Sunday, December 3, 2017

Adulting truths

This adulting thing is, in Glennon Doyle’s words, brutiful.
I remember when I was little, I just wanted to be an adult, all grown up. I wanted to eat meatloaf and ding dongs all day long, without anyone telling me not to take seconds. I wanted to marry Prince, so he could sing songs about my raspberry beret. I wanted to be able to wear suntan colored pantyhose from those weird plastic eggs, because that was what pretty women wore. I wanted to avoid the hazards of quicksand and tornadoes, while being a famous artist who owned her own sandwich shop.
And then I grew up. Into an an adult.
Granted, there are some wins with the whole adulting thing. I can indeed eat ding dongs all day long, with only my jeans scolding me. I have come to terms with the loss of my dear Prince, and am satisfied with my Spotify where he sings directly to me. I wear pantyhose to corporate holiday parties and funerals, and am fairly certain that no self-respecting woman ever wore suntan ones after 1987. I have managed to steer clear of quicksand, while also managing to give birth to my daughter during an F4 tornado that compelled me to get the hell outta Oklahoma as soon as possible. I will never be a famous artist but I have made a dollar or two writing. I have never owned a sandwich shop but will make you a wicked roasted tomato and pesto grilled cheese.
Every January, I want the new year to be easier. It has taken me forty-three years, but I am realizing that life does not get easier. Adulting continues to mean losing some people I love, and seeing others whom I love hurt and fall down. In 2014, I asked my immensely wiser-than-me therapist how she dealt with seeing her loved ones hurt or hit bottom. She told me that she had trust in her loved ones that they were strong enough to do the hard things and get up after falling.
What a concept. Apparently, one that I forget as I tend to take on the weight of the world, but my people can do the hard things. And so can I.
So, in closing, this adulting thing is brutiful. 2017 has been a hard year. Full of loss and mourning and fear and hurt on so many levels for both me and so many of my loves, but it has also been so full of truth and transparency and life lessons and reminders that it is all worth the work. I realize that 2018 is going to be more of the same, beautiful and brutal all wrapped up in a glittery bow. I am making an early resolution to be okay with this, but don’t you dare try to tell me to give up my ding dongs.

Peace and love and brutiful truths, cupcakes. xx

Monday, October 23, 2017

Shift

Shifts can be huge seismic shifts, where things rip apart and seem to upend the world. Or they can be almost imperceptible shifts, where nothing is readily apparent but things simply shift a quarter of a degree to a different path. Sometimes, a shift happens in the form of a phone call at 5AM, with words that will seem to stop the earth’s rotation- “Your daughter is in ICU. You need to come.”
And just like that, I have a before and after. Before the phone call and after. Before the phone call three weeks and fifteen hours ago, I was sleeping like a babe, with nothing more on my mind than taking Belle to the dog park and remembering to pay my toll bill. And after the phone call, bills and “grownup stuff” all fades into the distance, as I wonder if anything will ever be okay in the world, if my grownup baby girl will open her eyes again.
Two hours of driving, all sorts of questions in my head with no answers. I arrived at the hospital and raced to the ICU. Stepping into her room, seeing how tiny she looked in a sea of white sheets, tubes, and wires, with whirring machines keeping her alive, I felt my world flip upside down. It continued to flip as I held her hand through the hours, as neurologists and pulmonologists came and went. Her father and his girlfriend sat on the other side of the bed, and we didn’t let go of her for hours, as much for ourselves as for her. When night came, and they went home to get some rest and be with our son, I stayed. Holding her hand, unable to find words except for a prayer a dear friend had sent to me, and just willing her to stay with us.
This went on, and somehow the world continued to rotate on its axis as it has always done, even as my world felt so topsy turvy. Tubes came out, machines turned off, she woke up, not like Sleeping Beauty, but more like a pissed off newborn, wondering why everything was so loud and bright, why her body hurt so badly, and why we were all staring at her.
Now,  a few weeks later, the shift probably seems like nothing to others. She has a long hard journey in front of her, but she is the strongest person I know, so she can do it. And I have this shift. Everything looks the same on the surface, but everything is actually so different. Money and bills and career advancement, tax write-offs and to-do lists seem like they belong to someone else. All I want to do is soak people up. I want to grab onto the people I love and just tell them- I don’t want to waste one more second on the unimportant stuff that clogs up our everyday life. I want every person I love to know how loved they are, and I want to spend less time working and more time connecting. I have to balance this with going back to work, doing the necessary stuff without drowning in it. Every day is a little more of a shift, little earthquakes that shape both me and my girl.

Peace and love and seismic shifts, buttercups. xx

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

A Messy Jumble

Oh, my heart.

I remember, about six years ago, standing on a rock in my back yard, talking to my therapist, who was on speed dial at the time. I was simultaneously going through one of the happiest and one of the most shattering times of my entire life. I was feeling, at the exact same moment, unbelievable wholeness and joy alongside a sadness larger than the oceans. I remember standing on that rock, arguing with her, about how I liked to feel one emotion at a time. I wanted to feel all happy or all sad, not this big jumble of every emotion all at once. She laughed, gently, and told me, "Life is a jumble. Life is messy."

I'll be damned, but she is right. These last few weeks have, yet again, been full of a jumble. A good man, a sweet friend, died a violent death, probably even as he tried to help the person who meant him harm. Another neighbor, a gentle father and animal lover who wanted to save everyone in sight, died quietly yesterday. Both men live less than a block from me, and I can scarcely breathe when I think about how our little universe has shifted with their loss. I also recently lost someone who meant the world to me, and I have to learn how the universe and the world go on even with all of this loss.

And yet, even with all of this sadness, I feel so much joy that my heart overflows with it. My son makes me laugh until my side hurts, and I stand in awe of the person he is. My daughter, my cupcake, keeps showing up and trying, even as life knocks her down, and I am overcome by her tenacity. My friends text me out of the blue and show up with hugs and wise words, wanting to make sure my heart is still beating through the hurt. My bestest friend in the world knew I needed the beach this weekend, and gave me space to put my toes in the sand and just be. My dogs sensed the sadness and just became snugglebugs, chewing on not a single shoe over the last few days.

Life is a messy jumble, all sadness and joy mixed together in a big confusing swirl. And we just have to embrace it, choosing to acknowledge the sadness and heartbreak, respecting it, while also choosing to focus on the joyful bits and pieces that make life count.

I have meals to make for families who are hurting, and a memorial service to attend. I have friends to hug and squeeze, and kiddos to smother with my love. I have life to embrace, all of the messy and chaotic moments that collide, and I hope you do the same.

Peace and love and messy moments, buttercups. Breathe in every moment. xx

Thursday, August 31, 2017

My Home State

I was driving through the panhandle of West Texas
last Sunday afternoon, thinking about all of the
things I love about my home state. Driving along a dusty two-lane highway, I thought about things like big pickup trucks, slow twangs, Taco Villa's peppery taco sauce, "yes ma'ams and no ma'ams," barbecued green beans, real iced tea, family ties, miles of corn and cotton under brilliant blue skies, and a million other small things.
And then Harvey happened. As I drove north to safe Colorado, my mama drove to my sister's house in the metroplex area instead of to her home in Houston. Not because she did not want to go home but because she could not go home. She stayed north for days, blessed because she had a safe place to go to even as many others did not.
Harvey was/is horrifying. While I am over a thousand miles away, my heart hurts for all of the suffering and loss that Harvey has dropped onto so many people, heartbreak that will continue long after the news stories disappear. While Harvey did not discriminate, and managed to hit every demographic imaginable, those with the least may suffer the most in the long run. Even as I watch all of the sadness, read the stories, and speak to people suffering as I work each day, I am struck by the big thing I love about my home state.
Texans pull together. In a time of tragedy, Texans pull themselves up by their bootstraps, wade into the water, and pull others up and out of harm's way. All that other stuff, politics and disagreements, that can all wait when there are grandmas to be rescued from rising waters.
All of the people flocking to danger, without a second thought, have brought me to tears more times in the last five days than I should admit. Every video of grandmas being rescued from their flooded homes in jetskis, people using monster trucks to pluck others out of rushing waters, human chains putting themselves in harm's way to help strangers- they remind me that good and grace still abound in 2017.
There is a reason, after ALL of these years in Colorado, that I still identify as Texan. A little of it might be the Big Red sodas and the barbecue, but this last week reminded me what it means to be Texan.

Peace and love and big blue skies and brave bootstrappin', y'all. XO

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Love


I keep seeing "this is not who we are."

Ummm, yes it is. We created this, with our silence, our quiet acquiescence, our turning off the news because it is too "negative." I have loved ones who have said they cannot watch because it is too negative and too upsetting. My friends, this is the very definition of white privilege. I know the words  "white privilege" make you bristle and they set you on edge. I know, I know, you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and you worked hard for everything you own. I know, I know, no one "gave" you anything. I get it. We grew up together, went to school together, worked together, our kids played together- I know you. I get it.
But our silence and not wanting to be uncomfortable created this. We created this madness. We let it be voted in. We let it seep in, so that people who might have hidden their evils underneath starched white hoods feel comfortable enough to parade with no masks, with their alma maters emblazoned across their chests and their Pepe pens on their white Izods. 
So, my suggestion is to be honest about your white privilege, and stand up for the people who have been denied privilege and equal rights for centuries. You have "white privilege." If you get stopped by the police, and you feel irritation instead of fear- white privilege. If you have not been stopped twenty-eight times for a broken taillight or matching a description of something bad- white privilege. If you have a teenage boy and you have never had to explain to him how to react if he gets stopped by a policeman for no reason- white privilege. If you can walk around Sephora with a Starbucks in hand and a big handbag, without being followed by an employee- white privilege. If you can leisurely walk through Target with no purpose, and with no employees following you- white privilege. If you pay lower rates for your mortgage and your insurance, as played out in the news with one bank that shall not be named but that rhymes with Fells Fargo- white privilege. If you can make a reservation with an online home-sharing site without your name causing the host to tell you it is full- white privilege. If you can hail a taxi easily even as people near you get passed by- white privilege. If you can scroll by the icky news and go straight to the cute animal memes that are not upsetting- white privilege.  If you can live your life without being compelled or driven to pay attention, you, my loves, are enjoying the fruits of your white privilege. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. 
Now. Now what? What to do? 
Hell if I know. Maybe the first thing is to be honest. There is a huge problem in our world and failing to acknowledge it makes it fester and grow. Do not scroll past. Read it. Empathize. Cry. Get honest. Get woke. Educate yourself. Commit to be an ally. Vote. Show up. Let me know what I can do. Be better today, and then be better tomorrow. Be brave. 
Charlottesville shone a light on the cockroaches scattered amongst us. Now, we have a responsibility. Because, unfortunately, this is who we are. But it is not who we have to be. We can be better and do better. We can be louder and more full of love. We can do good things, because love trumps hate. 

Peace and love and shining the light in the darkness, buttercups. XX


Monday, April 24, 2017

American Gods

"You are an analog girl, living in a digital world."
                                                      -Neil Gaiman



Peace and love and excellent novels and countdowns to American Gods, cupcakes. xx

Friday, April 21, 2017

The Pug Life

“We are not shit-eaters!”
God help me, my neighbors have probably heard me bellow this across my yard at Mutzie the Pug more mornings than I would like to admit. She usually looks up at me, from whatever she is munching, as if she my admonitions are ruining her morning snack.
Who, me? Pictures or it never happened. 
It’s a vicious cycle. She poops in the yard. The deer poop in the yard. Random woodland creatures poop in the yard. I scoop the poop, thinking of George Carlin’s musings about who really rules the world (hint: he didn’t think the ones holding the bags of poop were the rulers). And Mutzie makes it her life’s work to alert me to what I have missed by having it for her breakfast.
This has been a continuous source of shame for me, a feeling that I have failed as a dog owner. A good dog owner would not have a shit-eater, right? And then, yesterday happened. We took Bella the Puppy to a doggie daycare and boarding facility to get her acclimated for when I have to travel or be gone for long hours. Up on their chalkboard, amongst all of the notes on various dogs, was this:
                          “Beware: Ernest loves to eat poop!!!”
Suddenly, I no longer felt alone in my shame. Somewhere out there, other dog owners probably ran across the lawn in their pajamas, trying to prevent their doggies from partaking of the poop. I had kindred spirits out there- others who would understand the dread of a dog park or trail. There are no deep thoughts in this post, just the realization that it is nice not feel like I am the only person in the world who has used the words, “We are not shit-eaters in this household!”

Peace and love and pugs and pristine lawns, buttercups. xx

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Today's Bucket List

I am done with DU in just a few weeks, unless I apply to grad school. Let’s be honest, I can actually tell you the hours I have left, not including drive time and studying hours. I have been amassing a bucket list of ALL of the things I want to do once I am living like a normal person again, without what amounts to two full-time jobs at once. My bucket list includes chasing storms, going to see my Mema, gardening, camping with my monkey, refinishing my cabinets, learning how to use my grill, actually seeing my friends, sleeping a normal amount, the Incline, going to the Farmers Market, reading for pleasure, and a million other things, large and small.
But this last quarter, I have realized that I cannot wait until I am done. I might make my first B’s this time around, and I might have to let things slide but I cannot wait one more day to tend to my garden and live my life. Soo, I have been doing the little things, interspersed here and there, while I also work and study. I have been cleaning up my yard, and amending soil for a garden. Planting wildflowers so that my side yard will be a rainbow of color. Reading for pleasure, in between ALL of the other reading. Writing for pleasure, in between all of the Capstone work and papers. Binge watching old Deadwood episodes (best dialogue and most creative cursing ever). Ordering an American Gods coloring book for the American Gods premiere, just to cement my nerdiness. Cooking- over the last three years, I forgot how much I like cooking and baking. Visiting friends. I decided that life is too short to have a bucket list of things to do someday, so I am doing them now.
That being said, I am redoing my floors on my lower level, so if anyone has that on their bucket list, give me a call <3

Peace and love and extra cream in your coffee and pleasure reading, buttercups. xx

Tuesday, April 18, 2017



                                             peace and love and patience, buttercups. xx

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Some days.

Some days require a bit of bribery.
We head out to the trail every day, because we both need the exercise. She needs it because her border collie genes require that she runs about eighty miles a day on top of catching the ball six hundred times and herding everything with a pulse. I need it because it keeps me from sinking into dark valleys and because three years of full-time work and DU classes has taken a physical toll on my ass (literally and figuratively, and I am too frugal to just adjust and expand my wardrobe).
Some days are easier than others.
Some days, we both race to the trail like we have been counting the seconds before we could get there. And other days are a little more challenging. Those days, I need to clean house/do laundry/pay bills/deal with insurance companies/read for classes/write papers/apply to grad school/do yardwork/a million other things, and I want to do anything but head to the trail. And still other days, I just want to burrow under my covers and sleep in.
But still, we go. We might be faster and go further on the good days, and we might slog through on the challenging ones. But, no matter what, we go. And we will go tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. Because even if we are just slogging along, we are always better for it, and always glad we hit the trail. Even if one of us may require ample treats along the way.

Peace and love and treats and trails, buttercups. xx

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Around the Edges

Podcasts are my new obsession. Whether I am listening to an Auschwitz survivor recount his memories or a political blog about 45, podcasts get me through many long drives and even more early mornings. As I was recently listening to a podcast with Tim Ferris interviewing the author, Cheryl Strayed, she was speaking about how she binge writes. She talked about not writing for weeks or months, and then about how she will go check into a hotel and write for 48 hours straight. As Strayed recounted these writing binges, she noted that some of her best writing actually occurred around the messy and chaotic edges of her days. That phrase, “around the edges,” stuck out to me.
Around the edges. We spend so much time on the edges, even as we are always trying to get into the middle, into the thick of things. We are always trying to get to the next thing- the next level at work, the next ten pounds lost, the next, the next… My ex-boyfriend thought he could be happy six or nine months from now, but not until he got to the next level or the next.
What if the living that we do around the edges is indeed the good stuff? What if the writing that we sneak in between loads of laundry, the car rides to drop off kids in the mornings, and the living in between home renovations - what if all of the edges are truly the best part?
I am working on recognizing that this moment is possibly the best moment I get. I can strive to lose ten pounds or run a faster mile or finish the flooring in my house, but this moment living around the edges of the day is the magic. So, I shouldn’t wait to get to the next Next to be happy or satisfied or love my people better- I should do it right now, on today’s edge, even as my house is messy and my cold is in full force. Because today's chaotic edges are the good stuff.





Peace and love and living your bestest best right now, buttercups. xx

Greatest Love Story on Film.


Forget Dirty Dancing, Love Actually, and The Notebook. This. This is the love that I want.




Peace, love, daydreaming clouds, and love in the thick of your everyday living, buttercups. xx

Friday, March 24, 2017

Rolling in the Right Now.

We said goodbye to two of the best dogs ever in the last eleven months. Gallup, the big Galumph, who never met a stranger. Eighty five pounds of yellow lab, he could become six thousand pounds of brute force pulling your arm out of socket if you happened to be holding a leash when he spied a squirrel. He liked to escape the house and yard to greet neighbors, and often turned up at one of the nearby restaurants because, well, FOOD. I still awaken sometimes, expecting to hear his old man snores and sighs, remembering as I gather my wits, that he has been gone for a while. 

And Lucky. My God. Lucky was a force to be reckoned with. He was wiry and prickly, and drove me absolutely nuts. That dog could destroy a piece of furniture if he thought that a crumb was under a cushion. He could sniff out a trash can in mere seconds, and spread coffee grounds and food across three levels of a house like an artist painting a canvas. His terrier teeth were legendarily sharp, and his bark was even sharper. He liked to pee on random things, sometimes a wall, and other times a fireplace hearth, and his favorite place to throw up was right by my bed, so I could step in it first thing in the morning. All of that, and I still fucking adored that dog. He was the most loyal being I have ever known, and he taught me more about loyalty and love than I understood. At the end, he went from prickly to sweet, and I spent several nights holding him like a baby, whispering sweet words to him through the hours and feeding him scrambled eggs and biscuits. Lucky was with me through the last nine years, and I still find myself calling for him before I remember that he is gone

                                                                                                                                                                    And then this girl. This girl fell into our laps. Nate and I knew we wanted another dog at some point, and that we didn't want Mutzie to be alone. I thought we would go with just one dog for a while, and
then eventually find a nice border collie or pit bull mix to adopt in the future. But someone introduced us to this girl, and she literally put her front legs around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder and sighed. Everyone around us sighed too, and that was that. Look at this face.




Bella is a six month old border collie dressed in a Labrador costume. She is so smart that it scares me- she knows sit/stay/lie down/drop it/no/shake/leave it/right here/come/treat and more. She brings me her leash to go for a walk. We can hide things and she finds them. She tries to walk Mutzie around the house with her leash, barking sternly if Mutzie doesn't walk with her. She already loves agility courses, snow, flip flops, and flushing toilets. 

And she is saving me. She gets me up at the crack of dawn to run. She drags me away from my books and screen to walk through the neighborhood, forcing me to notice birds and blades of grass. She gets me out of my head, where my thoughts often threaten to push me under the waves. And she reminds me of the importance of being present, rolling in the right now. That being said, she is not perfect. She ate a favourite flip flop and peed on my bed last night, just to remind me that she is a D-O-G and that I need to do laundry. 

Peace and love and loyalty and dogs, cupcakes. xx


Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Life, in a sentence

"And it was not the fire I imagined or dreamed of. It was the fire I got.”
                                                                                     -Tom Waits


Friday, March 17, 2017

Life in the Middle

As I sit here with my coffee this morning, two dogs are happily chewing toys at my feet. I have Willy Tea Taylor playing, and the trains are chugging along out the back door.
Major epiphany- not sure if it comes from being up since three this morning, or from this third cup of caffeine. I am right in the middle of everything. The middle is the good stuff- it’s messy and chaotic and awful and beautiful all rolled together in one big jumble. The middle is seeing people we love getting sick, and celebrating others getting well. It’s puppy breath in our face and teaching an excited teenager the joy of driving. It’s mourning losses and embracing the moment, all at once.
We always want to get to the next part, rushing along to when we lose ten pounds or feel better or finish a big project. Funny thing is, when we lose ten pounds or wean off of something or finish something else, we are still going to be right here in the middle, tempted to rush along to the next thing.
I think I am going to enjoy this messy middle. This moment, where I have a ton of yard work to do, ten weeks left in my journey at DU, loved ones who are sick, sweet messy dogs, and a teenager who wants to practice his parking. I am going to just relish the middle, because it may well be the best part of this life.

Peace and love and puppy breath and messy middles, buttercups. xx

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

XX

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and GOOD madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you are wonderful. And don’t forget to make some ART (write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can). And somewhere in the next year, I hope you surprise yourself.
-Neil Gaiman

Peace and love and you being you, buttercups. XX

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Home.

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well34
your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.14
no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.
you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land55
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough
the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home6
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here
-Warsan Shire
Peace and love and a safe place to call home, buttercups. xx

Thursday, January 26, 2017

My answer

Six days in, and my head is spinning. The schism amongst Americans grows wider, as each “side” digs their heels in deeper, oblivious to the fact that they are sinking into the pit. While we know the side that I tend to lean to, I think of it as less a side than a set of beliefs. I believe that a society is ultimately judged by how well she takes care of all of her citizens. I believe we are a nation of immigrants, and that should not be ignored-unless you are of 100% indigenous ancestry, your people were, at some point, part of the tired and huddled masses looking for a new life. I believe that facts are facts, proven in trials and peer-reviewed studies, not inflammatory videos that show no faces or references. I believe that our healthcare system is broken. It was broken ten years ago, and it is broken now- but we shouldn’t set fire to it and leave an ashy pile of debris with no other option in sight. I believe in equal rights- those rights were and are hard fought for. Any woman who thinks those rights just floated in on a cloud of fairy dust and faith needs to study on how women rising up and protesting actually brought about any rights at all. If not for suffragists willing to be jailed and tortured, women would still be considered chattel. Rights can be fought for, given, and taken, so complacency is not always an option for everyone.
Now, I have had spirited discussions, privately and publicly, with men who think that the marches were unnecessary and unpatriotic. I have been asked a lot of questions about why we marched and about Trump’s actions. Why do we think he is against women? Why do we think he is dangerous? What is wrong with his stance about the environment? Why do we think he is dangerous in regards to freedom of speech and freedom of religion?
I started to answer these questions. I compiled a list of his quotes, his tweets, and screenshots from his website- all verifiable facts that come from the man himself. And then, the epiphany. Why do I have to explain Trump’s policies, words, and actions to anyone? If you voted for him, you should know what all of those are. You should know that in 2012, he decried the Electoral College as a sham. You should know that he is systematically dismantling protections for the environment- it is all laid out in his speeches and on his websites. You should know all of this and more. You might agree with it, all of it, and that is your right. And if you do not know all of his actions, you should start paying attention. Again, you voted for him- if I have to answer these questions for you, you really do need to catch up on your reading of both our constitution and of our most recent executive orders.
So, no, I am not going to answer all of the questions. I can, but you should know the answers on your own. Look at the facts. Read the briefings, the legal wording of each presidential order- don’t trust the grainy video or the catchy meme. And remember that one of the highest acts of patriotism is to question. As Roosevelt said, “Patriotism means to stand by the country. It does not mean to stand by the president or any other public official, save exactly to the degree in which he himself stands by the country. It is patriotic to support him insofar as he efficiently serves the country. It is unpatriotic not to oppose him to the exact extent that by inefficiency or otherwise he fails in his duty to stand by the country. In either event, it is unpatriotic not to tell the truth, whether about the president or anyone else.”
Pretty sure that Roosevelt did not reference blind allegiance to one man or to alternative facts. As for me, I cannot speak for anyone other than myself. So, I am going to keep paying attention, keep questioning, and keep living my life. I hope you do the same.

Peace, facts, and humanity, buttercups. xx

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Resolving

2016 has been a year, hasn’t it?
What kind of year, I am not certain, but it has been a year. One that I am happy to put in the books. If you have read my blog in the past, you know that I avoid resolutions like I avoid people in the grocery store. I loathe resolutions, because they are just taunting you, willing you to shatter them on the sidewalk.


But 2017 might be different. 2016 feels like the filthy black snow piled up on roadsides at the end of winter, and 2017 feels hopeful and shimmery, fresh-fallen snow glittering in the morning sun. I do believe I am going to mix it up and make some resolutions this time around. The other way, avoiding them, did not seem to work out so well, so I am going to try something new.


Now for the resolving. The resolutions.


I resolve to get off of Facebook. Not in a melodramatic “Message me if you don’t want me to unfriend you” way, but I am going to take it off of my phone and tuck it away on a regular basis.


I resolve to move my arse more often. This isn’t a resolution to lose twenty pounds or be bikini-ready. The last year was an awful one, physically, and I recognize what a gift being able to be physically active is. Whether I snowshoe or run, hike the Incline or walk my thyroid-challenged Pug, I am going to move as much as I can. Plus, more movement means more guilt-free tacos, and that is a wonderful thing, my friends.


I resolve to seek out joy. I intend to spend more time with the people I adore, to seek out like-minded people, and surround myself with sunshine. More rain on my face so I can glimpse the rainbows. More nights under the stars to remind me of miracles. More time with my kids, whether it is in a loud arcade or getting pedicures. More cream in my coffee, and more moments that fill my heart.


I resolve to let go of the things. You know, the things. Worrying about that which I have zero control over. Sucking my stomach in to fit in those ridiculous jeans from too long ago. The people who are not good for me. Anger over past transgressions, and sadness over losses. The stacks of paperback books that I might maybe possibly read again someday. The underwear that lost its elastic an embarrassingly long time ago. Money owed to me that will never be paid. I am realising that letting go is different than stuffing down or abandoning, and I am going to make it a priority so that I can get to more of the joy resolution above.


I resolve to be present. In our world of connectedness, I feel so disconnected from my people. Even though I knew what you ate for lunch or where you checked in for a movie, I have not picked up a phone and called you or invited you over for a glass of wine. This was a huge mistake in 2016, and I am going to be present moving forward. No checking my Twitter, looking at my email, tracking my steps, or mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I am going to spend that time connecting- so if I call you, pick up the phone. If we meet for coffee, or you come over for dinner, the phone is going to be put away so I can be present with you- because you are amazing and many times better than any Buzzfeed listicle.


There. Resolving. Making resolutions. I think I got this. January 1st, I am starting off with spiked hot chocolate topped with full-fat whipped cream, and following it up with a well-placed curse word and some carbs because life is too short and too precious for those silly sorts of resolutions.


Peace and love and extra whipped cream, buttercups. xx



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