Poverty? Generosity? Are they so terribly different?

Today I have been dwelling on my Dad's American dream. and just on my Dad. The man that I miss immeasurably. My dad was a generous man. Money sort of just sifted through his fingers, whether he was helping others or financing something he thought he "needed." Or a biggie of late, something he felt would help him on the farm. But money management was never his strong suit. If he had it, he spent it. If he didn't have it, he would find a way to get it, so he also spent it. Well, this is a habit that is deeply ingrained in me. Sometimes the one I am being generous to is myself. Right out of my bill paying income. Ugh. This is a curse. But it was a gift from a man who I found to be extremely gifted and generous. And I do not think his generous spirit was or is in any way, shape or form, a curse. It was a gift. But sometimes it cost him more than financially savvy people would have spent (emotionally, physically or fiscally). So my head really knows that I would be better off if I could learn a more responsible management of money. But money, in my book, is a means. And therefore has no value in and of itself. So it doesn't stay. Ever. It just sifts through my fingers like sand. But what I never knew until about five years ago, when I started really listening to my friend and pOVERty expert, Rebecca Lewis-Pankratz, is that this is a fairly common trait among those of us in poverty. Because we live with a poverty mindset. "Spend it before it's gone." Or... "we will be without again soon enough, enjoy it while it lasts." So you can see how this works against the very idea of getting out of poverty. Because when you spend it before it is gone, it is gone sooner than if you would have waited. And then the cycle of living without is perpetuated. But let me say this, myself, and people like me, we stimulated the economy with out stimulus checks. People in poverty know how to spend money! We ain't puttin' that away for if we need it! We need it! And we need it now. So in recapping: people like myself, who have lived any length of time below certain income levels (or who have been raised with this certain train of thought about money), we are the spenders, the givers, the crazy-generous people. We give gifts, we buy dinners, we have too many pets and we have toys that our kids don't play with (like the trampoline in my backyard). We are also the behinders. Behind on the gas bill, behind on the rent, behind on payment plans, behind our more progressive neighbors who have nicer lawns, more curb appeal, more middle-class-looking homesteads. And we are, at some point, the desperate. Desperate for a loan, a few bucks, for help getting out of the muck of our financial destitution. And truly: need breeds scarcity. Which perpetuates the ole cycle. Because now that I am in desperate times, I can feel the pressure building as I don't have the cash-flow or the freedom to be generous, to spend lavishly, to reward myself for being a relatively good human. And *BOOM*! Money comes in and I explode all my best laid plans in order to fill the need to give, to get, to spend. And just like that. It's gone again. And begins the cycle again.

So what I want you to know is this....

We (I) can change this. But it is not a simple choice. It IS a choice. But there is nothing simple or easy about it. It isn't likely that one day I'll wake up and say, "today is the day I am financially responsible" and it magically happens. One way I know how difficult this is, is because I say this to myself about once a month and I get really serious about it at least twice a year. So far, it's a no-go. I know that in order to change my chemical dependency and SO (significant other) dependency, I had to get really, really, REALLY miserable. I think this is the same. But so far, I can only be "good" and refrain from my spending habits for about so long and then I just say "chuck it" (and if you believe that is my phrasing, you should probably read yesterday's post which held a different level of transparency and honesty and will bring you up to speed) and I reward myself for being so good for so long. All my hard work is just chucked.

Why tell you all this? Well, because it is part of my story for one. And it is part of something bigger, some part of the whole class/hidden-rules/poverty/trauma cycle. I will connect more dots tomorrow. Today just know, that I appreciate you all for your love and generosity, and I will happily give you gifts of money or time or both or either.  When I have those commodities, they are for sharing. Can I get an Amen?

The spur of a Smalltown as a Hometown

I have been thinking on the paths my life has taken. And the struggle to get to where I am today. And how it just continues to be a struggle. Always on the struggle bus. I am aware that it is mostly up to me to change this. I also know there are some deeper social dynamics at work beneath the surface. Sometimes I wonder how I ever became so impassioned about poverty for one and racism for two. I mean, I'm white. I came from a home where my family lived the American dream. My Dad was the primary bread winner. We owned our home. We generally had money for extras. Except for the one year that we didn't. Have money. For extras or basics. That was a tough year. But my Dad had a good reputation as a hard worker and he could almost always secure a loan, draw money from his business, or find some way to generate cash flow so we could live the life, the American Dream.

So seriously....

I believe that one reason is that I'm an Empath. And I use that term loosely because I am not exactly sure what that means. But I am a person who feels things very deeply. Everything is personal. Things that many, that elusive group of folks I call "normal people (or Normies)," do not take personal. And I ache deep in my soul for people that society casts a less than favorable light on. I walk their path. It feels like their pain happened to me. Which is overwhelming. To me. To others. It makes me odd. (And I'm okay and secure today with my Odd-ness). It makes me it hard to develop and maintain friendships. Because I might be smothering while I'm living and feeling and experiencing your life with/for you. Your pain is my pain, your loss is my loss, and I feel it to my core, in my bones. But your success is always (cautiously) my success. An added bonus is that you now have a cheerleader for life. And there's pretty much nothing you can do to stop me from caring about you, cheering for you, praying for you. forever. Good or bad. Normal or creepy. And it is a bit on the creepy side of things. I'm kinda like your shadow now.

Okay. I wrote so poignantly above about how we were basically living the American Dream when I was a kid. But we were also people on the fringe. We lived in a small town and you can never really outrun your past in a small town. Not only that, but your family's past. You may be on the up and up, but if your father's father's great-grandfather did something to upset the members of your church (affiliating with a church was not a bonus when I was growing up.... you could belong to a church as a member, by past affiliation, or you could be viewed as heathens/evil/lost souls); it was part of your identity. So if you were, perhaps, one of those damn Sudermans, you were locked in to that. Yes, my last name was once Suderman, like Superman, only not as super. So you can accept this, or fight it. I was a fighter. I still am. And the truth is, not everything in life is meant to be a fight. But it has also served me well.

I didn't know I was one of "those" Sudermans as a young kid. But I did as I got older. My 7th grade math teacher would tell tales about my dad in class, as did my Algebra teacher, and my shop teacher. With the shop teacher being the biggest one. He let me know that he had his eye on me because he had been my dad's teacher and he had experienced my dad's ornery side, the adventuresome side. And my Dad may or may not have caused a welding table (which was made of steel pipe and very heavy) to jump and flip upside down. I happen to think it's a funny story now. Okay, I have always thought it was funny. I identified with my Dad's orneriness. Still do. But there was also an air of judgment to the story that I would never have the ability to overcome.

I was supposedly accepted by the "good kids;" the church kids, the members of the same church that I grew up in. But I and my bestie, we connected at a young age, we were the entertainment of the group. And I remember how they would laugh at us. I remember being singled out and asked to participate, just so they would have someone to scapegoat, blame, laugh at. Yeah, I was one of those damn Sudermans. It hurt my heart. It still does. When I think of how we were treated as kids, I just want to burn down the whole damn town. And there's a whole lot of "Fuck 'em" in my life today. I find it sad and oddly satisfying that I spend a vast about of time giving the finger to my hometown. Haha, I succeeded. Haha, I have obtained a fucking Masters degree. Haha.... and so it goes. A lot of my accomplishments are done one handed so my other hand can fly the bird.

I have rambled on long enough for this day. But there is more. SO much more. This conversation/monologue is not over. I have scratched the surface of who I am today. A flag flyer. A rebel. An F-you'er. An empath. A feeler. Everything I do is controlled by how it feels. So I will dive in more. However, my soul can only dive so deep and I cannot stay submerged for too long. I will die down there.

Spring Ballad

Listening this morning
as the rain hits the grass;
as the birds twitter and chat
back and forth to each other.

I listen to the sound of the squirrels
scolding
mankind and fowl and beast.

The orchestra of the birds
with the catcall of the Whippoorwill,
the melodic song of the Robin,
and the bright and beautiful song of the cardinal.
What a magical tune,
wafting through the morning air.

The smell of the rain
and wet grass.

The grey, overcast sky.
Singing it's tune of melancholy,
but yet
there is renewal, rebirth, resurgence
in its soggy song.

Today I listen
to the choir of the season
and the orchestra of its occupants.

Experiencing the open-window morning.
The cool breeze.
The songs of the birds
and the counter-chatter of the squirrels.
Damp.
Soft.
Spring.

Chaos in Childhood does not make for organization in adulthood

Living in chaos. I grow up in chaos. And escapism. And a vicious cycle ensued. I learned early that Dad was easy and Mom was.... well, a boyscout troop leader, I had better be prepared. For anything at any time. So let me say this before I proceed... today I know that it is up to me to move through this and beyond. Today I know that my Mom was/is not evil. Today I remember a lot of truly wonderful things about my childhood that only my Mom could have given me. So read this for what it is, and try not to read too much between the lines.

Today I know about how trauma affects the brain. And how deep those veins run. And I know that I only lived what I knew for a long, long time. I vacillate between regret that I distanced myself from my family and regret that I didn't do that sooner. I missed out. On some things that I never wanted to miss out on. Time with my Dad for instance.

But I also know today that I needed some space to learn to find models that I wanted to be like. I had to then submerge myself in their lives. Because I could say I wanted something different, but I didn't know how to achieve it. Today I know that the world judges me by my actions, not my words.

But I digress....

Childhood. Chaos. Organization. Me. None.

I. do. not. have. the. organization. gene.

What I do have though is a lot of survival skills. Bullshitery 101. Always be quick on your feet. With a reply, with a word, a smile, a monologue. Whatever it takes. To act like an intelligent, integral part of society. Even though I may feel like a fraud on the inside. Feeling like I will never actually know what it is that I'm supposed to know. This is generally not true. Because not only am I adept at adaptation to my surroundings, I am genuinely pretty smart. But most of the time, I don't know it. As I type it, I know it on some sort of intellectual level, but it is still missing on a deeply embedded heart level.

Another thing that I have going for me is ADD. I know you can't tell, since my writing is neatly categorized and organized into paragraphs that make sense. Okay, I also live with a fair amount of denial.

There are some interesting facts about the science of childhood trauma and how the brain develops. A brain raised on cortisol is not the same as a brain raised with "normal" levels of the stress hormone. I would love to know how much ADD/ADHD originates from trauma at an early age.

See that. Bunny trails. Who would have ever known?

Oh, and I also have sarcasm on my side. That was probably buried pretty deep as well, hidden from you, the dear reader.

What I know today is that I am going to try to clean in here. And it scares me and terrifies me and overwhelms me.  All at once. Everything all at once. *heavy sigh* I already know that I am going to get stuck, that I am currently procrastinating my little heart out, and that I will be exhausted very soon. Oh gosh, yes. I am exhausted just thinking about it.

So I was planning to write about how chaos in childhood affected my ability to parent, but this took a completely different turn. As writing often does. In my world, it is a beast of it's own and I can harness it's power, but I cannot tame it or control it. Today I know I am unorganized, unable to just decide it and then magically become organized, and that there is hope to methodically and slowly plod toward a future that is less chaotic, more organized.

So this is what I will trudge toward today.

Rant number 1023: Is it really all about free choice?

Going off on a crazy rant. I realized yesterday how stir crazy things are getting here. And I got off on a huge rant with my friend. It was a little bit like this....

Him: I believe that choice should come before conception. I mean, everyone can choose. Choose birth control of some kind, not abortion.

Me: Not everyone can choose. Not everyone lives in rural Kansas, and maybe even people who do, don't get to resources all the time that provide birth control. What about this?

And here is where I went on a longish tirade.

What about 10, 11, 12 year old girls living in the projects who have someone coming into their rooms at night? And their family can't afford to live without said person? Do you really think they are going to the school counselor to ask for birth control? Do you really think they are going to stop the man who is getting ready to take advantage of the them and say, "hey, I got these condoms from school, let's use birth control tonight."? Now, I use the idea of poverty and government-financed  housing projects as a stereotypical situation. Because guess what? These kinds of situations happen in good ole rural Kansas also. Sometimes it really is not the situation that the woman, the mom, the one who is supposed to protect the children, just chooses a man over her kids. Sometimes, most times, there is so much there. I am not advocating for this kind of situation. I am saying these women need us to love them. And their girls (and boys for that matter), they need us to know that they don't necessarily (not always) want to be separated from the only family they know. That when they are "rescued" to foster care and ripped apart from their siblings and "parents" that they are traumatized. That being one step away from being out of a place to live, out of any resources for food, out of transportation, is very real for some. That sometimes Moms do things that break their hearts as they do it. That not everything is a "choice" as we portray it in or hands-off, no sense of community, live-next-to-our-neighbor-for-years-and-never-even-learn-their-names society.

I have gone from a far-right, mouthy, opinionated point of view about life in general, including abortion, poverty, police brutality, and much more; to a sliding further and further to the left side of a "political" view of things. My stance isn't really so much of "let everyone do all the things" as it is, "there are few, if any, situations presented to us in life that are as simple as what presents on the surface." And my constant question is: What lies beneath this?

Is abortion a poverty issue? Not solely. But is our broken societal system perpetuating a problem bigger than a woman's right to choose? Definitely. Do I think this is a smallish, Popsicle-sized little sliver of ice beneath the surface? No. I think this buried iceberg could sink any ship. There is so much going on below the surface. A broken economic system. A broken justice system. Systemic racism. Broken church systems. Ignorance in society. A widening gap in classes. A caste system. These are a few portions of the foundation of this particular iceberg. And I don't see a basic change happening here any time soon. Because it will take more than a village, it will take a nation, looking for change, voting for change, marching for change, getting on our knees for change, putting in the blood, sweat and tears for change. It will require a paradigm shift.

So I am only one person. Where will this change come from? I believe it will come from one person at a time, opening their mind, reserving judgment, and finding out what lies beneath the surface of the issues that we have always seen as black and white (as in black, white, and grey areas; not referring to race issues right here). But as a fairly privileged white person, I do know that many things have a racial element to them. Oh, that sounds so clean, nice, white. I know that racism, prejudice, and ignorance, drive the actions of many people in power and many opinions of the commoner. There, is that more to the point? I hope you get where I am coming from.

Rant is not over. But this *little* rant, exhausted me. There will be more to come. I don't know when, but it would come bubbling out again soon. I do know this.

Princess or Villain. Either one is the victim.

Once upon a time in Neverland, there lived a girl who was both a princess and a villain. Her name was Carina.

While her parent bestowed love and lavish praise on her in some instances, there were many, many rules. Hidden rules. Rules that the princess didn't know she had broken until she was villainized by the parent. This was confusing. The princess became more adaptable. She learned to be at the ready, to interpret the signs, to smell the winds of change. The little princess began to know how to maneuver the hidden rules and to survive. She adapted. But not without a cost. You see, the adaptation was to be ready for anything. Which leads to living life in survival and being ruled by the fight, flight, freeze part of the brain. This also signals the body to make more cortisol. The longer you live in this part of the brain, the more your body just keeps producing cortisol. Stress hormone. And for one thing, this is exhausting. For another thing, it impairs the ability to think through things rationally. It is amazing though, how well a person can adapt and play the part of a sound thinking human while in survival. Kids who live in fear of abuse do it all the time. Teachers see it everyday. Little Carina, princess in training, was living in fear and chaos. And did I mention fear? Sometimes this presents in making decisions that leave not only the person making the decision scratching their head, but also the people around them. And those beloved adults are wondering and saying to the child, "What happened?!" "What were you thinking?!" Well, they weren't. Thinking. Their brain just did something crazy without their permission and they are going to need help navigating back to a better place. A safer place. But this is where they are often misunderstood and left to their own coping skills (or the lack thereof). And so it was for Princess Carina.

She is left in her kingdom with a lot of power. Power = responsibility. Responsibility to entertain herself, to stretch her knowledge, to learn new things.  She has a responsibility to amaze the queen. And she can mostly manage to pull this off, even though she lives her life at the ready. Ready for anything.

But villainous Carina is always there. Always lurking. Ready to just say "chuck it" and do something crazy. There are those times that, if the punishment is coming, she makes sure that a crime has been committed.

The moral of this tale is this: Controlling violence is powerful for the victim (I mean villain), and provoking violence is better than waiting in fear of not knowing when the wind will change.

A letter to a defiant teen

Dearest Child,

For you...I am grateful; I am proud; I am in awe.

But I am also grief stricken. It breaks my heart to fight with you. It baffles me to think of where it all could have possibly gone wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong. Where I stopped putting my foot down and being your parent. And what makes you think that if I don't speak or make a plan that lives up to your pie-in-the-sky standards, that I am not the adult in the house? My precious child, this is not the truth. All it means is that you don't like how I parent. It means you are not getting what you want, the way that you want it. Refusing to engage in drama is not me being dramatic as you have suggested. It is me declining your invitation to the chaos. It is me, trying really hard to not parent like I have and let you get away with anything and everything, and trying not to go back to some deeply ingrained violent tendencies. So I am lost. What I've been doing isn't working, what I haven't been doing is not working and what I was so good at for so long certainly isn't a valid option. So I am at a profound loss. Which is not weakness. So please stop pouncing on me as if it is. I am not displaying weakness. I am pausing because I don't know what to do, and praying for a solution to present itself. What you consider to be an eternity is merely a minute dear child. In the grand scheme of life, it is a flicker, a moment. Perhaps you cannot simply "be patient." But you also do not have the power to speed up time or get results in making demands of the gods. So we are stuck here. I do not know what the next chapter will look like, but it will hopefully not be the same chapter we have read so many times already.

But the expectation is that we will discuss and negotiate (?) when I set the time. Not in your time. Not during your meal time, or mine. I deserve to eat my meal when it is hot and fresh, the same as you do.

While you are free to judge me, my decisions, what you perceive my feelings to be, what you feel my shortcomings are. You are not free to bestow those judgments upon me. You do not have the right to share these and to stand in judgment, and attempt to take over the position of leader. You are not the leader here, whether or not you think my leadership is shit or shinola. Either one. I am still the captain, the queen, the PARENT. And my parenting decisions are subject to the state of Kansas and the laws and statutes therein, and also subject to the laws of God. I am still responsible to God for how I raise you and teach you and love you. And the truth is, it is heavy responsibility. It shouldn't be taken lightly. Not now. Not ever.

Child of mine, I love you. So much more than you can possibly perceive. But we are at a dangerous crossroads. A place where we have to decide our future. And for me, that is daunting. Frightening even. Because every time I cave to your demands, your wishes, I am taking so many steps back in this dance and encouraging the current conditions of entanglement and chaos. So the pause is a decision. A decision to value myself. To wait. To listen to the powers that are greater than me to find a new way of acting and responding. To stop reacting in my vulnerability.

So make no mistake. Do not take my silence for weakness. The pause for insecurity. I am sure that I want change. I am sure it is worth pausing for. I am sure I am competent.

love,
your MOTHER

New Normal. New Life?

The weather has been balmy, beautiful, Spring-like. Therefore, I have been tiedying to my hearts content. But today, the cold front has come in like the force of nature that it is. I have been contemplating just what might be next for me in life. How am I going to tap into my artsy side in a way that makes me a living wage? What am I going to do? Will I teach again? Will I launch a craft business? Will I tiedye? Go back to school.... again? Finish my Master of Education in Building Leadership? Add a Preschool endorsement to my degree? What do I want to do? What calling will I follow? What will I pursue? So many things to consider....

What will I chase besides my tail? Hmmm?

Today is Easter Sunday. Resurrection Sunday. The first day of a brighter future. How will I make this personal to me today?

Is it Magic? Is it Badassery?

Badassery 101: "Growth ain't for weenies, but it's nowhere near as painful as living the life you're living right now if you're not really going for it. If you want to take control of your life and turn it into something spectacularly "you"... stop at nothing. Have faith. Trust that your new life is already here and is far better than the old....Whatever happens, stay the course, because there's nothing cooler than watching your entire reality shift into one that is the perfect expression of you." -You are a Badass daily calendar 2020.

Today's reading, while good, was not awe-inspiring. It pairs nicely with this one though. Today's reading says "Our thoughts are the most powerful tools we've got."

So if I am wallowing in my depression, I am not thrilled to think that my thoughts are a tool or that they are powerful and especially not "the most powerful." But if I first read the previous quote (it is from April 1st, by the way), not only do I want to REALLY go for it, but I also know my thoughts are my most powerful tool in the toolbox. This is kind of like the current thought of changing your perspective from "stuck at home" to "safe at home." Change one little word and everything is different. Well, in the case of the badass quotes, it's not one little word, but more of a stand alone theory. When I read "our thoughts are the most powerful tools we've got" by itself, it is completely subjective to my current state of mind as to how encouraging or motivational it really is. But if I first find something (in this case a previous reading that struck a deep chord) inspiring and motivating, then these words give courage and are a respected measuring stick. It's not that they don't ring true when I am not positive, motivated, and going for it, they are still very true. But it's about just how true and powerful my thoughts are when I am already held captive by them.  It is this knowledge that terrifies and paralyzes. I hate mental paralysis. I live with a lot of it though. A LOT.

So when my thoughts are held captive by depression or despair, it is an important step to first acknowledge it, But then I need to search for the gentle encouragement that will unlock my mind and my soul. And persist. Much badassery happens for those who do not give up.

This is where the magic happens.

This Damn Virus

So yesterday I wore a bandanna to the store. Can you say.... "awkward"? Weird. Uncomfortable. Did I say awkward? Even embarrassing. And when I went to the pharmacy, the person at the register wouldn't even make eye contact. More awkwardness. And neither would other shoppers. Except the ones that laughed. Even people I know. *sigh* I like to think I beat to my own drum and do what I think is right and good and appropriate. But it was overwhelming.

Here's the deal people. The mask really isn't about me. It's about a lot of allergy drainage, a slight cough, sneezes. I've had this going on for a week now. Probably no biggie. I mean, it is Kansas, and I get allergy/pollen alerts all the freakin' time. But what about how my daughter also has these allergy symptoms. And how her intimate circle (her socially isolated circle) included some friends who have one who is extremely vulnerable and would not have what it takes to beat the Coronavirus. Or, as I have taken to saying-- "This Damn Virus." What about when the sore throat and cough started and we tell our friends about it and we were all fear stricken. What about my 78 year old mother who says she's not scared of this virus because she is "pretty tough." Yes, I know, you are a tough old bird Mom. But we just planted my dad in the ground. We lost him less than a month ago. And he really WAS the toughest person I have ever come in contact with. My Dad fought his way back to the world of the living from more different tragedies than anyone I have ever heard of. And he did not get this damn virus, he died from another poison in his brain. But to think that I could have possibly contracted and passed along THIS damn virus to my mother, who is grieving, and therefore doesn't have as resilient of an immune system as she would otherwise, and we could lose her. Well, that is downright scary. And sickening. It is heavy. HEAVY. Because just selfishly speaking, my sister and I cannot face another loss right now.

But this morning I went to retrieve the items that we failed to pick up yesterday. And I went to the store knowing that I am a possible threat to others and that I should cover my mouth and nose. But I didn't. I just wanted to duck in and duck out. Under the radar. And no one snickering.

I found myself extremely irritated with those who didn't bother with the 6' guideline. Like the vendor with the tea and such for the coolers by the self-checkout. She stood there, chatting with the self-checkout person and blocking the entrance. She says, "Oh, you can go around me, they are all open." I held my tongue. But why. Why did I do that? What didn't I ask her to give me 6 feet?

I want to tell you now brave and noble I am. But I am driven by other people and the need to be accepted. Even though I am still beating to my own drum. *sigh*

P.S. I hate. I hate. I HATE this DAMN VIRUS! I hate it. Almost as much as I hate that damn Nocardia bacteria that murdered my Dad.

It only takes a spark

This morning I am thinking about ALL the things. I woke up NOT encouraged and no glimmers of hope pulsing through my veins as it was yesterday. But I also have "Here Comes the Sun" going through my head. This overcast sky is killing my vibe. Ugh. But I have believed since this began that this tragedy/stand-still was an opportunity for me. A glorious opportunity. To write, to read, to craft, to discover, to clean, to sell, to move, to gain (and I am gaining, but just pounds, I am not gaining on the demons who lurk in the shadows). So there. In all of this lies a flicker. A tiny glimmer of the hope. Hope that today I will push onward. I will not give in the compulsion to sit in the chair and just watch life pass me by. I will be a participant. A reluctantly willing participant. I feel a kindling now. That spark seems to have lit something. A glowing swell of hope, anticipation and optimism.

Oh, THERE you are Mr. Sunshine

Today the gray and shapeless drab that is this March weather-- even though April has begun-- is beating me down. Today I woke and thought, today is the day that I beat the funk back into submission. But it has not happened yet. You see, I have this allergy drainage in my throat and the fear of COVID in my heart. Please don't comment or message me about how if I have faith I don't need to fear. I don't say this because I don't believe it, but because sometimes believing something in theory doesn't help the issue in real time. How do I live without fear? Without feeling panic stricken? I do know someone my age who didn't make it through this COVID-19 thing. But I also am not in a high risk age group and I don't have an allergy diagnosis, so I should probably be able to slog my way through it. That isn't even what strikes fear in my heart. Even though, lets be honest, I am a big chicken and I hate being sick, I whine and carry on, and don't forget, I also moan and I groan. What strikes actual bone-chilling, reason-killing, panic-inducing fear is my kid who is vulnerable to every freaking respiratory illness that comes down the pike. And she has that cough too. THAT. That is what makes my blood run cold. And I don't want to fear. But I'm also not okay. Which makes it harder to focus on the good, the great, the beautiful. Because those things are still there. In spite of my current sense of being out of control. There is still a lot of good in the world. I find it interesting that I feel compelled to focus on this. I wanted to just pound out a ton of sadness and grief and purge my soul. But my heart and my head are determined to say, "yes, you are going through the shit at this moment, but did you notice...." This is a piece of my Dad. I never really noticed this before... that we each had this quality. But he focused on the things that made him happiest. And it was people. Family. Blood-related family, step-family, heart family, heavenly family, spiritual family. The list was long. So I have to give a pause and think, what are the things that make me happy.

These are the things that make me happy:

• Piddling around on projects: art projects, crafty stuff, drawing and painting.
• Tie-dye
• Writing
• Family
• immediate family
• "step" family (not really, there are no steps to our family, if you're in, you're in)
• "adopted" family (maybe not in the legal sense)
• family of friends
• fellowship friends
• extended family/family of origin 
• Pets
• guinea pigs
• puppy dogs (yes, they are forever puppies, just like my children are my babies)
• chicks 
• Coffee and dessert

Whacked out Wednesday

Today is Wednesday. Today does not feel like the first day of the rest of my life. Although the optimism that usually wakes in me in the mornings would say that. But morning is almost over and I'm ready to declare an extended Spring Break and a day of "rest." I think that is called "letting the depression win." Ugh.

So why is today so whacked? Well, let's start with how I had a cough last night. And it hasn't shone its ugly face since I got up, but it shook me up as well as it made my chest hurt. I'd like to say I'm not living in fear, but...

Today we ventured out. We bought some baby chicks. I wonder if it was the dumbest thing I have ever done. But surely not. I have wanted chickens for a long time now. So today we are committed to raising chickens. Because it is bad form to just bring the sweet little chickies home and ditch them in a week or two, or a month. So now we're farmers. Or are we ranchers? I dunno. But we have plenty of livestock. lol. Dogs, and guinea pigs and chickens. So here's the brood.

All 4 of them.

Goldie, Stripes (aka Duck), and Fluffer Nutter.

                             

  

This little layer is Goldie Hawn.

      

This chickie is That's So Raven

This is Stripes (also currently known as Duck)

    So today I put a frame on my facebook profile picture that says, "Staying home saves lives."And I feel bad about posting it. Because I still go to the store. And I go to places. I venture out to get things. Like chicks. So am I really staying home then? And I am so, so grateful for essential workers. I am super grateful for people who run the grocery store, run the curbside pick up, the pharmacy, the drive-thru at the fast food places. Thank you. Thank you for keeping me somewhat sane. Retail, grocery, Medical. Thanks for keeping me alive. You rock. So my profile frame, it's for idiots like me who go out in this pandemic and who expose themselves to you, the essential workers. So I know it is important to stay home, and I know that not everyone has the option. But for people who could stay home, please just stay home. If those of us who can stay home, do stay home, fewer of our essential workers get hit with this. And so that we don't pass it to anyone else. Or everyone else. We can be transmittable for 7-10 days before we show symptoms. The fewer times we venture out, the better. Essential or non-essential.