#40something

Heart of Fool’s Gold

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.

Something Just Like This

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. 

The Last Lovebug

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. 

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Seven Sentence for Sunday: The trying new things edition

  1. 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.
  2. I am also relearning French via Duo Lingo and am at a level 43 out of 160, so I have a ways to go.
  3. Biscuits and gravy for dinner tonight; sometimes we have lots of veggies, tonight we had none. I ain’t complaining, that gravy was delicious!
  4. 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!
  5. 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.
  6. 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!
  7. 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.

A resounding YAWP!

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!