New Phone, Who Dis?

The screen on my phone cracked the other day.  It's the first phone I've had that happen to. *KNOCK WOOD but who are we kidding?*   To be fair, it wasn't even in my possession.  I left it on the back of the station wagon with the mail and it slowly slid off onto the gravel drive.  Well done, me.

I was trying to justify getting a new one by thinking that I needed a new phone anyway. Mine is relatively old, slow and tired.  The memory is full of hundreds of photos, videos, and downloaded songs.  It's way time for a replacement.  But phone upgrades are never free and that annoys me.

I'm having separation anxiety; because like I wrote previously, a phone isn't just a simple phone anymore.  It has my life on it.

Samsung has an app that transfers nearly everything, with the exception of texts, from one phone to another. I used it last time but was disapponted to lose texts.  Sigh.  I use texts to remind myself of things. I like looking back through them.  It's the modern day letter writing, on a much smaller scale

And photos.  I have eleventy hundred photos on my phone.  Sure, I take a lot for the Insta (Kellwynn93, if you dig pretty pictures) but I have photos of the family, from racing, of Lucy.  I even  have a photo file to remind me of stuff like which toothbrush or oil to buy.  Culling through those (Even Though they are backed up to Google Photos) is just not even something I want to do, like, ever.

For example...this weekend I had a little over 1400 photos on my phone.  I KNOW, I have issues. We were thinking about going racing so I deleted some to make room.  Now there is "only" 964 in the MAIN album.  Yes, of course I have my photos organized in albums on my phone.  It's like you don't know me.

It seems silly to transfer everything to a shiny new phone because I'm having issues letting go of things.  But I'm totally probably going to do just that.

And this is most definitely First World Problems that I have no right to be whining about. I realize.
But that isn't going to stop me. It's exhausting setting up a new phone, even with the easy peasy app.  Passwords...those are my nemesis; especially since requirements are increasing.  Downloading apps and setting backgrounds and font sizes so I can see it, and choosing a ringtone again and...and...and...

Luckily, the crack isn't super visible or inconvenient.  I can ignore it for a while longer until I gear myself up to go get a new phone.  (and we're ignoring the cost, thank you)

*PAUSE*

Kevin convinced me to get a phone.  He knows I've been a whole mood and hoping this maybe might help.  Shiny, new things usually do.  I now have a brand new google phone.  As if the universe heard my whining anxieties, everything will transfer easy peasy, including texts.  Contented sigh.

Oh, mind you, I'm still pissy and resentful about installing apps and remembering passwords. But I'm doing it while holding a shiny new toy so that improves my attitude.  And I'm not pissy and resentful enough to Write Down said passwords for future use. That's just silly talk right there.

And I bet Kevin I wouldn't ask for IT assistance from the store so I will win, regardless of the cost, snot, and/or tears. A bet is a bet.

It didn't take long, relatively, and with minimal cursing.  Any mistakes were due to my impatience and short attention span.  In fact in preparation for this project, I put on Sirius  and tried to concentrate only on the phone but that didn't last long.  I had to start dinner, which made me think of laundry, and the soap dispenser was empty, and and and.  While doing this, I also discovered that the WiFi box needs replacing BECAUSE OF COURSE IT DOES.

So far, I am not in love with my phone, only in like. One like: I discovered that the music and speakers makes my old phone sound like it was playing from a tin can with a string.  Like AND Dislike: it is more simple so just that is panic inducing: where is the? oh, here it is.

It has a fingerprint lock that takes some getting used to. The funny thing is that I set it up with my left hand so it's fine if I'm just living my life.  But if I'm in the car...and yes, I know that you're not supposed to use your phone but LIFE HAPPENS...I can't operate my phone at all because I can't unlock it.  I have to think it's the universe protecting me from being a knucklehead.

If you need me, I will be frowning and lightly muttering at my phone until I get it figured out.  And maybe deleting some photos. Maybe. Don't push.

Epilogue:

So I just traded in my new phone for a new phone.  This is where I FULLY ACKNOWLEDGE my privilege.

I hate the photo management on the google phone and it's non-cooperation with the camera.  I will get my nerd on for just a second: instead of having a photo gallery on my phone and built-in photo editing app, google puts everything into the cloud and...well, that's kinda it.  Photo editing is some ethereal thing that I could find but then it saved the photo...somewhere?...not in the cloud, that is for sure.  Photos are stored on the cloud so dependent upon internet connection, which is inconsistent where I live and in Canada. So no bueno.

A person can download an app to fix this problem but you pay for the app AND the add-ons or you have ad-based apps which aren't worth it, to me.  So, yes, I paid significantly more for something that was kind of solvable by downloading an app.  I did the research first, trust me.  And oh: shush.

HOWEVER, and I don't know how to explain this: the phone just didn't feel right. It didn't fit right in my hand.  I think partially because I've had a samsung phone since forever and maybe that feeling would have waned.  My old phone felt sturdy and this one constantly felt like I was going to drop it or fold it in half or something.

I had decided to just pout my way though my problems...because that always works.  But when Kevin put on his patient, "stop being stubborn" tone, I decided to listen.  I do so much with my camera and to not have it perfect was just not worth it to me.  And yes, the salesperson was a little befuddled with my decision.  As he should be.

And my karma was that I had to wait for a long time for everything to transfer because I STILL haven't culled my photos.

Oh, and one more thing: on the samsung  a certain emoji looks like a cute, coy smile but on the google phone it looks like an eye-roll. Yikes. So that made for an awkward text clarifying that I wasn't eyerolling someone.  I'm rubbish at texting, as evidence shows.

So, now we can move on with your lives. My first world problems have been solved and we can continue on.  Thank you for taking this journey with me.

Gratuitous beautiful photo from my old phone

*Not an endorsement of Samsung or Google.  You do you, boo

I'd Like to Say This is Unusual

I was making dinner tonight and like most  every nights, I wasn't fully focused on what I was doing.

Two things:
This is the night I have the shiny new phone.
and
This was a fairly straight-forward, easy meal: baked chicken breast with vegs and rice. So it wasn't complicated, at all, even by my low standards.

I will admit to running a little late because: shiny new phone.  But I had a handle on it, no lives at risk.

Table is set-ish, I'm cleaning dishes as I go.  I took the baking dish out of the oven  and set it on a hot pad. (yes, I know all those cooking words) Then I went to attend to something else at the sink.

A few minutes later, it was time to dish up everything so I returned to the stove with a spoon in hand.

Something caught my eye.  What's that strange flickering?

I had accidentally put another hot pad next to...okay, ON...a hot burner and it was happily flaming away.

"Oh." I say.
"Hey now."
"This is not good."

All I hear is my name from behind me in a patient "What have you done, now?" tone from Kevin.

"Nothing.  It's all good.  Nothing to see here." as I put out the flames under the running faucet.

Again, pained patience, yet to his credit not panicked at all; which tells you a LOT about my cooking experiences.  "You got it?"

"Yep. It's not dinner until something is on fire."

Sure I lit something on fire while making dinner. But it wasn't THE dinner.

So I win.

Drunk Me

I have not had alcohol in any significant amount in years.  Not because it was a problem but because I could see a glimmer of a problem.

Having been raised by alcoholics, who were raised by alcoholics, drinking was just normal to me. I started at about sixteen, which is reflective of lack of parenting and just growing up redneck. Don't feel well? drink. Got good news? drink.  Got bad news? drink  Bored? drink.

I realized that there is a genetic component in me that makes a problem possible for me.  Then as I got older, I realized just how much that family history affected my life.  I didn't want to perpetuate that in any way. So after a particularly binge-y New Year's Party, I straight up quit.  I didn't make an announcement to anyone, not even Kevin. I just quit.

I didn't miss it until about a year later when we went to Vegas, where of course, everyone was drinking so it was a thing.  I really thought about it. It's Vegas, you're with your friends, what could possibly go wrong?  But because I really thought about it, I didn't.

One of the reasons that I do worry about it is because I miss it.

And it's difficult/awkward to explain.  "Oh, I don't drink" implies that there was an issue.  I don't usually enjoy melodrama and that statement has a chance of melodrama.  Most people respect it. One of my friends just looked me dead in my eye and said "I get that." and that was all they said.  I loved the complicit acceptance of that statement.

I had a glass of champagne, which I love, at my brother's wedding.  I had a beer - and not even all of it - when I left the temp job a few years ago. I had a sip of wine at a funeral. Otherwise nothing substantial for...ten years.  Jeez.  I didn't realize until writing it that it had been that long. And all of those situations was where emotions are running high. Drink.

Kevin assures me that it wouldn't become a problem. When I asked him how he knew that, he replied "Because you would come home and all your sh*t would be in the yard."  Umm, thanks?
I get it, it's not just me that would be paying attention. But in my head, it's only just me.

What's sad is Drunk Me is fun.  If you think I don't have a filter now, wooo boy, see me when I have had a few shots.  I like Drunk Me.  Drunk Me would make family gatherings a little easier. If Drunk Me came to hang out right now, things would probably be a little easier.

Until it wasn't. So as much as Drunk Me is fun, it's just not worth the risk to me.

Squirrel!

There was an episode of Mom the other day where one of the characters discovers that she has had ADD all her life and didn't know it. For people of my generation, GEN X'ers, this doesn't seem unusual. We made it into adulthood before most of this knowledge became readily available.

She was understandably frustrated with living her life without knowing there was a reason she was the way she was. I kind of get that. But I also look at it like it's normal to me - I've never known anything different - and it's not necessarily a bad thing.

If I remember it correctly, the moral of the episode was she was wired that way and because she was, she was able to survive/cope with her life.  I FELT that in the feelings, for sure.

I didn't know I did until I was in an Early Childhood Education class in the early 90's.  It was before it was as easily known or recognizable as it is now.  I just remember sitting there, listening and thinking "Umm, that's me." as I'm checking off boxes on the list.  Mostly, I just felt relief that there was a reason that I felt the way I did.

There are still things that I read/hear that come up from time to time that I'm all "Huh, did not know that".  For example, ADD is often not noticed in girls because they appear to be "helpers" and not distracted or off task. That was totally grade school me.  If I'm being honest, it's a little bit into adulthood.

Kids with learning disabilities and/or A.D.D. also figure out how to get by by being charming.  I totally nailed that as a kid while interacting with adults.

In junior and high school, my friends back then thought it was just funny and that I was a rebel.  Turns out that it was just my brain was moving too fast.  On social media a while ago, someone posted a photo that was taken in middle school. It was me with friends and a teacher who regularly had to move me because I Couldn't Even.  "I'm going to move you to Siberia" he would say, with no effect whatsoever.

As much as Twitter can be a dumpster fire, sometimes it reminds you of humanity.  This thread resonated with me so much.  Again, teaching me something that I didn't know even though I live in my brain and work in a field where this knowledge is readily available:

Living with ADHD @yashar

Friends now are just used to me.  Forgotten or misdirected texts.  Broken sentences. Multitasking that is sometimes successful, sometimes not. Rarely on time. Impulsive adventures.  One of our Canadian friends referred to me/us as "You A.D.D. mother effers" and it still makes me laugh.

I can usually tell when I'm having a bad day. Sometimes it's just as simple as  I just have to move my body and now the childhood "Go outside and run around the house" command from my parents makes sense.  Sometimes coffee helps, sometimes it makes it worse.  Writing this, I've had coffee and birthday cake for breakfast and you can imagine how quickly I am typing right now.

Right now I work in an open workspace and I'm finding that to be an ongoing challenging thing.  Some days my brain will cooperate and some days I just know it's going to be a bad day.  Either the office is busier than usual or my brain won't cooperate or sometimes both.  Sometimes it's Susy LoudPants next to me and that's not necessarily the ADD, it's called having hearing.

I use the beloved noise cancelling headphones in that situation.  I use earbuds when I go grocery shopping so that I don't bring home cat food when we don't have a cat.  I learned that if I play classical music when I'm trying to learn something, it helps. (thank you, interwebs, for that suggestion)  Meditation has helped and I would have Never In A Million Years predicted that.

I can't do clutter, my brain just spins out telling me that there is something over there that needs addressing.  I can't do quiet. Overhead lighting is A Thing that I Hate.  I'm not great in large groups (think: movie theatres)  I am more successful when I'm methodical.  But I am on the struggle bus while doing it. (I think that's why I hate cooking. That and I suck at it, but whatevs.) I will actually say aloud "No. Stop. Finish this first."  I will start a conversation mid-sentence because I've already conducted half of it in my head, my body just hasn't caught up.

Also I can, ironically, hyperfocus; reading a book, writing, being deep into a project like ancestry, are good examples.  I prefer the scattered versus the hyperfocus though.

I think it's why the racetrack is my happy place.  It's all the senses at once and the ADD has plenty to play with.  A few years ago I went to a club with coworkers late at night and danced.  I hadn't done that since I'm 21 and forgot how fun that was.  (and how old I am. Yikes) But I left there happy and relaxed.  And it wasn't just the fun of being with friends; my body and brain felt different.  Something about all the input just had an effect.

I somehow managed to marry someone with ADHD and we tend to mesh well, when you wouldn't think this was a possibility.  Certainly every once in a while we'll get impulsive at the same time but mostly it's balanced. My education and work background helps us because I can identify certain triggers or remove myself to look at it bigger picture. But sometimes we fail.  See: "You A.D.D. mother-effers".  (context: we left someone behind, in Vegas. But not in a total abandonment way and it was "only" in Fremont)

And when I broke my foot off my leg, they gave me medicine for the nerve damage that mellowed me out.  Well, it made me high A.F. but I took it at night and it carried me through most of the day. I remember thinking, multiple times, and much like Sheldon: "This is what normal people feel like." I know there are things that I can take, organic and chemical, that would "help" but I'm okay with being the adorable little mess that I am.

Apologies in advance for forgotten or wrong texts, late lunch dates, unpublished posts, and fragmented sentences. I'm doing the best I can.

The Road Not Taken

I know it's not National Poetry Month anymore.  I missed this one though and feel compelled to share.  It's been a few weeks of big conversations that I'm mulling and this resonates

High Level Snooping

I am half-embarrassed to admit that I watch Married at First Sight.  I'm not a huge reality show fan but there are a few that I watch.  Mostly benign stuff like Project Runway and Bachelorette.  None of the other Real Housewives type nonsense. Anyway, this isn't about television.  For once.

During the Married show, they give couples bonding exercises.  Some of them I find excruciating and forced and some of them I consider/ponder.

But this one...this one I was All Oh HELL No.

They had couples trade cell phones and give each other unlimited access.

Oh

Hell

No

Firstly, our phones are like computers.  it's not just just calls and text messages.  It's email, social media, search histories, lists, documents.  There are health apps on most devices now.

Secondly, I could equate it to someone going through your diary.  It's such an invasion of privacy.

The point of the exercise is that a person shouldn't have anything to hide.  As someone who has been in a nearly 30-year relationship, I say:

*deep breath*

AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAreyoukiddingmeHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANO.

That is...how shall I say this?  ADORABLE.

I'm not talking about anything nefarious or illegal. I'm talking about finding personal items that are meant just for you.  A photo you took because reasons that are private. (not nakey ones, for the love of dog)  I'm talking about snarky texts to your best friend that could hurt someones feelings.  Social media stalking that Every Single Person has done and don't start lying to me now.  Any thing can be taken out of context, really.

And really, these folks have been together, like, five minutes.  They don't even know each other's middle names yet.  Let's throw a firebomb of High Level Snooping into their laps.  I don't think most long-term relationships could sustain an exercise like that without at least a little turmoil.

I rarely look at Kevin's phone.  I don't need to.  If something happens, I'll find out if he wants me to find out.  I'm not going to find out because I searched out of nosiness, boredom, or whatever. Oh, and he has work stuff on there that is 100% not my business. I forgot that element of access.

And he rarely looks at mine. I often have notifications flashing because I don't have the attention span to swipe them away 75% of the time. Google Photos, mostly because I take a truckload of photos. It makes him a little twitchy but he'll usually just say "Your phone is flashing" in a tone and that's it.

I asked him what he thought about this "trust" exercise.  He, like me, paused and went "Oh, no. That's a bad idea."  I do have to tell you: I was a little relieved.  But I was pretty certain he would think that was Next Level Ridiculousness.

It just feels like it sets people up to fail.  It feels like creating unnecessary drama.  It feels like a boundary that doesn't need crossing.  Everyone has something, if they've been dating for a year or married fifty years.  Everyone has something.

For the Not Moms - A Rare Re-post

Having been raised by wolves, as I've regularly described my childhood, other women stepped up to make sure that I was parented when my parents couldn't or didn't know any better.

As a very young kid, it was my mom's best friend.  As I was a trauma birth, she was the one who cared for me the first month plus of my life.  In fact, she made sure I was taken care of the first part of my young life. She sees me as the daughter she never had.

My paternal grandma helped too while she was alive.  She died when I was five, but I still remember her babysitting and making sure that I was spoiled and had what I needed.

During grade school, my mom became a volunteer firefighter with a group of stay-at-home moms.  Those women also stepped up and made sure I was okay over the years.

Mostly I remember my high school best friend's moms.  At sixteen/seventeen, I was working, going to school, paying bills, and driving.  I was an adult mostly but I still felt their watchful eyes on me. They made sure I got home, school, or to work on time, had what I needed, fed me, answered my questions.  Parented me when I needed it.

So, today I'm giving a shout out to those moms who take care of kids who aren't theirs.  Not just the foster moms or the step moms.  The moms who just take in the friends of your kids without a thought.  You might not think they notice but they do.  You  may think it's nothing or a little thing but it's not.

I appreciate every meal, every hug, every correction, every thing they did to step up and fill the gaps. 

As It Is Supposed to Be

I've never really identified with women who are undergoing infertility.  I believe it is because I've known since I was sixteen years old that it was highly unlikely I would ever be a mom.  After having a small medical emergency at that age, it was determined that my body decides that embryos are foreign objects that need eradicating.  (No, I wasn't pregnant at sixteen.)

Also, I'm not an overtly emotional person. I'm a "Walk it off. Rub some dirt in it" kind of girl so I don't know that it would occur to me to be upset.

For a long time, I was on birth control to regulate everything but I went off because I didn't like taking any sort of hormone/chemical/medicine.  I stayed healthy so I never considered returning to them.  I mean, really, what's the point?

I've been pregnant - that I'm aware of - three times, twice with the former husband and once with Kevin.  The first miscarriage was brutal, partially because I didn't know what was happening.  (Hello, nineteen years old and already in over my head)  Then about six months later, it happened again but not as horrible. It was more of a relief, once I realized what happened.

I did name them, more out of a sense of tradition than a coping mechanism than anything else. I couldn't imagine them not being acknowledged in any way other than a notation in a medical chart.  I chose Peter and Rachel.  Peter for my former husband's grandfather and I don't remember why I liked the name Rachel so much back then. (this was pre-FRIENDS, so not that and I would have gone with Phoebe, anyway)  It was too soon to have any inkling of gender so this is all pretend, really.

There wasn't a grieving period then because I knew I didn't want children with the former husband.  As it was, six months later the marriage was finished with a permanent protection order in place for good measure.  So, I feel like the universe just intervened on my behalf. Thank you, universe.

Kevin and I had been together for years when I miscarried.  I didn't even fully realize at first what had happened, which is a specific kind of stupid.  But it's an example of how this whole  process has not been a normal one for me.

I named this one as well, Wesley.  It was the name Kevin and I had talked about using.  We didn't agree on a girl name  and both of us wanted a boy at the time, so: Wesley.

(For those who are curious about the girl name, (Swistle ;)    It was Tiffany.  That was such an immediate veto from me.  Apologies to any Tiffany's out there, I just didn't have a good experience with that name.  Kevin thought it sounded "soft and pretty." I thought it sounded Future Strippery)

Neither of us were terribly bothered about it. We had half-heartedly tried IVF a few years prior but after two failed attempts, we just moved on.  I mean, it's not like this was new news to us. In the long run, it worked out as it should. Four grown Nieces and Nephew. NINE grand nephews and nieces

Looking at past relationships, the other love of my life has kids.  If we had worked out, they wouldn't exist and that is an example of how things end up how they're supposed to. While I'm fine with this no kids thing, I wouldn't wish it on someone else.  And yes, there is still  a little pouting anyway.

Now baby Five is three and it's the one time that I've thought "Hmm, I did miss out a little."  I am unsure why I am so connected to this little man over the others but I sure am.  I think it's because Nephew is more of a son to me than a mere nephew.

Creepy Alert:  I also think of Kevin's mom and her firstborn who didn't survive.  She admitted that she was going to name him after her husband so he would have been Three of Five.  Instead, he went un-named, which makes me sad. AND, she gave the next son that name, which I have to admit creeps me out a little.

I'm not even sure why this is a thing in my head today. Maybe it's the approaching hated Mother's Day. Maybe too much Grey's Anatomy.  Maybe it's the family history project. Maybe this is the shiny thing the a.d.d decided to play with today.

And to lighten another dark post: my grown niece calls having her period "Shark Week".  I may never recover, and now so shall you.

Hello, Workspace. Nice to Meet You.

Yesterday, I ended the previous post with the intention of considering rehabbing my office.  Know one thing about me, when there is something I'm working through, I tend to clean, organize, and dive into large projects.

So, of course, now the office has been reworked.  Kevin walked in, raised an eyebrow, said something along of the lines of "Good luck with that, don't kill yourself moving that monstrosity" and went back outside. Wise man.

The desk didn't used to sit flush to the wall and neither of us could remember why.  I think it had to do with power cords and a giant, old cpu.  As a result, the printer was angled between the wall and desk. Because I hate looking at printers, cords, and electronical junk so this worked for me.  But the OCD needs the desk flush to the wall more.  

I pulled all of that junk out first. It occurs to me that a few years ago when we put in the new carpet that why did I not fix this then?  We'll never know. I'm going with our entire house was outside during Fall in the beautiful PNW and I chose my battles.

I took away all the pillows. I'm resigned to the fact that Lucy will stand on the desk if she wants to and any obstacles I may place would be considered adorable.

There is also a heavy oak file cabinet that Kevin's mom gave us.  I really like it and right now it is helping me keep family photos and history organized.  But it's a small house, by design.  There is no place to put it without thinking "Oh hai, file cabinet" when you walk in the room.  Thus the awkward placement by the window.  And it became a catch-all and I hate that.

With not as much effort as I assumed would take (hello, working through issues), I shoved the desk flush with the wall.  The OCD was pleased.  Right up until I remembered that I had to reroute printer cables and such.  And that the kickplate for the desk goes nearly flush to the floor.  "I will totally drill a hole in that desk" says Kevin.  No, sir, back away slowly.

This is one of those tasks where it is good and bad that I'm short.  Good that I can get under the desk with ease, bad that I can't reach behind to the floor.  (the trick for that: use a hanger. Now you know)
But I prevailed.  Minimal cursing.

I moved Lucy's crate as flush to the desk and bookcase as I could.  She can't see down the hall from her crate now and I think that will be good.  She's never not hunting so a random bark in the middle of the night is not unusual.  Now she's a little more sheltered and I can naively think she will stand down during the night.

I kept resentfully pushing the chair out of the way.  Finally I realized that the only fix to this is if I actually get rid of the chair. I am an all-or-nothing girl, no in between for me. I texted my niece and hooray, she would love to have the chair.  But wait, I need a chair.  Enter: a rocking chair my dad made when I was eighteen.  It's short but it will do for right now.  "Right now" meaning until the perfect chair falls from the sky and lands in the yard.

I cleaned off the junk from my desk.  Lots of it was just knick-knack stuff that accumulated over time.  I'd like to say that I thoughtfully sifted through it but that would be a lie.  I put it into Monica's closet for "later."

Now it feels more like a workable space.  The printer is still hidden, if not a little inconveniently.  The pillows are all gone and the file cabinet....well.  Now it's out of the frame of the photo and sits by Monica's closet.  Sure it partially blocks the door.  Why wouldn't it?

Pillows, clutter, oh Hai file cabinet

Serenity now.

Hello, Workspace

I watched Under the Tuscan Sun the other night, in the middle of the night.  There is a scene where she talks about introducing yourself to a new house and figuring out how to make it into a home. It shows her moving a desk in front of a window and making her workspace.

My office is kind of multi-purpose.  Lucy's crate is in here.  There is lots of racecar stuff in here: photos, trophies, magazines.  My books are in here, one giant bookcase and one smaller.  Inexplicably there are two closets.  One is Monica's closet, where everything gets tossed until "later" and the other, smaller closet is the Racecar Closet.  It has an actual set of rear tires stored in it.

I used to have a student desk that someone gave us and an old, old CPU.  I wrote an entire book and hundreds of posts with those.  But with time, the CPU died and the desk wasn't functional anymore.  But I wrote much more back then so I was trying to figure out what has changed.  Some of it is just life but that excuse doesn't get anyone very far.

Now I have a giant oak desk that weighs approximately one million pounds.  I impulsively bought it from Craigslist years ago, much to Kevin's dismay.  It's totally fair, it's six foot by four foot in size. I could easily make it into a daybed.

When my cpu died, I replaced it with my old work laptop   This has been fine but not great. The shift key is moody. I tend to lean over when typing, not a good look.  My dinosaur laptop is so old that it runs Vista and no longer receives updates for anything.  I fully expect it to deep sigh one day and never turn on again.  But I love it and I don't want a new laptop.  I do have a newer one that Windows 8 ruined so now it's just used for the racecar.  Even when it was new, I was "meh" about it.

I think I need keyboard.  I covet the steampunk ones but could never justify the cost for a good one.  I'd be happy with one of those ergonomic ones that everyone but me hates. But LOOK:

And my chair is also from the old house.  It doesn't really fit this too-big-desk or me.  I need to find an alternative but I just never think about it until I sit in it, like I am now.  I really want an old school mid-century modern desk chair to match the desk but not enough to search and pay what is bound to be good money for it.

This is not a good example but it's the style.  I've seen them in Yellow or Orange

The lighting in here is perfect, the window looks at the rock garden so it's not distracting, it's at the back of the house, away from everything. It's mostly a great room.  If I'm alone, Lucy will hang out with me while I write. I have a small stereo back here but prefer to write while wearing my headphones to thwart the a.d.d.  Said certain puppy makes this impossible though.

The desk tends toward being a catch-all.  It's cluttered and my brain can't function in clutter.  This is a simple fix but I know that will create other projects.  Some things are from my old job and I am just not as invested in my job to drag it into my office.  Some might say: let it go then.  Some might shut it.

I've tried to relocate out to the kitchen table but there are too many distractions there.  I can only manage that when I'm on break and even then only with mild success. I don't think I will ever be the kind of writer who sits in a coffee shop and writes. Even with headphones.   I don't understand those people at all.

My vision won't allow me to type on a tablet and that's super frustrating.  I don't know what I'm going to do when that will be the only option.  I've used what i call "speak and spell" on my phone but that can create interesting and hilarious editing needs.  My work computer is shiny new and I have two monitors, fast internet, and that is really a special kind of heaven.  But: work computer.

So, I'm thinking I'm going to clear surfaces and see what I can reconfigure.  I'm going to surf craigslist for an old chair.  I have to research converting back to a cpu and screen set-up. But if we're being honest, we know I'm totally going to wait until my beloved laptop breathes it's last.  And if I do decide that is the way to go, I'm going to need a cool keyboard. Obvs.

The point being, for a place where I spend a lot of time, I need to re-introduce myself to this space and figure it out.  As long as the desk doesn't need moving.

I swear the carpet isn't pink, it just photographs that way.
And yes, there are pillows everywhere because a puppy used to stand on my desk.

you thought I was joking.

More Than A Test

For a few years I've been working on family history, on both sides of my family.  It started because Kevin's mom's memories were slipping and she was failing in health. I seized the opportunity before it was too late.  Then I had time on my hands unexpectedly and I started it for my mother too.

It has unearthed some interesting things, like my dad being illegitimate and the appearance of my grandma and grandpa eloping.

I've culled through and scanned hundreds of photos until I couldn't see straight.  I've spend endless hours hovered over the family tree database.  It feels like the more one learns, the more you need to learn.  It's a good kind of addiction.

So, then I decided that I was going to get my dna tested.  Just to get origins, not for any deeper details.  I made the joke to my eldest brother at his wedding shower about "We'll see what secrets that brings out. maybe we have siblings."

Dude did not laugh.

I mean, I've said before that I would not be surprised for one moment if someone introduced themselves as a long lost sibling.  Making a joke is on one level, having a brother not laugh and not confirm or deny is A Whole Other Level.

Because I am literally a slow learner, I made a similar statement to my mother.  She said something like "Well, you never know."

*RECORD SCRATCH SOUND EFFECT*

What the actual hell, family?

I know I've said I've been raised by wolves before and this is the perfect hands-gesturing-in-a-Ta! Dah!-fashion example.

About a month ago I finally did it.  I signed up for the dna info sharing so, indeed, we will find out who all exists out there.  So far it's one cousin that we share a grandma and a BUNCH of second and third cousins. No one terribly interesting.

As predicted, I am so much Caucasian that I should be clear.  Not one speck of any sort of interesting shade in my dna.  English, Scottish, Irish, some more English.  The most interesting part is another shade of white from Norway that I didn't know about.

One side of my family were farmers in the deep south so I wondered if that would bring anything interesting/horrifying out.  I've looked at census records through my hands over my eyes, hoping that there was no slave ownership.  So far, so good.

Another side owned orange groves in Southern California so that would bring the possibility of some Hispanic in the family line.  Nope.

Finally, family lore was that there was Native American in my mother's family.  I confirmed that there was via uncles, generations removed, but it appears there were no offspring so no Native American dna.

So at risk of daring the Universe to eff with me, that turned out boring.

Now one of the kids is working on their family tree.  They have a different father than their siblings so it has created kind of a weird vacuum.  The intention is pure, they just want to know where they came from.

Kevin and I debated it a little bit.  I explained that it's not about WHO these people are or even making in-person connections. It is not demeaning who raised someone versus who provided genetic material.  It's learning details that make you say "Oh, THAT'S why."  It's having a little glimpse of how we all got here.

I learned that my interest in all things racecar is from my maternal grandpa who owned a machine shop and raced motorcycles with his brother.  When I discovered that, it was a like a light was turned on.  My maternal grandma was a bit of a wild child, so now I know that's where the rebel trait comes from.  My other grandma had a very interesting romantic life and in the strangest way, it made me feel better.  She just kept trying and neither grandma gave up on love, even with epic heartbreak.

This is the kind of thing that a person can discover about their family history and about yourself. In some ways, it's healing something that you might even know needs mending.  It's seeing something come full circle throughout the generations.

And who knows?  in the future maybe our family will grow in ways one never predicted.

Today's Adventure in Parenting

'Tue Apr 30' A friend or relative could be ill, out of work, or otherwise beset by problems. You may want to do whatever you can to help out. This could be frustrating, but you will feel better for having done what you can. This person needs to face and deal with his or her responsibilities. They're out of your control to fix, Sagittarius.

I like reading horoscopes the day after they post.  Sometimes they're way, way, way off because Horoscopes.  Sometimes it's like the above and it's smack on the nose.

Kevin's mom was in hospital again.  She keeps trying to die and then rallies and doesn't.  This sounds cold-hearted but she's been sick a long, long time.  She has reached the point of not being able to fully bounce back.  We honestly thought this might be it.

This week's diagnosis is Aphasgia - Level 3.This means she has lost the use of her esophagus.

She was in the hospital with malnutrition because of it. Don't look at us like that, look at them. They are the ones who waited so long because "We have a doctor's appointment coming up." Don't try to figure it out, there's no logic.  It's literally like they agree "Okay, don't die because if you can just make it to two Thursdays from now, we can talk to the doctor."

And it's like they think the hospital has bankers hours.  24/7/365 is the gig, man.  AND, while I'm on a roll...WTAF are they doing all day that makes going to a medical provider so doggone difficult?

Anyway.

They pumped her back up and did the procedure to diagnose. This took three days because she was too weak for a simple endoscopy.   Then sent her home because there's really nothing to be done at this point.  "Figure out what you can eat" they said.  Kevin actually heard this part and we're squinting in response to the "Good luck with that!" tone from the medical community.  Although, to be fair, they probably had already gone through this prior to the procedure and felt like it was repetitive.  We'll never know.  Because like teenagers, elderly parents tend to lie.  And strangely, for the exact same reasons: they want to be independent.

So, like I always do, I put on my research nerd hat and went to work.  We have the diagnosis so now it's time to figure out how "we" are going to live with this.  The remedy/coping skill for this diagnosis is not easy but it's "easy":

Small, small bites at the largest but softened/pureed food is preferable
Many snacks, instead of meals
Smoothies, Ensure, and drinks such as that
Sit at the table, at 90-degrees when eating
Don't eat the foods on the list of Food You Do Not Eat

There were lists of foods and food combos that have been known to be successful.  Mashed potatoes and gravy, like KFC style consistency.  I naively thought "Oh, she's gonna like that."
Gravy on all.the.things.  Another winner. Shakes of varying consistencies.  Ice cream.  Pudding. Creamy soups. Because no one cares about carbs or cholesterol at this point.

I mean, no one wants to be told what they can eat but it's not like a diabetes diet.  This is not bad overall.  I didn't see a single thing on the list that she didn't like.  She will not like the stop eating red meat thing AT ALL.  You know what else is on the list not to eat? GRAPES.

I printed it out, two copies, and emailed a copy to Kevin.  He took it over to go over it with them.

Yeah, NO.  Super, really, NOT interested.  "It's fine" they said. "She can eat what she wants" they said. "The doctors didn't say anything about that." they said.

(I know things don't go well next door when Kevin, usually the loudest and happiest guy on the planet comes in the house and just sits down in his chair.  This is the cue to RUN.)

It's so pretty in Denial. Have you been?  Many people like to live there.

Now we flip to the page in the book where we say "We did what we could. They are going to do what they're going to do, and how's next Tuesday for your next visit to the hospital?"

Meanwhile, the father-in-law also thought it would be a great idea to mow all the lawns while we were at work, Two Weeks After he had his pacemaker installed.  We're waiting to see if HE'S going back to the doctor now.

I think I'm going to hide their television remote as a consequence.

Deal with your shit

Warning: this contains language (more than usual) a harsh topic, and is long form. 

The  title is something that is said in the drag racing world by friends. The point of it is: you deal with what you're given. You don't excuse, complain, or avoid. Deal with your shit.

So, this is dealing with my shit.  This is not a me too post.  I repeat, this is not intended as a me too post.  NOT A ME TOO POST. NOT.  This is kind of a part two of the Post Apocalyptic Hometown post, how it felt to return after All Of That.

I've mentioned from time to time the fact that I was married young.  Really young.  Stupidly young.  Having been raised by wolves, it was a way out.  I loved him, as much as one can when you're in your late teens. But I knew it wouldn't be the end of the world if it didn't work out.  Things had already happened that should have ended the relationship, but because reasons, it didn't.  This, I later learned, is not unusual.

Until it didn't work out and then it was the end of the world. I ended up losing everything.  Friends, job, place to live. One of the loves of my life (not him)  Name it. Gone.

Because of mental illness and just straight-up problems, the marriage ended in threats/acts of violence from him.  It ended in restraining orders and court dates. It ended up with my literal and purposeful disappearance.  Because of his relentless behavior and actions, I had to engage a lawyer.

For my own safety, the lawyer told me to disappear.  This wasn't a cheap, sleazy lawyer just trying to go the easy way; this guy was legit. He had seen it before and knew how it could end. He said something along the lines of "I don't want to have to testify at the trial of your murder."  Yeah.

It pissed him off that it was happening to me and it pissed him off that it was being sponsored - at the time- by his parents, a known family in the community. Dude is a judge now. AND, to substantiate the direness of the situation, it was an 18-month marriage with no assets that required lawyers, court appearances, and lots of paperwork.

The lawyer suggested that I move out of the county.  This wasn't possible because I was dead broke and working at a low paying job. I could have become part of the system to get out safely but my pride got in the way. And I got my stubborn on.  Stupidly, I refused. I gutted it out instead of asking for help.

One stolen car, failed rehab attempt (his, not mine), lots of stalking, and another threat of specific mutual violence and I changed my mind.

How does one disappear in a small town?  I had to file legal paperwork separate from the divorce papers to change my name. He refused  to sign off on it and this part is fuzzy. I just remember he wanted me branded with his last name forever.

I was living with my sister and had to move.  I stopped seeing my family.  I lost my friends - they were either over the drama and/or they couldn't be subjected to his issues. It was just relentless because he wouldn't leave them alone either.  If he knew I'd been to their houses, he would show up. He took every opportunity he could to interfere.

To increase the difficulty level, people were slow to realize what was happening and/or believe it really was that bad.  Because he was so good at presenting the good side publicly.  "Oh, he's harmless. He will settle down. It's not that bad." Imagine how frustrating that was. He ran his mouth everywhere he went, it was relentless and exhausting and on the surface doesn't seem so bad.  Until you realize it happened everywhere I went.

Some of this is on me. I don't want to hear "It's never your fault!" because there were two players in this situation.  I made at least two mistakes: fear based decision making and having permanent solutions to temporary problems.  At the time, I didn't feel like anything else was possible.  This is disrespectful, not to just me but to some of the people around me.

Worst of all during this, I lost someone very special to me. Because I was just barely twenty-one at the time, I did not handle this situation well.  The term ghosted wasn't a thing back then but that's essentially what happened. I felt powerless and I bolted. I should have made a different choice - had some faith - but that is a consequence that I have to deal with.

My sister lied her face off to people to protect me.  I tried to stay at my parents again.  I ended up hiding out at Kevin's way, way, WAY Before either of us were ready for that level of relationship.  To their credit, his family and friends (some of whom knew the husband) helped me stay hidden.

I became a ghost.  I didn't go anywhere alone, except work and there were a few job changes. This was before cell phones and interwebs, thank god. I believe this would be a Very Different Story if it had.  Still, he found me.  I mean, it wasn't hard, it was a small town.

Finally, there was a particularly scary and upsetting telephone call with promises of violence that happened at Kevin's house, before I was even living there. It had followed one from earlier that day that happened at my job.  This caused another court appearance for the "Okay, we're not fucking around anymore" restraining order.

That court appearance ended up being soul crushing and humiliating.  Prior to this, I wasn't required to appear due to the domestic violence status.  Unfortunately this time, there was no one to represent me so I had to appear. (again: small town)  I was told to show up after the proceedings began and I was assigned a deputy while in the courtroom as safeguards.  It was suggested that I could bring, like, my mom or sister with me but no men. (again: 1990's small town) I went by myself because stubborn.

It was something out of Law and Order. Most of what I remember is staring at the wall, when I didn't have to look at the judge.  Mike complained that a restraining order was keeping him from reconciling with me.   The judge asked me if there was a chance of reconciling.  "No, your honor. None."  He nodded and said something along the lines of "By looking at the charging documents, I see why."

Then Mike took the tack of trying to embarrass me.  "Well, she had an affair with My Friend before the marriage ended."  I can't quite recall how the judge's response went because I was humiliated and panicked and couldn't hear anything over that for a few minutes. I was desperate to keep that person's name out of court records, spare him any embarrassment.  The judge shut him down right before he said his name and asked me if I had anything to add.  NOPE.

His last ditch attempt was to say that I was also sleeping with Kevin, who was "a lifelong friend of his" and "She can't keep me from all of my friends."  and "She's living with him right now"  None of which was true. So, Kevin's name ended up in court records because he was mentioned in the restraining order response and court proceedings.  NEAT.

Washington State is a no fault state so none of the above was relevant to anything, other than to manipulate and embarrass.

Finally, it was done. A permanent restraining order with promises of imprisonment if he didn't stop.
One would like to say he stopped.  He kinda did but he just got more sneaky about it. It was still the occasional drive-by, the random hang-up phone calls, showing up in places then disappearing. The kind of stuff that really makes you feel crazy. The stuff you can't prove but know is happening.  He was a pro at gas-lighting.

It finally stopped all the way only because we moved, a few months after the divorce became final. He's wandered off to ruin someone else's life now and there's nothing I can do about that. We no longer have mutual friends so I know nothing about him.  Other than he's not dead, so I lost that bet.

So. The dealing with my shit part. The first of this post was the part about how I got here. Here's where I am going.

Now that I've returned, its a much bigger town so it's easier to stay invisible. Everything has changed, except me. Now it's about how/when I decided to deal with my shit. Slay those zombies, if you will. Vanquish those ghosts. It's been two years since I've returned "home" with the new job.  It was much harder than I thought it would be.  Because, I believe, I didn't deal with my shit. I stayed in the habit of hiding.

There have been no incidents, although I did see Mike in traffic a few months ago. The abject dread that I felt left me exhausted.  Still, slowly, my vigilance has waned.  At this point, he could have already seen me and I don't even know.

I've reached out to friends and that's been good. I realize how much I missed them and how it is to have friends who knew who I used to be. But it is different now.  I stayed hidden to someone because I wasn't ready, until I just was.  At first, I didn't have a good answer to why I reached out when I did. Then I realized it was the guilt because of what happened, the exhaustion of staying hidden. And it's just straight up missing that person. Amends were made and it was difficult but worth it.

There is still a little humility and amends to make. I didn't do a great job of communicating what was happening then. I was embarrassed and mad at myself for everything. I couldn't believe that I was that person.  I scoffed at the lawyer when he said I was a victim of domestic violence. (thus prompting the murder trial quote) I am doing a disservice by not acknowledging it. By not talking about it. It's awkward when someone refers to that time because they don't know or remember what happened. So, here I stand...god, I hate the word survivor. I just watched Game of Thrones so I will say conqueror of all that I thought would never end.

If you know me in real, you probably wouldn't guess that all this nonsense occurred.  It's because it happened, that I am that person now, probably. In the end, I did the best I could at the time, and it wasn't enough for some of the people I loved and that has to be okay. On some level, I did just bail, even though my safety was truly at risk  There are consequences to that, ones that I had to remedy and some that just are never going to change.

A lot of what pushed me forward is that I've just spent a lot time with the kids on both sides of the family.  They are so Live Out Loud kids and they are teaching me how to do that too.

Shout "I love you" across a restaurant, parking lot, or fair? Certainly no shame in that game. Fling yourself with abandon at the people you love, Great! Let's go do stuff, C'mon let's go. They don't care about zombies. They have zero knowledge of that time and don't understand why not come be part of the hometown that they know.  Not to just endure in the one that used to exist for me.

Kevin says just forget about it, Mike probably has.  He's probably right and that's something I would say to someone else. But he doesn't live in my head; he didn't experience that dread. Someone else said "they're just places" and he's right too. They are just places now. They hold no power. All I have to do is reach out, it's all on me.

Make amends. Make friends with those ghosts. Slay those damned zombies.

I just have to deal with my shit.

But What If I Could

Years ago, my friend lost his seven-year-old in an accident.  It was hands-down the worst thing I have ever experienced. And I've seen some stuff.  I can't talk about him without struggle, even now and it's been years.  It does a disservice to Casey because man, he was an awesome kid.

Casey came up in conversation the other day and a random memory popped up later.  It is the absolute perfect example of who this kid is.  I refuse to refer to him in the past tense.

We were out at the parents and Casey and I were down at the lake talking.  I don't remember the specific thing but I remember I said "But we can't do that. It's not possible." 

He just looked at me, like he would - an old soul, for sure - "But what if you could?"   There was no whimsy, or childishness. He just straight up Yoda'd me. 

But what if I could.

Casey B, dropping some wisdom. I'm telling you, that kid.  What a gift

Desiderata - My All Time Favorite Poem - April National Poetry Month

Desiderata

GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

By Max Ehrmann © 1927
Original text

Karmic Spaghetti

We were eating dinner last night and Kevin suddenly exclaims "Oh! We totally ate that spaghetti sauce!"

Okay. Random.

"What?"

"The spaghetti the family sent over the other night.  You tossed it right?"

"No," I laughed, I put it in the freezer and I told you."  (to be "fair" he's going deaf and we both have the attention span of small children)

"Well, the family thinks we ate it."

Ummm, okay?

"He asked about it earlier and the lie (pantomine a chef's kiss) was out of my mouth before I even knew what happened."

I would like to say that this is ridiculous and never happens but I cannot.  His brother is Sensitive Pants.  He would take it as a personal affront that we didn't eat the stupid spaghetti sauce.  And I had to freeze it because it had already been about three days when they sent it over so we were looking at food poisoning if I didn't.  To be fair again, it's always a risk here really.

"Well, you didn't technically lie.  We just haven't eaten it yet."

"I just wanted to let you know so if it came up, you would know to say that we ate it and we liked it."

Ummm, way to have my back?

Then I started laughing.  One of Kevin's favorite shows is Rules of Engagement with Patrick Wharburton.  The character has an episode where he explains the art of lying.

"Small, random details!"  I exclaim

"Yeah, it was good but it was So Much"

"And yeah, I spilled it on the floor but it just missed the carpet."

"And Lucy got into it and she was sick because puppies aren't supposed to eat spaghetti sauce."

Now I'm nearly crying laughing.  (it's been a week)

"JACKSON FARNSWORTH!!!"   If you don't know the show, this is lost on you.  It's a pretend character he uses to get out of things.  "Jackson Farnsworth needs me in the office"  "We're going to dinner with Jackson Farnsworth" etc.  (I can't find a clip...google it, maybe you will)

"He came to dinner and he loved it!"

Fast forward almost exactly 24 hours.

I'm trying to defrost our fraudulent spaghetti sauce and it's not going well.  Sometimes Karma is instant.

First, my sister-in-law put it in a dollar store container that is cylinder shaped.  I can't get the frozen sauce out.  I looked at container everywhere to see if it was microwave safe. (it certainly Didn't Say it was BPD free or whatever so we're probably dead)  I had to risk it.

Three sets of two minutes in the microwave and it barely is able to slide out of the container.

After some awkward juggling, I transferred it to a real bowl.  A few more sets of two minute cooking and it's marginally defrosted.  I did another set.  I considered going out to the shop: "Chain saw?  Saws-All?"

I tried to stir it and I realize that it's full of MEATBALLS.  "AHA! OF COURSE!"  I shout to no one.

This is where Kevin walks in, home from work, because of course. "Who are you talking to?" he asks while looking around our tiny house for a guest. Or the dog.

"Well, our karma for lying about the spaghetti sauce is that it won't effing defrost and we're never going to be able to eat it."

"Serves us right." is all he says then went outside.  Super helpful.

I've written this entire post and the spaghetti sauce is now in bowl #3 and is "mostly" defrosted. The noodles I cooked because "this possibly can't take that long" are now probably total crap.
Karmic Spaghetti, man.  I'm telling you.

And please don't offer possible solutions. This was our punishment.  And talking about cooking is like doing math or using worlds like "West".

Pink = sketchy dollar store container, white = original bowl, frosted = desperate attempt

Exterior Decorating

We live in the woods and although the neighborhood has become more populated over the years, there is no denying that we are still sometimes at the whim of mother nature.  This past February's unending snow is a good example. Four days without power a few years ago is another. We are just coming out of our Annual Winter "Why Do We Even Live Here?" Festival this month.

We live above a creek.  I know, you just did a wistful sigh of "Oh, that sounds so nice."  Mostly it is. We were excited about it when we bought the property with high hopes of spending time down there.  Then real life intervened and it's just a pretty background now.  We are high above it and we used to have a beautiful view of it but nature just insists on growing and changing.  Trees grow, weeds grow, high waters take out chunks of your property.

Wait, what.  Yes.  The creek has moved inward over the years and taken pretty good swaths of our property.  Some of it is from too much rain, some of it is nature reclaiming what used to be hers, some of it is from beavers, and some of it is just bad luck.  Yea Mother Nature!!

Normally, I wouldn't care.  We don't use that space, the kids are grown-ish and aren't interested in catching frogs or camping anymore.  Lucy likes it down there but she can go down there her ownself.  But, we do have a well down there and it is now threatening to wash it away.

Super. Because you know what we need? We need more drama up in here right now.

So, a series of phone calls and emails and meetings and hikes through the property has brought us to the next adventure in our lives: Exterior Decorating.

The Department of Fisheries and Wildlife is swooping in and taking care of that part of our property now. It's a salmon spawning creek so they are very interested in helping us AND it is at no cost to us.  Hooray!   They'll reinforce the bank, they'll plant trees and native plants and make happy spaces for the fish.  They'll take care of it forevermore.  The beaver gets to stay and probably the heron too, much to Lucy's dismay.  (it's Lucy's nemesis)

We are ceding 35 feet inward of property, for the entire length of the property, to the State.  This triggers a little bit of rebel in me but my love for running water supercedes any of that nonsense.

Funny part, because we live where we live, is the whole "Well, there are cougars around so keep an eye out."  It's a game of I Will See You One Destructive Beaver and Call You One Roaming Maneater.

Come live in rural Pacific Northwest folks, it's great!  It rains a lot, Winter is forever, and you might not die.

Death on Aisle 34

(this unpublished post is nearly a year old)

We used to have a golf cart to use at the racetrack.  I wasn't a fan of it, for multiple reasons.
Despite my objections, it was stored outside and my father-in-law used it for things not meant for golf carts.  So it was pretty used up and a little too redneck for my taste.  Secondly, after not being able to walk for months, I still cherish being able to do so.  So I take any opportunity to walk that I can.

You might be wondering why we would have a golf cart at the racetrack.  Well, if our pits end up being on the far end of the track, a person could have to walk up to a half mile to get to the staging lanes or the tower or whatever.  Or if something really goes wrong, it's an easy tow with the golf cart instead of one of our vehicles, that are often hooked to big trailers.

And mostly, Kevin's brother uses it.  Enough said.

Kevin had the great idea of getting bicycles for the pits.  At first I was a little "Um, look at me. Is this really a good idea?"  Then I decided to just go with it.

We went to Wally world because it isn't worth spending any kind of money on bikes that we might end up not using or use just a few times during the summer.  Yes, I'm aware that bikes can be ridden outside of the racetrack. Shush.

Scene: wally world. Bike aisle.

This is where I say that I've never had a new bike.  Grew up poor and with parents who weren't so much interested in providing such things.  I had a hand-me-down pedal bike that went through both brothers and a hand-me-down 12-speed that my grandma gave to my brother just before she died.  It was a boy bike and too big for me but I rode the wheels off of it anyway.

At the store, there are so many options.  Too many options, almost.  So I'm overwhelmed almost from the beginning.  And I know NOTHING about bikes. Two wheels and won't kill me. That's all I need.

There happened to be a cruiser bike out of the rack.  It's a little too girly for me but I've heard that they are comfortable to ride.  And this is where I almost died.

I haven't ridden a bike in tens of years.  Many tens of years.  The phrase "It's just like riding a bike"? It's nonsense.  Kevin had legit worry on his face.

It was a little too big for me because I'm less than tall but I tried it anyway.  The combination of polished concrete floors, narrow aisle, wide handlebars, and less-than-skilled rider nearly sent me crashing into all.the.things.

I skidded to a stop, got off, and just announced "NOPE"

Kevin, at this point, isn't sure what to do.  "Are you sure..." he cautiously asks "that you know how to ride a bike?"

After nearly clearing a shelf of helmets, I cannot be indignant.

We returned that bike to the rack and began to look again.  Again, I have zero idea what I'm looking at.  "Just find a color you like" he suggests.

"I like black. I do not like pink." because I am EIGHT.   All the bikes that I thought were my size were pink or had pink.  "The black ones are boy bikes" Kevin "helpfully" pointed out.  I just raised an eyebrow at him and kept looking.

Kevin found a bike almost immediately and tried it out.  "This will work" and he is happy.  Spotlight back on me.  I continue to look while he skillfully rides his bike around.  Boundaries? not his thing.  He's totally fine riding a bike in the store.  Me, not so much. Even if I did have the skill.

Eventually I notice that there are signs on the bikes that are "You can ride this ride if you are THIS Tall" THANK YOU.   Now we're making progress. I'm not small enough for a kid bike but I am good for the adolescent bike.  I'm too short for the grown-up bikes.

I found a bike I didn't hate so Kevin took it down and I tested it. A bike the correct size, I must say, is much easier to ride.  I didn't die.  I still wasn't the most confident of rider but I didn't die.  Even then, I scrunched up my face at Kevin "The seat is uncomfortable."

"Bike seats ARE uncomfortable."
"But this is UNCOMFORTABLE.  Don't make me say it."
"We'll find another bike"

Finally I kind of chose a good enough bike because I was over the adventure of buying bikes.  Indeed, all bike seats are uncomfortable but this one wasn't bad.  Kevin explained that he could adjust it and worse case: replace it.  "It's $100. It's not going to feel like your couch."  Fair enough.

And it has pink.  Sigh. It's predominately black so that's good.  I wondered aloud if we can take the decals off and Kev was all "Nope".  "Can we paint it?"  This time I got the raised eyebrow.  FINE.

We paid and wheeled them out to the truck.  I'm excited at this point and ignoring the price tags on this "surely it can't be that expensive" adventure.  "You know, you could ride it out here. It is yours."

No, I didn't know that. I'm a little embarrassed to say that I didn't think of that. I jumped on and it felt like a completely different bike now that the risk of dying in the middle of the store was gone. I loved it.  I was actually excited.

Fast forward a few days and we were at the racetrack with our new bikes. It was so great and I am sad we didn't think of this a long time ago.  Even more fun, a few of our friends had their bikes so we were like a little gang.

(gratuitous racecar photo)

A Dose of The Parents

There is a wi-fi receiver for my father-in-law's pacemaker, which is pretty cool.  As I arrived home today, he asked if I would come over during dinner and install it. Sure, fine.  I'm comfortable with the fact that I am their I.T. Department.

Then I thought about it.  His appointment was yesterday.  He's talked to Kevin and his brother, via the phone and in person, multiple times since then.  Why have we waited a full 24-hours to ask me? We'll never know.  This is how it goes and I shouldn't be surprised any more.

Anyway, I went over there and they have about ten different papers out.  Pause a full minute while he shuffles through them.  I spotted the user manual and asked/took it.  "No, that's not the one." he says.
My impulse to wave it and melodramatically gesture to the words "USER MANUAL" was squelched just in the nick of time.

Instead, I just started to read the directions that one would usually find in the user manual.  It turns out that the mother had the instructions he was looking for.  Because, of course.  It was just a  simplified version of what I was reading.

"Okay" I say "It says to set it up next to your bed. So let's do that."

"Well, we can..."

I interrupt "It.Says. Set it up next to the bed.  That is Step One and we're starting at Step One and Step One says set it up next to the bed so we are going to set it up next to the bed because that is Step One."  (Thank you Early Childhood Education and Experience)

We walk to the bedroom and I say "Oh, perfect. You have a counter and an outlet right there. This is going well."

He plugged it in and then fussed with the alarm clock, because that is important right now.
I started to read the directions aloud.  "Push the power button"  and he doesn't.  I reach over an push the power button and it begins to beep loudly.

I continue to read.  "It says that it will beep while it is setting up and searching for everything. One light will..."

"BUT I HAVE TO PUT IT NEXT TO MY HEART."

"What do you have to put next to your heart?"
"The thing. They said I have to put it next to my heart."
"What thing?  It says nothing about putting anything next to your heart.  Not in these instructions or in these instructions, so where does it say that?"

"THEY said I have to put it next to my heart!"

Tone has crept into my voice at this point.  I began to read, from the beginning, the instructions while gesturing Vanna White style to the power button and the search light, and the wi-fi light.
"So far it's doing what it says it's supposed to do."  Nope, he insists.

We walk back into the living room and he can't find anything that says Put It Next To Your Heart.  And now the mother has followed us back into the room because she's a mom and knows when there's about to be a brawl.

"Okay, I'm going to start this all over again."  And I do.  He is quiet.  I mention that the next step is to stay in front of the receiver until the stars icon lights up, which can take up to 15 minutes.  I continue to read the directions.  It says if you have a pacemaker, you cannot set this receiver up.  This would have been good to know at the beginning but I don't have a pacemaker so we're good.
It also says to keep electronical devices away from the receiver.  So, I take my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket and put it in my back pocket, without saying a word.  Quietly, my father in law gestures to the alarm clock and says "Is that an electronical device?"  MOTHER BEAR.

If he can READ the damn thing, why am I doing it?  I answered that it probably wouldn't bother it but we'll see.  He continues to sit.  I mention that I forgot to look at the time but if fifteen minutes pass and it doesn't work, I will return and we will try it again and/or phone the company.  If it doesn't work, IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL WE WILL FIX IT.

As I'm walking away, the stars icon lights up and it happily beeps. "See? it's all set up. Just like that."  They're both quiet because they know when they've overstepped.

I turn to leave and spot...I can't even...you won't even believe me....a bit bowl of GRAPES next to the mother's side of the bed. GRAPES.  I stopped and turned. "Why are there grapes next to the bed?"   Now, Kevin has talked to her before about how super bad of an idea this is of hers so none of this is new information to her.  "Well, my mouth gets dry in the night so I have a grape."

*deep breath*

Then get a bottle of water, or a popsickle, or anything other than grapes.  You know that's a bad idea and a choking hazard."

"No, because I chomp on it and eat it really quickly."

blink.blink.blink.

"Okay, you're going to do what you're going to do.  You're going to risk choking and dying when there's, oh, any another solution.  Okay. I've said it and we're moving on."

I went back home and about an hour later Kevin phones.  "Is anything going on there?"  He asks  this every afternoon because so often there is SOMETHING.   Unintentionally, I unloaded the grape story on him and finish with a sigh.  Then he says what I said: "They're going to do what they do. You said it and that's that."

I laughed and told him "Well, I just took a dose of your parents so you don't have to today. You are welcome."

Draft Picks

I have the tendency to begin writing then not returning to it.  If you have read here for a while, you are very aware of this fact. :)  I've eleventy drafts on this platform, a Prompts file in my notes app on my phone, and a few untitled email drafts because nothing is more fun that trying to remember where I wrote something down.

I decided this morning, while the family is busy, to cull through these.  The first email I opened only said "My wife needs more. You don't get to complain."  I have ZERO idea what that refers to. My guess it was something related to Kevin's brother.  I have no context now so it remains a mystery.

In the prompts file, there is note titled "35 Minutes"  At first, I was all what?  Then I remembered that I wrote about that and didn't take it off the list.  Kevin's commute is 35 minutes long and that's how long it takes for me to get my sh*t together before he comes home. So, that one kind of worked other than the not deleting it thing.

Then I stumbled on this one, from almost two years ago.  It's titled "Allergic to Breakfast"
In case you're wondering how the "new" job is going, there was recently a team breakfast where I was allergic to almost everything.  If anything can encapsulate this job, that is it.

I mean, it's nice that there is a breakfast, for sure.  Right up until you're allergic to most all of it.  It's an apt analogy? metaphor? of this job.  Here's this nice thing; but you're not quite allowed to enjoy it.

The reason that I'm specifically invited to this event is to for team building because I don't really work with the team I'm assigned to.  I feel comfortable saying hello but it's not like I can easily hold a casual conversation with most of them.  Oh, and they have a meeting afterwards that I'm NOT A PART OF.  So, it's like being invited to just drinks and appies then having to leave once the actual party begins.

Not bad but really didn't have a direction, other than a little bit of whining.

Then way down the drafts list is this gem.  I super wish that I had followed through with this post because now I'm dying to know what in the world of Carmen San Diego I was talking about.  The title is simply "Atheists Make Me Sad" with no other prompts.  They don't, really, so I'm guessing it was said with irony and not judgment.  We will never know now.

And this one, titled "The Death of Pretty" and the text just says "high school senior portrait"  Sigh.  My guess, because it's dated in 2011, is that trend of looking homeless and how everyone mostly looked nice in the 80's...maybe?  My high school portrait isn't all that so I'm unsure what I was even referring to.

By just publishing this post I can delete four drafts/ideas and move on with my life. So maybe my system does work, a little bit.  There are other drafts that still  deserve my attention.  There are a few others that time has passed and now they feel irrelevant.  I'm uncertain what to do with those, other than to continue to let them languish in Unpublished Land.

Happy Easter Bunny Eggs

Whether you celebrate the Resurrection or the Chocolate, 

Happy Easter to you!

(title courtesy of Kevin's dad who says it every.single.Easter.to.everyone.all.day and we don't know why)