Bee Charmer

/ herismeorg / 3 Comments
(my pic, Elizabethan era quote)
(or listen here)

Today I saved a lost and worried buzzing bee who arrived without warning into my home because the sun was shining brightly and we had been carrying on a conversation outside while I was eating my lunch (spinach natch) and the bee wanted to continue our quiet lunch tête-à-tête but I had inside work to do. RUN ONs RULE The tiny bee quickly became disoriented and so frantic that it couldn’t listen to reason anymore.

I grabbed a lovely empty glass jar (I am a recovering jar addict) and an old Christmas card I recently found tucked away inside of a puzzle gift, and followed the bee, guiding it towards a sunny window. I do this with errant wasps too. The lure of potential outsidenesses seems to give them pause enough that I can catch them. And that is what happened today. I caught the window screen settled bee underneath the glass jar, gently sliding the Christmas card underneath the opening. The bee jumped when it felt the card slide underneath its tiny bee toes, and it jumped up into the jar. I held the card on top of the jar mouth and turned the jar over to hold the bee inside and walk it back into the garden.

The bee did not appreciate my efforts at first. It was buzzing the mighty anger buzzes. You know what’s funny? If you leave the jar upright after removing the card, it takes the bee a long time to figure out it can fly up and out of the jar. Same with wasps. However, if you lay the jar down on its side, the bee (or wasp) will fly right out the opening then fly away searching for its new adventure. Or perhaps they are playing a trick on me so that I’ll feel clever knowing something about them when I really know nothing (Jon Snow).

Some days I pretend I am a bee charmer. Not nearly Idgie Threadgood level bee charmer, but I try here and there. buzz buzz buzz

Today we also had a local tragedy wherein gunshots, chases, and breaking a military base barrier resulted in hospitalizations and death. Nobody is charmed.

SonHerisme was blissfully attempting to coax a former champion jumper to cantor with ease up and down a grassy hill while I watched from my perch on a giant fallen oak trunk when my phone buzzed with the alert that his school was on lockdown. Note: we were not skipping school as he has remained virtual and his first googlemeet started after his early morning ride…so… step aside judgementors. Expecto Patronum and all that.

I was sitting with another parent I have known for over 6 years who also has two children attending the same school as SonHerisme. Also, she is a police officer.

As we scrolled through various e-media to figure out what was happening in our little community, she shared with me how police morale is extremely low at the moment. They are all frustrated by what they see as the public’s lack of understanding for the situations their positions put them in, as well as their dedication to their communities. There are bad seeds in every culture. It’s not just that statistically and historically, people of color are approached differently by law enforcement, it is that there are huge holes for checks and balances at levels and institutions outside of the officers directly facing the public. There are courts stacked against people of color. Prison officials (for profit and government run) failing up with white supremacy. There are teachers discriminating against children of color, setting them up for failure. It is an entire system stacked against people of color leading to a terrible white person becoming a police officer killing a black man on camera. This is hard stuff.

MrexH is Hispanic, as I have mentioned before. Before he became very ill, he was a little over 6ft tall, weighed about 270lbs, appeared quite intimidating and was frequently profiled for extra security checks when traveling. The police were involved multiple times in our domestic violence situations. Yet, all of us survived. He resisted arrest and exhibited dangerous erratic psychotic behavior while in custody. Yet, all of us survived. He violated a protective order after threatening to murder us. Yet, all of us survived. He threatened family members, friends, some involving police presence, yet, all of us survived. How is this with the same police culture in our community? We have a well known open presence of the KKK locally (hello ignorance maximus). We have a police chief under constant scrutiny for racial and misogynistic words and actions. Yet, we all survived.

It has to be something about the local leadership not only inside of our local police department, but also rigorous support by other local institutions (courts, schools, detention facilities etc), which keep the nasty lethal systemic institutionalized racism in check.

I don’t know enough about it obviously and am approaching from a white lady perspective of course.

I do wish that instead of blanket shame and blame, we would take a closer look at places where things are working better – not the fool’s errand of perfection – but, better. I wish that I could take an honest look at my participation in promoting systemic institutionalized racism and then have the courage to change. Expecto Patronum to get rid of the gaslighting racist demented dementors from public works and policies.

I doubt the answer is just more training and cameras for police. Although the cameras are a truth telling tool for sure.

Oh yes, and I like bees. Bees. We aren’t like bees at all and it would be great to admit that first. We are not all born to mindlessly work at the rule of some central ingrained instinctive dogma until we die. We have choice and information to make choices. I admire bees for what they bring to the table. I hope that we can bring so much more. Good luck us!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. I also anthropomorphize like nobody’s business and the horses know this and believe they are in charge, making it difficult for me to decide to ride because I do not want to hurt their deep feelings of majesty, so there’s that

pps. Self truthing is hard

Grape Expectations

/ herismeorg / 4 Comments
(pic mine words *sigh*able)

SonHerisme wanted to plant a grape vine starter because he believes he wants to be a part-time sommelier when he grows up. There is an aroma box on his Amazon wish list. A few years ago I took SonHerisme to see one of his older cousins perform in a teen production of The Tempest. He was captivated by the silly behavior of the drunk characters and wanted to know why “drunk” meant silly.

Diving into the explanation of “drunk,” led to explaining why mommy takes an occasional glass of wine, led to him googling on his own “what happens when you get drunk.” btw – Even with heavy duty parent filters, and sweet young bears following google search instructions learned at their sweet Montessori “explore information with your tools and resources to find your answers,” thumbnails of very sketchy things pop up on green squishy handled industrial kid cased iPads. Thank you stupid Internet for introducing my child into the world of boobs, butts, and pelvic regions being used in drunk situations on random Spring break beaches. Internet searches at school are so locked down, because they only allow access to sites that the school system tech wizards have curated, rather than how our parental controls work, which filter out access by algorithms.

It never occurred to me that thumbnails would still pop up.

It never occurred to me that my sweet baby would innocently research being drunk.

Ugh. He got scared when he saw the thumbnails and came to tell me because he couldn’t get the thumbnails to stop popping up. I did the best I could to leave shame somewhere else since I do not want him to feel like he has to hide his curiosities from me or give him the impression that drinking, bodies, etc are shameful.

I have always had the rule that I check SonHerisme’s devices and am in charge of them. As he gets older, I know he is programmed to keep things from me (and in a lot of ways – thank G-d), but it seems like, so far, he is comfortable sharing and knows that I am checking his devices. Secrets belong in a journal marked in a way that I know I am not to read them. Secrets do not belong on electronics until you are over 21. That’s this mommy’s rule at least.

Since he was very young and we started talking about consent etc, I have inserted into the conversations about how as your body changes, so does your brain. Your brain remains mushy until your body is all finished growing and changing. Girl brains tend to start solidifying around age 21 and boys about 24. There will be growing times when you will feel like your brain is solid and absolutely knows everything. This is a lie your brain is telling you because it doesn’t want you to know that you still need support and have growing to do. Yeah, SonHerisme will need therapy. I am a solo single parent. Please have mercy on your judgement of me.

SonHerisme’s fascination with wine has been burbling since The Tempest, is my point. Sometime during these COVID homeschool times, he watched part of a program about wine with me after asking me more questions about wine, winemaking, etc. I am somewhat less than a novice about wine so I turned to the program to give him a glimpse of what some winemakers do. This particular show had the headlamp wearing grape pickers gently picking grapes in the cold pre-dawn. Like magical fairy lights dancing through the dense black vineyard just before the fog began to lift as the sun peeked over the horizon. SonHerisme declared he was going to start his own vineyard on the side of our rocky east-facing hill. Y’all, he checked how many hours the sun hits that side of the hill on a summer day so that he could get ready for planting. For $7.99 he bought himself a little grapevine starter. It’s so sweet. He has grape expectations for that little thing. I hope it works out for him.

Grow little tiny thing, grow!

We also have grape expectations about our new project: building an outdoor sofa for the deck. As we were driving home with our lumber and supplies, SonHerisme was shocked when I answered one of his questions about the process by suggesting we consult the building plans. I almost burst into tears because that sweet sweet bear thought that I was making my own plans – to build an outdoor sofa – to measure the things and cut the things – having never ever done a project on this scale before. In his brain as my giant tweenager almost teenager, it truly never crossed his mind that I might need something like plans to pull together a 6ft solid deck sofa.

It was one of those sweet moments when the weight of his belief in who I am, really hit me. For him, it was a defining moment of reality that mommy is at least a bit of just a human person and not all magic – a part of growing up. A chink in the innocence of being a tiny bear, making room for the most amazing big bear. I wish for it to be as painless as possible while still providing enough challenge for healthy growth. May the force be with you, and also with you. This is the way. I have spoken.

I suppose that is what Springtime brings – grape expectations.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Tricks

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(my pic, lyrical person’s words)
(or listen here)

I hope that you are having a fun April the One.

Here:

Starting my new fulltime virtual editing job on Monday

My first solo book is being published next month

I have a future book contract

SonHerisme has been accepted into his dream High School

All of my debts are paid in full, with plenty of money to vacation and save

I’m paying for and starting my home improvements/renovations

SonHerisme and I have affordable regular health insurance (and my cancer check is clear!)

Two interested in spending time with me

My mother has been cured and is heading home to pack and relocate to her own home close by

Our new puppy is coming to live with us next week

April Fool’s Day!

Wouldn’t that be great, though, if I did have good news? I mean, really, I’d take any one of those, add a gluten free shrimp and tomato pizza plus diary/soy free chocolate something and my decade/life will have peaked. Until then… 3.5 hours until I can reasonably shower and go to bed. 8am riding time tomorrow! Carry on.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

grateful for my home, cozy blankets, walking without a limp, internet access, and healthy SonHerisme

And now

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(my pic and a creative person’s lyrics)
(or listen here)

Today is one of those days.

MotherHerisme awakened vociferously anger sobbing at us for about an hour because she was too cold.

I did the doing of the things.

SonHerisme is full of the puberties.

An email arrived from the parenting coordinator‘s office. It is lengthy with many questions and tasks for me to follow-up on … again.

This kind of thing sucks the life out of me. I mean, all of it except for SonHerisme, which is to be expected.

MotherHerisme is a bottomless pit of needs without regard for anything outside of those needs.

MrexH is a bottomless pit of needs without regard for anything outside of those needs.

Today is a day of beauty and sunshine and more seed starting.

Today is also a day of shit that I do not want.

Today is a day that I wish I had something a little extra supportive to help me through this hard stuff, but I do not.

I know that all of this is temporary and will pass and my ego attachment to whatever, is feeding the pain I feel. But, y’all, I am tired.

I am tired of the managing.

I am tired of the figuring outing.

I am tired of the fight every single damn day.

I am tired of efforting.

This is an uncomfortable reckoning with my reality which is what it is.

5 hours until I can reasonably go to bed. 5 more hours. I’ll get to doing the things again for 5 more hours.

Was it Susan Sontag who said, “seduce myself with hope” ? That’s what I do when I sleep, I suppose then it comes back to kick my ass in the day. I want to stop this.

I hope that you are having a better day than this. If you are not, I hope that you have some extra support to tap into. If not, then I hope that you have 5 hours or less until you can reasonably go to bed too. If not, then know I am here sending you a zillion hugs of solidarity because this crap sucks all the stupid dumb dumb head stupid.

Even my heart sounds like it is s-l-o-w-l-y thump kathump kathumping through resistant sludge against its own will.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps do not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever fuck or get pregnant by a gaslighting asshole EVER EVER EVER or, make sure you have a shit ton of healthy support you can draw upon if you do.

also, do everything you can to push yourself and figure out who you are before 25/30ish no matter how ridiculous, terrifying or embarrassing, just do it all. Don’t be a me. It is very hard and I one million out of 10 do NOT recommend it. Do not correct my maths please and thank you. Waffles

One more thing – I am so whatever I am that instead of chai, I have been drinking lavender chamomile tea all afternoon. Tea fail too *sigh*

Listen here on Anchor by Spotify

UR for Me

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
my pic, clever person’s words
(or listen here)

It is time. It is time for me to have the uncomfortable reckoning with myself.

Which makes me think it is beyond the time for our uncomfortable reckoning with ourselves and the tempering of the expectation that we are better than we actually are. Not that we believe we are necessarily better, but the expectation that we are (should be) better than.

I think we (I) got culturally stuck on the philosophy that only by recognizing the light, the ideal, will we achieve greatness and enlightenment – not unlike a religious cult. Then we (I) defined light/enlightenment/achievement in ways that (I) very few of us could even grab a sliver of, and attached that achievement, or lack of, to morality. I think we forgot that humans gotta human. The dark is there no matter what. Refusing to recognize it and call it what it is, does not make it disappear to be replaced by frolicking unicorn kitties in a midtown 3 bedroom/3 bath parkview apartment with weekend beach getaway cottage because we believed hard enough in the powers of sunshine gratitude and manifested the syrupy goodness with the correct yoga instructor at the best studio with the correct color scheme.

The culture of happy is killing us.

The culture of racism is killing us.

The culture of this iteration of capitalism is killing us.

The culture of nationalism is killing us.

The culture of not allowing the darkness to be conscious is killing us.

My level of overtly cultivated happiness is used as a barometer for my worthiness to hope.

My level of tolerance for racism is used to justify others’ systemic unworthiness.

My level of mindless participation in this iteration of capitalism is used as endorsement of others’ exclusivity to basic human needs.

My level of blind acceptance of nationalism is used as a weapon against humanity.

Some things are just crap. They happen(ed) or exist(ed) and they are are awful and dark because that is what they are. By not fully recognizing that they too are a part of who we are as individuals and collectively, I think I (we) have been exacerbating and feeding the dark to my (our) own detriment as if it is a mirror of morality and worthiness.

Maybe instead of therapy or a grief doula, I am looking for an accountability reckoning guide. Also, it is a million times easier to talk about theories of “we” rather than “I.” Uncomfortable reckoning indeed. Or just further ptsd wanting to find any way to take responsibility for unpleasantness so that I can give myself the illusion of being able to control it.

Fuck it – who knows? Anywho… turn off the gaslight and light up that dark shit ’cause I gots to gets my truths on, son! Waffles!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps – I’m popping these over to Spotify if you want to look for me there too

Butter Battle

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(image origin credited once identified)
(or listen here)

This scares me. I have spoken about fear many times, of course. Now most days I feel in a catch-22, or perhaps better described as a butter battle with myself. Desperately running on a no-escape-unwanted-paint-peeling-creaky-squeaky hamster wheel with the only foreseeable ending being total collapse as the issues ramp up on top of each other, threatening overthrow in turn.

I know I have said it before, but y’all I probably need a good therapist or perhaps a specialized tool for the harnessing of some as-yet untapped reserve to push myself through this stuff and stop this madness before I allow it to continue any further than it already has into the next generation with sweet SonHerisme.

A kind friend sent some suggestions to me yesterday from her pool of therapist peers. Now to take the leap, commit the $$$ and do it.

None of my “tripple-sling jiggers,” are working properly anymore and were never healthy to be using anyway. When I try to one up them with utterly sputters or boomeroo bombs, I can feel myself deteriorating instead of winning the internal battles. I am the Zooks and the Yooks. I am the one running “into the wall like a nice little (wo)man.” I am tired. I am worried about passing this shit on as it has been clumpedy dumped onto me.

Oh no! But Dr Seuss has been banned by the crazy liberal elites who are stealing my childhood classics away along with opening borders allowing unfettered amounts of criminal immigrants into my plastic suburban neighborhood in Ohio as they steal all of my tax dollars to take free food and traffic drugs and our white babes into slavery while they take away my guns and make my chest inflate with glorious indignant anger over my bizarre-o proud shame for my traitor symbol confederate flag on my truck/lawn/underpants/cap and you won’t even let me drop my kids off at free public school 5-days-a-week without following fake COVID protocols so that I can get my “me-time,” which I deserve, back!

*sigh*

As you can see, I have some of the angers overflowing with the sarcasms.

Stupid Butter Battles everywhere.

The only thing I can do is address my own butter battles and maybe deliver a meal to a new momma or drop off chocolate powers for our local school staff. And vote. And if you are unfamiliar with the Butter Battle Book, I have introduced it to you and you can request a copy from your local library(if you are in a privileged circumstance to do so).

If I can ever safely get off of the hamster wheel, I think I’ll head to Roxaboxen (they have TWO ice cream shops there!). Or if Sarah Stewart’s The Library is next to an ocean, I guess I’ll head there (maybe Roxaboxen is next door with neighbors Miss Rumphius and Mr. Fox procuring sustenance, and an open air community theater/pavilion hosting concerts/plays? Meet me on the bench at the end of my boardwalk path on the beach. I’ll bring the tea and you bring the TEA. 4pmish).

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps my scary thing from yesterday – I finally began sending out “thank-you’s” to people I admire or would like to thank. Mostly anonymously, but still full of the vulnerables and the scary.

pps still writing and counting the gratitudes to help as well

ppss Starfire!

a poem

Pete and Repeat

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https://ncadv.org/

Pete and Repeat were in a domestic violence relationship. Pete was murdered. Who was left?

UPDATE: I was thankfully wrong. They WERE found and are SAFE!!! This is truly a miracle.

A mother and her sweet toddler boy are missing in our community. There’s no word just yet on what’s happened, but I think we all know what we fervently pray is not true, is most likely true. A year to the date of another mother and toddler boy in our community who unfortunately suffered the ultimate fate of being in a domestic violence relationship. They were murdered.

Psychotically entitled men feeling desperate = murder of sweet mommies and babes.

I just do not know what else to say.

Mask up. Check on your family. Check on your neighbors.

Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

Mental Health Hotline 1.800.622.HELP (4357)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

we are lucky

my heart soul stomach hurts and I pray from the depths of the universe that I am too sensitive and wrong about this situation

Check Marked

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(unknown origin, will credit once identified)

You guys – I watched a movie.

non-Marvel? CHECK

non-Star Wars? CHECK

non-kiddo friendly? CHECK

fiction? CHECK MATE

As you know, this is huge for me. Then, as I was brag-texting about my accomplishment to an Inveterate Optimist, I got sick to my stomach – twice. So, maybe not that huge of an accomplishment. F it – yeah it is. #checkyourselfbeforeyouwreckyourself

I tried to watch this same movie at some point last Spring and made it about 2 minutes in before I recognized one of the actors who does not sit well with me, although admittedly I am not very familiar with his work. I am sure he is lovely and fine and his family and friends love him very much. I knew of him from a documentary kind of show I watched a few episodes of at the beginning of COVID quarantine. I had to stop watching that because I would just absolutely break down and cry – sob ugly cry. At the time I figured it was because they were having so much fun in the show going around to the places, learning the things, drinking the things and maybe I was jealous or grief feeling how much I have missed enjoying things in my life. They were having fun (yes, I KNOW it is produced, directed, contrived etc even in a “real life experience” kind of show), and I… I was… I am not.

Anywho, I decided to open the rusty ol’ Netflix app on my phone when I couldn’t sleep (something was growling outside – it’s a thing as I live in the woods which are occasionally spooky), and the movie was still sitting there asking to be resumed. I restarted it and I watched it. It was short, maybe 90 minutes or so, very quirky, no emphasis on falling in love, and it has Toni Collette (I do know of her)! Even though I did cry at points, ultimately I felt such a sense of relief that I made it through the movie.

Then the afterwards arrived and, well, I need to find therapy y’all.

The innate worthiness factor and my parenting with SonHerisme are super concerning for me. He’s still in virtual school until next school year when it looks like most of us will have had vaccines. Ill MotherHerisme and I are all he has to engage with most days. Oh, and MotherHerisme’s two un-socialized little minature schnauzer dogs. SonHerisme is lonely and he deserves so much more. He is such a great kid.

Post spinach lunch (again, I know – its like a drug), seed sewing (not a euphemism – actual plant seeds needing tended), a bit of laundry and driveway power walk, I am going to at least look up some therapist contacts. I don’t think I’ll return to the woman I was seeing pre-COVID. She’s too lovely, compassionate and kind. I think I need someone a bit more detached, or rather someone I feel more detached from.

Sort of like watching any show. If I feel any kind of anything other than it’s silly and entertaining, I just cannot watch the program. At all. My brain and body just do not handle any feeling above numb very well, unless I feel some control over the situation or it is so very deep into the sillyzone. I would like to not be like this anymore. Disassociation is my superpower which is super exhausting me and super impacting my ability to help SonHerisme grow (and not in a positive way).

However, I would really like to go down to the NGA DC because it is a great comfort to be surrounded by impactful artwork which I can internally interpret and walk away from at any time without feeling any obligation or need for explanation. I don’t think the buildings are open atm – maybe by reservation (?).

*dream break* I like to walk around the sculptures first – Romulus and Remus, African Allegory, the lady with the veil, the little politicians’ busts, Paul Revere, Little Dancer – you know, the usual. Then say my, “how-de-do’s!” to George on my way upstairs to see sweet Ginerva, count the Ruben’s lions, Napoleon, the boating party, the ice skater guy and girl in the white dress (whom I believe come to life for a secret after-hours affair then spend all day staring at each other across the galleries – it could be true). The Civil War memorial, which is noble and sad at the same time. The central fountain with its seasonal arrangements… The steps up from the mall where you can pretend to be Kung Fu Panda pulling your dim-sum cart up the mountain for the festival (sweet SonHerisme memories). Then back down to the basement for coffee and a lot of “no, we are not buying that”‘s at the gift shop, before heading over to the East building to see Bellow’s boxers, Calder, Rothko, Mondrian, Pollock and the sitting Buddha outside with the fantastic giant blue rooster. Return to the basement for a treat and then a short walk through the sculpture garden, avoiding the Natural History Museum because by then it is too crowded, before heading home.

I hardly ever go through the first floor gift shop, only the basement one and I don’t know why. The lady’s room is much nicer on the first floor. Hmmm… maybe a pivot for next visit. That’s sad, dreaming about clean lady’s rooms in museums. That’s where we are on the COVID mental health scale atm, I suppose.

Onwards to check mark off the things needing the doing.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps meet me post-COVID at the NGA DC for a cuppa and we can walk, walk, walk, not talk, together. Not too long on the verso of Ginerva because I will cry because da Vinci is almost too much. Also, there’s a sparkly walking sidewalk in the basement! sys

pps Birthmarked is the movie and now that I’ve thought about the experience for a day or so, I think I am okay with it – yay!

Poet Tree

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(image origin unknown – will credit when identified)
or listen here

Welcome to the first full day of Spring and World Poetry day!

I do not know very much about poetry, but I do read it/listen to it on occasion. There is a podcast I use to help quiet my brain and body when they become too resistant to relaxation (a flowery version of anxiety, perhaps? Fuck it – it’s anxiety). I love this one particular podcast so very much because there aren’t any introductions, salutations, explanations, goodbyes, gongs, bells, monk chants, piano, raindrops etc, it is purely some guy reading poems – one poem per post. Sometimes they are very short 20 second reads, sometimes 3-4 minute reads. Because his voice is so sing-songy full of inflection with his Scottish accent, his voice and the chosen works are enough to make the listening inviting. He reads everything from Rumi to Blake to Whitman to Oliver to Sassoon to whomever. There is no bio on the applepodcast page, and I’m not sure what’s on his soundcloud page. It’s glorious – just a voice and poems. No other expectations. Perfect for me. Oh shoot! What podcast? Looking it up now – Poetry Plain and Simple by Brendan Ghazavi-Gill. Dang it. Now we know his name which takes up space. I’ll forget it in an hour. Blessed sieve brain.

Okay. I probably read or listen to some poetry every day. You probably do as well. And yes, I am going to count the Screaming Sonnets Sessions with SonHerisme as reading poetry. Screaming Sonnets Sessions (SSS – but you don’t say each letter, just ssssss like a snake) consist of taking our pocket Shakespeare sonnets outside, choosing one at random, and full-on anger screaming it into the woods like crazy. SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER’S DAY!!!!? THOU ART MORE LOVELY AND TEMPERATE…!!!! Sonnet 18, I believe. Anyway, I encourage you to try it because it is funsies. Be sure to have some hot tea ready because it does scratch the throat a bit. Also, I told SonHerisme that giant fluffy roasted marshmallows also soothe a sore throat, so if you see him, just go with me on this. Please and thank you. I like the vegan marshmallows because they have so much more flavor and a more densely luxurious texture. SonHerisme prefers the super duper ridiculous giant only-in-America marshmallows. You can get a great sparkly woodsy flavor on the outside of your marshmallow if you throw sage into your fire. Sage sparkles up like magic!

Back in the times of engagement and working outside of the home, I used to create a poet-tree every year with branches for kids to hang their favorite poems on, or pluck one off to read and share. The tree was most often made of found sticks stuck into clay in a vase – basic, easy to replenish and using already on-hand resources (as we do in these environments – if you know, you know. If you don’t know, please venmo generously to a local school/library/childcare center asap).

A favorite Lewis Carroll poem often recited (with gestures!) to children, including my own, at anytime:

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail

And pour the waters

Of the Nile

On every golden scale

How cheerfully he seems to grin

How neatly spread his claws

And welcomes little fishies in

With gently smiling jaws

A favorite by Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Happy World Poetry Day!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps I recently began following Harry Baker, poet. He is clever and has a wonderful maths poem. Google him – you’re welcome!

Not Knot

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

Who’s there?

Me

Me who?

That’s right!

Do you remember that Shel Silverstein poem about the Mehoo?

The Mehoo and Exactlywatt by Shel Silverstein

I know that the image is difficult to read. If you click on the link you’ll see some of his work. If I add an audio to this blog, I’ll read it for you. Anywho, I like the door image and I like the poem. I do not know Mr Silverstein and he is dead so I will never know him, other than what I imagine him to be through his work. He must have been funny and enjoyed loose clothing so that he could belly laugh a lot, n’est-ce pas? If you have read anything about him which does not match this description, kindly keep it to yourself and permit me to have this image of him, please and thank you and bless you and may the force be with you, this is the way.

The barn-ish door is also lovely. I would very much like to be worthy of having a barn door. I’m not. However, every week at riding lessons I have an opportunity to open the big real-life barn door to the indoor arena as the riders walk their sweet horses up to the indoor ring. It is gigantically huge, heavy, metal, and sometimes stuck in squishy squashy mud. I find it a personal win when I can open and close the door on my own. It’s the little things. Truly. This and my imagination are all I have. Well, that is a lie – SonHerisme is here too xo and I do have some irl friends (it’s true!).

I also have my hair. A lot of hair. It’s fine, but there is a lot of it and it is primarily unruly with tangles. I gave up on it years ago and now mostly tie it in knots on top of my head. It’s so weirdly straight/curly/wavy/red/brown/blonde/now some white/gray that I do not need any hair-ties or pins. I wind the hair around and around and tie it onto itself giving the appearance of intention, which is instead more laissez faire- ish function. Rare hair trims outside of me diy youtubing it, because I cannot be bothered with fixing it just so, using product/tools, or even brushing it. Unfortunately it is also quite tangley and I am tender-headed, so I try to brush it out at least every-other day, but it is a time and arm/shoulder/neck muscles commitment. I’m afraid to like it too much because then it will surely fall out or change texture or color in a way that makes me hate it. It’s my trauma showing again – ta daaa!

Why share?

1. I am trying to write regularly (again)

2. I am trying to break the spell of anytime I like something about myself it tends to implode

3. I need to be doing something creative

4. Perhaps you will feel less crazy and alone when you read my posts (and maybe giggle)

There’s always one friend in the friendgroup who appears nice enough, but slightly (or mostly?) odd. Then you find out their backstory and its all out cuckoo crazy cats to the point of unbelievable. Every time you see them there is always some new unlocked level of crazy swirling around them, and it is isn’t ever the OMG THAT is crazy AWESOME, crazy – it’s the holy shitballs wtf is she doing to attract all of that crap, crazy? (psst…. it’s me… boo!)

Once upon a pre-covid time, I was at a friend’s dinner party (very casual, very relaxed, very much a regular part of our friendgroup routine, very much always included piles of kids happily running around with sticks and mud and giggles – *sigh* I miss pre-covid and my sweet babe) – I was at a friend’s house with a merry mix of people I knew, people I sort-of knew, and people I did not know. Some of the adults gathered in the kitchen to enjoy adult beverages and conversation, when one of the women began talking about her brother re-entering online dating. As she was describing the “crazy women” he was meeting online, it hit me that I was the ONLY single person at this dinner party and my personal situation was even wackier than the women she was describing. I was/am the crazy. That shit that was sobering. I left the room and wandered with the kids outside for a bit (flashlight headbands in the woods y’all – it was glorious!), then did the koyc hug round and left.

Things that have changed since that dinner party

  1. My baby SonHerisme is now a giant
  2. MrexH is not within driving distance of us
  3. I am noticeably older (white curls peeking, lady fronts drooping, yo)
  4. COVID shut the everythings
  5. My personal boundaries are more firm
  6. I am mostly a Mehoo Pooh with frequent Eeyore rising and knots of hair on my head

How are you?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

koyc = Kiss On Your Cheek (shamelessly lifted from an old entanglement)

ps. Like you, I continue to be horrified at the way we allow racism, white supremacy, and white male rage to go unchecked. Please check in with your neighbors. Fighting racism and violence is the responsibility of us all – especially those of us who ride the coattails of our whiteness. Please reach out, check in on your neighbors, and draw firm boundaries with racist behaviors. We are not okay without accountability.