorted vision from the outside.

Like many of you with your loved ones who have died, there will never be a day where I do not miss his presence. His brain understood my brain, and for that I am lucky and grateful. I am so glad he is not in any more pain. I am so glad he left some support for us to find and encourage freedoms and the betterment of lives around us. This is his legacy. We are his legacy. I hope we can queue up to carry on all of the best things – especially as we grab the torch (as we can) to continue generational healing where he could not.

Sidenote: I loved Barbie. I loved all of the clothes and accessories; all of her iterations; all of her potential. I loved changing everything about her all of the time. I had Barbies with cut/burnt/markered hair, tattoos, marker make-up, and all of the imagined interesting twists on life (including leaf-clothes only). I had Barbies who were treated like royalty (Ballerina Barbie) and never ever scarred or introduced to dirt. I had Ken dolls who performed for Barbie. When Ken was too busy (or lost somewhere) G.I. Joe, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, a weary Benjamin Franklin, and the most beloved Lando Calrissian were always at the ready to fill in for whatever Barbie needed. I made use of my brother’s dolls (ahem, figurines, I suppose). With money being tight my Barbie collection could all fit into one grocery bag, including all of the clothes/cars/furniture/blankets/pillows/spaceship/stick houses I made on my own. I was in middle school when my mother purchased a set of handmade wooden Barbie-sized furniture from a local church Christmas bazzare. It seems so incongruous with middle school today, and perhaps it was then as well (?) but I was thrilled beyond belief! I still have it all packed away somewhere. For what? I do not know. Maybe it will bring a chuckle moment to SonHerisme when it comes time to disperse and bury the ephemera of me. Cue the curation of a future walk of mourning – as the occasional things queue up to be buried. I suppose this is what happens while waiting for your heart to come back to you from the buried coffin of another life.

Life sure is something. I suspect Death is as well.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. Currently reading: Enchantment by Katherine May, Persuaders by Anand Giridharadas, 101 Essays that will Change the Way You Think by Brianna Wiest, and Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson.

pps Yesterday was my birthday. I am queued to crone. Gyno appt next week. Saw Barbie yesterday with a fabulous pink polka-dotted jumpsuited friend. I did not eat Thai food (saving that for the weekend with SonHerisme).

ppss Sinead was a magical mystical awareness blossoming heroine of mine. I admired that she defiantly refused to pander for anyone’s appreciative gaze. I made a Barbie Sinead before I knew what that implied or meant – Barbie underneath the Barbie. Buzz cut with nail polish remover applied to remove her face and feet cut off in order to fit into GI Joe’s boots and Ken’s sneakers. She was best friends with perfection Ballerina Barbie, natch.

pssssst Speaking of barbeques… I do not like bbq sauce or meat, but I like the idea of hanging out by a fire with good company, Olipop rootbeer, hummus on beefsteak tomatoes, and brow-lifting conversations. Unless the world burns itself up first or we all covid ourselves outta here, in which case… Barbie-queue up in pink to synchronize dance with a tra-la, it’s been real. Hug your neighbor. Take care of yourself. Ciao. Herisme out.

The WayFinder

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

(Not the kind which helps emo hero Jedi locate the secret Sith world of Exegol)

(my 4/23 photo)
(or listen here)

Teachers, therapists, swimming, hiking, nutrition, habit formations or breakers, and all of the things which help us find ways to meet our whole presence, futures, or purpose. Although defining and finding purpose is broadly daunting – sort of similar to finding a passion. For some of us it seems fairly straightforward – not so much for the rest of us.

I am fairly certain that my wayfinder was dropped on its head multiple times as a newborn and has never been quite right since. Always a little bit tiltly or entirely shut down in a dream world of its own. Somehow I continue to will it into shining a faint dim light onto a path I am fully convinced will work… until everything tilts, nothing works as expected, and I land even further from where I thought I should be going. Sometimes for the better, sometimes *sigh*

Anywhosies… Anyone still out there? Sweatergawt it has been a hawt minute. Thank you for plodding along and popping in every once in a while to see if I am around. I am grateful and glad that anyone is reading and finding some comfort in being lost alone together in this life. While I have probably aged out of having a wayfinder at this point… Here I am once again, I’m torn into pieces, can’t deny it, can’t pretend, just thought I’d find a path (tra la la la K.Clarkson has her ways and I have mine). Blerg

I am okay. That is the bottom line. I am okay. Somehow during the mundane focus, a large chunk of my anxiety has deeply dropped. Why and how? A flip switched. It felt as if a flip switched. It became apparent in most situations that the anxiety just was not worth it. To what end was I getting myself worked up and attached to impossible outcomes? To what end was I placing insane expectations? If something works out, I guess that is awesome. If something does not work out, I guess that will be what ever it will be as well, and I can either deal with it or not. Who cares?

What seems to be the caring bit is only the presence of love, caring, empathy etc. Not outcome attachment.

I do continue to find myself angry when I read the news. But, the anger quickly dissolves into acceptance of what is. I cannot decipher if this is healthy or if I am pushing towards a middle class version of Grey Gardens insanity. I am not inclined to be bothered with figuring that out.

In the meantime, something is going on with MrexH but I have not followed up with the Parenting Coordinator to find out more information. FatherHerisme has been going in and out of the hospital with UTI’s. MotherHerisme’s status remains unchanged – although, I was somehow able to wrangle getting her to return to her house a few states away for a few days over Easter. She hadn’t been to her house since Christmas 2016. This is was quite an adventure and involved multiple massive meltdowns on her part. At one point I thought I might have to phone 911 to have her go to the hospital with a mental crisis. It all worked out. SisterHerisme came to help with transportation since we have a new puppy since I last posted. The interstate travel included myself, SonHerisme, SisterHerisme, MotherHerisme, new puppy, and two 10-year-old littermate lady Miniature Schnauzers. Lots of Starbucks and boundary reinforcements, but we did it! Three times in 6 weeks!

No exclamation needed. Why did I do that? two days prior to our last trip, FatherHerisme died. He found his way. My soul has yet to understand a world without him in it. Right at this moment, a friend’s sweet husband is in his final breaths in this world. Everything is tilting – this way and that way. I hope that you and your loved ones know the peaceful gentle comfort of love and eternal security of love.

Love, Ms. Herisme

FatherHerisme’s obituary (with editing support from an Inveterate Optimist, and a quote from one of his all-time favorite poems which made him giggle every time he read it):

Somewhere, USA - Our wonderful perfectly imperfect FatherHerisme peacefully passed away under hospice care after a difficult 18 month health struggle. He was loved by so many, and known by many monikers: Husband, Daddy, Grandad, Uncle, Brother, Cousin, Friend, Co-Worker, Flight Instructor, WOW Buddy, and Knower-of-many-things. His presence will be greatly missed. 

FatherHerisme was born in SomewhereElse, USA, became a Fightin' Engineer at Rose Hulman, joined the Army, worked as a chemical engineer in research and development for Procter & Gamble in the paper division his entire working career, and enjoyed root beer, french fries, and hamburgers all around the world. He was passionate about many things and felt deeply about contributing to bettering society and the lives around him.

His mother (Z), his father (B), his sisters (M and S), and his in-laws (I and B) preceded him to the Resurrection Point (which sadly works differently with real death). He is survived by MotherHerisme (wife), SisterHerisme and Herisme (daughters), BrotherHerisme (son), NiecesHerisme (granddaughters), SonHerisme (grandson), and other treasured family members. In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to Operation Smile, Habitat for Humanity, and your local PBS station in his memory.

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
      But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
      I cremated Sam McGee.
~R. W. Service

keep on keeping on xoxo