minikin25

Climbing slowly

Sun, 13 Dec 2020 04:58:58 GMT

I promised myself I wouldn't give into the blah for another whole weekend. And plus, I ran out of the "good" underwear, and if I didn't do laundry I'd be wearing skirts this week -- this back clothes when I committed all my jeans to the hamper.

Yesterday - day one of the weekend while I'm working 10 hour night shifts M-Th -

① I unloaded the dishwasher.
② I sorted my laundry and started two loads.
③ I shopped with Mom. Boots for us both for the wedding, replacement hurrycane for Daddy & birthday for sis-in-law.

Three concrete things.

Today -

① I started one more load of laundry.
② I baked the pieces for the gingerbread tilt-up.
③ I balanced my checkbook, including reconciling Amazon invoices. No mean task, considering my ordering activity this time of year, some on my dime, others on Moms.

It looks like I'm out of the wallow, but I'm certainly not up to the energy I had over Thanksgiving.

I hope to finish laundry, decorate the gingerbread and wrap presents tomorrow. Maybe cookies too.

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Threads

Sun, 06 Dec 2020 05:19:48 GMT

I'm caught by the blah.

Trigger warning for readers who expect paragraphs to imply linearity:
Don't try to follow so much as absorb, which son, who is she are not important. The jumps between focus and returns to the sticky places are the dance to read; the state of mind and emotional are evident in the chaos of syntax.

So there was this children's book about a boy who had to stay home from school because he was sick, and he mom went out and told him not to leave his bed.

I have little memory of the in-between, but by the time he was done, there were strings going everywhere, and he could access and control every thing in his room. By pulling strings.

It never showed him leaving his bed to connect the strings. I'm pretty sure there was a sandwich on a plate, but they never showed how he got food into his room in the first place. Ditto the drink.

Judging by my memory of the illustration, his room was at least twice as big as mine. I can literally reach every part of my room without getting out of bed. Conversely, I rarely enter my room without sitting or laying (is it laying or lying? I think it might be lying, was there an easy to remember rule for that?) on my bed.

I'm caught by the blah.

Why? Why doesn't your pancreas make insulin for you? Because my brain doesn't make the right chemicals for me. I think maybe we pay therapists so we can answer them bluntly without a care for their feelings. I love her, I hate it when I shut down her attempts to help. She doesn't know how, and maybe that was the right question, but I'm not willing to turn the evening into a therapy session, and risk hating her. She's not a therapist, she's family and she loves me and it's enough to say that and be that quiet woman who lets me cry or not cry or stew.

When did the blah turn into sobs? Thank god for flaxseed oil, I can see to write through these better quality tears.

I ran away to my room because I promised 15 minutes to my son, and then my other son called, and the show was over and the phone was an excuse to hide. We made plans for Monday. I easily withdrew because he knows what blah is, and that I have physical people if I need contact. Is he okay? Did I really hear him? Since when are there 50 hours available at his restaurant? It's like the virus never happened.

Shopping with Mom was more challenging than usual. Running off to my room with my laptop on 13%, my phone on 1% and my tablet drained, meant tether everything to the all powerful chargers and use FaceTime when maybe phone call would have sufficed. So I'm shopping with my Mom's ceiling constantly in front of what I need to see, and how the heck did I screw up shipping AND billing? Phone on Monday. Good plan.

Sobs, then momentary optic aurae. Is that redundant? When did the wall color become gradient? Oh, that's the screen shadow. No that's not the term, the leftover image from the screen, that reverse color thingie. It's why the gradient keeps moving.

Is there a reason? Ferret shock of the chore variety? Chemicals cause fatigue could explain day sleeping. It's still Saturday - no the top of the hour has passed but it only barely Sunday. Order. Before laundry comes emptying the laundry basket, but that's covered by the Christmas wrapping supplies and the gingerbread mold. But the tree isn't ready for the presents yet.

A list implies order and priority, but just getting All The Things in one place on one side of one pieces of paper, and then circles and lines and crossouts and new ideas and scrapped ideas and .

Sleep. To dream of spiders pulling on their sticky threads.

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Over the River ...

Sun, 29 Nov 2020 00:53:18 GMT

We've seen a lot of changes this year. Some bad, some good, some just weird.

Weird
What prompted "Covid made things weird" while I was driving with my son this week? The Forcht Bank fork has had the UK football helmet on it since the beginning of fall. No witch, no pilgrim, who knows if Santa will get a turn. We speculated on why, and our consensus was that Covid turned that location into an ATM-only location, and there's been no-one left to change the hats.

Bad
My older son got the virus this summer and I couldn't do anything for him all the way in Houston. Fortunately, his fiancée knew all the best treatments for him at home, and he has fully recovered.
I haven't seen my parents in person since last Thanksgiving. Daddy had knee replacement surgery and I couldn't fly to San Antonio to help mom with his immediate after-care.

Good
Mom and I talk more than ever before. She's mastered FaceTime and Zoom, and we've even figured out how to shop together online. I generally have to choose between time off here with chosen family for holidays and travel there with natural family. This year, we got to include Mom and older son for the first time at Lexington Thanksgiving via Zoom meeting. I'm watching the positivity rates to see if I can fly to San Antonio for Christmas without self-quarantining at either end. But, no matter where I am for Christmas, we'll all be together again due to the magic of Zoom.

I'm an introvert by nature. The mask requirements allow me to get by with eye-crinkling smiles, and not have to think up small talk. I've been among the fortunate to continue to work during lockdowns, but I really don't do much outside the house otherwise. I'm a natural home-body and I've been enjoying the outside reason to stay in. It's given me more time to work on simplifying my environment.

I'm optimistic that we will come out of this pandemic stronger and more connected. I'm looking forward to that future.

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The Incident

Sat, 14 Nov 2020 21:43:27 GMT

When we try to reconstruct what happened, it is clear that all the ingredients were cooking for years (decades) leading up to The Incident.

The usual historical sources were no good; this was after the Murrow Era of sovereign airwaves and strict ethical standards. It was before the Era of Truth. Some say the wild wags of the web were to blame for it all.

Like particle physicists of old, we can only track The Incident by the rippling effects of its passage.

We know that before The Incident, there was a divided nation — a divided globe. The binary biases of the past still lingered as a persistent belief that there were two answers to any question, two sides to any puzzle. Two outcomes to any battle. A belief in winners or losers, in freedom or safety, in right or wrong.

Looking back from our current time of enlightenment, we are appalled at the importance that was put to numbers over actions or outcomes. Numbers are so easy a source of argument that has nothing to do with solutions. The Incident was overlooked during the global attention to a shared problem that could have been handled jointly rather than separately. Individual action was demonized or ignored or celebrated. Group action brought about the end of what was, after all, a simple problem.

While the world was reeling from natural and man-made obstacles and disasters, the instigators began to establish their network.

No one has been able to list those responsible. There have been many who stepped forward to take credit; many others dragged forward to blame.

We know now that none of the tech giants were involved, neither corporately nor individually. We are certain that The Incident was the work of coders who were sick of the ranting. Coders who knew that the "powers that be" had no real power to make the world a better place.

The world financial network was the first target of the coders. There was no outage; the takeover was seamless. Once they had control of the flow of capital, they just started tweaking. The network of coders was so large that they had the computing power to run full simulations, and update them with new information in real time. They knew the goal. They knew what they could control and how to distribute that control.

But the true strength of the invisible hands lay in their new ethic, one born out of open source, consensus programming, universal realtime communications, and an awareness of the consequences of failure.

We can only guess at how long this network was in the making. We can only guess at how they found the fulcrums for their leverage. Our records show only the meaningless news reports and political speeches. We have images of poverty and heartbreak, of war, of lassitude.

"We'll have to pass it to see what's in it." The statement that was ridiculed became a method. Laws are implemented by regulations and communiques. The coders tweaked the implementations, rather than worrying about the labels. And slowly, actions just started making sense.

Could any of this have taken place without the disruptions that camouflaged it? We'll never know.

If the old is smashed and the new is a wonder, need we do anything more than give thanks? Anything more than grab the joy in front of us?

This is meant to be a thought piece in a far future science publication. Published in a time when the earth and its peoples are sane and healthy, when life is an exercise in purpose and joy. Perhaps at some hundreds year anniversary celebration. This is not meant to declare how it came about, so much as to decry our current assumptions about what our current systems of government and global economics can do. We need change. Who brings it is not so important as that we envision a future that provides life and purpose and joy.

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A Family Legend on Splash Mountain

Tue, 03 Nov 2020 19:55:26 GMT

"Gammy, Gammy!!! I wanna hear the splash story!"
"No, Gammy, I want the magic house that moves!!"
"Yes, grandma, tell us all about the time you pissed off Bébé and nearly gave Grandfather a heart attack."

[It's always a jumble when the twins talk over each other, but with Lonnie & Lanny each missing a tooth, it amazing I can understand them at all. And when did Jacquie get so cynical? I'm not ready to call her Jacquelyn yet. No matter that I still think of her daddy by all three syllables of his name.]

Language, dear. And aren't you a little old for bedtime stories? Tell you what Jacquie, you get the twins all ready for bed, and I'll come in and tell them their favorite family legend. Again. It seems to be getting to be a Christmas tradition. Now Lanny and Lonnie, don't y'all forget to brush your teeth.

…

Alright now, settle down. Jacquie, you aren't staying for the whole tale are you? Fine, just try not to interrupt with your corrections. This is a legend, not an interview.

Where shall I begin?
"Gammy, was it your idea or Dody's? To go on a grand adventure?"
"Gammy, I wanna hot chocolate with mini marshies."

Oh dear, and I'm going to need a big glass of water for myself. Jacquie, would you be dear?

Lanny and Lonnie, I need you to settle down. I know you each have your favorite parts, but I will tell them all in their right place. Now, shush.

It was a hot hot summer. It was so hot that the creek dried up enough that the mint island was an isthmus. Lonnie, you know what an isthmus is. It's a bridge made out of land. No, not like the bridge we built later - that had creek running under it. You are just trying to make bedtime last longer, aren't you?

But somehow, even though there was so little rain, it was almost as humid as Houston in the winter. The old house was still a falling down mess. We hadn't even fixed the chimney that Godzilla attacked, much less installed air conditioning. Your great uncle Davy hadn't replaced the electricity yet, so we didn't even have ceiling fans yet. So it was hot and wet and and sticky. And Jacquie, your daddy wasn't here yet, but he was a bun in my oven. Yes, Dody always said blast furnace. He complained about how much heat I gave off that summer. You know, I made a special coat for winter, and that's the only season I wasn't busy cooking up your daddy.

Now, I survived the heat better than Dody. I had a job at the university and we had nice cool offices. Except when SYSDAVE opened the windows to feed the birds. But that's a 'nother story for a 'nother time. But poor Dody worked at home all day, when he was at home at all. He worked upstairs in his office, when he was out in the fields with Quatre chasing down escaped cows. No Lanny, Quatre was Zesty's mommy, Yes, Quincy died. Lanny, let me tell this story.

So Dody was always looking for any way to cool down. He's the one that found the trip. White water rafting on the river y'all call the coochi goochi. He invited his best friend Tom and Tom's wife Ell to join us. And Dody wanted to use his Daddy's magic moving house. It was really something called a GMC Recreational Vehicle that Bébé called "the Jimmy." It was Bébé's travel office. His job took him all over the country, but he always had his familiar surroundings.

Now, you may not believe it, but back then Gammy was a spoiled brat. No matter how many times Granmommy …

[it's funny how all the old names stick, even when they're gone. Mom and Dad will always be Granmommy and Grandaddy. Dody's parents will alway be Barbar and Bébé. Shoot, I didn't even encourage the twins to call me Granny. That's my Great-grandmother, gosh darn it]

… corrected him, Bébé knew it. I was a selfish little thing and never quite understood things from Bébé's point of view. I mean, I knew he drove the Jimmy for work and lived in it. But it never occurred to me that he would deliver it to us full up with his belongings. You see, I was used to traveling with Granmommy and Grandaddy and we always stayed in motels. We never even stayed long enough to unpack our suitcases into the empty dressers there.

The magic moving house was magic because of all the hide-y holes and clever storage. It was all chock full of Bébé's toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving gear, shower supplies, even his underwear! Dody wanted The Jimmy so we could cook and eat and sleep in it on the journey down, and we had all our own stuff we wanted to take with us. So I emptied everything. I brought it all in our house and lined it up on the dining room floor under the windows. It might have been okay if Bébé hadn't come over to give Dody last minute instructions. He saw his belongings all on display and he was seriously upset. I didn't even see what I'd done wrong, and I yelled at him instead of listening and apologizing. Sigh.

Remember children, it's always important to listen so you can understand someone else's point of view.

No matter the fuss, we got all our things stowed away with room for Tom and Ell's stuff. We filled the tiny refrigerator and cabinets with all our yummy snacks for the road, and food for dinner and breakfast. Before we left the house, I made a batch of Barbar's traveling cookies, which were already gone before we got home again.

We drove through the Jellico mountains and through the woods to get to the Coochi Goochi. Before we could get out on the water though, we had to take the safety class. We learned the importance of following our guide's instructions, and he explained what the various maneuvers would be, over the intended route we would follow. It seems that the drought would make some parts of the trip more dangerous, and others would be easier. We might even have to get out of the river at some points to portage our rafts.

Yes Lonnie, you know that big word means carry the rafts. No, I don't know why it doesn't sound like a real action word. No, I didn't make it up. No, we wouldn't fall over in the river, we would carry the rafts beside the river. Do you want to hear the story?

After the class, we had to sign waivers that said we knew we could die on the river and wouldn't blame them. We had to wear life jackets; we even had to wear very goofy looking helmets. I felt extra bulky with all this covering my baby bulge. But we finally got out in our rafts.

It was so fun! It was a partly sunny, partly rainy day. Even aside from the rain, we were soaked by all the splashing. The current got stronger when the river narrowed. We had a beautiful view of rock ledges and trees. And then we started entering the rapids. At first, the current and rocks worked together to steer the raft; it felt like we were just along for the ride. Then the current started fighting the turns and the rocks. That's when the trip got exciting. I was near the front of the raft — the guide was in the back, as it gave him the most control over direction.

When we got to a particularly tricky set of curves, we overshot the first turn, and over I went. Now, I have always been a good student. And very awkward and uncoordinated. So when they told us how to handle falling out of the raft, I had paid close attention. Oh, I couldn't tell you NOW what I was supposed to do, and whether I did that or something else entirely. All I know is, I tossed about a little, getting right way up.

No, Lanny, that's really it. I don't know when one minute in the water got blown up into such a scary tale. Yes, Dody tells it better. He had to watch, not knowing what happened or whether I'd survive. He was worried about me. He was worried about Jacquie's daddy. No, he didn't know he was a boy. Now let me tell it my way.

No, the water wasn't deep. Remember, there was a drought and the river was way down. And rapids are where the river splashes around big rock outcroppings. The bottom is shallow, but the current is fast. I popped out of the raft when it stopped suddenly on a big rock. I fell to the side, with rocks beside me, rocks under me, and the boat right on top of me. A raft full of four people is not something you just shove aside like a pool float. My body was curled up instinctively against the rocks, and my helmet protected my head. That just happened, I didn't think about it. I wasn't under long enough to need to breathe. All I remember was keeping my head from twisting and snapping my neck. All this was happening in the great big outdoors, but I might as well have been curled up in a tiny cave. I like caves. So I just fought to keep my head up-ish, and then the back of the boat was past me, and the guide pulled me in. No fuss, no muss, and I was wonderfully wet and cool.

But if you ask Dody, I was under there a five minutes or more, and he was already planning my funeral. Yes ,Jacquie, when I was your age, I could hold my breath that long. But Dody had been what me pant with the effort of climbing one flight of stairs with you daddy inside me. Your Dody puts up a brave front, but my goodness that man is no rock during an emergency. I think in this case, the difference between us was I learned to swim underwater before I could ever stay on top of the water. But your Dody was swimming competitively from when he turned 7. I don't think he thought I could handle myself underwater.

Or maybe it's just the difference between being in the middle of it, and watching it unfold. All I know is that he was the only one of the four of us that declined to go down the natural water slide later in the trip. But your Gammy came up just fine, and it made a story for Dody to tell for years after. Yes, he tells it better.

Just don't tease Dody by hiding at the bottom of the pool. He will not see the humor in it. ;)

{Note:
The players:
My great grandmother was Granny, my Dad's maternal grandmother.
My kids always called my parents Granmommy and Grandaddy.
They and their cousins called my ex's parents Barbar & Bébé.
I decided my fictional grandchildren would call me Gammy, and my ex Dody.
I gave my older son one fictional child, Jacquelyn. I imagine her to be 16 at this telling.
I gave my younger son a set of twins: a boy named Lanny and a girl named Lonnie. I imagine them to be three. I feel like that's really pushing it, since my younger son, 4 years younger than his brother, is still not even dating while my oldest is getting married next February.

All of Scotties were:
Quatre, whose baby Quincy died two weeks after birth.
Zesty, her one surviving puppy.
Dizzy and Ouchie who were adopted after my youngest was toilet trained.

I've only used real names for the fictional characters, and I've given all the real people real or made-up nicknames.}

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Quizareeno

Fri, 30 Oct 2020 22:37:17 GMT

1. What’s on your bucket list?
A place for everything, and everything in its place. This a applicable to more than just material goods. And one can substitute time for place and people for things and God for both.
2. If you win 5mil dollars tomorrow, how would you like to spend the rest of your life?
No more debt for me and mine. Multi bungalow mansion for my chosen family here in Kentucky, kitschy place in Key West with tricycles and a very shady back yard pool. Fully staffed condos in Houston, Sugar Land and San Antonio. And lease-share access to jets, helos and limos. My fam is kinda spread out.
3. What person has given you the best advice about your life?
My Mom. Too bad I never listened. 🤪
4. If you could choose a superpower, what would it be?
Flying.
5. What happens when your alarm goes off?
Snooze snooze temperature oops overslept dress and skedaddle.
6. How do you define success?
Contentment
7. If you could know the absolute truth to one question, what would it be?
What is God’s purpose for me?
8. What’s your decision-making style?
Procrastination narrows options?
9. What do you believe to be true about the world?
That life is short and eternity is long.
10. What color palette do you like most?
Bright secondary colors. Think Marci Gras. Plus the rest of the rainbow and sparkles.
11. Do you have family?
Yes. Born into a loving family, blessed by two sons, and taken in by a circle of love.
12. What do you like to do with friends?
Be.
Together, apart, games, conversation, laughter, quiet, snuggle, TV, movies, eating, cooking, walking, nodding off...
13. What's your dream job?
There’s a pile to do, sufficient understanding, and a pile of done. I’m good at it, and it stays at the job when I’m done.
14. At what job would you be terrible?
Managing other people.
15. What's something you say you'll do, but never will?
Finish decluttering?
16. How would you describe your style?
Bohemian casual with a lick of Texas.
17. What are your hobbies?
Reading. Writing. Drawing designs. Knitting. Quilting. Ooh, shiny!

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Okay I’m just a’sayin’

Fri, 30 Oct 2020 21:45:23 GMT

It’s after 5pm EDT

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Where's my sticker?

Sun, 25 Oct 2020 17:08:02 GMT

I voted by mail-in absentee ballot this year. The process is easy and I'm confident of the methodology. It doesn't improve the available choices, but there's more time to stare at them.

On Friday, I received email confirmation that my vote wsa received.

But I miss the "I voted" sticker.

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Quest for Fire

Sun, 25 Oct 2020 17:02:17 GMT

For as long as I remember, I wore my heart on my sleeve.

According to my parents, I had the most infectious smile. I thrived on attention and everything was about me. I had the great fortune to be born into a family that bubbled over with love. I was always the favorite daughter, and my only sibling was the favorite son. An ideal childhood.

Except.

"When she was good, she was very very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid."

I had a great smile and a bubbly laugh, but my tears were just as frequent and just as voluble. I cried for earaches and sore throats and not getting my way and getting caught out misbehaving. When I was sad, I was inconsolable.

Then I became a teenager, and learned about expressing anger. I might say mis-learned, since my fiery red hair gave me license to rage. Arguments in my house tended to involve high volume and cabinet slamming. My brother loved to bait me into stamping my feet.

For many years, I didn't see anything wrong with freely expressing whatever emotion I was feeling at the time. But escalating angry behavior became hurtful and I learned over and over the painful effects of screaming, yelling, sarcasm and biting "truth." I was that unpredictable mother who would might yell over any little thing. And I didn't believe I had any control over myself.

It look too many strained and broken relationships to drive me to seek help. Situationally, my life was complicated enough to distract from the central issue. Eventually, I was diagnosed with chronic depression. Who knew that depression could manifest as anger? I found out when I sought help to get my outbursts under control.

Slowly over the years, I've learned to be responsible for my own emotional actions. There's not nearly as much dramatic effect from the words "I'm angry right now and I can't speak to you rationally" as there is from "f**k off." But the the former is much more constructive, even more effective.

My situation is far less complicated now; I very rarely have to deal with anger. When I recognize anger, I generally choose not to express it. I'm faster at not only recognizing what emotion I'm experiencing, but determining the trigger.

But I still deal with chronic depression. Stripped of all the camouflaging tears and rage, I struggle more and less against the Blah. The Blah is draining. At full power, the Blah reduces me to the most basic self-care and all my energy goes to the Must Do's. I must work, I must eat, I must bathe, etc. Sleep is always the choice over all the scribbled lists. I know I thrive in a neat, organized space, but the effort to create and maintain that is too much when The Blah is ascendant.

So I quest for Fire. The Fire to fight The Blah. The Fire to tackle a day and defeat it. The Fire in my muscles after a long day of activity. The Fire of creativity and the sated sleep of exhaustion.

I know it's there. But the way is fuzzy right now, in the fog of The Blah.

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Stretching

Thu, 22 Oct 2020 17:41:33 GMT

I’m pumped for the first challenge.

I’m filled up on suspect sustenance (suitably sautéed) and I believe my alliteration algorithms are acceptable.

Let the games begin!!

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Asaga

Thu, 22 Oct 2020 08:26:25 GMT

Thank you HalfShellVenus for picking me!!! I’m totally used to being picked last: I was a geeky wimp of a girl in grade school. I’m currently working 10 hour shifts from 3:30pm to 2am, so the times I show up here will be late morning and early early early morning.

Meanwhile, I’m really enjoying the night sky on our Island; Look at all those stars!!!

I gotta say the virtual skeeter 🦟 bites are way easier to tolerate than the real deal.

Time for my beauty sleep...

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