Memories… light the corners of my mind. Belt out Streisand – BELT IT OUT. And also, noise canceling headphones at the ready just in case you are in my belt-out zone. On My Own as well because SonHerisme’s sweet High School is performing Les Misérables in the spring. *I will not sing* *I will not sing* *I will not mouth the words* *I will not mouth the words to every single song* I will, I will cry at every performance because that is how I do. Talent Show? Cried. Rock of Ages? Cried. Ensemble performance? Cried. Jazz Night? Cried. Marching Band 1/2time show. Cried. Rock set in the bar? Cried. Beauty and the Beast? Full on cried. Live performances where humans are putting themselves out there in full earnestnesses, no matter the content (usually), I will be crying. Flash mob will result in crying from this she/her lady person human. I do how I do. My eyes are green with white/yellow eyelashes. Crying adds the needed touch of red to both eyeballs and surrounding cry-puffed skin – perfect compliments for the ultimate, “awwww how moving (or bat-shit crazy),” look.

I mean, who isn’t crying these days, really? I bought a box – a BOX – of sympathy cards the other day because there is so much swirling about everywhere. Even if we cannot see it, we know it is there lurking in the corners of everyone. Which has always been the way of being humans, I suppose. I wonder if it feels so much more everywhere because we are all so overtly connected and experiencing massive amounts of collective grief on a global scale. Yet we are by-and-large refusing to use our powers of empathy/grace/courtesy/healthy approaches to collectively address the fundamental causes.

Dear Humans,  
           I implore you to cease inflicting pain on anyone anywhere. Reach out with kindnesses and with graceful mutual respect of best interests. Please and thank you (on repeat from my privileged naïve soul listening to string dominant Christmas music). 
          But please please please *fingers crossed* It's been around 6 million years, humans. Get your shit together. Or not. The pretending that horror/pain/grief is not what it is, and shoving it into corners, is the most difficult sometimes.

Anywho – how are you? How are you, really? If you need an irl card in the mail, please message me and I will send one to you, wherever you are, to remind you that you are worthy as you are, and not alone. I use a mailing spot locally owned and operated by a military veteran, so you’d be doing my community a solid by requesting a card AND it would be so fun to send out mail! NiecesHerisme and SonHerisme have enjoyed little reminders of love through the mail over the years – and a few of you have been subject to this habit too (thank you for being so kind as to receive these).

If you’d like a lovely story reminder from a few years back, please follow this link and enjoy. It’s the memories of a sweet couple falling in love through sonnets in North Carolina, USA. So squeezy cozy for a December full of worldwide collective bittersweetness (or all out bitter in many instances).

I hope that you have your favorite meal, your favorite person, your favorite pet, your favorite little blanket, your favorite beverage, and an engaging book to enjoy or memories of enjoying, to hold this month and every month. If you’re stopping by here, cardamom tea and squash soup are at the ready for you!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps our tiniest doggy, Spicey girl, died suddenly last week. Along with BrotherHerisme’s partner’s father. As well as my graduate school friend’s mother. And the veterinarian’s dog. My friend’s niece had precarious travel out/in a war-torn area of the Middle East. We are all restless with grief. New rituals are coming.