Georgetown

Fire Dancers

/ herismeorg / 4 Comments
(or listen here)

I took SonHerisme to our little outdoor stage by the creek behind the downtown library a few weekends ago. He happily ate an enchilada (meant to be a quesadilla, but the woman couldn’t understand me over the phone through my mask with the loud background of humans and music), some little chocolates from my handbag, and a shared piece of pizza with a buddy. I ate my vegetarian pumpkin bolognese (sans spinach! haha!) on tumeric rice before I left home because I never ever know how my body is going to react to life. We sat with a few hundred other community members and tourists to watch the Fire Dancers perform by the creek. One of the performers is a well-known substitute teacher in our local private schools, who is also famous for her hula-hooping. Small towns, whatcha gonna do? They all have their amazingly fun, diverse, quirky little art communities, and I love ours. Everyone kind of kept their distance for the most part from each other, and we were outside. A very few amount of people wore their masks. SonHerisme and I wore our masks when everyone was sat watching the show.

This was a teensy moment in our teensy lives which filled me with an instant glow of warmth for the everything of everything in knowing that the everything is also the nothing.

While we were sitting there: births happened, deaths happened, bombing happened, drinks happened, torture happened, parties happened, sex happened, travel happened, cooking happened, eating happened, dancing happened… all of the things of the global humans were happening at the same time we were focused on the fire dancer at the creek with our masks on with friends and community – and ultimately none of it matters to anyone who is not in those specific moments. Occasionally even then it barely registers with those in the experience, after the experience. Being liberal, conservative, gay, tall, queer, short, beautiful, ugly, able-bodied, trans, employed, homeless, talented, clever, ultimately means nothing in these life moments. Had perfect grades? Perfect attendance? Top sales? Highest bonus? None of that means anything other than you had some privilege combined with support and a lot of luck – which may or may not pan out as contentment/success/health or some other measure of whatever you were achieving. All of these narratives are basically a crapshoot towards something. Towards life as it is.

I may be repeating myself with the entire de-Nihilism thoughts.

Also, I continue to not know if I am making sense.

Here’s the thing: ParentsHerisme’s plan for what will happen to them as their health declines is that I should decide how to handle it. FatherHerisme is struggling with another infection combined with cognitive decline. MotherHerisme continues with her ulceration struggles, with support from the ultimate coven at Georgetown (MGUH much?). ParentsHerisme’s plan for their finances, estate settlement upon death etc is that I should decide how to handle it. People of the Internets… I am daunted, and most likely in need of a Fleabag priest with a pocketful of absolutions x3000 for the confidences. And by that I mean the lack thereof.

I am imagining what our country, our communities, our homes, our families will look like over the next 20 years as these boomers become ill and transition out of this existence. By then I will most certainly be the olden lady doing all of the yogas in the woods with my trusty dog companion and *fingers crossed* that in-ground heated saltwater swimming pool next to the cabana with composting toilet, outdoor shower, and barrel sauna… *dreams away into another cup of tea*

In reality, I see a heinous boomer legacy of disregard for humanity whose consequences will be brutally felt by GenX/Millenials as GenZ+ mature and discover just how disgustingly slimey the general white patriarchal boomer footprint has been on this country and the world.

Harsh? Yes indeed. Do I love ParentsHerisme anyway? Yes I do. They were systematically fed and brainwashed throughout their lives. By the time the structures were falling in a manner which effected them, they have been in too much shock to see truths through the gaslighting. And, frankly, the guilt is too much for them to bear. So they retreat into their privileged safety of fear-based moral superiority. FatherHerisme will no longer watch his once beloved programs on earth sciences because in his words (prior to recent cognitive decline), “they’re just trying to make me feel awful for existing and I don’t agree with that.”

*sigh*

Ironically, any mistakes made by the rest of us have an expectation that once we know better (which we should’ve known in the first place), we should do better (of course, after being shamed and blamed). Which makes me think that on the occasion when I can no longer hold my tongue with MotherHerisme, I imagine that I too must be diving into the shame and blame as my anger surfaces over things like Trumpcultianism and all of the ramifications of that horrific debacle, climate, education, economics, health care, etc… 

Recent firey Examples:
1. Your generation and younger are so angry and resentful all of the time because you are the first generations to expect to get things without working for them
2. I cannot go to the doctor I want to go to because my insurance changed because of Obama-care
3. Why do I have to pay so much for my bills when people on welfare get brand new iphones to stand on the street corner and use
4. With Obama-care no one over the age of 75 is allowed to get treatment anymore - they aren't worth it and are put on a death list to just die
5. Your father isn't even listening to me on Facetime, so why should I bother to call him anymore
6. These women just want to be famous otherwise why would they come out of the woodwork years and years later, out of nowhere, and just start accusing these hard working family men of rape
7. I have earned everything I have. I have worked hard for it all and now everyone just wants to take it away and give it to people who don't even try
etc etc etc

Multiple times each day I can hold myself back, not engage the crazy ingrained gaslit brainwashing, and keep my focus on the core love of it all. Other times, not so much. Like the fire dancers twirling all of the fires about, always balancing the fires, trying their best to look competent, courageous, interesting, skirting spiritual at times, and fun… mostly never getting burned, but that takes a helluvahlotta damn sweaty twisty bendy practice.

Love, Ms. Herisme (internal fire dancer) xoxo

Abortion is health care. You don’t want people to have access to this health care? Stop male reproductive organs from ejaculating sperm inside of female reproductive organs. Forced vasectomy much? Provide top quality equitable access female reproductive organ health care, including abortion as needed, based on the person’s decisions about their health with their health care provider. Universal health care much? And now you know how I feel about the shitty state of the current SCOTUS Ridiculosis dangerous disgusting news.

And on that note, I hope that you all are doing as well as you can be out there. I believe in you!

Tweality

/ herismeorg / Leave a comment
(or listen here)

This morning I awakened around 5:30am. I have trouble sleeping. I was awake at 2:30am the first time.

What I did not do – I did not check Twitter. I did not check Twitter at 2:30am, I did not check Twitter at 5:30am. I have yet to pop over to Twitter this morning (currently 9:22am).

I checked my email this morning at 9am (post celery juice, lemon juice, egg in the nest with avocado, and very dark very smooth very elixir of the g-ds coffee breakfast natch) and saw that I had not checked any of my email accounts since 2pm yesterday.

I did go to the supertastic plastic Facebook and ‘liked’ all of the people’s cute pics of their inaugural celebrations! Instagram was a hard pass because of the ads. Something has changed with Instagram, and Facebook, over the past few months and they seem to be pulling algorithms maybe from everywhere, including my connections lists to pop certain ads into my feed. Most of the time I can scroll on by, but sometimes the ads just punch me in the gut (oooh, look at the people falling in love on this show! look at the child being abducted on that show! look at this gorgeous holiday destination that you will never ever ever go to!). Somehow it’s more obvious on Instagram to me. Probably because I get so distracted with all of the cute pics and updates on Facebook of my real life connections. Whereas my Instagram feed is more design, architecture, museums, books, authors, social justice advocates, poets, artists – so perhaps a bit more bohemian than the everyday.

Aaaaaaand my Ms. Distraction Delilah point is… that I did not need instant Twitter this morning. I did not need my email instantly.

Since April 2014, I have used social media and email as pieces of protection for SonHerisme and myself. MrexH was on there posting vague threats for some time (which became more specific and in writing later). Email was my lifeline to my attorney and SonHerisme’s attorney. I had to keep myself aware of what was going on for safety, as a touchstone with the reality of what was happening because everything was very disorienting and honestly truly unbelievable.

About 18 months into that untenable unpredictable potentially lethal situation, we had a presidential election where we voted into office a narcissistic abusive asshole. My parents, knowing my situation, observing me in real time and supporting me, voted for that abhorrent human anyway. More disorienting brain twists.

Once the situation with MrexH abated somewhat, my mother asked to move in with me “for a few weeks,” in late 2016 (spoiler alert – she is still living with me) to get some medical treatment. Her medical situation evolved into a shitstorm where she refused to move back home with my father, and found her being treated through Medstar Georgetown University Hospital. It has been an adjustment we are continuing, despite going into her fifth year. drama, drama, drama Have I mentioned that she came with two little puppy dogs? I’m fine.

Driving into Georgetown is lovely, EXCEPT when you have an unpredictable dangerous abusive narcissistic racist misogynist president… Every single time I drove into the city, I would check my back-ups, my back-ups to the back-ups and their back-ups to make sure that no matter what craptastic storm of shit the president instigated, SonHerisme would be safe until I could return to him or, g-d forbid, if I could not return to him. I am the parent who gave my child a cell phone in elementary school. It is highly controlled by me, even to this day (he is only 12), but has brought both of us immense peace of mind on Georgetown days especially.

Every single time we heard helicopters fly over, I ran to Twitter to see what our asshole in charge may have instigated and if we were safe. My house sits on the side of a little foothill mountain in the flight pattern to Camp David. If the three military helicopters in formation flew over, I refreshed Twitter obsessively (I follow a lot of journalists, politicians, government agencies and employees plus the BBC because our media can be, let’s say, a bit nationalistic shall we?). The three helicopters mean one has the president inside, btw. I am not revealing anything to ne’er do wells – our airspace is fairly locked down around here since 9/11. When President Obama was in office, everyone would run outside when we heard the helicopters and wave like crazy. It was exciting. He was not perfect. I admire, but do not idolize President Obama, or his politics, but we were immensely proud to have him in that office and proud to host him in our area.

COVID-19 has brought a whole new way of life for us, but MotherHerisme’s Georgetown treatments have not halted, save a handful of weeks. As the election cycle ramped up the sychophant racists felt compelled to become more emboldened in their fervent support for the sitting president causing my safety alarm bells to ring on high alert. We saw them gunning down 270 with their flags waving. We saw them put large banners in their yards declaring their unwavering loyalty to fear-based white supremacy.

I checked Twitter more frequently. I had Waze on, watching traffic patterns into and out of the city for days before Georgetown appointments. I packed an emergency bag for my child in the event of some acts of violence which might prevent me from getting home from the city. I packed a safety plan bag as if we were back in the situation with MrexH. I packed a fucking g-ddamned bag. I might be holding some anger there with that.

On January 5th, I was in Georgetown. On January 6th, treasonous seditionists took over our Capitol building until our Governor sent in reinforcements to reclaim the building. All of those employees in the hospital parking garage, at the hospital, in the cafe, driving the buses, taking care of the hurting humans, doing the things that life asks us to do, were put into jeopardy because of those despicable actions at the encouragement of despicable assholes.

I was, we were, we are, fine.

As I recall my attorney telling me (she had to repeat this many times), “our courts cannot legislate degrees of being an asshole.”

Damnit it all

This is a hard lesson. While I do absolutely believe that lack of accountability for egregious behavior is a form of abuse, I have already had the hard lesson of learning that not all egregious behavior can be legislated. It may be that those we clearly see as responsible for inciting the violence of January 6th, among other deplorable behaviors, will not experience accountability exacted by a court of law. But, the law is not separate from us. It’s humans that work for and form our laws and the interpretation of our laws. This is where I know we can make a difference. We can hold those responsible accountable. We can educate ourselves, use our votes, write letters to our representatives, and withhold our passive endorsements (grab-your-wallet, again).

*steps off of another soapbox to say* I have been pleasantly surprised that today I feel I can Twitter at my discretion rather than as a knee-jerk emergency panic response. This is my sign that perhaps I can attempt to be a thoughtful planner rather than a panic-reactor. Or not. But feeling as if I have the choice may be enough for now.

How are you feeling?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps – instead of Twittering: I read, I watched short comedy clips, and “liked” all of the people posting the things on Facebook

Random note: on Twitter I am frequently mistaken for a prominent Pakistani politician. This provides occasional hilarity for me as I sometimes respond. Good times.

I need a drink and some giggling

(avoids tagging the comedian bc I see you downloading across the waters which my friend suspects is due to the tagging of the peoples. It is a bit funny yet full of the awkwards. Also, “Hello!” and I am glad you are here because I like you and I want to visit all of your museums I feel nostalgia for, plus take a train ride through your countryside with a footnote seaside adventure, one day. Of course, now I am also thinking about a walk in a random park, a show, and chucking it all in here to move there and share a knowing kindred head nod with a neighbor *sigh* and *internally sings* with imagination, I’ll get there)

Virtutem Forma Decorat aka Audrey Hepburn: Rise of the No

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

IMG_0857

Hey y’all

Howsit goin’?

Whatcha doin’?

 

Our sweet summertime is in full swing.  We are on the other side of the slope, plowing towards school resuming in September.  Summer is busy around here: tennis, swimming, karate, math tutoring, outdoor adventure play, day camps (fishing, hiking, singing, more swimming etc), local day-trip fun times, video games, museums, trampolining, cooking, cleaning, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (nod to Mr. King-of-Siam).

 

We also had FatherHerisme and Niece2Herisme join us for about 6 weeks. Niece1Herisme lives locally, so is in and out as often as her family + teenagerness allows.

 

Anywho, it’s been a bit chaotic and busy around these parts.  Which feels like a lovely blessing and overwhelming at the same time.  Of course, I continue to care for MotherHerisme.  She will remain with SonHerisme and myself, along with her two sweet fluffy mini-doggies, for the time being in order to maintain her treatment plan through the coven at Georgetown Hospital.  Pyoderma – do NOT Google this.  You have been warned, and on your own if you ignore this warning.  To sum up:  it is extremely painful, extremely visually dramatic, and requires a ton of painkillers plus steroids plus exact bandage change protocol (enter me).  These past two years have been a lot for MotherHerisme to deal with.  Please send healing wishes, good juju and prayers, as you are able. Thank you.

 

Niece2Herisme decided to throw a surprise birthday party for me this summer.  It was a milestone birthday (sort of) and she loves me so much that she wanted to mark it in a special way.  She is a very sweet young lady and has a big generous heart!  I am so lucky to know her!  Alas, she was missing adult guidance, so much of it did not work out as she imagined (ex: The cake pictured above was ordered by me once I learned that my allergies prevented me from eating all of the food being ordered, including the cake). My heart broke for her.  It was a learning experience, and I hope that I conveyed how much I appreciate and love her through all of this hard growing up and learning stuff.

 

All of the everything, plus having time passed since we had our lives ripped apart, plus hitting a hard birthday, plus my life in general equals the Rise of the No.

 

No to breaking my appropriate boundaries

No to sugar coating or plain lying about what is happening in my life

No to denying the gravity of what has occurred in our lives

No to treating SonHerisme or me as if we are an inconvenience

No to being disrespectful to our space without acknowledgement

No to passively accepting bad or inappropriate behavior

 

No

 

I love Audrey Hepburn.  I am a huge fan of her work, both as a celebrity actor and as a humanitarian.  I love her so very much, that a very special and dear life-long friend of mine, whom I also love, love, love, once sent me a beautiful print of an Audrey Hepburn quote:

 “I believe in pink.  I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner.

I believe in kissing. Kissing a lot.

I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong.

I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls.

I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.”

I had this print framed and hanging on my bedroom wall for years.  I loved seeing it.  I loved reading it.  I loved it when my son could read it for the first time on his own.  This past week, I took it down and I doubt that I will ever re-hang it.

 

As I looked at the print when I went to bed, it began to depress me.

Pink is still a-okay by me, as is laughing.

Kissing is seriously depressingly lacking and unlikely to return to my life.

Being strong is an illusion.  Those of us battling whatever battles, battle them to survive or to give our children survival skills – it’s not strength, it’s instinctual self-preservation that drives us.

Happy girls are whatevs.  Great if you are one, also a-okay if you’re not.  Being human and giving your soul space to spread love and goodness is much more important and vital than being happy.

Also, tomorrow IS another day (duh).

Miracles happen everywhere every day.  The very essence of life is a miracle.  I’m not sure how profound miracles are by their existence.  It is in the recognition of the miracle that the profoundness is released.

Obvs I am now old.

Grieving dreams, hopes and aspirations that can no longer be.

One of SonHerisme and my favorite things to do is to hop down to the city and visit some of our favorite artwork.  The only displayed Da Vinci in the USA is in our city: Ginevra de’Benci.  On the reverse of her portrait is another painting by Da Vinci with a secret message “Virtutem Forma Decorat,” “Virtue Adorns Beauty.”  Beauty is found in the things we do, rather than in our face or how our bodies look/behave.  Beauty is as beauty does, so to speak (if you’re from Georgia, South Carolina or Alabama, I’m sure that this is a familiar mantra).  I am not a pillar of virtue, but I do try to be a good role model for SonHerisme and his cousins as well as our broader community.  Not typically in bold overt ways, but in my own quiet patterns and whispers.  I’m an okay-ish-with-my-own-virtue kind of person.  And as for my outside beauty – the virtue does not adorn it. I’ll acknowledge that I am not hideous, mostly (Cartman!).  However I am not a person for whom people feel the need to take more than a glance, much less a second look.  Being an introvert, this is sort of a relief.  At my age I have most definitely stepped into the invisible phase. I don’t have the energy to explore being more virtuous – unless honoring instinctive self-preservation is a virtue (?).  Ack!  Too much pressure and fack beauty anyway.  If you’re not genetically blessed, recognized by someone as such, or overt about your beauty, you end up invisible no matter how virtuous you proclaim or demonstrate yourself to be. I chalk this Da Vinci verso addition up to platituding for profit.

From the time I was very young, being invisible was imperative and worked towards my own self-preservation.  Examples to follow in future post.  My point is that, for now, I am focused on using my emotional boundaries as self-preservation rather than physical boundaries.  This is a difficult shift for me.  It is near impossible for me to even recognize my emotions, much less respond to my emotions by setting appropriate boundaries.

Rethinking how I physically present myself into the world is a piece of this as well.  Don’t look for me to suddenly adorn myself with glitter, eyeshadow or gregarious clothes…  Think more about how I carry myself, wearing sneakers and COSTCO skirts everyday (I know, I KNOW), the language I use, voicing what needs voiced, making eye contact (ugh), etc.

Please do not refer to this as, “baby steps.” This is superdy NOT helpful to someone like me. Condescending and patronizing. When babies learn to take steps, they have someone, and oftentimes multiple someones, enthusiastically cheering them on.  Clapping and, “ohh, ahh” ing over every movement.  When they stumble tumble, large comforting gentle loving hands are there to pick them up, warmly cuddle them, kiss their boo-boos away and reassure them that they are going to be okay.  As a single parent working from home, the adult equivalent of this level of security and support is just not available to me.  I do have lovely friends, who step in and out when able (THANK YOU) – ps they have their own struggles and lives.  The bulk of the comfort I am able to receive has to be self-generated.  Honestly, most days I am unable to muster it for myself.  Then, you know, instinctual self-preservation kicks in: SonHerisme needs support, MotherHerisme needs support, tiny doggies need support, and so goes my day.  I am taking steps – that’s all.  Sometimes tiny, sometimes (hopefully in a healthy manner) bigger, or medium-ish, or just slightly over tiny.  No “baby steps.”

To sum up:

I am saying, “no, thank you,” much more often.

Audrey Hepburn was still an amazing humanitarian and expressed her immersion into a healthy loving supportive environment through her words and works (I am in a different place).

Da Vinci remains an intriguing talented enigma.

No baby steps.

I love that you read all of this, even if you believe that I am wacky.

 

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of the Coven (aka, I am probably a racist)

/ herismeorg / 5 Comments

The Georgetown Coven convened once again to give us some insight into my mother’s lingering life altering health issue. We heeded their summons, received their powerful collective wisdom, and are proceeding thusly, tout suite! It must be so, as we met directly across from the French Embassy.  Être au taquet *fingers crossed*

The procedure in the Georgetown Wound Care Center include a nurse escorting you to an exam room, taking vitals, and preparing you for the Doctor’s consultation.  On this day, a young(ish) man in hospital scrubs escorted my mother to the exam room, introduced himself (L-loyd, shout out Lego Ninjago fans), accompanied by another young(ish) man in business attire.  The businessy man did not immediately introduce himself.

Once the door to my mother’ exam room was closed, I immediately felt a general sense of unease.  Two men.  One silent.  Door shut.  Once Lloyd removed my mother’s bandage and took her vitals, the business man introduced himself as the manager of the wound care unit, explaining that he was conducting employee observations.  He reached to shake my hand, and as I was shaking his hand I heard this bizarre-o giggle burble out of myself, and I said, “yeah, you weren’t creepy at all,” before I could stop myself.  Except he was creepy until that moment. We both smiled.  Then both men left while we waited for our trusted Dr Ladies to arrive.

In those quiet moments (my mother was engaged with solitaire on her phone, attempting to control her own anxiety about her medical experiences), I was having an internal discussion about what was it that was making me so uneasy with those two men.

Was is because one of them was super silent?

Georgetown is a teaching hospital, so we have many silent residents and medical students coming in and out of various appointments and treatments.  I do not recall being uneasy with their presence.

Oh, did I forget to mention that both men have darker skin than mine?  No?  Why does that matter anyway?  Am I some kind of racist or something?  The underbelly of racism is fear.  I felt an unwarranted fear in the closed presence of these men that I was not feeling in the closed presence of others (including men).  I am pretty sure that I had a moment of ingrained racism there.

I deeply apologize, gentlemen.

On the recommendation of a friend, I began following a hilFREAKINarious mommy poster @HonestToddler on Twitter (and @LozFelizDaycare!).  As our societal/political leadership climate changed in the good ol’ USofA, @HonestToddler changed her tweeting focus up to include societal issues broader than wacky child/family/mommy dynamics (still locally sourced, sustainably harvested and organic, though, like, seriously).  @HonestToddler introduced me to @rgay, who in turn introduced me to @IjemaOluo (and others in this 7 degrees of fascinating).

Don’t get too excited about my tweet game, I still follow @carrieffisher…  *sigh* and saddnesses. May the Force be with you and also with you. Lift up your hearts, we lift them up to the … anywho, you see what I mean.

Consequently, I have been immersed into a whole new lot of things that otherwise would not have hit my reading radar.

Which brings me right back ‘round, baby, right ‘round like a record, baby, right ‘round ‘round ‘round to our incident with the Georgetown Coven.  Obvs I’m a middle class light-skinned lady person of a certain age.

 

I am reading this:  So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo

 

I want to know more and different things so that I can do more and different things.  One take-away so far is that I am not in a position of defining what is and what is not racist for someone experiencing racism.

 

How about you?

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. Liam Neeson left *sigh* and *heartbreak*

Where Liam Neeson Guides Me to a Medical Coven in Georgetown

/ herismeorg / 8 Comments

I spent two consecutive days in the car with Liam Neeson driving from central Maryland into the Georgetown area of D.C.

I mean to say, I went to Georgetown on a Tuesday and again on a Wednesday, with Liam Neeson as my spirit guide.

Okay!  He was my Waze guide.  Liam Neeson’s voice was my Waze voice choice.  And I would (will) do it again, dagnabit.

 

On the second day of going into Georgetown with Liam Neeson (Wazed Liam Neeson), I had been scheduled to sit for a friend of mine.  The kind of sit where one poses and stays still while she paints.  I’m not much to look at, but she wants to practice with her new fancy colors and such.  Before you ask or even think it, no, this is not for a nude study.

 

Our (embellished) text conversation of me cancelling on her:

Me:  I have to be in Georgetown again tomorrow – just found today.  Sorry :,(  I’ll be gone from 8:45am-2pm ish

She:  Tis Alright I have to go grocery shopping anyway L.  What is happening in Annapolis?

Me:  People are greedy and hungry for power in Annapolis, plus pretty boats.  I suspect there are altruistic people in Annapolis too.  In Georgetown, I am desperately seeking medical help to heal my mother’s wound.  Also, I found out today that Georgetown has a valet parking guy named, “DJ,” and he would appreciate it if I asked for him by name next time.

She:  Oh.

 

*prolonged silence*

 

She:  I don’t know why I said Annapolis.  It is near the water and East of me, I guess.

Me:  Also (note to self, I use “also,” toooooooo much), there is a GIANT school in Georgetown named St. Patrick’s Episcopal Day School, which appears to be very snooty exclusive and such.  Waze Liam Neeson was taunting me by forcing me to drive past it.  It seems that Mr. Neeson is an economic snob, but I can’t stop listening to his voice!  He is as baffled as I am at the amount of commuters in this city.  He also encourages me to go into stealth mode, which I have decided will be my new speciality.  I never knew how much I like Liam Neeson.  I like him very much.  We seem to have a lot in common.  He cracks me the heck up, like Cracker Barrel.

She:  WTH are you talking about?  Are you drunk or high?  DJ?  Does he park cars and heal wounds?

Me:  Lol  No.  However, DJ does have an awesome neon yellow stocking cap.  I believe I shall use his name the next time I see him!

She:  You had me so perplexed and I had shots from this weird movie I was imagining…  you lead, of course, solving some mysterious ailment that your mother contracted by being a spy or an alien.

Me:  Sorrys!  My mind is fluid, yet highly viscous, muck.

She:  Through complicated research, hoop jumping, and dangerous investigations, you are led to DJ and his Georgetown parking garage, which doubles as a secret hat workshop.  The hats are made from unidentifiable fibers.  You are not sure if DJ is a double agent (played by Liam Neeson).

Me:  YES!  You get me!  Also, Liam Neeson.

 

Aaaaand scene

 

Anywho, Waze Liam Neeson has now successfully guided us into, and back out of, Georgetown, twice.  I forgive him for the twists and turns in Glen Echo/Palisades, and also the Clara Barton Parkway.  The middle lane on Clara Barton switches direction depending on the time of day and it freaks me out that I am going to end up in a head-on collision.  I much prefer the GW Parkway on the other side of the Potomac, and then cross over the bridge when needed.  Alas, then I’d miss passing the German and French embassies (güten tag, bonjour!).  Waze Liam Neeson used his soothing voice and encouraged me to be in stealth mode for much of the Clara Barton, and in the passing of the embassies, which was immensely gallant and helpful.

 

Once in Georgetown, we met with a team of Doctors over a 2-day period.  They each brought a fresh perspective and interest in my mother’s ailment.  New tests have been ordered.  Thusly, we have started my mother on a new path for healing (huzzah!).  My mother felt validated in her concerns, heard and attended.  Upon leaving on the second day, we both realized that every Doctor we met with was a woman.  We now have a Medical Coven in Georgetown!  MCG – Medical Coven in Georgetown.  Get down with MCG, yeah you know me!

 

This concludes how Liam Neeson lead me to a medical coven in Georgetown.  Thank you for being my spirit guide, Liam Neeson.  Until next time… stealth mode activated 😉

 

apologies – I am mostly quite overwhelmed and a bit sad. writing is difficult for me.  Except for today, because, Liam Neeson!