Here Where I Stand at the Turning of the Years

I've been meaning to post something for a couple weeks, not wanting to let an entire calendar year go by without acknowledging my little corner of the internet still exists... and yet here I am, just over three hours until 2023, finally writing something down. What's about to come out of my brain? Let's find out.

In the past I've occasionally regretted, at the times I thought about it, the "lost years" of this blog, the 18-ish months that are creeping up on two decades ago when I stopped writing for a while. And now I've done it again. But I suppose the last two years have been lost years for all of us--so many plans unrealized, so many dreams unfulfilled, so much time unused... and so many lives gone out of reach forever. I have nothing new to say about this except to acknowledge that we're all still stuck in this time of collective grief over what we've lost and it's no wonder some folks have turned to anger and others have withdrawn into themselves. (Mind you, I make no excuses for the bad behavior committed out of anger. Everyone is still responsible for their own choices and there is no excuse for lashing out. If you won't behave yourself, stay home instead of forcing your poor choices on others.)

All that said, I haven't even decided whether to create goals for 2023. I have some ideas, things I'd like to do a bit differently from what I've done before. But I also know that until I write them down, they'll stay vague ideas. So perhaps the best way to kick off 2023 will be to come back here and see if I can't let some thoughts start to take shape. Perhaps I'll see you here tomorrow, then.

I tried finding the original source of this quote. No such source exists, which is to say, everyone has said it at least once. I guess it's my turn.

In the meantime, may you and yours have a safe and happy new year.

Hello, 2021 (please wipe your feet)

I thought it would be a good idea to bring in the new year by getting my digital life in order, or at least making a start at it. Now, an entire workday's time later, I'm taking a break from relentless unsubscribing.

Most years, there are two predictable sets of posts throughout the blogosphere to welcome the new calendar: the resolution posts, and the I-don't-make-resolutions posts. Both kinds are endearing in their own way, I suppose, but this year I would welcome them both as a harbinger of less-interesting times. Alas, our times remain interesting, and are likely to be so for some time to come.

I searched "goal" on free images, and got this. 1) They're not wrong; and 2) this is exactly the kind of metaphor I was looking for and didn't even know it. Photo by Julie Elliott-Abshire from FreeImages.

As for me, I am toying with a few goals for the year, but am in no hurry to get them set. (I'm waiting on results from a COVID test, anyway, so there's a chance I have some unexpected non-working days next week to think it over.) I'll probably land on doing monthly goals, which benefit from having a shorter time frame as a built-in anti-procrastination guard. I also like Gretchen Rubin's "21 for 21" idea, and have tossed that one into the hopper to see what comes out.

I've taken the odd moment over the last couple weeks to think over some things I used to do but don't now, and the reasons why I stopped. Two big life events seem to be the main culprits, and yet not the obvious one: when I went back to university in 2010, and when I dragged myself across 1000+ miles to start a new life in Cincinnati in 2016. Of course, 2020 itself bears some of the blame, since in the past few months it's been pretty easy to justify not doing anything extra. Some of the things I've lost along the way:

• Watching basketball games on TV. I used to love watching basketball. This one got lost when I went to UT.
• Watching NCIS and its many spinoffs. Ditto on losing this one to higher education.
• Training well for half marathons. This one would be easy to blame on going to UT, and that is part of the reason, but the bigger problem lies in me jumping into a marathon too soon and never being able to find the spark since. And that's been a loooooong time. Don't get me wrong, I've continued to run half marathons at least once a year from 2008 up until 2020 shut everything down, but I haven't put in that same level of effort and intention, which I used to enjoy, in about a decade. I'm not sure I know how to fix this one.
• Reading a lot. This one fizzled after I moved to Cincinnati, and the fizzling was compounded by 2020. Doomscrolling is way too convenient (and while the term is new, for me as for many, the practice is not).
• Writing a lot. Another Cincinnati casualty, for some reason.

Is this a starting point for 2021 goals? Perhaps. I'm unlikely to return to watching a lot of TV, my fondness for Timothy McGee notwithstanding, but I can watch one or two Pacers games a week, methinks. Or perhaps it's time to acknowledge that I accidentally had that personality change that I always joke about having not had.

Whatever your choice for 2021--lots of resolutions, one or two goals, just hanging on tight to see what comes next--I wish you all the best for a year that goes your way more often than not. Indeed, I think that's the best we can all hope for.

Past vs Present

Austin has a new library. It's fantastic.

I'm in Austin this week, visiting my sister and seeing some of the beloved people and places that have helped make me who I am. It's an ongoing joke/truism in Austin that things around here change in a hurry, and not always for a better in the eyes of the locals. And while you don't have to leave for a couple years to see it--just waiting around one's own neighborhood for a few months will do--coming back to visit every six months is a fast way to muddle all the mental maps I used to have.

New pedestrian plaza on UT campus

Capital Metro, for instance. A bus system I once knew as well as the inside of my own apartment. I knew that major changes were coming--there were signs up at every bus stop when I was last here in May, plus I keep up with the Twitter chatter around transportation in Austin. But last night Denise and I were driving home from "my" HEB (which has also been rearranged, by the way) and talking about buses that are rerouted and stops that we used to use that are now gone altogether. I had no sooner said aloud, "I need to look at the CapMetro map and see what's changed," than I saw a sign for the upcoming Austin Marathon, indicating that the route is going through East Austin, a place it never went in the years I was running, volunteering, or spectating. So I added, "And I guess I need to look at the marathon map, too."
 
Places adapt and change. Kids grow up. People move away. Businesses close up shop and others open, buildings are torn down and new ones spring up. This is true everywhere, not just Austin--I've seen it happen plenty in the short time I've been in Cincinnati. And while I have my own reasons for clinging desperately to a time that is gone, the truth is that I know full well those days are never coming back again. My first Austin bus route is gone forever, the local supermarket can't serve customers who don't exist, and I'll never go back to one of my former apartments, open the door, and find Chadwick on the other side waiting for me to come home. The world is moving on and I've already gone with it, whether I like it or not.

Ai Weiwei's "Forever Bicycles" is here on a long-term
loan. For that matter, it may be gone; I haven't been
round to look yet. It's new since I lived here and will also
be moving away again.

On the other hand, the Austin Half Marathon course has reverted to the one I ran for the first time and loved back in 2009, and while I'm not going to be here in two weeks' time to experience race day in
person, there's nothing to stop me from running some of those miles this week. Not for the sake of reliving the past, but rather to get all the joy I can out of the present.

And I hope that's what you're doing this week, too.

Well.

Enough folks have asked what's happened with my blog that I'm acknowledging it's probably time for a check-in. And I have a few minutes before Rent: Live begins.

So! What's happened? Well, everything. It feels inappropriate to be light-hearted when the world is on fire, as I've mentioned before. I'm not a political blogger and don't want to be, at least in part because there are not a lot of major policy issues about which I have a level of expertise for rambling on for 500 words or fewer. (Transportation. That's it. That's my area.) I realize this is a small bother that doesn't really stop many folks, but it stops me. I won't be that person.

That person, however, exists. That person is a lot of people I care about. I've sought offline conversations rather than this format for nearly a year now, because engaging with that person is both depressing and wearying. Please, let's all be less of that person. Being informed is good. Educating one's self is good. Getting locked into an echo chamber or sharing dumb, baseless memes on Facebook is terrible.

You know what they say about lighting a candle instead of
 cursing the darkness. Source: Sorina Bindea
on freeimages.com.

But so is withdrawing altogether, and I like to do what I can. What I can do is pick up again on a regular dose of the B things I know (why do they all start with B? No idea): books, bikes, buses, and Broadway. If that's what you like, here I am. If not, well, I can't imagine why you're here, but hello there! *waves* You are most welcome.

So should you come by in a few days, or weeks, or months, and think, "My goodness, she has a lot to say about utter drivel when there's serious work to be done,": yes. Yes, I do. Please know that I'm not unaware of the world around me and I'm doing my part in as many offline ways I can find. In the meantime, here is a space to be lighthearted. And wow, do I have a bunch of theatre to tell you about.

Not right now. Rent: Live is about to begin.

Together. Apart.

Source.

I put this book on hold at the library before Ash Wednesday, thinking it would be a good Lenten read. My turn to borrow it finally came up yesterday, with less than a week of Lent left to read it in. Oops.

I'm staring at the cover, now,* instead of reading it. For a few weeks I've been in one of those seasons when I walk through a dense fog of numbness, and while on so very many levels it's better than some of the alternatives, it means that words like Life Together jangle around in my head and can't find a place to belong. What does life together mean when you are forever apart?

I know that's not what the book is about. I don't know how familiar I'll be with the words inside until I open it up and read it, but this is a book Chadwick loved and talked about often, so I'm sure I'll meet some old friends inside. I know this isn't a book about that relationship. It's about community, and I'm nothing if not wildly enthusiastic about embracing my community. But this is something Chadwick and I shared--one reason I never read it was because he loved to tell me about it. And now I'm about to read about being together, alone.

I thank God every day for the community I have. A church family who are some of the best on the planet, coworkers who I don't understand how I'm so lucky to spend every day with. (We have some new folks who have absolutely brightened my past couple of weeks. To say nothing of the ones I already knew were bright.) I don't know how this happened, but there's a part of me that thinks that life together is already going pretty great, and I'm not sure how one little book will make it any better.

So. I'd better crack this thing open and find out. I'm sure the library still has a waitlist of other people who need it, too.

Maybe one of them is you. What's your community like?

*Unrelated tangent: there's an actor who I like, who I follow across all his public social media accounts, who has a strange relationship with commas. Sometimes it's all I can do to hold back from telling him that I'm taking all his commas away until he learns what they're for. Other times, like now, I find the urge to slip in an extra comma à la that guy too strong to resist. Sometimes it's more comforting than frustrating, so I can see why he's embraced it.

Start Again

Do you make Daylight Saving (no really, there's no 's' at the end) resolutions? Because I'm thinking it should be a thing.

In all my years of living in places
that observe Daylight Saving Time,
I've never been more ready for more of
this than I am this year.
 Bring it on, DST. Source.

I mean, if you did make a New Year resolution, we're two and a bit months in, and that's a great time to reevaluate, refocus, and perhaps redo. If you didn't, now's a good opportunity to consider what you'd like to do with all the non-winter days ahead of us, perhaps especially things that go well with longer sunlit evenings.

And here's a bonus for folks like me who enjoy hibernating in the winter months: Saving Time lasts 8 months. So if I make a Saving Time resolution, then I can make a Standard Time resolution for the other four months, when the days are short and my motivation to do anything at all is low. Managing my own expectations, as it were. Plus, that beats the rush for the next round of New Year resolutions--I'll be saying, "Already been going on this one for a couple months, thanks!" while everyone else is writing their hot takes on why they set goals instead of making resolutions.

I'm thinking today of my wise friend Ruthie's words about Lent a year ago: "I love that the opportunity keeps coming around. ... I love that even if you've forgotten New Year resolutions, you can start again with new habits/determination/focus to be a better you." Indeed--even if a DST resolution isn't your thing (and seriously, when it's abbreviated that way, it kinda sounds like a drug), maybe there's another time that is. New year? Beginning of summer? Beginning of the school year? Random Tuesday?

Whenever you start a new goal, Ruthie's point still resonates-- you can always start again. Don't give up.

Skilled

Today's post is inspired by a Facebook post I saw this morning. Now, I normally try not to respond to those, because Facebook is the waste treatment plant of the internet. The post I saw, though, was interesting--it was about "adulting" classes (in quotes because while I think that word is fun as slang, I don't yet know how I feel about it being a real word) for young adults who lack life skills. Examples in the video included changing a flat tire, boiling an egg, folding a fitted sheet, and hulling a strawberry (I don't think I'll ever need that last one, but YMMV).

And while it's easy to say, "kids these days, amirite?" and roll right along, the truth is that skills have to be learned. We aren't born knowing anything. Every skill that I have, I've learned along the way, either from someone teaching me directly or by trial and error. There's nothing inherently irresponsible or shameful about not knowing a thing, and it's silly to expect that people will learn everything they need to know in the first 20 years, some of which years were spent pickup up random things and putting them in our mouths.

By the way, the person who I saw share this on Facebook was not being snide about adulting classes. It was when I made the mistake of clicking through and reading some comments that I decided to write an entire (long) post about it.

XKCD is a marvelous gem of a website. Source.

I remember my mother describing a personal finance class she took in high school, in which she learned to create a budget and balance a checkbook, a class that was long gone by the time I went to the same school 20 years later. There just wasn't room for it in the curriculum. And now, 20+ years later again, schools are even more pressed for what's included and what's not. New information comes at us constantly, testing is ever more intense for teachers and students, colleges have high demands for admission so students are swamped with extracurriculars--who has the time for a life skills class in school?

And the culture we live in bears some blame. I knew a dude a few years back who told me that he didn't teach his kids life skills because he wanted to keep them dependent on him, so they would come home for the weekends when they went to college. That was his plan for keeping his kids out of trouble, and I doubt that he was the only person who thought this was a good solution. I think of him often when I see the local college students struggling in Kroger, because I wonder if their parents ever let them into a supermarket before. My own father refused to teach me any mechanical things (including driving a stick shift, when I specifically asked him to teach me) on the grounds that "girls don't need to know that." Please, please, parents--do not do this. I get that your lives are already overflowing, the world puts way too many unrealistic demands on you, and that the years are short. But please try not to shortchange your kids this way.

There is a certain kind of human, and I'm related to an unfortunately high number of them, who believes that some things are just "common sense" and people "shouldn't need to be told that." However, that's just not true. I agree that there are many things that are caught rather than taught as one grows up--the aforementioned supermarket example springs to mind--but to presume that everyone caught the same information, or that we all have the same kind of upbringing, or that the human brain has a built-in program for knowing exactly what to do all the time, is just to invite frustration and misunderstanding into life.

By the way, as an adult I've had to learn how to drive a stick shift (at age 30) and how to change a flat tire on my bicycle (at age 34). A few months back I asked my brother to show me how to change a flat tire on a car (at age 39), although since I haven't had occasion to practice that one I'm sure I'll have to ask him again. (Mad props to my brother for being a lot more gracious and mature about that request than our father was. Maybe have a young widowed sister has helped him see the world in a different way than was possible for our father at this age.)

When someone hasn't read a classic book, I always try to say "Oh! What a treat you have ahead of you!" rather than "I can't believe you haven't read this!" because no one wants to be shamed into reading.

We should lead with our delight in literature, not our pretentiousness.

— Joy (@joynessthebrave) March 1, 2018

↑ This applies to more than just literature.

Repeat after me: There's nothing inherently irresponsible or shameful about not knowing a thing. It is okay to ask for help and seek out the skills that you're lacking. In fact, it shows incredible maturity to do that kind of self-assessment and look for self-improvement. What is shameful is mocking or belittling someone who's doing their best to fill those gaps. Everyone has something they don't know or haven't learned to do yet. Let's move forward together with that in mind, please.

School of Listen Up

I'm going to talk a little bit about School of Rock, and it will contain spoilers, so I'll do my usual things that I do so you can get away quickly if the musical is coming to you next and you've been avoiding internet reviews and whatnot. (By the way: this is not a review. I don't really do that.) I did not see the movie that inspired the musical--folks seem really keen on asking that question. I'm sure it's great, but I'm not a movie gal.

Okay, that should cover the few lines that pull from Facebook. Everything else after the jump.

Named

Tuesday is supposed to be my book day, but my book post for this week accidentally turned into a Sunday post instead. So, here's a non-book-related story for you. I've thought about sharing it before but have always held off, just in case the day I tell it is the day that my dad's side of my family all suddenly start reading my blog. (If they are already, then they're being very very quiet about it, which is... unlike us.) But I finally got a chance to tell this story to the relevant cousin at our uncle's funeral, so I no longer feel weird about sharing.

Every time I think the suggested pics
on the free images site couldn't get
weirder, it manages to outdo itself.
Searching for "name" is no exception.
I truthfully wasn't expecting to find
one that was usable, but lo and
behold. Source: blogmonkey on
freeimages.com.

When I took Chadwick's name when we got married, it was not a decision I took lightly. It wasn't a matter of course for me, even though it probably seemed like it was to anyone who didn't get to be there for my months of back-and-forth. Essentially, it boiled down to this: I liked his name better than my own. Wilcox it was going to be.

But then along came a day, a decade and a degree each later, when I was about to earn my MA, and I pointed out to Chad that while both of our BAs had his family's name on them, my own family (I was the first of my grandparents' descendants to go to college, although #2 was right on my heels) had no such honor in our house. Chadwick agreed that this was pretty unfair and that my granddad's name should get equal representation.

We were still talking through what that was going to look like--I knew I wanted both my last names hyphenated on my MA, but beyond that I hadn't decided whether to use both names professionally from then on or just stick with Wilcox. I for sure didn't want to have to write fourteen letters plus a hyphen every time I signed my name, so it wasn't going to be a formal change. But you all know what happened next--Chadwick died suddenly three months before my graduation date, and that settled it. There would be no hyphenating or honoring anyone else's legacy apart from his and mine with my diploma. My cousin who was only a year away from earning a JD already carries the family name, with no hand-wringing required. He could represent for all of us.

So I told him this after the funeral, and added, "Thanks for having my back," and we had a little chuckle over that. The family legacy is better off in his hands, anyway. I would probably just drop it and accidentally break bits off.

No, no, no. I'm not spelling it like that.
Source: Grant Oyston on freeimages.com.

Various relatives have taken turns, and my grandmother more turns than anyone, at asking if I'll ever get married again. Not having a crystal ball, I don't know the answer to that, but if it does happen it won't be any time in the foreseeable future. I can't imagine opening my heart that much a second time, not when it's already fractured. But this much I know for sure: I'm not changing my name again. I'm leaving this earth a Wilcox.

Because Chadwick's legacy is safe in my hands.

Disruption

I'm not certain that there's anything in our 21st century that isn't a disruption, despite the tech industry's relentless quest to claim the word for their own. (Of all the things to pick as a buzzword... but as has been pointed out by many, it does sound slightly less aggressive than "breaking.")

 Because whose brain isn't filled to
overflowing? Source.

So when life gets disrupted, by a tough week at work or a school schedule or an unexpected basically anything, there are things that are quick to go. I don't know what yours is, although for many people, exercise is on that list. (Mine also includes reading, writing, and all my crafty things. Which makes me wonder what the heck I'm doing instead, since those are the only things I do.)

The problem I have, and maybe you do, too, is that letting exercise go first just disrupts things more. I need running to keep my emotions on an even keel, to sleep better at night, to sort through angst and troublesome thoughts, and generally to be more fun to be around. So to allow that outlet to be disrupted is, in fact, even more disruptive. Maybe your outlet is your favorite TV show, or writing in a journal, or playing a game of solitaire with real cards. Maybe you don't know what your outlet is.

Your mental health matters. Your self-care matters. And while things get disrupted and there's nothing that can be done about it, the "first to go" list may need some tweaking. Maybe things get rearranged. Maybe you have a friend you can call in a hurry. Maybe your outlet needs a couple backups that are portable and flexible enough to go along with you in the daily scramble.

I'll be headed out to run in a little while, because if I don't, my day is already disrupted.

What Not to Say, Again

I wasn't going to bother with this post in 2018. I've written it down a few times now, with updates as appropriate, and I thought, "People who are reading my blog have probably already internalized this and don't need to hear it again." But then just a few weeks ago, a Facebook friend announced a loss, and I watched in resignation as her page filled up with dumb stuff and I thought, "Yeah, I need to write it down again." I said so on Twitter, and this happened:

We need a reprogrammable ubiquitous Clippy.

“It looks like you’re trying to be comforting. Would you like help with that?”

— Michael Ekstrand (@mdekstrand) January 9, 2018

I took a bunch of pics in a cemetery
once. Those pics have really come
in handy.

Indeed. And even if I hadn't reached that conclusion, my cousins' experiences last week have only served to underline this need. So, here it is again, and please feel free to share it as broadly as you like in the hopes that well-meaning but poorly equipped friends can get some fresh ideas. And maybe that the insensitive clods will at least have a go at keeping quiet.

For the times that you don't manage to stop yourself in time, shake it off and do better the next time. Whether we like it or not, the wrong words will pour out of our very human mouths when faced with other peoples' grief. Also, it's good to remember that while most of these things that I suggest you not say are pulled from the consensus of widows groups and similar sources (yes, I did more research than just living through it), grief is idiosyncratic. It's possible you'll run across someone who's okay with these statements. But it's easiest not to count on people in grief hearing what you mean and not what you say, not when there are other options.


Part 1: Things That Are Better Left Unsaid

1. For the love of everything, please don't race to be the first post your condolences on Facebook. 

If you don't know for sure that all family and friends who should hear the news firsthand have been informed, find something else to do with your fingers while you wait for the closest relative to post first. I recommend a good cup of tea and perhaps a crossword puzzle. Honestly, the deceased is not going to get any less dead if you don't say something right away. Even if your intentions are good, please wait. Go ahead and send a text to the widow(er) if you like--but again, don't expect an immediate response, or indeed any response at all. It's not a grief-off.

Also, if you think you should have been among the first to get a phone call and weren't, or you read it from someone on Facebook before you got the call, take any aggravation/resentment you may feel and find a healthy way of dealing with it that doesn't involve airing your grievances to the bereaved. Ever. This does not have a statute of limitations. Give the family some slack--there are only so many times anyone can say, "My [family member] died this morning" before it gets to be too much.

2. "Did you know he was sick?" or "Was this a surprise?"

My aunt and cousins have just had to deal with (and are probably still dealing with) being asked this. I cannot stress this enough: if you don't already know, it's none of your business right now. Full stop, no exceptions, especially in the first few weeks when the bereaved probably don't want to share what happened hundreds of times. Other people have almost certainly asked before you, so please restrain yourself. Ask a more distant relative, if you must, but not the people sitting in the front row at the funeral.

I got asked this so many times that I started telling people that a pulmonary embolism is an acute condition that can happen to anyone at any time, which is not 100% true, but usually gave the questioner reason to ponder his or her own mortality, preferably somewhere else. If you don't want this treatment, it's best not to ask.

Caveat: after a while, people started to phrase it as, "Can I ask what happened?" which at least gives the bereaved a chance to say "I'd rather not talk about it" if that's how they feel. (And if that is the answer you get, back off immediately.) If some time has gone by and you've still never heard what it was, this is probably the way to do it. Just please don't assume that every dead person was harboring a secret fatal illness.

3. "S/He's in a better place."

This may be true, but you shouldn't say it out loud in the presence of family members who are struggling just to stay upright and survive the next minute. Hawaii is also a better place, but I wouldn't want him going there and leaving me behind, either. If this is comforting to you, say it to yourself. Don't say it to the family.

And the next is like unto it:

3. "It's comforting to know that s/he's with Jesus."

You don't know whether this is comforting or not. (Spoiler alert: For me, it's not, even though I believe that it's true.) So also keep this one to yourself, if it helps you.

And the next is like unto it again:

5. "God needed him/her more that you did."

No, God bloody well did not. I don't understand why people of faith have so many awful platitudes we've cooked up for times of crisis, but it's time for us all to forget them. If this is the best you can do, just sign the guest register and take a seat with your mouth closed. This is a terrible thing to say, not only because it's not comforting, but also because it turns God into some kind of weirdo body-snatching alien from a bad horror movie. Just don't.

6. "How are you?" or "How are you, really?"

I know, I know. It seems like a well-intentioned, innocent enough question. The problem is, everyone wants to put the emphasis in those exact places. The further problem is, when asked with any kind of emphasis, the question carries a connotation of "You can tell me the truth, even things you don't want to tell other people, because I'm being all kind and understanding!" Yes, even if that's not what you mean, that's how it sounds, and that being the case it can imply a closer relationship than you truly share with the bereaved. Steer clear.

On the other hand, asking "How are you?" without any weird emphases and being open to an honest answer, or to no answer at all, is not as bad. If nothing else, "How are you?" is how we open a lot of conversations, so it's at least a common convention and is less likely to be misunderstood. However, know in advance that the answer may well be an exasperated, "How do you think I am?" So tread carefully.

7. "Were you close?"

Okay, I pulled this one from my personal archives. Obviously, this isn't something people ask widows. (At least, I hope not!) When I lost uncles in 1997 and 2001, this was all anyone could ask me. Fortunately, I haven't heard it this past week. So this one might be an age thing, the result of young people overall having less experience with grief. Whatever the reason, please don't ask this. They'll probably tell you without you asking, anyway.

8. Anything that might be trying to get the person to look on the bright side.

We're not going to get to the bright side any faster just because someone is trying to "help" get us there, no matter how good your intentions are. This is, in fact, one of those times when looking on the dark side is totally appropriate. There's a road out, but in no universe does someone come out of the darkness faster if you forcibly shine a Maglite into their face.

I've probably missed some important ones, but this should be enough to get you started. Above and beyond all else, think before you speak. Always. That's the best way to save everyone some aggravation, embarrassment, and heartache. And of course, I'm not leaving you hanging without some replacement ideas. Keep reading:


Part 2: Things that are good to say

1. "Please text/call/Facebook me, even if it's the middle of the night."

This is not for casual acquaintances. You should only say this to someone with whom you already have a text/call/Facebook relationship. You should also edit it to fit your own boundaries--if you have small children in the house, 2 AM phone calls may not be how you can help, for example. Only say this if you are able and willing for the person to take you up on it.

2. "What can I bring you?"

This one works for anyone, unless the bereaved has some sort of restraining order against you. Be prepared with suggestions if the person says "I don't know." Be prepared with non-food ideas if the person says "My fridge is full." Be prepared to get a gift card if the person says, "No, thank you," but gift-giving is still one of your love languages. Stick it in a card and drop it in the mail--they'll appreciate it later. Promise.

Caveat: Don't bring or give anything if you will be in a huff later if you didn't get a thank-you card. It's possible that the family will run out of steam for writing all the thank-you notes they intended, or will never conjure the energy in the first place. Give with no strings or expectations, or don't give at all.

3. "Can I go to the bank/supermarket/library/etc. for you?"

Yes. Yes, you can. Again, maybe this isn't something you'd say to someone you've only said hello to twice. If you don't know them well enough to know if they're too private to accept this offer, skip straight to a nice sympathy card with some kind words inside.

4. "Do you want to go to [fun thing you've always done together]?"

Give this one a little while before asking the first time, and keep in mind that the answer will likely be 'no' the first few times you ask. (Make sure you're spacing out your invites appropriately. This is also idiosyncratic--weekly? Monthly? Maybe next year? Pay attention to your friend's response to decide when to ask again.) Please, please don't give up on your friend. One day, the answer will be 'yes.'

5. Sharing a favourite memory or something you liked or appreciated about the departed person is nearly always welcome.

This means other kinds of stories, like "most embarrassing moment" or "something horrible he did to me when we were kids," are probably not welcome. Don't be the weird cousin who tells awkward stories at the wake.

Also, don't hold back on telling stories even if it's been weeks or months or years since the deceased passed. The idea of not wanting to remind the bereaved about his/her loss is silly; it's not like we're going to forget. If someone says they don't want to hear a memory right then, accept that in the moment, but that doesn't mean that they'll feel that way forever. In fact, there's a good chance they may reach out to you to hear that story once they're in a better frame of mind.

6. Go to the funeral.

This is not one of mine; it comes from a wise friend (who came to Chadwick's funeral, btw), and she is 100% correct. It's the best chance to show that you care. You don't even have to say anything. I'd be lying if I said I have instant recall of every person who was at Chadwick's funeral, but I do know that every person who stepped through the door made my heart swell a bit more. Especially those who travelled long distances and were a surprise. You never know how much your presence will bless someone.

7. "I care about you."

Just don't be creepy. If you don't know the person well enough to be non-creepy, there's always the standard-issue and perfectly acceptable:

8. "I'm so sorry to hear of your loss."

Cliched? Sure. Appreciated? Oh, yes. Even in those dark moments, we all know that there are no words. Better to say a few and let your presence speak for you than to try to "fix" it.

So if you've read all this and you're mad at me now or think I don't know what I'm talking about, congratulations! You are my target audience. Don't send me an angry comment; instead, re-read this through a few times and try to memorize the things in Part 2. Print it off and hang it up, if you need to. Take it along to the next funeral as a cheat sheet.

Above all, thank you for trying to lighten the load for someone else. That's my point for writing this again--to help you help your nearest and dearest through an awful time. Keep in mind that your words have power and you'll do just fine.

To Be Happy You're Alive

Reading my Facebook memories in the days leading up the anniversary of Chadwick's last day is a bit like, well, a Crockpot fire. It's like Mrs. Landingham leaving the office to go pick up her car. It's like Henry getting on that chopper. I get the same jolt of realization as I do when I watch beloved characters going about their normal business with no idea that their lives are about to be irrevocably shattered.

Last year, I wrote about what went down that day, so if you've never heard the whole story, that's where you can read it. I'm not writing all that down again.

There's nothing not to love about this picture. Even if you
didn't know him, this pretty much says it all.

A few months ago for Chadwick's birthday, a dear friend sent me a message addressed to him that read, in part: "You are with her everywhere. Every adventure she takes, she takes you along." I certainly hope that's true. For all that I can't make up my mind about whether I like the idea of his spirit hanging around, I hope I'm living a full enough life for two people. If nothing else, I want to honor his spirit by experiencing every moment as fully as I can, even the moments when I'm frustrated or disgusted by this world we're living in.

This life isn't fair. Some days, nothing goes right. This is one of those days. In a life gone horribly wrong, I'm doing my best just to keep going. And I hope you are, too. That's the least we can do for those who've passed on from this life and who are no longer allowed to participate, but who may well be watching.

Post title is a line from "Light," from the musical Next to Normal, which is still basically my life anthem. You're on your own if you watch any more of it than that song.

Strands of a Life

Legacy may be planting seeds in a garden you never get to see, but that doesn't tell us what to do with the gardens that are left to us. What we leave behind matters. But so does what we do with what's been left.

An old episode of Theatre People caught my ear recently, when Jeanine Tesori said, "A lot of the middle ages is taking the strands of your family's history and trying to decide what you're going to use in your own embroidery." I may not be quite to the middle ages just yet, but choosing my own strands is a thing I'm definitely thinking about this week.

Some literal family embroidery--my
grandmother's. This is a thread of hers that
is also in me. The fact that we shared this
was the sort of thing she might have
mentioned while she was still alive.

Some strands I left behind long before it even occurred to me that that's what I was doing, when straight out of high school I decided I needed to move away from my family and its history and see what I could embroider on a clean canvas. I brought them with me, though, with the needing things just so and the snark and the hanging onto things because I'll find a use for them later, plus wherever the writing thing came from.

My grandfather's nickname in his final years was "Mr. Wonderful," because whenever anyone asked him how he was, he would say, "Wonderful." He said that to me when I saw him the last time in the hospital--I walked in when he was alone, he grinned the same smile that my mother and uncles and brother all inherited, but not me--I said, "How are you, Grandpa?" and took his hand. He said, "Wonderful," before telling me he was in too much pain for me to hold his hand like that.

My Chadwick greeted the world with arms and heart open every day. I said of my uncle's passing earlier this week, "the world just got a little less kind and open-hearted." The pieces of my family's thread that are already in me are so deeply embedded that I don't even have to think about them, I can't even see them most of the time, but this open-heartedness and embrace of the world and everyone in it--those are threads I have to fight for. They aren't in me, because I have, at least somewhat from necessity, closed off my heart. I wonder what I'm missing, what kind of tapestry I could be making, if I could access those threads that I've left in the box for now. Who knows how my embroidery will change as the years go by?

I can't use all my family's thread. And I certainly don't want to. We have some ugly colours that I've purposely avoided, because that's not the kind of legacy I want to leave behind. And I've added some that are just me, which means leaving even more of everyone else in the box. 

What threads are you using?

Carded

Humans, we need each other. We need connection. We need someone who cares. We need to know we aren't alone.

This is a pretty tall order. Due in part to our current disconnectedness, it's not always easy to know who needs a word of encouragement. Or who the person is who I can make a difference for. And who doesn't have more things going on than hours in a day?

I don't have a solution, except that my usual throwing my hands up in the air and retreating into a book to avoid actual human emotion is probably not one. But I do have a teeny tiny thought.

Some of the postcards on my ribbon board. It's possible
one of these is not so much a postcard as me showing off
that I got a thing.

This thought started when I was perusing my Facebook memories a few days ago, and found an old comment of mine that sending a postcard instead of a Facebook message is only marginally more expensive and you get a pretty picture, too.

Remember when we used to send letters? I loved writing letters in pre-internet days, but that dwindled away until the only person I was writing letters to was my grandmother, who is no longer around to receive them, so for the last three years I've sent the odd postcard from D.C. or NYC, and that's it. I think it's time to change that.

How is this an environmentally friendly idea? I don't know, but what I do know is that the postal service runs whether I'm using it or not, so I may as well give them something to carry that isn't junk mail. It is possible to tear the front off a card you've received that you weren't sure what to do with later (does anyone else have this problem? I can't bring myself to recycle a card, no matter how many years it's been gathering dust) and use that as a postcard, so that's a good way for a bit of reusing to sneak in. Plus, happier humans = better planet, at least I certainly hope so.

So I'm challenging myself starting right now to send out at least one postcard a week in 2018, and to do that I need your help. Want a postcard? Send me your address via DM and I'll put you in the queue. Why am I doing this? Because I care about you and want to brighten your day a little bit. Because we need a bit more connection in the world today. Because I want a reason to go buy some postcards.

What will you do today to make the world a more connected place?

Coping Skills

I work in a building full of counselors, which certainly has its upsides, but sometimes I forget that there are things I don't want to say in front of them. Like, when discussing emotional upheaval, I say, "That's what I have running for. I don't know what other people do." They don't react, because they've been carefully taught not to, but that doesn't mean that I don't hear their sudden silence. Mwah hah hah.

These are great tools, but sometimes they're not the tool
that's needed.

And while it's mostly true for me (I also have chocolate, books, and crayons), that doesn't mean I shouldn't get my own therapist sooner or later. I absolutely should, rather than relying on the good vibes of my coworkers to keep me even-keeled. (I'm guessing they've figured out by now that I go around absorbing their affect, like an emotional vacuum cleaner.) I just haven't yet. I mean, it's pretty good chocolate, and if I run until I'm ready to collapse from exhaustion then it's easier to fall asleep.

This is my long way round to say that one cutesy little expression runners love, "Running is cheaper than therapy," should remain cutesy and never, ever be treated as absolute truth. Running is not therapy, and miles spent pounding pavement, even in the company of the best running buddies ever, is no substitute for a trained professional human.

Let's not use our sport to browbeat others or make them feel less than. (Unless, you know, you're beating the pants off your running buddy at your next 5K. That can usually be solved by the winner buying the first round of drinks.) And let's never treat exercise as a replacement for other needs. Running has a huge place in my life and I'd be a lot worse off without it, but I never want to use my miles or my words to hurt someone. I'd rather use them to bring us all together.

How will you bring people together this week?

Be a Light

How do you make the world a better place?

I'm wondering this because I first started making Friday my environmentally friendly theme day many years ago, when over the course of many conversations it became evident that easy earth-friendly things I thought everybody was doing were in fact quite the opposite. So I started writing them down. Some stuff is just so much fun to do and I'm bummed that everyone hasn't figured it out yet. You can turn kitchen scraps into dirt! Old clothes into pillows! Why wouldn't everyone want this kind of magic in their lives?

It's choose-your-own-metaphor day here at Cheekyness.
Source: Sorina Bindea on freeimages.com.

And despite the fact that I intend to continue making my footprint on the earth as light as possible, current trends in governmental thinking be darned, I don't want to lose sight of all the other ways of making the world a better place.

I would like people to recycle more and litter never. I would like, in this place of abundance, for everyone to not waste so much stuff. I would love for the people who think it's no big deal to send other people death threats on social media to retreat into the lifestyle of an internet-free hermit and let the rest of us get on with being not-horrible humans. We could probably do all those things at once.

Make the world better for your having been in it today. I'll do the same and we'll meet later to talk about how it went, okay?

Best Books of 2017

Better late than never: the top books that I read last year. As should be evident if you've read any of my book posts, my loving a book is no guarantee that you will. (Although these are pretty good ones.) Please note that these aren't necessarily books published in 2017, but rather books I read in 2017. I'm not that fancy.

I only read 23 books in 2017, so it was not a huge or even normal year for my reading, but what I lacked in quantity was made up for by some pretty great, thought-provoking stuff, some of which everyone needs to be reading right now.


So, here we go. All images are from Goodreads:

3. What the Living Do: Poems, Marie Howe
I forgot until I re-read Dash and Lily for Christmas that it was them who pointed me in the direction of Marie Howe. And I'm so glad they did. Magnificent, beautiful poems about the nature of life and death. IIRC (I read it early in the year), it's not entirely PG, so be warned if you decide to read.

2. Demagoguery and Democracy, Patricia Roberts-Miller
I saw this author at the Texas Book Festival! Because, full disclosure, I sat in her class for a semester back in 2010 (and got an A, by the way) and we're friends on Facebook, and I get to enjoy the benefits of all the things she writes down on a daily basis.

Anyway, this book. Obviously, it's timely, but its importance lies in the tools it gives the reader for spotting and pushing back against demagoguery. I read it on the plane home from Austin and the next day handed it to a coworker to read. Which I would do for you, too, if you were within book-handing-to distance. Read it.

1. Gospel of Freedom: Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Letter from Birmingham Jail and the Struggle That Changed a Nation, Jonathan Rieder
Speaking of timely. If you've never read Dr. King's Letter, there's no time like the present. This book is a great way to do that, especially for those of us who didn't live through it, because it provides historical context. Also, lots of great photos. It took me twice as long as it should have to read it just because I couldn't stop staring at the photos.

It's fashionable for some at the moment to claim that protest itself can be as bad as the injustice that is being protested. Have a read of this book to see that indeed, nothing is new under the sun. Dr. King has a strong message for those folks, alongside his encouragement for those who stand up against injustice for what they believe to be right.


Shorter list than usual, but it was a short reading year. Want to see more of what I read? Let's be friends on Goodreads and you can check out my 2017 shelf.

And We'll All Go Together

Earlier this week, one of my posts from a year ago when I was looking for the right church turned up on my Facebook memories. I believe that was also the week I visited Echo Church for the third time and finally decided I was there to stay.

While my usual bike, Sharlie, has been to
Echo many times, last week was (IIRC)
Hugo's first time there. His mountain bike
tires are much more suited to the mud &
slush that were on Cincinnati streets
last weekend.

They're stuck with me now. They don't seem to mind, either because they're great actors or because I'm more fun to be around than I thought. I'm equally at peace either way. I wish I could say I learned something from the journey of visiting many places before I found my people, or that I now have the tools to find the right church in the future, should I ever be so mad as to change cities again. (This is city #5. While I have a short list of other places I'm willing to live, it gets shorter all the time and I'd rather not have to deploy it unless absolutely necessary.) (Unless there's a nonprofit in NYC that has a job to offer me right now and will pay me enough money that I can live a couple blocks from a subway line. I'd take that in a heartbeat.)

No, all I've learned is that God has many people in this city. And some of them are pretty great people who've opened their hearts and lives to what God wants to do through them. In our women's Bible study we've been reading through Mere Christianity, and this week got to some great things C.S. Lewis says about Christian community: "...united together in a body, loving one another, helping one another, showing Him to one another. For that is what God meant humanity to be like; like players in one band, or organs in one body." 

That reminded me of a bit in Screwtape Letters (which I haven't read in years, so this is entirely from a memory that is only marginally reliable), when Screwtape tells Wormwood that for his client to be attending the same parish church week after week, seeing the foibles of his fellow parishioners up close until they grate on his nerves, is an effective way of keeping the client in hell's clutches. From what I've heard, the client in question in Screwtape is Lewis himself, so to put those passages together makes me think that Lewis hung in there through the aggravation he may have felt at his fellow community members and their more trying traits, to come out the other side treasuring them deeply as fellow believers. 

I don't know if I've ever gone through that process as thoroughly as I could. Goodness knows I'm fairly easily irritated, and never more so than in this era of everyone proudly displaying their quirks, delightful or otherwise, all over social media in a display of I don't even know what. (Guilty!) But to embrace a community is to embrace the whole of it, even at times when I may be completely flabbergasted by the person standing in front of me. As a person whose whole life is a bit outside of the ordinary, it's not like I don't bring my own foibles to the equation.

So after a year in this community, I'm happy, and indeed delighted, to have found them. And I know I still have some growing to do. So here's hoping for many years of all growing together.

Post title is a nod to the song, "Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go," which I wasn't planning to do until I wrote that last sentence. And after that I naturally couldn't think of anything else.

And the World Still Spins

I didn't really mean to say, "Hey, I'm outliving my husband today!" and then run off for three months, but seriously, the words and I haven't been getting along for so long that right now I'm basically doing a writerly smash and grab and planning to sprint off the second I'm done before I get caught.

My theme for 2017 has accidentally been Rent, which started when I chose "Creation" as my word for the year because of the line "The opposite of war isn't peace; it's creation!" Act 2 of Rent begins on New Year's Eve with basically the best song ever for facing a new year. So I'm sure it's a surprise to no one that that's what I have on repeat this morning.

Another reason I haven't had a lot to write about lately is that it's hard to be lighthearted when the whole world is coming apart at the seams. There's a lot to be angry about right now, but I tend to translate my person anger into works of fiction that will never be published and gripe sessions with coworkers instead of bringing it here. To say nothing of the internet becoming unbearable because so many people I care about insist on defending the indefensible. Let's make the world better in 2018, y'all. Not whatever this nonsense has been.

The story never ends. Let's celebrate and remember a year in the life of friends.

Last Day. First Day.

I knew this day was coming. I thought about it briefly the day I turned 39, but in the past few weeks this milestone has loomed up and thrown its shadow over my entire life. I didn't expect it to be this big of a deal, which was obviously my first mistake.

Today's the day I outlive Chadwick.

I'm a member of a couple widows' groups and we talk about everything imaginable, plus some things you're all better off not imagining, but how it feels to outlive a spouse is a thing there's probably not a word for. So I once again have no idea how I'm feeling, except for my overwhelming desire to just stay in bed. Forever.

Last night I went to an FC Cincinnati game, finally, but before I headed out I tried to pinpoint when I last went to a professional soccer match. I'm pretty sure it was when I lived in Scotland, and the longer I thought about it the more the absurdity of that realization dawned on me. Despite all that I've left undone and all that's still to come on my bucket list, the fact is that my 39 years have been pretty amazing, mostly by accident, and the best part of it all was the 13 I spent with my Chadwick. Who had 39 pretty amazing years himself.

Today's the last day I can say I spent one-third of my life with him. From now on, that percentage will shrink. Today is the last age (39 years, four months, 14 days) we will ever have in common. Tomorrow is the first day I shoot without a script. Maybe I still have time to write one great solo.

Maybe I still have time. Maybe there's more amazing to come. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to pull myself out of bed one more time.