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TOO. MANY. EMOTIONS.
It is too much y’all.
COVID19, Dam Breaks, Hurricanes, Cyclones… Also, FatherHerisme’s kidney function is a stitch away from dialysis, SisterHerisme is going in for non-cancerous (as far as we know today) colon surgery, MotherHerisme’s wounds are not healing and she will need surgery and hospitalization in the next month, SonHerisme has a jump-out-of-his-second-story-window-and-onto-a-tree-branch and other daredevil plans brewing. Past traumas resurfacing.
I wish I could wash it all away for all of us in a lovely outdoor shower space (with spa bench, natch) in my woods. Alas, it is only 55F today. Even if my outdoor shower dream were real, it wouldn’t be happening today anyway. A friend has been encouraging me to get a home sauna – which I would very much like to do. The potential financial fallout from COVID19 has me quite hesitant, however. So, a shower in my own plain builder grade shower might help (?). Please don’t suggest a bath. I know my ridiculously gargantuan tub appears lovely and inviting, and it was tons of fun to sit in and splash about with my tiny baby boy and my tiny baby nieces – but, germinating in a tepid pool of my own filth to relax? I don’t understand that at all. Hard pass, and also, no.
Note: I am grateful to even have a shower and hot water considering what many of us are experiencing atm around our tender world.
Thinking about washing, soaking things off for healing, reminded me of a sort-of recent experience I had at my local co-op. My community, my tribe, is comprised of many bougie crunchy adjacent (some full on crunchy) mommas. Not GOOP bougie, more like advanced degree educated, world traveling, new wave community collective supportive bougie. We sew our own masks, but also already had N95’s in our garages… we shop at the co-op, but also order recurring grocery items from Amazon.
Anywho… for a while some of us were gathering about once each month at a coffee shop (locally owned and roasts their own bean blends – see what I mean? Bougie but still grounded) to talk out and support each other with work/home/kids/relationships.
At one of our gatherings, our facilitator mommy shared her affinity for drinking celery juice in the mornings (again bougie, I KNOW IT). I too drink celery juice in the morning, but I have not been able to convince myself to use any special, or especially expensive, appliance (this might be a pattern – see internal struggle over sauna purchase). At the time, I was blending my celery stalks with about 4 ounces of water in a regular old blender. Then I would strain it through an old tight mesh utensil someone gifted to me years ago, which I believe is originally intended to remove items from a wok when frying.
As we were swapping stories of best celery juice practice, facilitator mommy suggested I try using a nut milk bag. In case you are unfamiliar, a nut milk bag is a reusable cotton bag used to filter out almond/hazelnut/soy bits from soaked/cooked nuts in order to extract a milky substance to use as a cow milk substitute for consumption. Crunchy – right? Some of us wear full on make-up, hairspray, and actual tucked-in belted knee boot outfits, so-crunchy adjacent. But we drink celery juice that we are blending at home. Gah! Whatevs – we are the mommy people doing the things.
That mommy person sent this mommy person to our co-op to get a nut milk bag to alleviate my messy celery juice burden.
Because I am highly suggestible to personal indulgences falling under the $10 mark, I did indeed go to the co-op to purchase a nut milk bag for straining my celery juice.
You guys… I went and asked the co-op worker man where he keeps the nut sacks.
Because my brain does not work, and my mouth does not either, I guess.
He did not respond, as you can imagine. It did not immediately click-in to my brain that I had misplaced my words, so I REPEATED MYSELF.
It was then that I had the terrible awful watching-the-train-wreck moment of realization as the final “nut sack” escaped my mouth, and I scrambled like a babbling idiot for correction as if I am a non-native English speaker making an innocent mistake because clearly English is not my first language or I would have never ever ever said “nut sack” even though you know me because I am in this store multiple times (pre-COVID19) every week for at least a decade interacting with you all and WTF is wrong with me – Could you please show me where you keep your reusable bags for making nut milk.
Apparently I am an 11-year-old-boy because I still giggle about this.
The first one to suggest that I now use the famous disguise of jean pants and a toothpick in my mouth when I shop, will indeed be my bestie for the day. (WWDITS is the best worst show ever and perfect escapism, better than any soak – most any soak – so go there now. Season2 Episode6 Jackie Daytona rules)
Of course we are all wearing masks so for the time being I am granted a temporary reprieve from crippling embarrassment at the co-op.
Funny things still happen in grave times. I hope you find a giggle or two in your day.
Love, Ms Herisme xoxo