Meticulously take one red and one purple every night. This is what remains. If something is off in the universe when I start taking two purple, you know why.
I just approved a comment from a reader from 2020. Somehow I missed it in my review tab and it has been sitting there for 5 years.Apologies, dear reader. -100 for Destiny!
I had my zoom call with Alan Alda and he is an amazing, brilliant, deep man who has all of his faculties, despite dealing with the tremors of early Parkinson’s. I am so blessed to have been able to share space with him. We talked about the meaning of life and it was fascinating to hear everyone’s stories and his response to them.
Just when I thought the Bengals had their season back on track, our defense gives up 39 points to the freaking Jets and we lose. Sigh.
My BFF has started a podcast with a friend about being in recovery. I encourage you to check it out and give it a listen (especially Episode 2) wherever you get your podcasts. It is called Terminal Addiction and you can find them on YouTube, Spotify, instagram, and Facebook.
Last night The Mayor made a dupe of the famous Golden Lamb shepherds pie, complete with sun-dried tomatoes, Lima beans, peas, carrots, lamb, and a crust of Parmesan cheddar on top of the mashed potatoes. It was outstanding and the best part is we have enough for leftovers tonight, which means the Mayor doesn’t have to cook!
Fridays and Sundays are the only days where I don’t have a commitment. The Mayor works those days, so I have a good 7 hours to myself to get caught up on work and binge the shows he won’t watch. I am eagerly awaiting the return of Emily in Paris and am neck deep in the new Kristen Bell show Nobody Wants This.
I look forward to Friday nights because The Mayor and I celebrate the end of the week with a joint after I close my computer at 5. I love this ritual and it helps me set aside all of the stresses of the week for an evening of contemplation and traveling the universe. This week Friday night joint was my birthday joint and was infused, so it packed a punch. I had some personal issues with a family member that had been wreaking havoc on my psyche and two puffs in, I was able to release all of that angst into the universe and trust that it would all work out. I got a perspective on a problem that I sorely needed and I was able to let it go. The next day the personal issue worked itself out and I had a load off my shoulders. Now, am I suggesting you should get high when you are faced with an unresolved issue? I mean, I’m not not saying it. Just kidding. But I think we should maybe not be so afraid of a plant with proven medicinal benefits.
I woke up today, my 48th birthday, at 7 a.m. on the dot, fully refreshed after a lovely night of sleep. There’s nothing super special about turning 48, other than the mere fact that I have made it around the sun for another year, but The Mayor immediately piled my presents on me before I could even have a sip of coffee as if it was a milestone birthday. I eagerly opened my favorite cheddar and caramel popcorn, some cool new scrunchies, and the cream on top, a brand new Kate Spade wallet/wristlet that The Mayor picked out specially. The man knows me so well, and has keyed into my love language of gifts with an enviable keenness.
Ez’s birthday flowers and stuffed pumpkin
I did my DuoLingo lesson and made my way into the living room to watch ARC Cincinnati with Bob and Jen while I drank my morning coffee. My phone blew up with texts as my friends from all over checked in to wish me happy birthday as they woke up to the world. I heard from dear friends near and far, got a sweet text from my ex-husband, and a heartwarming text from my oldest daughter, J. I hopped on Facebook and, again, the well wishes continued to roll in. I was feeling the love.
On my way to pick Ez up for school, I said a silent prayer that they would be awake and I wouldn’t have to battle the dogs to go wake them up. When I rolled up to Spinnaker Drive, I saw a text from Ez that they were awake but running a little late. No big deal, I had built in plenty of time. And then The Mayor texted me and said I was featured on ARC with Bob and Jen with one of my answers to their question of the day and Jen called me out specifically. What a birthday treat!
No incidents to and from school, with a stop at Dunkin for Ez’s breakfast, and I returned home to more texts and Facebook wishes. My BFF and his parents sent me a Jungle Jim’s gift card for some exotic treats from the International Market, showing yet again that they get me. I got to work on my physics account, getting so immersed that I forgot to eat my morning Bobo, my stomach rumbling around 11 a.m. to warn me that I better get something in there pronto, lest my blood sugar plummet and I am stuck with a headache. I gathered my phone and my purse and headed out for our neighborhood specialty market to grab my favorite ham and brie sandwich on a french baguette and to say hello to The Mayor while he was at work.
When I got home, I got a message from my sister informing me that she and my two littlest brothers had all chipped in and got me an All Access subscription to Alan Alda’s Clear+Vivid podcast patreon, proceeds of which go to charity but with a member perk of having Alan record an outgoing voicemail message for members. I was floored, as I had mentioned in passing that I wanted to subscribe once I paid off my final loan next year and had set it as a savings goal. I couldn’t believe that they got it for me early! My name is going to come out of the mouth of Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce and I am going to have that as my voicemail til the day I die! I may never get the opportunity to meet the man, but hearing him say my name counts as fulfilling a lifelong dream, and I could not be more grateful to my siblings.
At 3:30 I picked up Ez from school and they gifted me with flowers from their Flower Farming and Floristry class as well as a stuffed pumpkin from their sewing class. We stopped by Brooklyn Pizza and Pasta to pick up birthday dinner on our way home. Once home, we turned it on Game Show Network, per usual, and played along with the Master Minds until The Mayor got home from work, when I downed my stuffed shells and spinach salad. After dinner, Five Below’s blind bag selection beckoned, and Ez and I headed out the door. They played me the Birthday Sex song by Jeremih and then we played Young, Wild, and Free and sang along with all the naughty bits. Ez stocked up on their favorite blind bags and we headed back to their house to drop them off for the night. They got out of the car, thanked me for dinner and the ride, always respectful and courteous, and wished me happy birthday again.
On my way home from Ez’s, I was cruising down Columbia Road, zipping through the roundabouts, and Dobie Gray’s “Drift Away” came on. I turned it up and sang along, putting some extra sauce on the “Gimme the beat boys and free my soul…” because I was feeling good and sassy. When it got to the lines, “Thanks for the joy that you’ve given me…I want you to know I believe in your song. And rhythm and rhyme and harmony, you’ve helped me along. Makin’ me strong…” I started to tear up at all the people who have gifted me with joy over the years. My friends reaching out not just on my birthday, but throughout the good and bad times over the past three decades of being an adult. My family, my kids, my BFF, The Mayor, every one of them has a song that I believe in, and every one of them has contributed to making me strong. I will continue to believe in my own song and share it through my essays and Seven Sentences for Sundays. I thank every one of you for helping with the harmony, may we continue to make beautiful music for the next 48 years.
I am sitting here at the Say Yes to Jess studio for Ez’s senior portrait session and Jess has supplied Ez’s favorite snacks of cool ranch Doritos, Dr. Pepper, and Sour Patch Kids. A playlist that Jess curated of Ez’s favorite bands is over the loudspeaker and I am on the couch in the adjacent lounge area letting Jess do her thing with Ez, only jumping in to help light my child on fire for a pic. It was surreal, but the pic came out amazing.
Since this is the last senior portraits that I’ll have to attend, I find myself looking back through all the pictures of Ez over the years and I am oddly happy. There aren’t any tears because this is a season of joy. Their whole life is in front of them and they have eight short months before they’ll be a graduate. I am pretty much done with the raising part of parenthood, except for teaching them to drive. Soon I’ll be in the role of who they turn to for advice instead of shunning the pearls of wisdom I try to drop in the car on the way home from Leaves.
I had a hot chocolate date with my friend Tracie the other day at this new cocoa lounge in Loveland. We are the same age, but she started her parenting journey about 10 years after I did. Her daughter is in 3rd grade now and Tracie was telling me she can’t believe how fast it has gone so far and soon enough she’ll have a graduate like Ezra. She mused that she would be a mess when her daughter graduates and asked if I find myself emotional at times with the reality of the coming year. I wonder if it’s weird that I am not.
Ez has grown so much over the past few years, and especially over the past summer. As they prepare for college next fall, make the step toward getting their license, and wind down their high school career, they will mature so much more that who I am describing now will only be a shadow of who they will become. You would think this would make me sad, but I can’t wait to watch them spread their wings.
My bff likes to quote a line attributed to Dr Seuss, “Don’t cry that it’s over, smile because it happened.” I live by that quote and try and remember all the beautiful, funny, poignant, and difficult moments that have led to this point. I embrace the changes in my role as a mom and am proud of the people my children have become. Ez may be the last, but they are making their mark in their own way. This season is ending but with comes the dawn of a new season and I am blessed to be able to experience the changes. And I’m smiling because I have been lucky enough to have watched it happen.
As the seasons change from summer to fall and then again from winter to spring, I tend to get a little manic. Not full-blown, Destiny! of yesteryear psychotic manic, but my mind goes a little fast and I have to battle some demons that are resurrected at that time of year. I thought I handled this season’s change marvelously, deftly telling the demons to quiet themselves, and allowing my brain to create a flurry of thoughts to be used as future essays, blog posts, book ideas, or just facebook anecdotes. I have a lot to work on this winter. I also realized that I might not be completely through this season of mania, as evidenced by an internet interaction I had today.
This morning during a break from editing physics, I opened my facebook to find a notification that someone had commented on a comment I had posted on a public page 3 days ago. My comment, which was in response to a news article, said simply “Pritzker is going to take the president to the United States Supreme Court and after that, The Hague,” received several likes and had honestly been forgotten because the days just replace each other when they consist of carpool, editing physics, engineering, and law, and maintaining a relationship with The Mayor. I clicked on what would then consume me for the next hour. Some random woman whom I do not know posted, “You all need to step away from the Pringles” under my comment. I was aghast. What the hell was this attack about? I thought, do I handle this with grace and say, “Jesus loves you, even if no one else does…”? But she attacked not only me but my kids. So I responded quickly and said, “Is this supposed to be a fat joke? Because I can lose weight. You unfortunately can do nothing about that face, those teeth, and that ugly personality.” That’ll show her, I thought. Ugly is as ugly does.
I went back to physics and finished my article; before switching to engineering, I took a peek at my facebook again (what can I say, it is a ridiculous addiction). Another notification. This time she said, “Aww, so you guys choose to be fat.” Well, she can just eat a satchel of richards. Lady, you do not want to fuck with a wordsmith. So I unleashed a tirade that would make any venomous teenage girl cringe. “Oh you poor thing…And you choose to be hateful. I’m sorry your kids hate you and your parents are disappointed in you. I hope my name flashes through your mind when your doctor gives you your diagnosis. Bless your precious heart.” Was I proud of this outburst? Admittedly, a little. Fuck with me and my kids, I will fuck with you so hard mentally that you won’t know what hit you. I pushed post and waited… Soon I was rewarded with a little red bubble. “Who is hateful now?” So I quickly replied, “You come after me unprovoked and when I bite back, you are offended. Go cry in a pillow.” Another quick notification with a simple, “You are crazy.” Your goddamn right I am, tell me something I don’t know. So I sealed our interaction with a kiss and simply replied, “Oh dear. Did someone learn the hard way not to pick fights with strangers on the internet? Have a “blessed” day. I’m sure you will.” A southern lady threat, how I learned growing up.
I rode this little high into thrifting with Ez and relayed my interaction to them, which they agreed she deserved it, even if I did cross the line with my threat of a “blessed” day and an unknown diagnosis. As the day wore on, I expected the little guilt pangs that normally come from one of my outbursts, but they never came. I might still be a little manic, but more astutely, I am pissed. I am so pissed that they (and they know who they are) can spew hatred from their mouths and when they get the first inkling of a pushback, they play victim. I am so pissed that our country takes an already marginalized community that constitutes 1% of our population and villainizes them from their positions of power. I am so pissed that truth no longer has a place in our media.
After dinner, I was finishing up an engineering article and Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” came on Spotify. I heard the lyric “You keep me searching for a heart of gold…” and I wondered if it was my angels saying they were disappointed in me today. Should I have responded to that stranger with love? Maybe. Did I tarnish my heart a bit with my tirade? Perhaps. But gold is malleable and soft. I am not. I will fight for my kids rights. I will fight for the rights of marginalized communities. I will fight for truth. And if Stephen King has taught us anything, you best not come after a wordsmith, because we will decimate you. A heart of gold, perhaps not. But a living, beating heart filled with blood that bleeds my truth. You’re goddamn right.
I take a deep breath in and exhale to the count of eight. The forces of the Universe wash over me and I find myself pulled in infinite directions at once. Before panic sets in, I immediately center myself and take another deep breath, holding it and mentally repeating my goal for this meditation session in as few words as possible. This world needs more love, more kindness, more compassion. From everyone. I feel the energy around my heart open up and I relax into it. I breathe through the waves and use my chest to push them out to the earth that needs such healing and positive energy now more than ever.
The pirates of the multiverse start to voice their objections, and I find myself beginning to split. I have to quiet them lest they negate the love with their hate, but it is a constant battle. I hush them, and take a sip of water, my meditation broken but not without, I believe, some benefit to the metaverse.
A few hours later, the chime of the door opening dings and I say “hey dere” and hear the familiar “hey dere” back. He greets Leia, our calico who waits for him at the top of the stairs when she sees him pull in the driveway. He puts his water bottle on the kitchen table then immediately retreats to the bedroom to change out of his shirt and tie so as not to sully them with the cat hair that is persistent. Ten minutes before he got home, I filled his water glass with ice and fresh water and placed it on his side table next to his recliner. I also took the opportunity to fill his bowl, so he has a freshie to smoke as he unwinds and relaxes from the stresses of his job.
He sits down next to me and I wait until he is ready to talk before I pause my physics editing to give him my full attention.
“Three trucks today, and Sam scheduled off so Abby and I had to unload and restock ourselves.” He has taken a part time job as the dairy man at a local specialty market to help pad our savings as we contemplate an interstate move in the near future. It’s hard on his body and it is not without its frustrations, but the hours are good and we are taking full advantage of the employee discount. Until something better comes along, he is making it work. I am deeply appreciative of the extra income, as it makes us that much closer to making our dreams a reality.
Spotify plays in the background and Coldplay’s “Something Just Like This” takes its turn in the shuffle.
“I had to return an octopus to the seafood department that somebody dumped in the dairy today. That was a new one.” I love when he tells me what he finds people have ditched. It makes me wonder what sparked the sudden divorce from a great dinner idea to dropping it all by the time they get to the other end of the store.
After meditating in the morning, my day at home was spent editing physics, engineering, and law. Sometimes I have a tidbit to share that I have picked up from an article, but mostly I just say “work was good. I have to finish up after dinner. What’s for dinner again?” I could’ve looked it up on our menu app before he got home, but he sometimes has lightning strikes of inspiration and will switch things around at the last minute. Tonight we are having honey garlic cod with Parmesan couscous and maple glazed carrots for the side. The last chorus of Coldplay fades and the words repeat in my head,
Where’d you wanna go?
How much you wanna risk?
I’m not lookin’ for somebody
With some superhuman gifts
Some superhero
Some fairy-tale bliss
Just something I can turn to
Somebody I can kiss
I want something just like this
His immediate presence calms me as he is my touchstone on this earthly plane. At a time when I explore dimensions in my brain through mindful meditation sessions, he reminds me that in this place and time there is only this one dimension that matters. I have a deep abiding love for the man who doesn’t have superhuman gifts, but who helps ground me so that I can explore the possibility of my own.
He raises himself out of the recliner and goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I hear him hum as the fish sizzles in the iron skillet. A slow smile settles across my lips. Turns out, I want something just like this.
I take a right on Galbraith Road as the opening notes of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” play against the faint crackle of static from the Dayton radio station. Still close enough to come in, but far away enough to not be completely clear. Instantly my heart twinges and I can feel the emotions start to bubble up as I remember my mom singing along to Patsy on the way to taking me to school. She loved that song. Still does, I’m quite sure, even though she is 3,000 miles away. I cross Kenwood and slow past the hospital, thinking this is the first of many lasts. I am on my way to pick up Ezra on their last first day of high school, the last of my three kids, the last one to need my driver’s license as their ticket to freedom before they launch on their own.
I finally went to a free crochet class that I have been meaning to attend for the past few months and I made three new friends and am well on my way to making a dish rag.
I am also relearning French via Duo Lingo and am at a level 43 out of 160, so I have a ways to go.
Biscuits and gravy for dinner tonight; sometimes we have lots of veggies, tonight we had none. I ain’t complaining, that gravy was delicious!
I am 3 pounds away from losing 50 lbs from my top weight. I wouldn’t mind losing 50 more, but I’d be happy with 30-40. I think my doctor would be fine with that too. I just seem to be okay with losing at a turtle’s pace—especially if it means I get biscuits and gravy for dinner every three months!
Harvard released their applications for their extension campus. I have vowed that when we get moved and settled I am going to apply for my masters in creative writing. I feel like I should be able to finish my novel as a capstone project.
WWE’s women only event Evolution is on tonight. When Rhea Ripley walked into the arena with no makeup on I swear my heart took an extra beat. That woman does things to men and women alike!
This is the first time I have written in 3 years. In the spirit of doing new things I figured I d revisit an old thing while I was at it. I am glad to be back, for however long.
The Universe tells me to write and yet I have no idea what to write about. I am a creative wasteland. Even in the Universe, the same storylines are repeated over and over. I take a deep meditative breath and my virtual reality goggles come on as I launch into the multiverse. Where will it take me today? A world leaders’ summit? At the table of the gods on Mt. Olympus? Traveling through space and time of the vast multiverse? Or simply fallible Destiny, destined to rehash all of her worst mistakes? I feel there is more to me than just my mistakes, I have a track record of good deeds to prove it.
I glance at the pink sticky note that screams, “DO!” at me in an attempt to inspire and motivate, and I find myself wondering in the midst of my meditative state, how can I effect change? How can I “Do” as my sticky note commands? My thoughts start tumbling and I am whisked away to a make believe place that as a mother I know well. It’s a place of made-up whimsical characters and words to describe them, I see that sweet gray elephant with the ball of fluff in his snout and I am suddenly reminded of that lesson that Horton taught me so many years ago. Be a voice. Dr. Seuss’s Who’s were on the brink of destruction and all hope seemed to have been lost as the people in the most peril could not be heard. Then at the last minute, the one little boy who was scrolling facebook and listening to Spotify finally chimes in with a great big YAWP and the community is saved.
At a time when lives are in danger just because you have the “wrong” skin color; where rights are being stripped because you have the “wrong” parts; where children have lockdown drills; where two dozen vets commit suicide each day, we are a community in peril. And there are voices out there who are speaking up for the disenfranchised, but we aren’t loud enough yet. We need more people speaking up, especially as we go into the 2020 election year. I know I have a small but loyal following, and my voice is wee compared to those on the national stage. But this is me, Just Destiny, hoping to effect change by chiming in with a resounding YAWP!
Destiny! Manifested 