We don’t all know it yet, but it is. Most of us can feel it. We feel something. The option for not feeling is no longer available, unless you are deeply committed to self numbing alternatives. Disassociation still works sometimes. But even that is a conscience effort in response to knowing that something is being felt.
Reader friends, if you are still out there, I am in a place completely unexpected. Not ideal, mind you, but not all in a bad way of the unexpected.
So now what? Is being broke through woke through? And what EVEN can that mean?
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!
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.
For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen; a gaseous nebula must collapse.
So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your destruction.
This is your birth.
~Zoe Skylar, poet
It is that time of day, that time of the month, that time of year, that time of the decade, that time of a generation, that time of a millenia, that time in history where we have hit the swirls of things in such a way that a seasonal change tipped with atmospheric significance means something to many looking for the grounding/footing of hope/optimism in the face of stark realities, or perhaps just plain and simple purpose/meaning. It is permission to speak of things we find resonate with us in a holy deep down soul-y way.
I am getting used to being alive in a world butterfly-affected for me by the absence of my father, community changes, global realities, and my own inner world dynamic playwriting the acts and scenes of my life.
You know – saying farewell to the season of homemade cherry limeades and such where pithy citrus bits find their way into nooks and crannies of a well-loved cutting board. Or coveted dragon fruit juicy juices stains. Or unexpected maple tree saplings thriving where once there was an herb garden. Or witnessing a developing street-cleaning group on our twisty turny rural road. Or SonHerisme beginning his path to driving. Or the lovely masonry repair on the front stoop. Or NiecesHerisme having successfully shipped off to universities. Or the arrival of new bras since my transition into crone phase seems to be sweeping out some of the fluff.
Things are moving in unanticipated and anticipated directions.
Which is to say, I finally went in for a physical and lady exam (thanks Barbie, for the peer pressure to follow-through!). Some things need immediate attention but nothing too dire.
Also I saw a meteor/dying star dramatically zoom to its brilliant death over our heads at the senior night celebratory “pink out” football game this past Friday (nods to Barbie and cancer, I suppose?).
Because life is what it is, we continue to support murder killing fascist authoritarian behaviors, which sucks. One could argue in the past – well, they did not know any better. Well, they were not given the opportunity to evolve or be compassionate. Well, they did not have access to understanding or information to lead to understanding. But, nope. Turns out we are just assholes hell bent on forcing zero sum games whenever and wherever. Good job us! Pat ourselves on the the back! Let me know when we have reached the pinnacle of forcing submission, total control, or obliteration of whatever group of humans we deem unworthy of being human so that I can cheer and applaud you with all of the accolades and applauses I have…
Gen Z is coming for you. Unless you succeed with squashing them with repeated viral infections.
It is apparent to me that it is none of my business to even ask – when is enough, enough? When will we have targeted or murdered enough humans? When will we have removed enough access to health care from enough humans? When will we have burned/ banned enough books/access to information? When will we have dehumanized and other-ed enough humans to satisfy our thirst for ultimate entitlement and control?
In the meantime, I earned $6.40 by recycling metals from my home. I donated adult diapers and used medical equipment to our local Rescue Mission. Like you, I grocery shopped, cooked meals, did laundry, and cleaned the things. I continue to attempt parenting a teen, volunteer in my community, and provide day-to-day 24/7 care to MotherHerisme. I sent my court orderedweekly progress reports #376-#410 as a batch. I meditate and send comfort, peace, and love out to every living thing, with special attention to those suffering or frightened.
I can make some soup and tea for you – and a batch of cookies.
Over and over in my head:
I can be brown, I can be blue, I can be violet sky
I can be hurtful, I can be purple, I can be anything you like...
And then a little:
I couldn't figure it out, if you wrote it all down, please write down
How, how do you love me right now?
Plus some:
And I know, its only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
Rounded out with:
I don't want french fried potatoes, red ripe tomatoes
I'm never satisfied
I want the frim fram sauce with the oss-en-fay with sha fafa on the side.
I guess I am however I am and the world will be as it is. UNICEF, Doctors without Borders, World Central Kitchen donations going out from my house. Trying to allow the feelings to be what they are while pushing out comfort, love, and peace *sigh* I just do not know that there is anything else to be done. Live. Find moments of joy and grace as we can. This is my crumble collapse.
Also, can we please get Colin Farrell or Matthew Goode to quietly record every single audiobook, or even just lists of things or poetry, please and thank you?
(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
(a glimpse of peace on my tiny mountain foothill which does not have a floating poem on it irl)
(or listen here)
If you peeked around my spot of Earth you would see signs of Christmas decorations here and there. Please do not be a judgy mcjudgerson. I feel the need to open the season a bit more gently. If you are passing by, please visit the Little Free Library at the end of my driveway 🙂
No big gifts planned for this year. Moving a bit gently there as well. Exceptionish will be SonHerisme hopped up on getting a PS5 or new drum kit. The drum kit seems more reasonable to me. Still, it is all SO MUCH. We’ll be making the shed into a music studio over the next two years. Year one will be bringing the shed back to life (new floors/windows, insulation, run electricity, replace roof). Year two will be outfitting the insides as resources permit. He is in it for the long haul. Good luck us.
For the past few decades I have assumed the role of making the merry for all of the people by going big with stuffed stockings/pillowcases/bags and whatnot. Themed and coordinated for each family with splashes of individual nods. I have been cooking all of the things for all of the meals. Carefully choreographing the movements from freezers, to outside coolers, to refrigerators, to sometimes outdoor grill, to oven and stovetops, to serving dishes, to curated tables, to leftover containers, and the inevitable, “dang, I forgot that was in there ewww,” dump to the trash. Since COVID I keep saying that I want to pull back. People of the internets, this habit is HARD to break. The guilt over not making the merry for the humans (and puppies!) is heavy. I’m not budgetless obvs, but I have an (at times) unfortunately creative mind, and a sewing machine, and an oven, and a glue gun, and am intimately familiar with the art of repurposing the things. Which all points to that inevitable push for merry making… *resist the urge, sweet momma, RESIST* We can do the hard things of saying, “no thank you.” Right? Can we? I mean, I can, right? doubt it
Update on evaluating my cell service carrier AT&T: they are often sketch. They oppose net neutrality, which means they advocate for the removal of a free and open internet. They funneled hundreds of thousands of dollars to Drump attorney, Cohen, which appeared to be payment for in kind Drump regime favors to fix their antitrust issues. On the other hand their service range is exceptional for me and this year Ethisphere rates AT&T as one of the world’s most ethical companies for the third consecutive year (I call bullshit). From Ethisphere:
Methodology & Scoring
Grounded in Ethisphere’s proprietary Ethics Quotient®, the World’s Most Ethical Companies assessment process includes more than 200 questions on culture, environmental and social practices, ethics and compliance activities, governance, diversity, and initiatives to support a strong value chain. The process serves as an operating framework to capture and codify the leading practices of organizations across industries and around the globe.
Honorees
The full list of the 2022 World's Most Ethical Companies can be found at: https://worldsmostethicalcompanies.com/honorees.
(laughing internally bc that list has to be some kind of fuckery) Gird yourself, AT&T – letter writing forthcoming. If you are attached to billionaires, I suggest you are not ethical.
This November, I am attempting to tend to the mundane. Writing the letters which need writing. Ironing and sorting the things which need sorting. Reading the stories which need heard – including the hard ones, especially the harder ones. Deep yard cleanup (leaves intact, protecting the future bugs, birds, bees and general wildlifing). Processes begun and contracts signed for MotherHerisme’s apartment on the ground floor. SonHerisme’s room is undergoing transformation into high school teen aesthetic. I am boxing up what remains of my children’s book collection for storage – I think. I don’t know. It is mostly just fairy tales, pop ups and poetry at this point. The cycle in my brain is that of letting go of a life which doesn’t exist in order to make room for the one that does exist. I suppose if I box them all up and need them back, I can reverso that processo. It is hard to let of go of wishes and dreams, for sure. Although sometimes joy is hard to witness as well because there is always the worry of what comes after the joy. At least for the people who have brains swishy walking the spiraled tendrils like mine.
This past week we received the news that a party claiming to be political, but is in truth authoritarian with christo-fascist agendas marketed as populism, has been voted into being the majority in the House of Congress. Yes, I understand that many of us are so afraid that someone from the unworthy undesirables might receive appropriate health treatment or children might receive nourishment at school through tax money, that we would rather have women, immigrants, children, non-white skinned, and LGTBQ humans denied basic rights to be considered as fully human. Spooooooky basic humane care is so unpalatable that you’d rather see everyone (including yourselves) suffer under arcane inhumane rules which essentially eliminate our democracy. One group fomented deadly insurrection of democracy, the other one wants to provide universal health care. I truly *sigh* do not see this as political process in democracy. Politics are discourse over how much and where allocations land, not IF there should be any societal responsibilities beyond policing through a lens, filtered under the guise of divinity, of abject inhumane authority. I am angry/disappointed/grieved that enough of us feel voting against humanity is appropriate at all. I am sorry for all of us.
Upcoming generations will correct this course out of necessity. Brutality cannot enjoy its gleeful covert blanket of hubris as it has since the beginning of time. Facts move too quickly now. GenX through GenZ have ready access to (and ability to identify) accurate information as well as the advantage of being connected in broader communities. Millenials through GenZ have the population numbers to outweigh any outlier nonsense. It is only a matter of time for the collective leadership to be more centrist by design as well as more humane. *fingers crossed* For the least amount of increasing the legacy of damage requiring following generations to clean up.
Iran, all Persians, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Ukraine, Poland, Brittney Griner, Florida, Texas, Indigenous peoples, all of the peoples everywhere, are worthy of humane treatment, dignity in grief and suffering, as well as hope for freedom from suffering. We love the world as it presents itself in all forms, as it is, but maybe we are also tasked with working on nudging the world in a humane direction to be what it ought to be – reciprocally beneficial overall as it can, when it can, where it can be.
Tending to the mundane seems critical as grounding. Voting. Amplifying and participating in messages of truth and humane actions. Community and self care in whatever form that takes. Community care this week involves baking cookies for a neighbor who missed out on holiday treats because of multiple food allergies. I’ll make extras to drop off for the High School staff next week in case any of them cannot enjoy wheat/dairy/eggs etc.
As far as self care, I have concluded this exercise: a few months ago I wondered why I am shaving my underarms. Is it self care? Do I care? I am sure no one else cares because a. they never see my underarms, even in the pool because my swimsuit consists of swimshorts, sturdy bra, swimshirt and 2. I have reached an invisible age where I understand that no one is looking at anyone else unless they are a striking or known human. I am not striking, and people who know me absolutely do not care about any of my hair. Unless you are MotherHerisme or FatherHerisme who feel uniquely obliged to comment on appearances of each of their family members at all times especially when it is, “I’m only trying to help,” negative comment. As a full grown adult, this is a blip on my interactions these days, but devastating when I was younger. I do correct them when they comment on any of the grandchildren. “A bit less of the meal portions and a bit more exercise would help with the way those pants fit,” for example. I am sure that you know from your various family members how this trope-as-reality goes. Zero comments on children’s bodies PLEASE and thank you.
Anywho, I let the underarm hair grow for a while – a wispy blonde tuft. I will say that I think it helped with my *ahem* natural fragrance poking out from beneath deodorant. Once it became a texturey feel nuisance, I began to question if I should keep it and get used to it, or let it go. Letting it go in favor of not thinking about hair just being there has won. Ingrained shame as habit, I suppose.
Another mundane annoyance has been my battle with poison ivy this month. I am allergic because OF COURSE I am. Tiny rash to huge rash to spreading rash to blisters to hives to residual scaly itches all over the everywheres. Super reminder of being a human. I made the mistake of wearing a sweater I knew had been through poison ivy. Classic mushy brained me. Should I visit my GP? Possibly. Although at the moment, I’m sure she is overwhelmed by our societal determination to perpetuate serious viral infections. I do not want to add more to her workload when I know how to use fels naptha, add more antihistamines (oral and topical) along with topical steroids and patience. Meh – it is what it is.
Personal trials of the mundane=accomplished. Achievement unlocked. I can level up to whatever mundane thing is next. It’s probably something to do with laundry or meals or shaving away the subversive shame of the ladies. All hail the mundane because it sure as hell beats the gory days of terror and chaos!
ps more of the mundane: I iron cloth napkins every week as a meditation. It is my mundane tending of the things of the indoor garden.
pps Sending this out to the universe, since it is highly unlikely it applies to you: If you are someone who votes with and/or voices anti-humane rhetoric, please consider the black pit depths of hypocrisy you represent as you offer performative sympathies when the very things you stand for/with and amplify are directly correlated to the harm you claim to feel sad about. Look inward, I implore you. It will be shocking and painful, but so worth it for yourself and all of humanity. Thank you. As a former lovely coworker used to say, “Ain’t none of us getting out of this alive.” Please do try to find your flawed soul (just as all of ours are) and use your position and legacy to amplify making a positive difference in this world. Step outside with the intention of causing less harm. Thank you.
Also… and… in addition… thank you for reading/listening and being on this journey and holding space for all of this with me. I appreciate you.
They quaff libations to the moon,
From acorn goblets, amply fill'd
~ excerpt from "Ode to the Muse" by Mary Darby Robinson
(or listen here)
Have you heard someone describe going on a silent meditation retreat and they hated all of the not talking? It sounds divine to me. Soon enough. In the meantime, FatherHerisme is pleased to not have restrictions on his Long John Silvers feasts with cans of Coke or Root Beer and dessert of Red Hots/Tootsie Rolls/Pringles/M&M’s and all that. MotherHerisme has ordered makeup for herself after about a decade of not wearing anything. Prior to then she was an every day full face plus multiple lipstick reapplications. SonHerisme is adjusting to leaving Marching Band season plus anticipation of new activities and regular YMCA visits. I am. I am… I continue to be spinning about trying to find some bearings.
Spinach in a classic white porcelain pasta dish (no pasta), and tea from a rustic looking mug stamped with LOVE typewriter letters, plus finding acorn twins all over the place to add fullnesses where sadnesses lurk!
Anywho, letter to my outgoing Governor:
Dear Governor Blah Blah,
Thank you for serving our communities and state of Blahberg as our Governor for the past two terms. While the Republican party lost me years before you took office here, I have been proud to have you lead our state with integrity through some very trying times. You haven stood by your moral compass, ethics, and beliefs in your responsibilities to all of your constituents, even in painful moments. For this, I thank you.
The attention to restoring the Blahberg Bay, funding education (including provisions for school boards to work with communities on carefully monitored charter school options), and grants supporting the Violence Against Women Act, are just three of the issues you have addressed that I personally appreciate.
None of these show your leadership ability more than how you carefully and earnestly addressed our COVID-19 experience, and the January 6th insurrection at the Capitol. Your refusal to bow to the dangerous inflammatory nonsense, and maintain a level head in guiding your team and Blahbergers through these tumultuous situations has been admirable.
I believe that under your leadership, Blahberg has built itself stronger as representation to the country of what can be accomplished within a working democratic body operating through honest dialogue, compromise, and transparency. I do not claim that we, or you, are perfect – but neither is democracy. By its very nature, it is meant to be imperfect to allow for conflict in approach, discussions, and compromise. Democracy does not want any one ideal philosophy, it wants many humane voices for civil discourse and civil resolution. I have many opinions which differ from yours (women’s access to abortion, for example) yet I still admire your teambuilding leadership.
Along with my heartfelt, “thank you!” I also write to encourage your decision to run for president. Admittedly, my conscious will not allow me to vote for anyone associated with the Republican party without seeing some radical national accountability, which is a ridiculous expectation given the current path our nation is on in that regard. However, I do admire you and believe you to be one of the best representations of leading civil discourse, humane leadership, and personal integrity, without expectations of perfection. Should you choose to leave the Republican party, you would have my vote.
Thank you again for all of your hard work on leading Blahberg with what I believe to be an overall earnest humane civil approach with integrity. Best of luck to you on your next adventure!
Kind Regards, Ms. Herisme
(she/her/indoors masker)
Feel free to copy/modify/cringe at this missive. It is how I feel today. For those of you living in Blahberg, I acknowledge that we may not be on the same page and that is a-okay and appropriate. I have been writing regularly to our Governor and want to close it out with thanks for the things they worked on doing right. I mean, I am not ever going to carry the weight of their office – very few of us would or do. Someone has to do it, and they did alright. Much like “agree to disagree” on things which can find balance and compromise, I agree to disagree with them on things and still appreciate they took the helm and ran with it despite the allure many have fallen into with the glittery false trappings of authoritarians and fascists.
GAH
I don’t know.
I’m really glad that the current Governor isn’t a complete magafascist asshat.
I am even more glad that we have voted in a Democrat.
Stay strong Blahbergers and *fingers crossed* for democracy to work in general with or without that Gov’ner
No, I do not know what the acorn twinning euphemism means. I suspect it has something to do with sunshine on jewel colored crunchy fallen leaves, chilly breath revealing air, and a mug of something special to you, as I do the same. Acorn Twinning
Confucius said, “A seed grows with no sound, but a tree falls with a huge noise. Destruction has noise but creation is quiet. This is the power of silence. Grow silently.”
Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder. Rumi
I am not on board with creation being quiet in the traditional ways of quiet. Unless the big bang was the destruction of the nothings into the somethings which then proceeded with the quiet movement of evolution. Even sex I suppose is the destruction of the concentration of blood vessels which then proceeds to release all of things occasionally quietly bonding and replicating into a new human. The birthing is the destruction of the internal growth/housing and the new human quietly (ahem WHAT) evolves into a growing human. The human then goes through many destructions and creations of cells, emotions, bones, and all of the things, until we wear ourselves out through some destructive thing which does not allow for us to recreate ourselves anymore as humans. We become food for the earth or exploration for a scientist.
Is this what quiet creation means? The creation is happening without the impacts that destruction brings? No loud tree felling, but a wispy green nugget of something sprouts up as if by magic? The atonement for having destroyed the tree is the patience required to experience mystical quiet as witness of seeds and soils gently (to our eyes) pushing forth a new generation of life? Some of us pay oddles of noodles to have those new generation plants placed just so into our earth spaces. We cultivate and bask in its growth. We cool. Or we not cool since that movement sometimes requires destruction in movement and burning up dead dinosaur sludge from one place to another. Even if we are seed gatherers…
Babbling as I do since my brainiac is mushing about in attempts at life-ing it up. Destruction leads to creation, and creation eventually meets destruction, by their very natures. But we cannot always predict accurate manifestations of these transformation processes.
Who in the sam hell knew that using populism to elect a melanated president to counter balance the destructive, gaslit, trickle down, fake news, racist programming, misogynisitic ingrained patterns of bullshittery would haunt us with the backfire of magafascism?
It's the, "man, oh golly, I'd really like to see us use our resources humanely for the betterment of our Earth, country, communities and ourselves,"
versus,
"LISTEN TO ME AS I SCREAM OBSCENITIES AT YOU
TO SHAME YOU INTO HEARING HOW I AM SAVING YOU,
S A V I N G Y O U,
BY THE DIVINE POWERS IMPARTED TO ME AND MOSTLY ONLY ME
AND THOSE I BULLY
INTO BELIEVING MY GLORIOUS INHUMANE FUCKERY DIVINED THUSLY UNTO ME,
AS I RAPE YOU, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I FORCE YOU TO CARRY AN UNVIABLE LUMP OF CELLS, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I FORCE YOU TO CARRY A POTENTIALLY VIABLE LUMP OF CELLS, I AM SAVING YOU
AS YOU BLEED OUT INTERNALLY, I AM SAVING YOU
AS YOUR BODY AND BRAIN ARE IRREVOCABLY CHANGED FOR LIFE, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I DENY YOU VITAL CANCER TREATMENT, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I DENY YOU ACCESS TO ALL HEALTHCARE, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I DETERMINE YOUR ACCESS TO INFORMATION BASED ON MY BELIEFS, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I WEIGH AND DEFINE YOUR UTTER UNWORTHINESS AS A HUMAN, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I SHOOT YOU OR YOUR FAMILY/NEIGHBORS FOR INVOKING MY RAGE, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I BEAT YOU FOR EXISTING AND WANTING A VOICE IN COMMUNITY, I AM SAVING YOU
AS I BEHEAD YOU, I AM SAVING YOU
YOU SHOULD BE TAKING A KNEE AND THANKING ME
NO, NO, NO, NOT A KNEE BECAUSE YOU ARE DISRESPECTING ME
YOU SHOULD BE BOWING YOUR HEAD AND THANKING ME
NO, NO, NO, NOT BOWING YOUR HEAD BECAUSE YOU ARE DISRESPECTING ME
YOU SHOULD LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND THANK ME
YOUR EYES LOOK DISRESPECTFUL
YOU'RE DEATH THANKS ME.
MY MAGNIFICENT SELF MAGNANIMOUSLY OFFERS A " FUCK YOU, YOU'RE WELCOME, I HAVE SAVED YOU. NEXT"
Sometimes I feel the angers.
For the most part my local community voted against being perversely saved by nefarious right-wing nutso zealots. But we’re still waiting for final results from our truly horrifying unstable zealot-led wackos infiltrating our Board of Education. I am so grateful to not have a young child in our schools. It takes all kinds of people to organize and run a community – even wacky people. We are overrun with decades of systematically brainwashed people who truly believe they are in a holy fight to save all of us from ourselves at whatever the cost – lives, truth, integrity, knowledge, and general basic humanity. Their only goal is to win power and control OVER others as they FORCIBLY oppress, silence and eliminate those who are not in alignment with them. Sanctimonious malicious bullshittery.
Toxic people will not be changed by the alchemy of your kindness. Yes, be kind, but move on swiftly and let life be their educator. Brendan Burchard
We cannot, rather, I cannot fix this by welcoming the magafascists and politely tolerating the disgusting inhumanity they promote. I will not even try. What will I do? I will keep talking and showing up in spaces as I can and where I can. I’ll be letting go the toxicity of extending kindness where it is harmful. No more waving and smiling at the racists down the street, for example. I will wholeheartedly wish them wellness with a sprinkle of enlightenment to at the very least, cease glorifying a regime dedicated to the enslavement of other humans (remove your confederacy flag, people – it is a symbol of blazing racism and disgusting shame).
ParentsHerisme continue with their 1980’s world view of believing those in power will behave moderately due to power balance structure and the rest of it is all rhetoric. I strongly disagree (Roe v Wade much?). They cannot see what I see – they truly cannot. Their time in history, privilege, and ingrained learned fear, do not allow their lenses to open any wider. FatherHerisme is so rattled by it all, he was in tears over facetime trying to relay how he did his best to vote in a way that I could be proud of – but he couldn’t quite figure out what that might be all of the time. Sweet daddy *sigh* this is the heartbreaking part of aging parents being far away.
My international friends are somewhat hopeful, but mostly horrified at what they are witnessing us doing to ourselves(when they have time to wax poetic about our issues since there is bullshittery everywhere- authoritarianism rise plus COVID denier MUCH?). The older ones worry about a far correction into what their parents lived through with stark socialism (which wasn’t socialism of course – it was authoritarianism, which is the ironic slippery slope magafascists would LOVE to implement).
Anywho
Divest from and disempower systems of oppression. paraphrased from Nikki Blak
I want to do more of this and am thinking about how, where, why as I do the things of everyday life. I no longer feel doom and gloom most of the time. I feel the need for acknowledging destruction as well as acknowledging quiet and creation – or at least the humane support of them. Women’s rights and basic human needs, globally, in my country, community, and home.
There was a turning point for me last year where I realized I no longer needed to be invested in people, things, places which do not resonate with my own wellbeing and health. And this divestment is not a referendum on me or the people, things, places as being unworthy. This is my divestment from feeling obligated to connect with or understand those things not in alignment with my own health. Simple example of meat – it hurts me when I consume it, yet I went back to consuming it for years after having been a vegetarian for a decade. I attempted different kinds of meat and medications etc. Forget it – I have let it go. I am not invested in trying to explore that relationship anymore. I am more aware of no longer feeling obligated to be invested. This may come natural to you all, but having been raised to maximize co-dependency, this has been a huge learning curve for me. Saying, “no thank you,” to myself for myself with no negative feelings attached has been a huge shift for me, and a much easier way for my soul to move through each day.
As a result of this shift, and time, and my sweet tiny giant turning into a man person, I feel the cleaning out and preparing SonHerisme for his adulting launch. I am working on cultivating a practice of being more mindful in my immediate environment.
My first step is to do the hard ask of where I am putting my resources. Beginning with my list of everyday tasks I do and everyday items I use. I will be asking myself how (not if bc they ALL are in some ways) they are parts of systems of oppression and how may I either facilitate limiting (destruction of habit/service) the oppression further or divesting (creating something new) from them.
A teensy start:
-internet service
-laptop
-phone
-grocery store(s)
-Amazon
-laundry
-career
-creativity
-food prep
I hope this creatonement alchemy works for something good and is helpful. My purpose at this point in my life it to cause the least amount of harm in my areas of this existence. I want to be present for and aware of how I am doing that just in case the knowing is helpful to SonHerisme or anyone else. Or, I suppose, the knowing will be helpful and satisfying to me as I transition at some point.
MotherHerisme turned 78 this week. SonHerisme’s band won their division at state competitions. I took a catnap outside on this final warmish sunny-side up day. It was so quiet that I could hear gleeful leaf scamperings of tiny creatures in full on wintering prep. Also, the persistent bee popped around for a pre-slumber check-in. More celebrations with pom poms. More nature. More mindful acknowledgement and divesting from the harmfuls.
Silence, you are the best thing I have ever heard. Boris Pasternak
She wanted the worm to live. She=Me. I wanted the worm to live. The poor thick long brownish pinkish squirmy thing was accidentally caught up in the edge of one of the metal fence pieces I was sending to recycling. The young man helping me haul it all was holding the fence piece as I said, “Save the worm! I want the worm to live!” Followed by appropriate wide-eyed-that-lady-be-krazee look from him. I pointed to the worm and explained that I couldn’t get the worm out myself because I was afraid that the regular salt and roughness from my hands would hurt the worm more. The helper guy had on gloves so could he please save the worm. His partner called over the truck to find out what was happening. Helper guy yelled back, “she wants the worm to live!” I did want the worm to live! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me because then I had tears over this beautifully reddish brown thick earthworm being precariously caught between the edges of metal fencing. I believe that I scared the guys with my saddnesses. Helper guy then very delicately pulled the metal apart, gathered the worm into his gloved hands, and gently placed the worm back onto the cool damp forest floor so it could live out its wormy days until a bird comes along, or a motivated fisherman, and then it’s bye-bye-wormy (have you heard about Hugo and Kim?!!!?) Also, phoned for more help from those helper guys and they haven’t returned my inquiry. hmmmm
My limited brain has decided that this worm is a Lumbricus friendi earthworm who has no common name (per scientific journal linked through the DNR). A common earthworm with no common name. Friendi no name. Sweet little worm friend. If it is so common, why no common name? Why are some words so weird when you repeat them multiple times in a row? Try it. Common, common, common, common common. Weirdo wordo righto? Fair warning, do NOT do this exercise in the middle of the night to your reflection in your bathroom mirror, or you might summon reflection Common and that will be extremely awkward because of reasons dating back to some 1990’s sleepover voo-doo juju.
Once in the long ago days when I did work stuff outside of my home, I saw Common speak on a panel with Hillary Clinton in Washington, DC. It was a very small, maybe 200 people, study release on screens/multimedia content impacts on different developmental stages of children. I KNOW – Why the heck was I there? Luck of the draw I suppose. I was sent by my work and trained into the city on the silent car. Everything about that day was amazing because I was also able to sneak in a visit to the USPS Postal Museum (woot woot nerd alert!). Pre-baby days of wearing the clothes with important shoes and the doing of the things. It was the day I completely flipped in my regard for Hillary Clinton. A dear bestie sweetness friend had worked with Mrs. Clinton earlier that year at an event in Chicago and had a similar experience. Both of us were flummoxed at Mrs. Clinton’s poise, presence and in-person charisma versus the translation of that onto a wider audience – which polarized and distanced people. She was/is an uncommon earnest articulate soul. Common was pretty awesome too – extremely articulate and intelligent(read: handsome and smooth). But the impact of Hillary Clinton on me that day was profound in how I saw all public figures moving forward.
These current transition times for me, for all of us I am guessing, are so filled with the somethings which have no common names. I feel in a place like my perceptions of Hillary. My deep soul self sees the things which are impactful, meaningful, understandable and all of the things which just make sense until they reach into the outer world where the contrast is so cacophonous, nothing seems to translate well and ends up making no sense. There is no touchstone or prescriptive healthy path. Other than coming from a place of love and returning to that as much as possible as I can when I can.
There is no way that we do not know:
*murdering people and bombing is not the answer to any disagreement
*we have no human rights or moral high ground as a nation to lord over others
*reproductive bodies, like all non-reproductive bodies, have a right to proper health care
*people are being raped in our communities
*people are going unhoused and without food in our communities
*we have enough global resources for everyone to have healthy water, food, shelter, health care, education - without denying anyone resources
*placing thousands of kids into an inadequate building has NOTHING to do with education
*wearing a good mask indoors or in large crowds, helps prevent the spread of airborne viruses which is helpful to everyone's health
*we do not take care of ourselves
*worms are important
Here in my little hamlet, recently unexpectedly thrust into a world of dedicated High School Marching Band parents, I found myself sitting in this parental group at a football game on a portable stadium seat – which has now earned it’s own spot in my trunk organizer, natch. Most of these parents are new to each other. The high school hasn’t had a home game on their field for 4 years due to field conditions and COVID. In our getting to know each other moments over the past few weeks, one common thread has been recognized between 5 out of 7 of us. Domestic violence and divorce. One woman is currently in the thick of walking the path through dv divorce. It is… normal. It is common. We are the mommies showing up, looking the parts, doing the things of, “yay, teams!” We are the everywheres – which is shocking and not so shocking. Slapped, punched, kicked, raped, threatened with murder of ourselves/our children/our spouse as revenge, financially abused, emotionally abused – and also pulling the wagon buggy with extra water/supplies/emergency snacks for the kids and staff along with the stadium bleacher mats we roll out for the kids to sit on. I will be extra clear about how I see this – domestic violence is not an anomaly. It is very common with what we pretend is uncommon by using an uncommon name. Who hasn’t been involved in a domestic violence or abusive situation? I do not think this belittles the significance or trauma of it by calling it out as a societal norm in our culture. It is very gaslighty pretending it isn’t when we know it is – we KNOW it.
What is up with us pretending like we give a flipping flapdoodle about women in Iran being murdered by their country’s religious police because women are being oppressed – and THEN shaming/creating laws to control humans who choose to wear a hijab, not use their bodies for birthing children, want to extricate themselves and their children from abusive situations, or present in a non/other gendered manner?
Also in my tiny community, a 14-year-old male teen/child posted multiple videos to socials while smoking various things, threatening to commit targeted racist violence, and TAGGED some of the people he would initially target, including the school principal’s daughter. One parent response I heard was, “well that kid has just ruined his life and is banned from any school.” What is happening? At 14? Consequences, for sure. Community service, mental health programs, specialized schooling environment, parental support … I mean – how is more isolation and shame going to help anyone in this situation? Consequences and preparedness actions. Violence and especially targeted racist violence cannot be tolerated. That kid is going to grow and be alive for another 80 years. All of it is heartbreaking and I hope for all of our sakes that his consequences are more than being banned from attending public high school, and include some plan for optimizing his ability to atone for his actions as well as prepare him for the next 80 or so years on how to conduct himself as a positive contributing member of society with healthy regard for humanity. If we keep pretending things like this are uncommon, or the feelings/actions leading up to situations like this, are uncommon, then we will continue with societal structures gaslighting ourselves that it is okay to write off a 14-year-old as othered for their next 80 years, without consequences which might serve them and in turn our community.
What am I doing? I do not know. Trying to help facilitate SonHerisme’s transition into a young adult who can transition into a helpful, satisfied, connected, participating member of society who recognizes the humane value of all humans regardless of gender/race/lgtbq-ness etc. I am doing the things of managing two elderly and ill parents and all of the works around those situations. I am trying to figure out how to position myself for my olden times. I have lost about 14 inches of hair (on purpose). I kept knotting the hair onto itself on top of my head like a deranged witch. Over it. Although I continue with the deranged bit by nature. I send money and deliver food locally as I can. I am not enjoying watching my parents’ declines – for different reasons. FatherHerisme is so far away and not in an ideal facility (people are generally kind, but… dudes, have you been in a long term care facility?!!?). MotherHerisme has mentally vanished into a noise-cancelling headphoned world of Asian soap operas, in the middle of my living room. And I… I continue to be juggling all of the things while lost. Lost isn’t quite right – I continue to be something which is an uncommon name, yet entirely common.
Common as in normal. When does something become so common that is it normal? Is there a normal? Should we accept that common as normal? G A H We seem to have with many things. Domestic violence is very common. Is it normal? And if we accept that it is common or normal, would that change how we handle those supremely dangerous and damaging situations? Would it save time, energy, and emotions currently being spent on “OMG can you EVEN” in order to move into actually supporting health? idk peoples
I am thinking that the entire idea of “normal” might be the problem. Is it normal to be molested or emotionally abused as a child in this country? Yes. Is it normal to have bright shiny stretch marks after having a baby or growing quickly? Yes. But we pretend that neither of those things (and many others) are common or normal by shaming, blaming, hiding hush hushing. Because our normal trope is the happy organically fed lovely mannered child dancing in the sunshiney manicured perfectly outfitted public park with beautiful healthy mom, dad, granny, grandad, auntie, uncle etc. Also, no one has stretch marks. If they do, they are lotioned potioned shamed until they are faded or covered up. It is supremely uncomfortable to accept things as they are. Acceptance goes against our very bootstrappynesses. Which we need some of, of course, to challenge ourselves and each other in healthy ways – but have naturally bastardized into the gaslighting denial of shame and blame.
Back to the uncommon name. I do not know if that worm moved on to doing the wormy things of a worm life. I do not know how we would be experiencing this country/world with Hillary as president. I do not know if I am a help or hindrance to SonHerisme’s development. I do not know if I am doing the right things for ParentsHerisme. I do not know if, or how to tell if, I am doing the right things for myself. I have turned some corner, however, where most of the time I just accept how the thing is. If I am doing something right by some standard, then okay, I am. If I am doing something wrong by another standard, then I am. If that makes me a terrible bitch person, then I am. If it makes me seem like an awesome person, then, okay too. What I tend to know most of the time is that whatever centers on, and ultimately comes from, a place of love with healthy boundaries is what I attempt to keep focused on. Even in moments of heavy emotions.
I do know that I love the idea of worms making wormy ways through my garden. I love the idea of reality truths being recognized. I am honored and love being SonHerisme’s guide to launching his own life. I am honored to be tasked with helping my parents, whom I love. I love very dark coffee in my old timey pewter colored Starbucks travel mug with black “leather” attached koozie-ish grasp belt. That mug has seen some things people – many many things, and moves, and vehicles, and airplanes, and places, and whatnots…
I listen to podcasts while working, walking or driving and waiting on SonHerisme. I have books stashed in different places to read – nightstand, cozy chair side table, in the car, and next to the hanging pod chair in the kitchen/mudroom. That’s how I do – how about you? Is this common?
I don’t have a grasp on anything anymore – if I ever did. *concentrates on love and sends some to you* Thank you for sticking with my ramblings. I hope that it brings you comfort in knowing that if you are feeling any of this, you are not alone. Or if you are not feeling any of this, then you can feel some relief in knowing there is someone out here a bit madder than you are so you’re probably okay.
ps do any of you remember the writing I was doing a zillion hawt minute years ago on normal? I wonder if I can find it all again. Was it Being Normal? Becoming Normal? Oh wait – Observing Normal? Adding this to my running task list
pps – for shits and giggles, I have no connection with them so this is just for common bougie fun! UnCommon Goods
How are we doing all of the things? Are we doing all of the things?
I am not. I wish I could be cool, awesome, and put together in a lovely tidy riband package and be a part of the ones getting the things done.
On Pinterest board “Coveted Clothing Items,” I find I have pinned ribbon ruffle pleated smocked things everywhere. I seem to have the packaging eye for myself (which rarely translates outside of the pin), but the getting things done part is a struggle.
The banker man person for FatherHerisme and MotherHerisme would like to visit FatherHerisme in his skilled nursing long-term facility. FatherHerisme is there after snowball medical debacles earlier this year because he needs dialysis 3x week now. He is unable to be reliably transported in a vehicle because his body is so weak, and must be in a facility with onsite dialysis. Do not EVEN ask what the cost for this is because it is INSANELY expensive here. Yet the facility presents as an outdated 1980’s era building… great people but the facility condition is sus. For example, only 1 item may be plugged in at a time in FatherHerisme’s room. He can either use his CPAP or have his iPad plugged in to Facetime us. 1st world problems, but for the amount of $$$$$, it seems like a basic expectation to use multiple outlets in a long term care facility. Maybe I’m Karening (?). Maybe it’s Maybelline. Did any of you use that bright pink/green packaged mascara back in the day? woot woot I haven’t worn mascara for years and years and years. I look like I do not have any eyelashes without it because mine are blondish whiteish. Meh – whatevs – letting it go
The banker man call regarding visiting FatherHerisme reminded me that not only have I not followed up with the tasks he set me, I have not followed up with the attorney about updated POA’s/wills/trusts etc. I have not followed up with MotherHerisme’s appointments or SonHerisme’s orthodontist (He is braces-free but needs a retainer check). I have not cleaned out the Princess Room (home office moniker left over from the days of my little nieces using this room as their own magical sleepover/play area). I have not cleaned out the basement/garage to prepare for remodeling for MotherHerisme. I did not get the play structure removed from the backyard. I have not put a hitch on the back of my car to accommodate a bike rack so that SonHerisme and I could go bike riding. The three things he wanted to do this summer: take a bike ride, go to the beach, paint his room. We never did any of that. Parenting/Daughtering/Humaning fails everywhere I turn. *sigh*
Trudging along then.
Doing the things.
I am determined to accomplish things before I add more to my plate. Is it a recognition of how I am searching for the something, dreaming of the something, imagining the something instead of doing the things? I mean, I’m not a blob doing the nothings of course, because I am a single mom caretaking for an ill parent and trying to manage both ill parents’ affairs… But the inattention to some of the things is truly weighing down on being able to do the things which are important to myself (such as a bike ride with SonHerisme which time is running out on him being interested in it at all).
Dear Doing of the Things,
I wish you oodles of luck with my brain attempting to prioritize in ways which better serve all of us in the ends, middles and beginnings of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years.
Love, me
How do you do the doing of the things beyond what you are doing? Discipline and consistency? Tiny bites? Celebrations? Maybe I need to make a ruffled shirt for inspiration. Fabric and threads are at the ready…
GAH! But the things which need doing are staring at me from my lists. And the weather is so lovely today which makes me think another walk around the park to finish my current listenread (Map of Salt and Stars) might pull rank over all. There are ducks, people! Adorable ducks AND a bell tower AND a fountain! How am I supposed to resist all of that delicious atmosphere just to sit and fill out paperwork, or clean, or ….
Compromise then?
I’ll make three appointment calls, shower/feed MotherHerisme and set her up for the day, send paperwork followup to one waiting agency, iron four napkins (don’t judge me), defrost dinner prep, take some donations to the car to drop off, and then walk in the park. Knee socks and all.
ps There was a bomb threat at one of our local high schools about an hour ago – seems to be fine now, and not SonHerisme’s school. Anywho, good luck brain stuck on hoping none of our kids die at school in the USA today. FFFFFfffff U C K y’all Homeschool is looking really good right now. I do not know how staff are showing up for this bullshit or our kids, frankly. G-d freaking damn. I swear to whatever – we have GOT to get our SHIT together with accountability for violence. JayZeus frickin hells
Etymology is fascinating. Clarification: Etymology is fascinating to me. Way back in the university attending days, I would spend hours reading from a volume of the Oxford English Dictionary. Pulling volumes off of the low thick dark solid wood shelves, I’d carry them over to the giant reading tables to browse. The history of how our language, any language, came to be, is amazing. We pinched the prefix, “trans,” from Latin (Roman Conquerors left more than rape and pillage DNA!) and added onto words (sometimes also from Latin, sometimes not) to indicate “the other side of,” “across,” or “beyond.” Transatlantic. Transgender. Transmute. Transfer. Transsexual. Translate. Transition. Transcendental. You know, words words words.
This summer has been quickslow (etymology none, neologism hopeful). Transitioning things expected having now left our Montessori school home for grades 1 through 8, moving towards a large high school experience. With the additions of continuing COVID, legislative discrimination of all potentially pregnant human people, plus a substantial dose of lack of accountability for openly criminal acts against non-white humans as well as our entire governing structure.
SonHerisme: Momma, you have been very very angry for weeks now. Are you going to be okay?
Me: Really? I am so sorry buddy. I'll try to be more mindful of my moods.
Then I begin to wonder
am I starting menopause?
am I in menopause?
do I have a disease running rampant through my body?
am I losing my mind?
OR
am I really truly feeling the angers about something?
Turns out – I AM ANGRY I am fucking pissed with all of the angers. And also sad. And ashamed that I have not been feeling this angry before it was blatantly directed at me.
It happens as predicted. Until they come for you, you feel all of the self congratulatory feelings of being a part-time activist ally who can take off that hat at any time, and rest your head so gently until you feel called again. When they come for you, there is no one left to help you because you stood by as others were persecuted.
This has been a summer of transition.
SonHerisme is now 14 and has so much more control over contact with MrexH. Words cannot express the deep transcendental soul relief I felt on his birthday this year. SonHerisme is 6’2″ and full of all of the teenagernesses which make him appear to be 17/18 years old. Inside, he is my sweet little hawkie-bat superhero wild turkey puffin bear. Outside, he is relishing the powerful body he has been given by sportsing it up all over the place. He still feels supported by the helpers around him (thank goodness). He held his “Bans off our Bodies,” “Abortion is Health Care,” signs as high as he could, chanting as loudly as he could, outside of our courthouse. He has his “Black Lives Matter,” “LGBTQ,” and, “People of Quality Do Not Fear Equality,” posters, shirts, and he displays them, wears them etc. He is very aware that his buddies are treated differently – and sometimes he is as well. He identifies with his Hispanic heritage from MrexH (which I found out this summer through one of our deep conversations). He has been able to maintain friendships with girls, boys – a few non-binary, and one transitioning.
These kids know that all humans deserve humane consideration. When a black boy is murdered by police, these kids know it is one of them, and they might be next. When a mass shooting happens, these kids know it has affected someone like them, and they might be next. When a kid is targeted or mocked by an adult for being gay, black, Hispanic, a girl in shorts, they know it is one of them being targeted or mocked, and they group together to protect their peers.
Many times I have sat down to complete my thoughts over this summer and failed. I feel myself transitioning. No – transitioning is too much pressure. I am much more able to feel realities of transience through time.
Today is SonHerisme’s first day of High School. It will be interesting to see his take on how transformative this experience will be for his curiosity, life goal planning, and adventures. He’s already been thrown a loop by not making it onto the soccer team. He worked so hard for it, but the coach painfully cut him in the final 2 spots. He is considering playing for a club outside of school that he played for before. He is considering continuing with tennis outside of school. He is considering filling a vacant position with the High School Marching Band. He is considering trying rugby with a club outside of school. Maybe we should become transient-scholars. Traveling the world, online school… on whose dime though? *sigh* Be still little imaginations and let the checklists rule for just a bit longer please and thank you.
The world is open to SonHerisme’s transformation pivots while he practices more and more on becoming the adult he wishes to be. I am the groupie guide teenagering/adulting translation support navigation system he will require less on some days and more on others. I have failed him in many areas, and come through for him in many areas. This is a heavy transition for both if us – gently gently with our bittersweet bruised-into-determination souls.
It is time to embrace the quickslow. The quickslow will happen embraced or not, natch.
I need to move forward into the habits/person/parent/momma that my teenagering High School newborn baby giant puffin muffin baby bear needs. As well as the habits and attention I need for my own self once he truly launches out into the world.
I am… always myself, which rarely translates into anything that I predict. So there’s that. Here’s hoping for the best then! For all of us to allow the space for transformation in this transitiony time of year 🙂
Be kind to school staff, walkers, bikers, school bussers, and fellow car-line peoples (as well as the oddly knee-socked lady wandering the downtown park… she is me and I am fully aware of how ridiculous I look but needs must).
AAAAAAaaaaaand, we’re off! Transients through existence if nothing else.
ps I also observe that while we have culturally decided that COVID is not a thing anymore, people continue to be infected, re-infected, become very ill, and suffer long-term issues. It looks like we are a-okay with that overall. Science and statistics say, “WARNING DANGER!” CDC and we say, “meh, whatevs.” Good luck with that as well. Transridiculousious…
High School side note: I went to the open house evening at the High School. It was free-form glee for these kiddos. The doors opened and everyone moved into the cafeteria, located their counselor (by last name) to receive their schedules and disperse on the adventure of walking their schedule or visiting club stations in the cafeteria. Staff were in the hallways to help kids find their classrooms, answer questions, and give navigation advice. Teachers were waiting at their classroom doors or inside their rooms to greet students/parents, answer questions, and provide supply expectations. I wanted to hug and thank every staff member there. It was all very sweet, vulnerable, and open. My goodness how times have changed from my long ago days of being a High School student. Good luck, staff! Good luck, students! Good luck, sweet tiny giant SonHerisme! Happy back-to-schooling y’all! Bittersweet brokenhealing quickslow transient times.
HERISME 