Becoming UnStuck

I have been stuck.  I have had many projects in mind, none of which I've gotten close to starting.  The one thing I managed to do turns out to be much less useful than I'd hoped.  My closet is a disaster area, from the floor to the bulletin board whose sticky tape became unstuck sooner than I did.  

I managed to clean out most of my car and I did donate the books and magazines I couldn't resell.  I"m not sure how much credit I should take for that.

A like minded Pilates instructor and I bemoaned the sorry state of affairs.  I just keep thinking of how happy we could be.... imagine Pete as Secretary of State..... We shook our heads and then shook the bad thoughts away but that was a nuance I had not explored and so it lived in my head for a while.

A friend's daughter wondered if she and her girlfriend should get married.... they are in the military.... in Texas.  That conversation was a real life counterpart to the internet fact that vasectomies are up 1,200% since the election.

Then I went to an award's ceremony and ran into a friend, a wonderful woman who had collected two other random, wonderful women, and by the end of the evening (and it really was the end; they were turning off the heat lamps) we four had a reservation for breakfast after Thanksgiving.  

Have you heard about the four year cruise ship for Americans who want to leave during the next administration?  No internet. $250,000 (which isn't that bad for four years of room, board, entertainment, travel, and the company of like minded people).  

I began to consider this option with more than a little seriousness.  Then I stopped and mentally slapped myself.  It's okay to be sad, but I'm done wallowing.  That would be letting him win twice.  I'm done being disappointed in the Democratic Party; they are playing by the rules while their opponents have rewritten the Codex.  

I spent some time imagining a Bernie/AOC ticket and that got me thinking of all the disappointments and all the times we've pulled ourselves up and out..... and then Matt Gaetz decided to sit down and shut up and leave the rest of us alone and for a brief moment I was thrilled that 5 Republicans had suddenly developed a spine.  

Good news on the political front was a shock.  I felt less alone.  It was a karmic shift... perhaps a reason to hope that more might be on the way.... and for a moment I wasn't quite as afraid.... because I had come to realize that I was more afraid than sad or mad or confused and afraid is not something that's regularly in my life.

Feeling that cloud lift after leaving the Prince gardeners' hugs filled some of the empty spaces in my soul.  I felt unstuck.

I'm going to rehang the bulletin board, straighten up my closet, and generally get my shit together.  It is what it is.  It will be what it will be.  As my friend Rocky told her children, all you can really control is your attitude.  

I'm waiting to see what the future looks like.  My attitude is improving. 

Not An Excuse, Perhaps An Explanation

After some reflection and conversation with colleagues at school, I've come to a realization.  Like many of the things I think, it may not be true.  But like many of the things I think, if it's not a fact, it should be.

Tuesday's post described the mayhem caused by unruly scholars in the garden.  As I replied to Laura, they are good kids who were feeling overwhelmed.  

The Assistant Principal agreed that the kids were in a state.  The looks on the teachers' faces agreed; harried is too mild a description for what their eyes conveyed.  Outburst are not unusual; this was different.   

It kept me wondering all afternoon.

Then, scrolling through what the Google algorithm sent my way, I saw the Dictator To Be's True! in response to his use of military force to remove the undocumented, starting on Day 1.  

And it seemed I might have stumbled upon a reason.

It was Monday.  They were back after a weekend with their grown ups.  Many of those grown ups were suddenly and realistically terrified.  

Many of these children lived with political and military interference in their every day lives.  Some are wearing their (donated) first new pair of shoes.  The Afghan twins speak five different languages, one for each country that harbored them for a while.  (Is it any wonder they are holding hands whenever I see them?) Functional English is unavailable to others, with whom gestures are as important as the words I'm saying. Most of them are hyper-attuned to the emotional tenor of their surroundings (cf the reaction to the kerfuffle).  

Prince Mustangs don't make excuses, they find a way.  That's their motto, and they take it seriously.  But there's no fixing who's in charge for the next four years.

All of them have been seen to laugh.  There was not a laughing vibe on Monday. It hurts my heart to think about the atmosphere in their world last weekend.   

The Voice We Need Now

Watch this.

Jon Stewart is the voice I needed to hear. I think you might, too.

Terrorists in the Garden

I had to banish two of them.   Then I had to banish two more.  One insisted that he'd done nothing wrong but I was there at the time and my eyes don't deceive me.  

At one point I had to raise my voice.  The Cuters will attest to the fact that this is a monumental occurrence, one not taken lightly by those on the receiving end.  I've never done that at Prince.  Not until today.

GARDENERS!  PAY ATTENTION! 

A hush fell over my space as I pointed out the yellow part of the garden bed, the part covered with mulch, the part where those very miscreants planted seeds in toilet paper tubes just last week.  I mentioned that it looked very different from the rest of the black, un-mulched part of the garden bed.  We all agreed that we DO NOT dig in the yellow part and we DO DIG in the black part.  

It should be noted that this is not new information.  But they are little and they need reminding.

Approximately 11 seconds later the terrorists were at it again - flinging soil at one another and standing on the yellow mulched seeds to dig more conveniently.

The whistle blew.  They dropped what they were doing and raced to line up.  I held my head in my hands.

I appointed a take charge 1st grade Garden Leader to monitor the situation when first and third came out together. After setting up a watering plan for the Mandarin Orange tree,  I turned to be sure she was okay.  Neither she nor the garden were okay.

There was tromping and stomping and flinging and she sat on the storage bench, her chin on her fists.  I calmed things down with a few well placed words and frowns, and turned to my little helper.  It was hard, wasn't it?  She nodded slowly.  They were monsters.

The next whistle brought the competent, diligent, eager, fourth grade girls, and we set to work planting the starts I got for free from the Tucson Village Farm a few weeks ago.  Cauliflower and broccoli and Asian greens joined the 2 tomato plants and the 3 mustard greens in the veggie bed.  We left holes for the olla balls.  They watered gently with the hose nozzle on shower.  

There was a kerfuffle outside the garden wall which was startling and a little bit scary.  A giant group hug was called for.  It lasted for a nice, long time.

I will go back tomorrow, hopeful that things will have simmered down.

I Spent The Day With Denzel

It was Walter Mosley's Easy Rawlins who was in my hands all day, but since Denzel has been Easy incarnate since Devil in the Blue Dress it was quite simple for his to be the voice in my head.

It's a lovely voice.

As always, the cast of characters around Easy continues to grow.  Old favorites drop in for a page or two.  The narrative gets ahead of itself at the start of every chapter, because just like in life you never really know what's going to happen next.

Halfway through the book I turned to TBG.  If you had been a black man in LA in the 1950's you'd have killed someone or been killed yourself.  I can't imagine you containing your rage.

That Mosley's characters thrive without exploding is the continuous miracle of his stories.  

There are vignettes of wonderfulness, of kindness, of joy.  There are betrayals and there is trust.  It is beautifully written.

And you get to spend the day with Denzel Washington whispering in your ear.  There are worse ways to spend a Sunday.

A Deep Breath

There's been a lurking medical concern in the family for the last 18 months or so.  

Today we were able to take a deep breath.

The news is not perfect and it's not terrible.

Best of all, it's come back and see me in 6 months .... and that means no needles for 6 months.    

Those are two very good things.

I'm going to take tonight off and relax into the moment.  

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Absurdity

Are you F'ing kidding me?  NO! 

I forget which elected official on Capitol Hill responded that way when asked if I forget which of The Dictator to Be's Cabinet nominees were qualified for the post.

It makes perfect sense to me.  

With a felon in the White House, why is it surprising that his chief law enforcement officer is involved in a number of ethics scandals?  

When the guy running the show thinks soldiers are suckers,  a defense secretary who worries that America’s white sons and daughters are walking away (from serving in the military) and who can blame them seems totally on brand.

Private prison stocks have risen 70% since the election, reinforced by the fact that Tom Homan seems destined to be the new Border Czar.  (Was there an old Border Czar?)

Elon Musk wants to work for the government he wants to down-size by a third. (Isn't there some kind of conflict of interest here since the government funds almost all of Space X?)

Melania refused Jill's invitation to visit the White House. (Rude.)

I have not watched MSNBC or the nightly news nor read the front page of the local paper or the news websites nor listened to anything but fluff on NPR and yet all of that filtered through.

It is going to take great fortitude to get through these next four years.

The Only Way Forward Is Through

A 4th grade girl was the accidental recipient of a 4th grade boy's errant soccer kick.  She wept.  We hugged.

The 2nd grade visitors to the garden received plastic pots or Solo cups they filled with soil and seeds.  Plants are not fish; water drip-drip-drip not VROOOM was repeated over and over, with the added admonition not to water until they got home.  Still, there were several pairs of wet pants and tear stained faces.  They wept.  We hugged.

All my pinwheels have disappeared, leaving only the plastic sticks behind.  I tried to pout and I searched for sympathy, but apparently no one was as upset as I.  I did not weep.  There were certainly no hugs.

I remembered to bring The Yellow Bus for the kindergartener who asked me to read it again.  Before we were past the first episode he was called away for special instruction of some kind or other. No, she could not wait six pages of time, she's on a tight schedule. Everyone in the room was sad.  The scholars promised to tell him that I'd be back soon so that he could hear the story, too, before it is too late.  We saved him a sticker, too. 

And that's where the sweet spot is, for me.  More than hugs, although that full twenty second hug with a teary student did wonders for both of us.  More than consolation, although I fully subscribe to the misery loves miserable company school of thought.  

We sat with it.  We felt it.  We acknowledged it.  We took what action we could to ameliorate the current situation.  We planned for the future.  And then we went on with our lives.

I'm planning to keep that in mind.

Continuing to Cope

Sunshine.  Sixty degrees outside, warming up to the 70's.  TBG made me breakfast.  I completed the Wordle in 3, Strands without hints, and am once again approaching Genius in Spelling Bee.

I'm trying to do things that make me smile, so I'm ignoring the fact that the striking NYTimes Tech Guild employees want me to take a break and support them.  I'm not sure how my not doing the puzzles will affect the NYT's bottom line and I am certain how it will affect my emotional bottom line.  To help them, though, I'm publicizing the fact of the strike here, because I bet you didn't know about it either.

Not watching, reading, or listening to the news does have its downsides.  On the other hand, everyone seems to be angry with the news and the way it's reported and I'm trying to avoid negative triggers.  I'm finding that this leaves me with a great deal of free time.

I am no longer receiving dozens of daily emails from Nancy and Gabby and Ruben and Kamala and Kirsten and a host of others asking for dollars.  That I am still being asked to contribute to the Count the Vote effort here in Arizona, replete with scary intimations that Ruben and Kirsten might not win (even though their races have been called) infuriates me.  

I've labeled them all as spam.  They will not intrude on my exploration of joy.

I did more laundry, worked on my olla balls, replanted the cacti and succulents in the front courtyard, and left the heavy lifting for the yard guys coming on Wednesday.  Carrying large ceramic pots is not my idea of a good time, and good times are what I'm trying to engineer for myself.

I took a 30 minute power walk up and down my steep street.  Downhill, I let my emotions flow.  Amazon Music took my liked songs and somehow managed to sense when I needed energy and when I needed comfort

 

I had many interesting thoughts on my walk uphill, none of which I remember but each of which amused me greatly.  Downhill I tried to practice mindfulness as the tears came.  Moving was the right decision.

Veterans Day

I'll put out the flag as soon as I wake up.  I'll say THANK YOU to someone who served... or to someone who is wearing the uniform right now.  

And, perhaps, observe a moment of silence at 11am,  when the shooting stopped forever......... 100 years ago...... the first time.

I'll take Amster, my favorite veteran, out for our annual Veterans Day lunch, the only lunch all year where she allows me to pay the check.

I'll think about all those serving who will soon have the Orange Menace as their Commander in Chief.  

I'll be grateful all day, because I am safe and secure and that feeling is defended by the mightiest military force the world has ever seen..... at least that's how I feel today.

Alternate Competing Behavior

Little Cuter's friend shared an AA maxim - substitute something novel for your noxious behavior.  (I'm sure that AA says it more gracefully.)

In social work school we called that an alternate, competing behavior.  You can't bite your nails if you are crocheting led to a lifetime of handwork.  You can't be scared if you are laughing led to tickles when a big dog approached The Cuters.   

This morning arrived with the situation unchanged.  Miserable and terrified, I headed to my bi-monthly, 8am, blood pressure check.  That route takes me slightly askew from my usual paths.  My brain was slightly pleased with the different scenery.  

I noticed that fact since, in the past few days my brain hasn't been pleased with anything except video chats with my children and grandchildren.  When I left the office (with, of course, another prescription) I remembered my smile and went straight instead of turning left.  

I went to a new Ace Hardware (not the one that sells ammunition) and asked for help.  The aisles were narrow and crowded with stuff and it had me channeling Daddooooo at his happy place, the local hardware store, Faine and Seville.  

Because it came with a man who, just like Mr. Faine or Mr. Seville, was happy to help, my memories took over at the cash register.  Those were happy times when I was a kid...... and there I was, smiling with the nice lady behind the counter, agreeing that such smiles have been hard to come by lately.

I shopped at the Trader Joe's off the same parking lot.  I never shop at Trader Joe's, though everyone else does (and did..... cf Lady Jane and Scarlet).  I enjoyed a lovely chat over the prepared chickens and meats with a gentleman from Maine.  I always thought TJ's was upscale; he always thought about it at the other end.  No, I didn't know that it was a European company.  Yes, the patrons are friendly.  I bought flowers and veggies and was grinning as I made my way to the car.  

yes, the photo is a little bit tilted... like my world

The drive home had the sun at my back and all the lights falling my way.  I dropped off the groceries and headed out to Oil Stop.  An hour later I was home with a box of donuts (Donut Wheel is right next door, with its sullen window lady and perfect glazed beauties) to try to share some of my smile with TBG.

It wasn't much, but it was something.  Like Charles Bronson in Magnificent Seven, right now, that's a lot.

Wallowing

I got up for a bathroom break a little after 3 this morning, and foolishly took my phone with me.  I never do that in the middle of the night, but I wasn't really sleeping anyway and I was curious and then I was furious and sad and mad and unable to go back to sleep.... and I can always go back to sleep.

TBG urged me to be kind to myself.  Big Cuter gave us his calming perspective.  Teachers and staff at Prince were extra specially kind;  the psychologist offered me a chair and a friendly ear.  

I wasn't interested in any of it. Little Cuter and I usually manage to leave one another laughing.  Today, we just suffered together.

I, like the comments on yesterday's post, am not ready to be comforted.  I don't want to think about the work to be done.  I certainly don't want to donate any dollars to anyone for anything right now (can you believe the chutzpah?!?!?).

I want to take time with my fears and sort them out into manageable bits.  I want to mourn for my image of my country and come to grips with the reality of most of the voting public.  

A mahjongg friend won't play on Friday.  I'm sitting shiva for America she texted this evening.  That feels about right.  I'll take a few days to readjust.  I'll look for the bright spots (another Democrat representing me in the Senate and the House, women's health care protected by a Constitutional Amendment) while I long for the path I thought was opening in front of me.  Friends will gather for conversation about loss.

I'm going to wallow in misery for a while.  Not forever.  Just for now.  

Election Day

The Day

I did laundry that didn't need to be done. I cleaned and polished the kitchen counters.  I Wet Swiffered the floors.  I cooked myself a hot breakfast.  That got me through to 9am.

Big Cuter called for a video chat, wearing his pink pussy hat from years ago.  JannyLou called for sympathy and optimism; I asked if she read yesterday's post (where I swore to worry to the bitter end).  I got nuttin' for ya, honey was all I said before we both dissolved into semi-hysterical laughter and hung up.

I started making olla balls for Grandma's Garden because I couldn't listen to the talking heads who knew nothing but kept on blathering.  We ate a late lunch.

Little Cuter wasn't nauseously optimistic.  Instead, after voting she brought 50 donut holes to work.  How many did you eat?  We laughed that same laugh when she admitted that she had long ago lost count.  

I went back to the ollas.  I folded laundry.  I solved some problems for TBG.  Now it's 4:28pm and the first polls are about to close.  I think a bath is necessary to face the night... and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

*****

The Night

Steve Kornacki's manic energy just added to my angst.  Fifteen people in Upper Utopia changed their minds and he wrote the percentage, illegibly, in green ink on a screen covered with numbers that made me even more anxious.

We watched the very early returns, then gave ourselves a breather with TMC's latest film noir which TBG recorded for just this moment.  Kirk Douglas and Burt Lancaster and Lizabeth Scott kept us distracted for 20 minute intervals before we were pulled back into the blather-sphere.

Big Cuter forwarded Jen O'Malley Dillon's calming message to the campaign. Then he called to be sure I was okay.  I loved the effort, futile though it was.

I, too, knew it would be a long slog.  I, too, knew not to put too much reliance on the early numbers trending red.   That the beating heart of the project said we expected this so don't freak out right now should have been a big help.

More numbers on the screen, more interviews with politicians who have nothing to say that I haven't heard already, mind numbing videos of large rooms behind locked doors.... we went back to the DVR and Star Trek.

*****

The Late Night

As the numbers showed Kamala under-performing Joe Biden's 2020 numbers, TBG shook his head in disgust.  Americans don't seem to care about January 6th.  

Sister's Senate candidate won his race; she then sent me a text announcing New Jersey's rightward swing.  Sometimes she needs to say I told you so.  

I'm not getting any happier.  I don't think it will be called tonight.  We're going to sleep.  You may know more than I do when you read this in the morning.  Only call me if it's news I want to hear.

Did You Sleep? - Snippets on Election Eve

I'm writing this on Monday,  anticipating a night of tossing and turning.  I can only imagine how Tuesday evening is going to feel. 

*****

I'm glad one poll in Iowa was good news, but the latest take on polls is not to put too much faith in them.  You can't have it both ways (unless the need for a smile is just too great). 

*****

The night before our outdoor wedding, I stopped worrying that it might rain.  It poured.  

Laugh if you want,  but I'm still going to fret. I'm sure it will help and I'm not going to risk it otherwise. 

*****

I had to fill out the usual How Sad Have You Been Assessment for a blood pressure check in with my PA this week.  How often have I been anxious? Every day.  How often do I worry that something very bad might happen? Every day. 

*****

According to Big Cuter, all this means that I'm Nauseously Optimistic.

A Rain Water Harvesting Garden at Prince

A local church wrote and won  a grant to cool our neighborhood.  It involved lots of money, lots of plants, and lots of work.  It included training of parents and classroom lessons for 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades 

It all came together on Saturday morning, one of those clear, crisp, days that make Fall my favorite season of the year.  Sweatshirts required early, sun hats necessary all day.

There's a new bus pick up/drop off area adjacent to the school.  It was an empty lot before the paving began.  The condition of the land in which we were depositing plants can best be described at hard packed dirt.  

This family has done other garden projects together.  They were quite prepared.  There was enough planting materials for the little guy to announce to anyone and everyone who might be interested that he was using his dump truck and blue shovel, moving the gravel around. 

On the other side of the fence, there was much digging and flattening and berming to be done.

The shallow troughs created by the berms designed to retain water around the drip line of the plants.

The availability of water in a wider area around them should encourage the roots to explore and spread out, increasing their likelihood of survival.

There was smoothing and beveling with rakes of all sizes and descriptions.

The plants were set out, just so, and then the shovels and the muscles came out.

Jamming the point of the shovel in to the ground was often the only way to start a hole... even a little hole.

See those clumps of dirt lining the hole.  The grey shirted Prince Scholar and I spent an enjoyable interlude breaking them up into smaller pieces, easier for the roots to penetrate.  

The kids had lots of energy.  The grown ups were often happy to sit and watch.

This was a true community effort. There were Prince families and teachers (and their families); church members who drive by the school and feel it's part of their neighborhood;  Watershed Management staff making Tucson a cooler place to live.

As if I didn't think it was already a pretty cool place to live.
 

Where's Nancy?

She was having breakfast here, in the cozy, retro, Century Room at the Hotel Congress, with those of us who responded to yesterday's invitation.

Coincidentally, my copy of her book became available off the library's reserve list last week.  The first five pages are personal, philosophical, reminiscent, revealing, instructive, and demanding.  I read and reread them, finding inspiration and reinforcement and energy to do more.  Bunionella's gift of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's chapbook did that to me.  Before that, I have to back to Little Women in 6th grade.

So, when the invitation to spend the last of our political capital showed up in my inbox last night, I clicked accept without a second thought.  Then I drove to Barnes and Noble to buy a copy.

Bright and early this morning, I joined one of my favorite humans, who was even earlier than I, at a wooden cocktail table for two.  As seems to happen at these gatherings, the strangers to our left and right were soon our friends.  The pastries were scrumptious (they said), the yogurt and granola appropriately crunchy (in all the ways).  The Capitol Police were providing security. The event started at 9 and ended right on time at 10.  

About sixty people who could afford the donation sat comfortably close

to our (hopefully) next Senator, Ruben Gallego

and The Most Powerful Woman In The Country Emerita.  

She was teaching as she was preaching to a very appreciative choir.  Her description of Ruben's accomplishments as our Representative was also a lesson in the sausage making. There was no hesitation in her voice; there was power.  

Not the Self Proclaimed Protector of Women Whether We Like It Or Not's power, loud and self-referential and obscene.  This was confidence personified, with no need to bluster.  She reminded me of Margaret Thatcher (at the Marin Speakers Series many years ago), a small but mighty, well-spoken, warrior woman, succeeding in a man's world.  

She never said I.  We, you, all of us..... it was a refreshing reminder of the good that can be done by decent people operating with our country's interests at heart.

At 10, Rep. Gallego raced off to Phoenix to introduce the Vice President at a rally.  Speaker Pelosi shook off her ride - No, I have time  - and I joined the line to speak to her, book and pen in hand.  

The woman is a great listener.  She was flipping through the first few pages, I'm looking for the signing page, while I told her that I was gifting the book to my 10 year old granddaughter because of those first five pages.  

And then I asked if she found the spark of divinity (she looks for it in everyone) in Donald Trump.

It's very hard.  I do believe it was there.  I think he's forgotten it.

There are some very fun perks to living in a battleground state.