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.
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.
(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.
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
“In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.” So says Plato’s polymath pupil, classical Greek philosopher, and Lyceum founder, Aristotle. I’m guessing he never met a plague or COVID-19 plus variants. This cannot be true though, because there was a severe outbreak of something which wiped out Athenian culture by killing 1/4 – 1/3 of the population in 420 BC. Maybe for Aristotle “marvelous” is not a correct interpretation of his Greek. I wonder if the word used meant more “impactful with wonderment,” rather than truly marvelous.
Wasn’t it Aristotle who wrote about three different kinds of souls? Plants having a growth and reproductive soul only, while animals have that as well as being able to feel and express basic sensations along with mobility. The most evolved souls being humans with all of the above plus thought, stories, and moral reflections, natch.
None of my brainiaking things are flushing out at the moment. Yet, I’ll continue… The Aristotle quote is on my wall calendar in the kitchen. It’s surrounded by gentle, sweet, lovely artwork by Katie Daisy. January 2022. Still heavily into COVID times – driven deeper into infections, lingering physical and mental effects, plus an enormity of deaths (25 here just in the past week). Instead of true mitigation, we were initially sucked into a vortex of gaslighting for the first year, from which we have yet to recover. While the vaccines are widely available (in this country), we defy our own humane self interests and continue to allow our human selves to be sidelined by splashy crazy-town shock headlines and cuckoo influencers. It is as if we clown down to the lowest common denominator despite knowing this path is self destructive. All we can focus on is that our ability to grow and reproduce wealth/widgets/whatever is being impeded. Our response is a collective temper tantrum to get OUR way. FREEDOM to smile at school. FREEDOM to breathe. FREEDOM over what goes into my body. etc
We KNOW that mask wearing and vaccines save lives from this insidious airborne disease. If we had taken a hawt fucking minute out of our own bubble of fairy dust make believe at any time since the flu epidemic of 1918ish, we would have culturally normalized wearing masks when inside highly populated areas and when we are ill in order to save lives and preserve health as humans. It is not this damn difficult to comprehend. Cultures have been publicly communicating with their faces partially covered since the time of forever.
The narrative that some how kids are missing out on developing cues because of mask wearing is just plain shortsighted temper tantruming because we are inconvenienced by a piece of cloth meant to prevent us from becoming chronically ill/dying or passing on a chronic illness/death. We KNOW that kids thrive in outdoor environments and we have had two years to figure out how to put best practices into place in order to maximize outdoor learning for schools. Yet here we are still complaining about masks equating to personal freedoms despite no masks equaling disaster level human illness/death. You want your kids to have your school experiences? Never going to happen and shouldn’t happen because PROGRESS and generations and we were not doing education very well then either. You want your kids in school learning? LISTEN to educators who have been SCREAMING for support in order to educate our future since the time of mandated public education. Because right now what we are sending our kids into are broken buildings full of broken supplies and broken people we continue to villanize despite them showing up everyday to try and impart reading/mathing/sciencing/arting/humaning skills to our collective human future. We are expecting our schools to teach academics, interpersonal skills, adulting preparation, feed our children, keep them safe at all costs, be emotionally available to our children and to us, indulge and entertain them no matter what for the majority of their awake hours 5 days each week. And yet, we cannot fathom wearing masks in order to protect the health of the staff or other vulnerable community members while they juggle all of the everythings? We are the assholes here – seriously. A plant soul who’s only focus is growth and reproduction. Unlike the plant, we stubbornly stay on course growing other people’s wealth through our acceptance of reproductive tasks, to our own collective detriment.
But, but, but, I cannot breathe! And I want full control over what goes into my body! A. You CAN breathe with a mask on (see all of human history where masks are culturally worn plus people with entire careers in environments where masks are required). And 2: If you feel you cannot breathe, this is a FEELING which can be retrained through professional support. The sensation of feeling as if you cannot breathe has evolved you into the animal soul realm!
*****break in thought and days later****
You guys. People. Humans. FatherHerisme is in the ICU dying because of COVID even though he does not have COVID. He did everything – we did everything that we were supposed to do. Yet our healthcare system is in collapse because of this damned pandemic and gaslighting pieces of shit leadership who have all encouraged selfish dipshits to baby tantrum over reality because it is too inconvenient for them until they die or their loved one suffers and dies. FatherHerisme was left for three days with increasing toxicity in his body due to kidney failure, without treatment. This means that as his body became more toxic, his skin was waxy, salty, and an odd color. This means that his entire body was involuntarily shaking and jerking about constantly. This means that he could not swallow, eat or drink on his own (yet the hospital staff did not have time to help him). This means that he soiled himself multiple times and when he was eventually cleaned up by staff, he was tossed about without regard to his screams of pain or basic dignity. This means that he received little to no pain medication or his regular medications because he could not push the button or request help because he lost some of his cognitive ability. This means that he was crying out in terror and extreme pain for THREE fucking days before they got him into dialysis.
FatherHerisme did what humans do. He gave up and withdrew into the smallest part of his being to protect himself. He shut down. He refused to take any modified medications because he no longer trusted that he wasn’t going to be hurt. He was suffering in ways I hope that none of us can imagine.
THIS is what COVIDIOTS have done.
After 10 days, FatherHerisme was moved to a rehab facility due to SisterHerisme spending 6 hours making phone calls to arrange transportation, dialysis appointments, room accommodations at a rehab facility and Doctor support. SisterHerisme did this all while sitting with FatherHerisme who was entirely unresponsive in the hospital – not even able to swallow to drink water.
On the 11th day, FatherHerisme had something to drink (a very small amount), infrequently uttered random words, but still unable to swallow he is labeled as “refusing food and most attempts to help him drink or take medications.” His body wants to live. Mentally, he wants to die.
I am feeling angry.
I agree that nature is marvelous. I suggest that due to flagrant assholery, the verdict on COVID being impactful with wonderment is still out.
I hope that you never have to watch your loved one suffer neglect on any scale. I know the staff are supremely overworked and underpaid. I also know what is inhumane. Reducing someone to an inconvenient organism when you are charged with care of their precious being is truly disgusting. Especially when you have every resource at your fingertips to make different choices.
I am angry.
Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo
ps. this post was written over a period of time and I do not have the energy to communicate any of this information in a different manner. Please send comfort and love to FatherHerisme. He needs to feel safe and loved no matter what choice he makes about recovery. He has had some seriously crappy things happen in his life that I feel are manifesting great depression and despondency in his brain as he works through the general body detox of dialysis plus neglect/abuse at the hospital. I love my daddy and I still need him. SonHerisme and NiecesHerisme still need him. He has tried so hard to do the right thing his entire life, even though he has missed the mark sometimes – and by miles. Sadly, he has always been aware that he has missed the mark but could never consistently figure out what he could do differently, other than by retreating to himself. I wish he had been able to reach out for support – he just has been unable to do so for reasons only he could define (or perhaps not).
I am angry and weary and completely sad.
Update going on 5 weeks now: After only being kept alive due to having a pacemaker, my father is in a better hospital and out of the ICU! He stood up three times out of bed yesterday and his bloods/vitals are looking very good WHEW W H E W WHEW. SonHerisme and I flew out to visit FatherHerisme this past weekend. Although SonHerisme is not old enough to visit FatherHerisme, and they have the COVID-times rule of one visitor for one visit within 24 hours, I was able to SEE him, hold his hand, rub his forehead and sneak a cheek kiss. COVID rules are strictly enforced there since 2 weeks ago some anti-maskers came into the hospital and attacked nurses and doctors. Humans – on brand for assholery. I know something will happen to FatherHerisme someday – but in the meantime, I would very much like FatherHerisme to be alive a bit longer, please and thank you.
And now to wrap this up and post. Y’all – 2.22.22 and all of that to you
FYI the “father of logic,” also preached genocide in his determination to influence Alexander the Great to treat Persians as barbarians and to deal with them as if they were, “beasts or plants.” Maybe he was the asshole.
Please keep each other in shelter – if you cannot, then I keep shelter for you until you are able to do so.
A 40-45 foot giant oak in my front side yard is in its final stages of being dismantled by professionals at this very moment. I have been crying on and off throughout the morning, peeking out on the so-called progress when I could. Goodnight Irene. You’ve served this bit of earth well and I salute you.
Gentle Irene. Irene was most likely 250-300 years old. Between 1721 and 1771 Irene sprouted up from the ground with hopes and dreams of housing a variety of animals, shading for creatures requiring it, soaking up glorious sunshine and delicious rain, spreading her roots deep into the rocky hillside in order to communicate efficiently with her neighbors, and growing into a source of comforting useful respite. Irene has done all of this very well, until the one day a sickness arrived.
Personality-Plus Irene. Irene identified as male, but enjoyed the play of the name, “Irene,” when introducing himself to others with a full face of bold colors and a mix of non-gender conforming adornments. It was a terrible time when Irene began losing his life’s glow. He has spent the last few years becoming more uncomfortable and despondent.
Poor Irene. It’s only taken about three years for Irene to deteriorate to the point of needing merciful intervention. Professionals were called, appointments were scheduled, and a decision was made. Instead of neglecting Irene to fall into a painfully destructive death path, clear and concise professional support arrived to allow Irene a kinder exit into a transformed place.
Goodnight Irene. I watched from a very safe distance high up on the hill as they began relieving you of your sick, painful, weary limbs. With every ground shaking reverberating thud to the ground of what had been a part of the dying you, I felt your immense relief of all of the burdens you no longer had to try to maintain a brave stance and hold onto. I stayed as witness to your transformation into wood chips, forest dust debris, and saw-ended chunks for more animal burrows and child’s play, until I no longer felt your presence. You have moved on from the form you held here. There’s just a bit of cleanup remaining for the much appreciated transition experts.
Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you for showing us how to grow to be the most we can be and to graciously let go when it is our time. Those walkers, flyers, climbers, slitherers, etc through these hills in all of the generations before our time have been honored to be in your presence. You were pretty damn cool. Goodnight Irene.
that’s right – his name was Irene and I will be grieving for a hawt minute. So many feelings. Irene was also GrandmotherHerisme’s name, and I was privileged to be present for her transition too. It was something truly moving. When she moved on, she had moved on – there was no question about it. Goodnight to both Irenes.
HERISME 