I have mostly kept my hands off the keyboard on my blog on this issue. I’ve supported it since the beginning – but I am a white middle-class woman, I am not the voice people should be turning to on this issue. There are amazing black voices out there you should be turning to. Here are a few: Blair Amadeus Imani, Advocate, Historian, Organizer, Public Speaker, and Author I follow Blair on Instagram after I heard her Ted Talk “Queer & Muslim: Nothing to Reconcile”. She has this series called “smarter in seconds” where she covers a topic in very, very brief. Just enough to get me thinking. In writing for this blog post I found Blair also has a webpage which you may find useful. Ijeoma Oluo is a writer, speaker and internet yeller. She is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller So You Want to Talk About Race. (this is directly from her website) I follow Ijeoma on
So I guess I DO resolutions. At least when it comes to my own reading goals every year. Goodreads “reading
By the time this post goes up it’s “yesterday,” I am writing this Wed night. My heart aches. I do not have WORDS for how much I grieve.
I can finally give a concrete example of anxiety manifesting in 2020. For the past two days or so I am bothered. I am turning it over and over and over in my mind. I get upset and grumble and gripe about it to myself. I literally start arguing with myself over it. No, I am not upset with my husband or even politics. I am worrying on a Star Trek Deep Space 9 episode. I haven’t seen it in a year or more, but it’s on my mind. For the STDS9 fans, it’s the episode when Kiko O’Brien is possessed by the bajoran Fire Demon. She has been on the planet seeing the “fire caves” which is a tourist destination and is possessed by this evil (in the bajoran religion) non-corporeal entity (a spirit). The show begins when she comes home and Miles O’Brien, her husband, is waiting for her with her favorite exotic chocolates as an apology for
We sold our guest bed this weekend. I have feelings about it. It didn’t start as our guest bed. It started as my bed. The first bed I even actually bought. When I graduated from college I took the old double-bed from my parents house which I had been using. It was ok, but after my second move with it, the wooden frame was EXTREMELY creaky. So my parents and I made me a custom bed with storage underneath (I’ve always carted around far too many books for apartment living with roommates). This bed was large enough to be upgraded to a queen mattress, but it survived through with a double. Homemade beds don’t last well when you move almost annually, and when a friend at work posted she was getting rid of her wrought iron bed and queen mattress… I jumped on it. I have since replaced the mattress, but I loved this frame. It is a great frame.
I was in college when I first learned about John Lewis. I was doing some research regarding Georgia history and the civil rights movement (specifically some cases which started in Georgia). My professor made a comment about “Representative Lewis” and I blinked. It rocked me mentally to realize that someone still alive (and honestly not that old in 2005) had marched with Martin Luther King Jr. Marched as an adult. Not a child holding a parent’s hand. A man grown and finished with his education. Mathematically I knew this was possible. But this was the first time I felt it to my shoes. I didn’t know anything about John Lewis at the time. I didn’t grow up with him as my representative (honestly, I didn’t know who my rep WAS growing up so…. this wasn’t surprising). He was one of the people who inspired me to begin paying more attention to my local politics instead of just presidential. This meant
I burned my hand this weekend. Just a moment of distraction while I was pulling dinner out of the oven and brushed the back of my right hand against the edge of the inside of the oven (not the heating elements, just the edge near the door). I yelped and rushed dinner to the stove. I turned on the kitchen sink to the coldest setting and stuck my hand under the water. It HURT. The pain was immediate and I wasn’t sure how bad the burn was. It wasn’t third degree (skin was still in one piece) and it hurt. It HURT. I wanted to just swear and cry. I didn’t because I didn’t want to further upset my husband and child (both were watching me with deep concern and my husband was only half-believing me on my “no no I’m ok” response to his question on my well being). I went into a sort of emotional shut-down to fight
Let me start with this: I am OK. Saturday morning I was ok. Got up, played with Remy. Did a bit of picking up to vacuum the living room. At 11 I took Remy upstairs to cuddle with daddy while I made a cup of tea and used my inhaler. I felt my asthma flaring up and I hadn’t even done any real cleaning yet! My husband came downstairs sometime after 11:30 and looked at me and said, “You look like you need to use the nebulizer.” I always argue this. I hate the nebulizer. I didn’t argue this time. I did need it. I could feel it. I hate it, but I know breathing is kind of important. I use the nebulizer, but I still feel like I just can’t get my breath. Every inhale hurts. I log into my health insurance site to get a teledoc. I don’t know what else to try. I’m #23 in line for
I wasn’t going to add to the noise around this, but then the other day someone posted “ok everyone, this isn’t the bubonic plague.” The historian came out. So many ways I wanted to respond: Yes, please don’t kill cats. Rats are the ones most likely causing the spread of the plague. True. The bubonic plague had a mortality rate of almost 70%, even in the modern era it’s somewhere around 10% even with antibiotics, so 3.4% isn’t as bad! Well except that bubonic plague is a bacteria and antibotics are kind of amazing and COVID-19 is a virus. Hence the family “coronoVIRUS” As someone who doesn’t know whether I’m in the “80% will be fine” group or if my asthma will put me in the “20% vulnerable people” who will not be ok…. please take it seriously. You see, that last one is the truth. With my asthma, I don’t know. I am compromised because my lungs are not
Winter always reminds me of when I knew I wanted to be a mom. I remember because it was winter when I realized this was important to me. It was 2004 and I was dating a guy pressuring me to have sex. I was asking myself a LOT of questions totally appropriate for a 20-year old. Did I want to have kids? What did I want to do with my life? What kind of relationships did I want in my life? Was I ok having sex before marriage? (I grew up in the South and in a Southern Church, this was still very radical!). All healthy questions to ask as you enter adulthood. I had a dream one night. In this dream I was a mom with 4 boys and pregnant. I didn’t know what I was pregnant with (boy or girl) but in the dream, in the way of dreams, I knew I had teased my husband we were