Just Write #203 ~ Nature lessons

I took this photo in 2018, probably sometime in early spring, based on the bare trees and drab colors of the landscape. It borders the lot of a Harborcreek church we often park at to run, walk, or bike because we like the long, mostly-flat roads near it.

I remember smirking when I saw this little tree growing right out of the stump of the one they tried to kill, or maybe the parent tree was just old and dying. I don’t know, but I admire this little guy’s pluck.

And now, look, three years later:

You have to admire the tenacity and resilience of nature and if you don’t, you should. If you look, you’ll find it everywhere. In this tiny “weed” that grew a foot up to see the sun:

This hosta that used to be outside of our garage and is now inside the much larger garage and growing in what’s left of the dirt and a little bit of sunshine from the windows in the garage. By the way, we’ve already dug up and replanted three garage hosta, but the roots just keep sending up new shoots.

These flowers growing in sand and stone and blazing heat of which I have never felt until traveling through the southwestern U.S. with my family a couple years ago:

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This enormous rhododendron bush that my husband has wanted to cut down since the day we moved into the house 25 years ago because “it blocks your vision” when backing out of the driveway. I tell him to just nose out a little further because every spring this bush makes the hassle worth it.  (I’m certain it will outlive both of us.)

This tiny milk snake, sunning himself on a busy path, narrowly avoiding being squished by a lunchtime walker (me) and a young female runner who happened by at the same time. I was excited and i pointed to the snake and said….LOOK, how cool! I immediately worried she would shriek and run away faster. Instead, to my utter happiness, she squatted down next to me and we watched him slither along for a bit.

These “weeds” that bring color and life to our ditches, fields, roadsides, and really anywhere cause…..dammit, they bloom where they are planted (by the wind, birds, insects):

This nest of tiny baby birds tucked into a hanging potted fern on my front porch where a dog and two (killer) cats routinely lounge. I fear the day the babies fledge. My entire family is on alert to protect them while they learn to fly and keep the killers cats inside, no matter how much they cry, pout, or box each other (they beat up on each other when you don’t let them out — like bored kids picking on each other):

This sun that comes up and goes down day after day after day after day after day. Most days the vast majority of us don’t even notice it coming and going, but there are some days (and nights) that it demands our attention:

I’m so inspired by nature. In awe of the miracles around us every day that go unnoticed by many. And, I assume, we go mostly unnoticed by them as they just do what they do — grow, shine, multiply, live.

One of my favorite things to think about is what would happened in this world if all the humans left. What will be come of our shopping malls and concrete bridges and paved roads when we finally destroy ourselves? Save for our domestic animals, I’m guessing most of the natural world would be better off with out us.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write #202 ~ Art matters

Kelly and I were driving up the Bayfront Connector highway, returning home from a quick run to the Blasco Library on the bayfront to pick up a book that I had reserved, when we passed something I’d seen many times before that struck me completely different that day.

There’s a company on one of the side streets (10th, i think) called Lighthouse Construction. Several years ago, probably after the connector went in and they realized the back of their building faced the road, they build a faux “lighthouse” out of wood jutting a few feet out of the back wall of the building. More recently, they added a colorful sunset and some water and waves.

As I drove, I glanced over and admired the mural and I started to think about who commissioned it. Who paid for it? Who painted it? Why was it important to them to do that? Who said to themselves (or someone else): “you know what would look really nice?…”

It’s the back of their building. No customers or vendors enter that way. And, yet, they had someone paint this lovely scene just to brighten up the lives of people just driving by. They spent hard-earned money on a piece of art for no other reason than to put something beautiful into the world.

That is something to appreciate in this world where humans are growing increasingly ugly to one another.

Things like that restore my faith in humanity and remind me that public art really matters. It makes our world brighter, more interesting, and — hopefully — gives us a few minutes of pause in contemplating the complexities of the human life.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write #201 ~ Return to office

I cried when my boss told me I had to go home in March of 2020. Not a lot, cause it’s me and I grew up with three brothers and you learn not to cry, so it was more like my eyes watered. It just felt so weird and scary to be told to take my laptop and whatever files I needed home because I literally wasn’t allowed to come back for a while.

By that time, there were only a couple of us left in the office anyway. One by one, my coworkers had trickled out that week. The whole thing seemed overblown and overly dramatic to me. *rolls eyes* Shit, I never get sick anyway. This is dumb, I thought as I gathered up my things, trying to think about what I might need to work from home for a week or two.

It’s funny now to think back on those first few weeks and months. When we thought this was all temporary and it would just take a month to “flatten the curve” and life would return to normal soon. Nearly every working mother I know was using the COVID lockdown to deep clean their homes room by room, organize drawers, clean out closets, and cook fancy meals they never had time to. Surely, life would be back to normal by summer, so may as well make use of this weird time, eh?

March 2020

Ha…ha…ha…ha….ha….ha…..

I truly think if we had a different president (oh, I don’t know like a competent woman named Hillary) we would’ve never even ended up going home in March. I don’t think the virus would’ve gotten here, let allow be allowed to run roughshod over the country while our leaders denied it’s existence, but we had a buffoon in the White House who made the entire situation exponentially worse for months on end until we finally voted his incompetent ass out of office and let the adults take charge.

100 days later, almost everyone I know and interact with are now fully vaccinated. Life has actually started to return to some semblance of normal. We are back to having small family and friend gatherings again. We’ve stopped obsessively applying antibacterial gel after going to any public place and wiping shit down with antibacterial wipes (OK, fine…I never did that…that really was stupid and so wasteful.) Lauren is going to have a prom (a weird one, but still) and an actual in-person graduation (outside, but still).

The work-from-home situation has worked out for a lot of us. There’s a lot to like. A 30-second commute to your home office or kitchen table or wherever you set up a workspace. No bras, makeup, pants, combed hair, showers, shoes, or lunch/coffee money required (I’ve probably saved $500 on coffee in the last year).

My pets/kids don’t care if I work in my jammy pants and a hoodie, reeking of chlorine with wet hair from an 11:30 lap swim at the Y. Or, if I run with friends at 7 a.m. and start work at 8 a.m. still a hot mess from a quick 4-miler. And, don’t even get me started on having our pets near/with us all day long. They’ve lived their best lives in the past year.

A year later, few are eager to race back to the 8-5 office life in dress pants with real buttons (OMG) and mascara and heels and specific lunch hours and the inability to throw in a load of laundry or empty the dishwasher or put dinner in the oven between tasks.

But most of us will be heading back to our offices this summer as the COVID crisis subsides in the U.S. and more and more people get vaccinated. We’ll return to the building and offices we came from, lugging the files and equipment we, little by little, took home as we stopped back in to our offices briefly to pick up more things needed for the long haul — chairs, keyboards, monitors, standup desks, and more.

We’ll clear our bulletin boards of year-old notices and to-do lists. We’ll grin at our calendars, still turned to March of 2020 We’ll dust off — well, probably everything by now. We’ll toss out that chocolate stash in our lower drawer, if the mice haven’t already got to it. We’ll open the windows to let some fresh air into stale offices, heat/AC systems be damned. We’ll refill the office fridge with bottled water and salad dressing and coffee creamer.

We’ll forget what it was like to get up for work at 7:54 and still make it on time with a cup of hot coffee in hand.

There are a lot of things I’ll miss about working at home, but there are some things I look forward to in returning to the office. I wrote them down because some days I need a reminder to focus on the positive and that the work-at-home thing was always temporary and that I once cried because I wanted to go to the office every day.

A few things I’m looking forward to:

• Taking the tags off a year’s worth of Stitch fix clothing. I’m going to wear new stuff for WEEKS.
• Using the company’s printer ink and paper.
• Paper proofs. The biggest challenge for me at home has been proofreading publications. I’d rather see red pen on paper than try to decipher (and make) notes on PDFs and .JPGs.
• Weight loss. At work, there is zero temptation to snack all day. There’s no kitchen in my office. I will eat only what I bring and I’m waaaaay more virtuous in the morning.
• El Canelo lunches with coworkers. I miss my work friends and that questionable Mexican restaurant that we love to frequent.
• Picking brains without technology. It’s much easier to wander over to a coworkers office to get an opinion on something or chat at the water cooler about an upcoming project than it is to “bother” them with a zoom or phone call.
• In-person interviews. I can do interviews via email all day, but they almost always better when I do them in person.
• A bustling campus. One of the worst things about 2020, early 2021 has been an eerily empty campus. It’s creepy AF. Like winter or spring break, but it’s been a year…and it weird and I want them back — the energy, the life, the noise. I’ll take all of it, even if it means a shitty parking spot and a 10-minute wait when trying to leave campus at class change.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write #197 ~ Purpose

For the first time in weeks, it wasn’t bitter cold and windy. The sun was coming up, the temps were tolerable, and the streets were clear, so I arrived at our meeting spot happy and excited to run even though it was 7 a.m. (hell, I used to run at 5 a.m., so…). That morning, it was just me and my friend C and she’s way faster than me.

Fortunately, she has mercy and lets me set the pace. I only need to lag behind a bit before she notices and slows her roll. The pace is somewhat challenging for me, but not so fast that I can’t talk. And, we talk and talk and talk and talk.

That’s the joy of running with friends, particularly girlfriends. C is one step ahead of me in the parenting game, with two gone from the nest and one more about to graduate from college and get married this summer, which makes C a valuable source of parenting information and advice because she has just been there, just done that.  She is far enough ahead to offer perspective, but close enough to remember what it was like. She always has the best advice, too.

We talk about anything and everything when we run and that morning we talk about what’s on my mind — this odd transitional time in my life, one kid in college, the other about to graduate from high school. After nearly twenty years of constant activity and rushing here and there, the end of Lauren’s swim season has suddenly left me with a lot of free time in the evenings. The girls drive themselves the places they want to go. Many evenings they both go off to work about the time I finish up for the day and I’m left wandering around the house like, well now what?

Why am I here now? What’s my purpose now? I don’t know what to do with myself, so I mostly do more miles (I take a lot of walks).

I share all this existential mid-life crisis shit with C as we crest a hill that offers a far-off view of the lake — bright blue this morning, thanks to the sunshine.

As we gain speed on the downhill, she says, “I remember feeling that way, and it was really hard for me because I was a stay-at-home mom. It was literally my life, you know? But, then I went back to work.”

C works at the college in food services where she befriends every coworker, but especially looks out for the student workers and she has a soft-spot for any kid that needs any kind of help. Unlike me, who would run screaming from drama or complicated kids, C dives right in. A mother on a mission to make things better, whatever it takes.

She tells me about one of her student coworkers who had just given her an unexpected gift — a bag with all the ingredients to do some baking — and a heartfelt letter about how C had made this girl, who has not had the greatest life or parental support, feel — welcomed, loved, seen, cared for.

“So, you know, it feels like I found a purpose again,” she said.

“Oh, my God, stop,” I say as I feel tears welling. “I cannot run this pace and cry.”

She’s still mothering. Gathering them all up under her wings. Watching out for them. Meeting their needs.

The world needs a million more people like C, quietly changing lives just by caring. I can’t think of a more noble purpose.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 196 ~ Endure, endure, endure

Despite having reserved a lane and getting there five minutes early, the pool is full and I’m going to have to share a lane. I hate that. And, in this age of COVID-19, I don’t even feel we should be doing that, but….whatever. It’s 7 a.m. on a Monday and I’m standing at the pool in my bathing suit, so dammit, I’m swimming.

There’s a lane line missing at the end, so I slip in between a walker on my right and an older guy swimming on my left. I try to indicate to both of them that I’ll stay in the middle between the two black lines, but they both ignore me so I just start swimming; they’ll figure it out.

It’s cold. Really cold in my spot because it’s where the pipes are putting in fresh water and it’s coming out cold. Very cold. It’s like swimming through a patch of ice water every time I turn — at both ends cold water is pouring in at the exact spot I need to turn/swim.

I keep looking to my right to see if any of the other lanes are clearing. Surely some of these people will not swim the entire 45 minutes. One is just treading water in the deep end, taking up a whole lane to do so and I’m so annoyed.

But, I’m always annoyed these days. Annoyed. Irritated. Pissed off is my natural state these days. I don’t even now why. Weather? Politics? Pandemic fatigue? Perimenopause? Depression? Mid-life crisis? The big 5-0 coming up fast?  I have no idea, I just know that it all feels exhausting.

As I swim, the pool is still not clearing out and I think: Of course. Whatever. Let the strong mother endure the shit lane. The blast of freezing water every 25 yards, straddling two lanes hoping not to piss anyone off. Endure, endure, endure. Story of every woman’s life.

It’s International Woman’s Day and I’m not even sure what that is or how it came about or what it means. Nobody cares about women. Never have, never will. They really just want us to shut up and keep being the good, selfless workhorses we’ve always been. Endure, endure, endure. And, for heaven’s sake, do it with a smile and some gratitude and, for the love of god, put on some makeup and a bra and, whatever do you, do not get fat.

Take the shitty lane. Try to keep everyone happy.  Don’t complain. Grin and bear it.

Endure, endure, endure.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 195 ~ Senior years

Lauren’s cap and tassel arrived the other day. I took a photo and sent it to a friend, saying “Sh** just got real.”

She said, “Wow, both kids out of high school. How does that feel?”

“Honestly. I’m glad to be done. There comes a point when you’re just sick of it all. I’m ready to be done.”

And, yet, an hour later, the girls had come home from school and college, respectively, and left again, Lauren to swim practice and Kelly to her evening job. Dan was going to do something at his apartment, and I was done with work for the day.

*whistles*

I opened the conversation with my friend and added, “And, yet…..I feel sort of lost right now. Not sure what to do with my free time anymore.”

My friend L has a mostly empty nest now, with one in college and one finishing her senior year in another state while she competes with a sports team. L signed up for an Ironman and she just bought a bike shop. I used to think she was kinda nuts. I’m like…good for you girl, but….that sounds like a whole lot of work.

Now, I get it.

Parenting is 18 years of constant activity. It’s exhausting and exhilarating and frustrating and exciting. It’s a thousand things every day. With teens, sometimes it’s all the things in one afternoon, ranging from “I love that girl so much” to “I cannot wait for her to move out.” 

Lauren swam her last high school meet on Monday. It was weird to walk out of there afterwards, saying goodbye to all the other swim parents, knowing it’s unlikely we’d ever set foot in that pool area again after spending so many evenings there over the last three winters.

L says I’ve got it a little easier with both girls staying home for college (for now), and she’s not wrong. It was much more abrupt for her with both of her kids moving out all at once. From constant activity (practices, school stuff, laundry, cooking, cleaning) to almost nothing.

My transition to the empty nest will be more gradual, more quiet evenings than not, the occasional event to attend at college, fewer people at the dinner table, etc.  For that, I’m grateful.  But, then, ask me in six hours when they are both home and a sister fight breaks out over something or other (almost always food….WHO ATE ALL THE WHITE CHEDDAR POPCORN?!). Then, I might tell you that I wish they’d go to University Park.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this post. It’s meandering and up and down….like life, like parenting, like your child’s senior year. Just continuing on while you search for meaning.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 194 ~ Grandma’s girl

I got pregnant with my firstborn the year we lost my sister-in-law to a long, drawn out battle with cancer. She was only 44 and it was a devastating loss for all of us, but especially for my mom and I as we’d both grown close to her. That year was a roller coaster, whipsawing us back and forth between hope and despair until the final plummet to the bottom when it all screeched to a stop and we got off the the ride a little wobbly-legged and disoriented.

It’s weird when someone you love dies and the rest of the world just goes on like normal without pause and you’re kinda standing there thinking: No, actually, stop! Nothing is normal right now, dammit. I hate all of you.

But, life does go on. And, yet, it changed me in a lot of ways. For one, I stopped waiting for the “right time” to do things because I didn’t know how much time there would be for me.  That was the summer we drained our saving account to put in an in-ground pool (f*** it, let’s do it!), that was the year I did another marathon (f*** it, it won’t kill me), and it was the year after 7 years of marriage that we decided to start a family.

I still wasn’t sure. I had no idea how I was going to manage a demanding job and a baby. I wasn’t sure I’d be a good mother (I have almost no patience). I didn’t know how I was going to pay for a baby or daycare, or where this child would sleep, but…..f*** it, right?

My mother had always told me that she’d raised her five kids and she wasn’t going to spend her golden years taking care of her grandchildren five days a week.  Don’t misunderstand: She loved her grandchildren and babysat plenty, but she had zero intention of a second career as a daycare provider.

But I think Grace’s death rattled my mother a lot, too, reinforcing the truth that family and spending time with them is a precious gift.

I couldn’t have been more surprised when, after we announced Kelly Grace was on the way, she offered to babysit a couple days a week, preferably just two.

I managed to work out a deal with my wonderful boss (a mother of five) in the marketing department at the newspaper to work at home twice a week. This was in 2001, so it was long before remote working was accepted or standard for anyone. But, my boss let me create a schedule that worked for me — four ten-hour days, working at home for two of them.  Yes, she was (and still is) amazing. I am lucky to have had the right boss at the right time.

Anyway…between working at home, Mondays off, and my mom babysitting on Tuesdays and Fridays and my in-laws on an as-needed basis, we had it covered and Kelly spent all of her early years in the care of family.

She quickly became a grandma’s girl. We realized early on that it was easier for everyone if she slept over at grandma’s on the night before her day there. I’d run her over at bedtime and put her to sleep (or leave her to watch TV with grandma for awhile) and then I could get up early to get a run in before work while Grandma and Kelly slept until a more reasonable hour.

It’s not easy to care for babies/toddlers and my mom was in her 60s then (although that doesn’t seem old to me now), so when Lauren came along two years later, I fully expected mom to bow out. Thankfully, she didn’t and just made room for one more. She’d handled five once, what was two?

But, yet, there was a special bond between Kelly and grandma, maybe born of those years alone with each other, but more likely due to Kelly’s nature. She’s quiet and obedient, kind and sweet and thoughtful. She’s an easy kid.

When she was mad at me, toddler Kelly would demand to go home.

“You are home,” I would say .

“NO, my OTHER home. My home at gammas!”

I’d just laugh. “That can be arranged, kid.”

“I go live with gamma.”

****

Today, Kelly is a 19-year-old college freshman with a job and her own car and whenever she’s late coming home from work, I don’t even have to text her to know where she is. She stopped at my mom’s, probably to watch some trashy Bachelor or reality show that I can’t tolerate and they both love.

Last week, she had a free evening and wanted to go out to eat.

“Can’t. Lauren has a swim meet,” I said.

“Oh, OK,” she said.

“Why don’t you call grandma? She likes to go out to eat,” I said. “You know she’ll go.”

“Yeah, but I feel bad because she always pays.”

“Well, tell her you’re paying. That you want to take her out to eat.”

A couple of hours later I was sweating my face off (you know what’s even more fun that sweating in the stands at a swim meet, doing it in a mask. yay!) when I got a text from Kelly.

“We went to O’Charley’s,” she said, and sent a photo:

I posted it to Insta and FB with a comment about how all that babysitting was finally starting to pay off for grandma.

But it’s probably Kelly that’s the big winner here. Some kids never know their grandparents. Some kids live far away from them. Some kids can’t call their grandparents up and take them to dinner at 4 p.m. on a Monday. Some kids wouldn’t dream of hanging out with their grandma watching trash television. Some kids would do anything to bask in the unconditional love and attention of a grandparent who has plenty of time to go to dinner or listen to long-winded stories or offer a second “home.”

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BTW, the girls are close to their other grandparents, too, thanks to weekly Friday night gatherings at the Cass’ — year-round, every Friday night, like Sunday dinner but with chicken wings and beer. That’s a story for another day though, kids.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 191 ~ Lucky mom

It’s 2:31 p.m. and I know any minute, I’ll see her gray SUV in my peripheral vision, the slowing vehicle catching my eye in the window to the right of my home office desk. I’ll turn my head, and see her signal blinking. She always signals (and always yells at me for not signaling when driving).

And, I’ll get excited because this girl always brings energy and light and life into my life. She’ll have stories. She always does.

Sometimes I’ll hear her music thumping, but more often the first thing I’ll hear is the door open and her enthusiastically greeting the dog in a high falsetto voice. “Hey, Sammie. Hey, there’s my best boy. How’s my Sammy? You brought me a shoe?! Thank you! You’re the best dog.”

Then, she’ll yell, “MOM! HELLO? ANYBODY HOME?”

I’ve been home since March of 2020, but she still always seem surprised to find me here.  I’ll yell down, “Hey…how was school?”

She’ll drop all of her stuff — all of it – shoes, coat, books, purse, keys — on the kitchen counter where I have told her for a dozen years to stop dropping all her stuff, and she’ll already be talking a stream as she walks up the stairs to tell me, in great detail, about nearly everything that happened during the day.

Sometimes I get annoyed because I don’t really want to hear a 13-minute story about some random kid from school when I’m just trying to finish a brief for Science News, but she’s hard to ignore. And, soon I’m drawn in; the girl is pretty engaging. I know more about her classmates’ lives than they could ever imagine.

If I give her the floor, she’ll talk for hours, bracketing each story with….”What else happened today? Oh, yeah….”

She’s a lot. Noise. Energy. Emotions. She’s not always in a good mood or nice. And, whoooboy, when she’s mad, she’s mad.

There was a little girl

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There was a little girl,

            Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

            When she was good,

            She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

It’s like Longfellow knew Lauren.

But after awhile, you learn to love her despite the (thankfully, rare) storms, maybe even in part because of them. Who doesn’t love a good summer thunderstorm, after all?

She’s a lot, that girl. She’s been a lot from the beginning, when she nearly demanded to be born at Waldameer Park, walked at 8 months, potty trained herself before her 2nd birthday, and insisted I take the training wheels off the bike when she was barely old enough to touch the ground.

Cut to last night — Senior Night at the first home meet of her final swim season and I’m standing in a hallway holding  maroon and gold balloons and roses, waiting to present them to my girl, who will walk through two rows of clapping teammates and meet me with both tears in her eyes and a giant smile on her face, evident even behind the mask covering it.

It’s been a weird-ass year.

At first, I start to tear up, too, but then I see her — I mean, I see her. I know this girl….this joyous, amazing, incredible girl that I helped get here…to this point…to this finish line (one of many). And, magically, the tears and the lump dissolve because there’s nothing really to be sad about.

Lucky.  Lucky is how I feel to be her mom. To live in her light.

She’s a lot, that girl.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 188 ~ I don’t hate this slow life

I noticed my work bag in my closet when I was putting away clean clothes Sunday. It’s been sitting there collecting dust since mid-March along with the vast majority of the clothes and shoes in my closet.  All that I have worn in months are shorts, yoga pants, hoodies, T-shirts, and workout clothes.  Summer tops, work capris, sweaters, dress pants, suit jackets, sundresses all hang around — each season passing by with little to no occasion to wear any of it.

I’ve spent a lot of time being angry and anxious about the way life is going right now. Kelly missed out on her senior prom, then her graduation. The party that we eventually decided to hold, was a source of major worry for weeks leading up and weeks after lest someone there have been sick. She started college in her bedroom.

Lauren started her senior year of H.S. at home, too. Swim season may or may not happen. It’s touch-and-go from day to day. Senior prom, track season and graduation are question marks, too.  Both of my kids getting screwed over in their senior year seems supremely unfair.

And, yet, I woke this morning feeling grateful for this odd year.  I slept in until 7:54 a.m., which gave me just enough time to crawl out of bed, make coffee, and walk upstairs to start work on time.

I don’t hate this life.

Except for the threat of illness, in a lot of ways, it’s everything I wished for — a solid 8-9 hours of sleep every night, working in comfy clothes, the flexibility of working from home, a nearly clear evening schedule, a perfect excuse to bow out of any social events, more time to read, cook dinner, clean the house, binge Netflix shows, play games or build puzzles with the girls, take long daily walks, and do little home projects. I could (as my mother would call it) putter for hours, organizing drawers, putting things away, cleaning the grout in the bathroom, touching up the paint in the hallway…. I am never bored.

Until COVID started to rage out of control again, I had been running two to three times a week with a few friends in the morning. Not at 5 a.m., like I used to have to run, but at 7 a.m., usually in actual sunlight. Nobody at home cares if I start work a hot, sweaty mess. I have a baseball hat at the ready in case someone video calls me. I can take a 15 min. break later to shower.

A few days a week, I swim laps at lunchtime and return to work with wet hair, reeking of chlorine. Again, I can shower later. I don’t have to look good at home. I love it.

There’s almost nothing to do on evenings and weekends, and I couldn’t be happier about that. To be honest, I’m really looking forward to a holiday season without endless shopping, cocktail parties, gatherings, gift exchanges, events.  I’ve already read thirty books this year, ten more than last year at the time.

There’s a vaccine now. This odd era will end. Eventually, life will return to “normal.” I’ll go back to getting five hours of sleep (max). I won’t be able to run with friends at 7 a.m. or swim at noon or toss in a load of laundry at lunchtime. My calendar will again overflow with activities, events, and obligations. I’ll have to squeeze back into nice clothes and put on makeup and do my hair and wear a bra all the time.

This will end and, for me, it will be bittersweet. I want my kids to have a normal life again, but me….not so much. Normal was kinda killing me. So I’ll do my best to enjoy what’s left of this slow life, and savor these days — when the universe grounded us all.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.

Just Write 187 ~ Soft parts

I grew up a latchkey kid in the 1980s with three brothers and an older sister. It was a different era, of course. Kids weren’t coddled the way they are today. Nobody cared about your feelings. There were no participation trophies and parenting was not the highest priority for adults back then. It was more like, keeping the kids alive, fed and clothed, you know?

So with four siblings, you learned pretty quickly to hide your feelings, project (false) confidence, and not let them get to you (seemingly). You definitely learned to protect your soft parts.

So I grew up to be stoic, probably to a fault. Example: I fell on a trail run in September of 2019 and I am still dealing with pain in my shoulder that wakes me up at night and I’m still refusing to acknowledge that it might be time to seek some medical help with this.

I ran into a friend recently at the pool. Much like me (she’s probably also a child of the late 70s/early 80s), she told me she’d had shoulder surgery recently. Her story is my story and she scared me enough that I’m going to have an MRI. I am, however, going to wait until January because I’m also practical and cheap and damn if I’m wasting that money toward a deductible that resets January 1. May as well go great guns in 2021 and maybe I’ll hit that magic number early and then everything is free, free, free to me.

But, I digress….back to vulnerability….

Brene Brown has made a career on vulnerability. She still hates it and I feel her on a cellular level with that resistance to admitting weakness, showing your soft parts (Um, that’s how you get hurt, man…) And yet, it occurred to me recently that it is vulnerability that forges the deepest bonds in my life.

I’m not sure one can be more vulnerable than being naked in a hospital gown and that’s just where I found myself with my new colleague just a few weeks after starting a new job in the marketing department at the newspaper. I’d had a car accident on the way to work, refused medical care and arrived at work with blood trickling down my temple and my proofs in hand because for fuck’s sake I had a special section to get out. (See….stoic to a fault).

My coworker was horrified and insisted on taking me to the ER to be checked out. I barely knew this woman and now I was sitting in an ER exam room with her going through my medical history.  We became fast friends after that. Thick as thieves. Reliable support for one another ever since, even now despite not having actually worked together for more than 10 years and not having worked in the same office for at least fifteen years or more.

When I was moved from the marketing department into the newsroom, I reluctantly inherited a designer. I didn’t want one. Until then, I had done all my own publications — writing and design and I liked it that way. But, to make more time for writing, they insisted I hand page design over to another person.

She was young and I was annoyed I had to work with her. I thought it was more work to explain everything to someone than it was to do it myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her as much as it was that I just didn’t feel I needed her. For whatever reason, my boss really didn’t like her. I was the reluctant and annoyed buffer. I kept her at arm’s length.

A few years later, she was married, had her first child, and came into work very upset. I said nothing, asked nothing. I heard enough to know the marriage thing wasn’t going well. I wasn’t a big fan of the guy. Her stupid mistake, I thought.

One morning, she asked to talk to me in the back parking lot (that’s where all the women went to cry because, listen, you could never let the men see you cry at the newspaper). She broke down: The husband had walked out. Never wanted to be married. Never wanted to have a child. Never wanted any of this.  She was devastated. Her pain apparent. Her vulnerability so raw and on the surface.

Everything changed then and there. Suddenly, she was mine to protect, my responsibility. I could no longer take a hands-off approach. I’d have her back now. I had to. And, I did.

It was the vulnerability. That messy moment endeared her to me forever. I’d seen her soft parts and felt obligated to protect them as my own.

I couldn’t and wouldn’t have ever told her in that moment (I have since then), but my first thought was: You just dodged a bullet, he did you the biggest favor ever. F*** that guy. You’ll be just fine without him. (Stoic me, you know.)

We’re still friends today. I still feel protective of her. The “little sister” I never wanted, but claimed as mine that day in the back parking lot. We’re not besties, but I’d still come out swinging for her if I needed to.  Don’t try me.

It’s taken me nearly fifty years to figure this out, but the people I am closest to are the ones I’ve gotten real with. The ones who know my soft parts. The one who have trusted me with their soft parts.  Many, but not all, of them are running friends because you can cover a lot of ground when running miles upon miles upon miles and all of that time spent together breeds intimacy. You end up revealing the things about yourself. Little things at first, then as trust builds — you get into the nitty gritty. It’s easier to do when you’re running, not looking anyone in the face.

I still hate revealing my weaknesses, admitting my faults, being vulnerable, but I’ve come to realize it’s where my real strength lies. It’s just easier to be honest and authentic, even if it means exposing your soft parts.

“Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage. People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth about their stories are the real badasses.” ~ Brene Brown.

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About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.