The Roller Coaster

So, after my last post, which was all about how much of a PITA winter is to my psyche (for the umpteenth year in a row), you are probably all out of patience with my ramblings. I know I am. But that's Anxiety talking, and Anxiety can go take a flying leap.

This post is different; it's one of those rambly-but-funny ones of the ups and downs of a day in the life.

My mom nagged suggested I take the final step with HSBC to get my old car's** title (or the declaration that they have no claim to it) so I can get rid of it. I've been trying to find/obtain the title for three years, and the car hasn't run for two. This time, Mom went so far as to sent me the address of the nearest HSBC branch. Grand.

To do this, I need to make sure I have the proper documentation. The car's VIN, my current ID, the current(ish) registration, the name-change paperwork, and may as well throw in the death certificate for Laston for good measure; everyone else seems to need it. So I leave the house in South Snohomish County, go to the courthouse in Everett (in "freeway rain") to get a copy of my divorce decree and my 2nd marriage certificate (I probably have those somewhere anyway, but I may as well have them all in one place).

Hey, as long as I'm here, I should talk to the Treasurer for the county about getting the property taxes put in my name, since Laston never paid them and I tended to ignore or destroy the (mostly junk) mail addressed to him in the early months after his death. I had already had a stress-out when I saw that their website said that "installment plans" are one full year, and they haven't answered my inquiry email. So I talk to them, and "of course, we can help you set up a reasonable payment plan, Mrs. Kirkland; we'll send you a payment book next week." A few tears of relief, an offered tissue, and a smile from the person in charge. Good.

Now, down to Redmond (via Lynnwood, where Home Goods does not have my favorite olives in stock, dammit) to HSBC. Once I'm done there, I can pick up the groceries at Trader Joe's and the kids' requested dinner at Fred Meyer in Totem Lake on the way home.

Oh, look, HSBC and Trader Joe's and QFC (also a Kroger company these days, and therefore has the same chicken strips the kids like from Fred Meyer) are all in the same parking lot! Awesome!

But "I'm sorry, Mrs. Tincher? Oh... Mrs. Kirkland. So HSBC Auto Credit doesn't really exist anymore, my branch manager is in a meeting, and the other managers are both on vacation this week. Let me see..." He makes a couple phone calls and finds out the current customer service number for old HSBC Auto Credit customers. Yay! But it's in New York City. Boo, I'll have to call Monday.

Trader Joe's and QFC go well though, and now we have a fruit tray for Second Christmas tomorrow morning. Cool. I go home (via Woodinville, where Home Goods does not have my favorite olives in stock, dammit). And my FitBit tells me I've reached my goal for the day.

I get home. Abby puts away groceries while Lizzy and I go to Mom's to practice piano (on Lizzy's part) and regale Mom with this story (on mine). We get the mail on the way back, to find... that the social security overpayments they said they were taking out of February's payment will be taken out of January's instead. Awesome.

It'll work out somehow; it always does. But what a crappy end to an up-and-down day.

**2002 Mitsubishi Lancer ES sedan. This is the car that Abby's dad and I bought when I was three months pregnant with her, in May 2002. My first new(ish) car. I paid it off long after he and I were divorced, and I had been married to Lizzy's dad Laston for almost two years, in January 2009. I took the payoff information and my ex-husband to a Notary to put the title in my name, but no-one told me (or I don't remember) that we had to file that with the Department of Motor Vehicles, so there is no lost title to find through them. And we lost the copy we had during one of our moves, Laston and I. I have torn the house apart looking for it, been to any number of government agencies trying to get a copy, sent emails that received no reply, tried to wade through the worst IVR system I've ever heard, etc. 

Messy Mental Musings

Warning: this post will ramble.

It's been a Potato Chip Effect or Dropped Spoon kind of week and its only Tuesday. Actually, it started Saturday, when I told Facebook to eff off for a day. Some people thought this meant I was staying off entirely, and sent me little I-thought-you-were-off-Facebook texts when I was on later, which were not helpful. So I ignored them; better that than biting their heads off.

Physical health is generally measurable and treatable, and there are specific goals (reduce pain, close wound, clear infection). But mental health is a slippery beast, and while it may not hurt to know that mid-December is always a problem for me even before Laston's illness, it's isn't something that my fairly logical mind can really grok as a useful data point. Until I sit down and write it out, of course.

When you have even mild mental health issues (hello, Seasonal Affective Disorder, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion) on top of things that are still sometimes considered to be mental health issues but aren't (like ADHD or ASD), the tendency is to try to analyze, at least for me. How much of my emotional exhaustion (it's not really compassion fatigue because that implies I'm less able to feel compassion than I was) is due to winter? To financial stress? About things that are neither my monkeys nor my circus? To grief? To living with children? To being a single mom on a budget? To missing a deadline because I couldn't log in? To fretting about my friends who are also having hard times, in different ways? About my mom's recent knee surgery, even though she's fine? To feeling guilty because my friends have it worse so what am I complaining about? About the things my country is doing to people who are not straight white males? About the little things, like head colds and power outages and traffic snarls? To my therapist being out of town for the holidays?

It doesn't really matter how much of each issue is affecting me in what way. But try telling my busy little brain that in the moment. It's just as effective as telling Meltdown Lizzy that her art project can be fixed; you have to step back to a place of calm for it to even register.

I did that today in the car on the way to school. I said to Lizzy that we need a plan for when mom loses it, because otherwise I'm Shouty Mom (who nobody likes) or even Weepy Mom (which unnerves them somewhat). What can we plan for right now, when I'm not Shouty or Weepy? "Um..." Lizzy says reluctantly, "We could like do chores before you get Shouty."

Well, that's terrific, but I've been trying to get you to do that for years and it hasn't worked yet. "Maybe you could use one of the code phrases? Like "Potato Chip Effect?" So we know when you're about to be Shouty Mom?"

The child is a genius. Now to get my brain to notice the path and act accordingly before I start being Shouty. If I can expect Lizzy to do this, I can expect me to do this.

And now I'm going to sign out before our second windstorm in the past five days causes another power outage. Because if I typed all this and didn't save before Mother Nature gets Shouty, I'm going to Drop Spoons loudly and all over the floor.

Are You Kidding Me?

You see, today is Abby's SIXTEENTH birthday.

I Know. Sixteen. Shut up.

She's a good kid. In fact, she's pretty freaking awesome. She's a good sister, a steady B student (except in performing arts of any kind, when it's all As all the time), a person who is aware of her privilege and lifts others up, a helpful
classmate, an energetic performer, a natural comic, a decent artist,
fun to be around, an excellent storyteller, kind, funny, reliable, and sweet. That's how most of her fellow performers describe her - energetic and sweet - and one of the leads in her last show said she is "the best damn extra ever."

Oh, I know she's not perfect. Her room is stupid messy, she never sees things that need doing around the house, she picks at her sister and gets offended when sister gets tired of it, and avoids helping by playing with grandma's cat.

But she's SIXTEEN. That's normal.

And it's awesome.

Context Matters

<hauls out soapbox. Again.>

Content Warning - this episode of Jenn Does Not Grok contains adult language that Jenn - yes, that Sailor-Mouth Jenn - never actually uses. Statements are made from a point of cishet white privilege. Also sarcasm, grumpiness, and horrified incredulous laughter.

I had a person (a fair-skinned, blonde femme person who I think was female, but I don't want to assume) say something to me today - apparently in all seriousness without a trace of irony - that shocked me into you-have-taken-it-too-far mode. I am not generally that person, the one who thinks "all this political correctness has gone too far," but this one made me WTF all over the floor.

They said, "We shouldn't teach any of the old authors to our kids; even Shakespeare was a sexist, racist, transphobic cunt."

Leaving aside for the moment the dichotomy of (evidently a white woman) using that particular derogatory word for a woman in a speech about how sexist long-dead male authors were (and the speaker was not audibly British, Australian, Kiwi, or any of the other countries that use this slur as a crude term but not an actual swear), how can they actually say that with a straight face? I mean, of course, Shakespeare was racist and sexist by the standards of 2018. (I can only assume that "transphobic" was included in their list because of the crossdressing-for-disguise in plays such as Twelfth Night and As You Like It.)

But those plays were written four hundred-plus years ago. In a different time, a different country, and you really think we shouldn't teach them because they come across as racist and sexist now? My teenager - hell, my tween - know better than that. They can be indignant about the unfairness of things but understand that it's a different time and place and fiction.

I mean, I kind of get it for current folks who are still alive. I'm not an Orson Scott Card fan, for instance; although I can acknowledge that he is an excellent craftsman in his writing, I don't like his personal views. I have lots of friends who despise JK Rowling for racism (of the skin tone variety) at Hogwarts and for straying from her lane in the mythologies in Fantastic Beasts. The Bills (Clinton and Cosby), etc. (and I'm not including the likes of Trump or DeVos or McConnell or Kavanaugh here; as far as I can tell they haven't done anything at all for the good of anyone but themselves and others like them. Harvey Weinstein seems to me to be somewhere between these two categories).

I don't understand it as much for the Susan B. Anthonys of the world. She was racist, certainly, but we continue to get up in arms about her racism a hundred and ten years ago, when - I feel - we should be celebrating her work in women's rights. And that sort of racism was common at the time, even expected. To me, Susie B is about context and baby steps.

Do we just toss out all of someone's good works because, in retrospect, they were racist, or sexist, or whatever? And how far back do we go? Stan Lee just died, and there are allegations about him. Do we toss out the baby with the bathwater and never web sling again? How about Gene Roddenberry? He was a total horndog who had multiple affairs, but he brought us some of the most forward-looking social-justice-aware fiction of its time. Susan B Anthony? William Shakespeare?

I would be sad if these people had to be absolutely perfect by today's standards in order for us to enjoy all the good things they've done.

And don't start with me one the outliers. Yeah, yeah, Hitler loved his mom. Mussolini made the trains run on time. Not the same thing at all. I'm talking about people who have done a lot of good (how many kids did Lee or Cosby inspire, for instance?) but have done things that sucked. Really sucked. Who did horrible things to people, or were sexist asshats or whatever.

I believe that gender and sexuality and mental processes are on spectra. Do we have to be so binary in our judgment?

I hope not.

Titles

It's been an interesting fall, to say the least. And an autumn full of one-liners or quick little chats, as well. Several of these sounded like titles to me - books, TV shows, movies, songs - and so I have decided to collect them here to have them all in one place. I added a few as well, mostly based on conversations I've had recently. You may find them amusing, clever, or maybe even thought-provoking. Hopefully, you won't find them plain old provoking.

• Squeezy Not-Honey and Other Buffy-Speak Thingies

• Not my Circus Anymore, but Still my Monkey

• 45 Hashtags to Avoid Giving The Dark Lord Facebook Hits

• Mike Pence Nehemiah Scudder: Look It Up

• 101 Things Not to Say to Other People's Children

• Trickle-Down Economics Are Fake, but Trickle-Down Bigotry Is Real

• Trying to Walk the Walk: Ideas for Practicing What You Preach

• It's Just a Game, People: Stop Being Entitled Online

• The Social Justice Bard Needs Sleep, Badly

• Yes, It's Cold Today. It's Still Climate Change

• “Nazi Hunters,” “Love Trumps Hate,” and other ambiguities

• Well, Actually: The Asshat's Guide to -Splaining

• Not Everything is Aimed At You

• That Study Was False and Disproven Ages Ago by People WIth Actual Scientific Knowledge

• Sometimes You Feel Like a Jerk. Sometimes You Don't.

• I'm Stronger Than I Think, But Not as Strong as You Think

• These Are Not my Panties, And This Is Not my Special Cup: Adventures of a Bad Housekeeper

• Klingons Have No Chill and Ferengi Have No Shame: DS9 in 2018 American Politics

• 45 Ways to Describe the Buffoon-In-Chief Without Using -Isms

• It's Not About You and Other Stories of Staying In Your Lane

• Whose Bias Are We Confirming, Anyway?

Feel free to add your own and pass them on! If it can't be contained in a single line, it's too long for a title. I have no real objection if anyone wants to write a blurb under any of these, but be warned: this post IS my circus, so follow Wheaton's Law or I'll delete it.

Wow - This Fall I Learned... (Me, Me, ME)

It's... been awhile.

And I'm feeling pretty good, most of the time. I have a job I love (though it's something I never thought I'd do; I'm driving a passenger car for the school district, and soon I may be correcting papers for them too). I'm in therapy (my doc said, "Okay; you have spent the last three years concentrating on your late husband and your kids; time to help you work on you!") for anxiety and... not weight loss, precisely, but more like finding coping mechanisms that do not involve eating. It's all interrelated, of course, the coping and the eating and the (not) sleeping.

A few things I've learned, some with my therapist's help and some on my own...

• I am stronger than I think I am. I keep forgetting that depression/anxiety and the symptoms thereof (I'm looking at you, Fatigue and Perceived Laziness!) are not weakness. I'm more than willing to give others the benefit of the doubt on these things but not myself.
• I am not as strong as others think I am. The act of getting up (almost) every day and dealing does not mean I'm particularly badass; it just means I'm a person (and a parent) with Things To Do. My house is a constant mess, but at least I am getting up and doing something every day.
• My favorite salty snack makes me feel crappy. I was off the sunflower-seeds-in-the-shell for a couple of weeks (measuring them is a PITA), and I felt good. But I bought a package a few days ago, ate them over the course of two days, and now my lips are chapped and my skin feels dry. And that's the reduced-sodium one! Eating just the kernels does not seem to cause the same issue.
• I use self-deprecating humor to defuse and deflect away from conflict. Yes, I already knew that. But having a professional tell me so in so many words was... not empowering exactly. Awakening? Illuminating.
• I want people to like me. Yeah, another thing I already knew. And I am predisposed to like the friends of my friends because we have awesome people in common. But just as I have friends who have... issues with other people, so do they. And sometimes I probably am that friend. My only recourse is to apologize when I mess up and then step back. Getting my feelings hurt doesn't help any of us, least of all me.
• Another of the AlreadyKnewThatButNeededReminding things: While my emotional plate or coffee cup or whatever your metaphor is no longer full to overflowing every day the way it was a couple of years ago, it's still fairly full. Which means that news stories and misunderstandings and general atmosphere affect me more than they did say, five years ago.
• Different people have different coping mechanisms. This is one of those things that seem obvious until you really unpack it. But who's to say that one friend's asshole behavior and another's mistrust of everyone different from her and my own issues are not all different reactions to the same sorts of things?
• There is a difference between escapism and coping mechanisms. That difference lies in the ability to interact with other people at least some of the time.

Until I went back to the therapist, this blog was my therapy, or at least a non-food coping mechanism, like BSU or reading trashy romances. I may not need it as often with the therapist there (and she's fabulous), and the kids are getting a little old for the constant Out-Of-The-Mouths posts. But I still plan to do it. 

Headed offline for most of the night. 

Peace out.

A Corner Turned

As anyone who follows this blog knows, my husband Laston died of cancer August 10th, 2016.

And on August 11th, 2018, I turned a corner.

You see, August 10th is Lee's birthday. As with last year, I tried my best - and so did Lee's mom - to make the 10th about Lee, not about Lee's dad. And it worked pretty well. A little sad, sure, a little wistful. But basically, a good time, because hey, Lee's birthday. Card games with kids ranging from ten to 18 (eighteen?! That means I have known Lee for 13 years!!), ice cream cake (and discussion of whether it is really cake if there is no cake, just because 31 Flavors calls it "cake.") Fun times.

But still, a bit sad, because well... because.

Then Saturday, August 11th? I woke up and it was like I was a new person.

I am absolutely sure some of this is for other reasons; I finally have a job (or maybe actually up to four jobs, because being a substitute for various functions in the school district plus the usual piecework writing is a lot of part-time work!), for instance, and although not everything is resolved on other fronts, one can see the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel.

Part of it, or more like most of it, is internal.

My suspicion is that my subconscious mind went, "hey. Y'know what, Jenn? It's been two years since Laston's death. It's been tough, it's been awful, but well... nothing is irretrievably broken because of this."

And my conscious mind actually paid attention.

In the last two weeks, I have secured up to four jobs, taken several training classes, passed assorted tests, started writing two articles, and started planning stuff for the school year. I've been able to tell both gosh-you-look-friendly facebook flirters and political emailers to back the hell off. I feel physically crappy because of the awful air quality, but I'm emotionally so much more okay than I have been that I am able to still get up and do stuff (albeit masked and armed with a battery of inhalers), instead of lying in bed without the energy to do a damn thing.

Frankly, it's amazing.

Yes, I do get that there will still be bad moments, hours, even days or more. And counseling and treatment are still in play. But I feel equal to the task of dealing with things now.

And that is huge.

Knowledge

Things I learned today:

• That although I - like most people - am a distracted driver, I am not as badly off as I feared.
• That I haven't forgotten the rules of the road since I learned to drive in the eighties.
• That although I haven't forgotten the rules, I have forgotten quite a bit of the vocabulary:
• For instance, you know that place where the painted lines come to a point when an on-ramp merges onto the freeway? That pointy bit is a "gore." I assume that this is a gore as in a sewing technique, rather than as gobbets of bloody flesh or as a former Vice-President of the United States of America.
• Did I ever know that a two-way turn lane was colloquially known as a "suicide lane?"
• Ha! I remember the I Like Bikes... But... filmstrip we had back in the 80s. The DVDs they use these days are much better. I want to bring the distracted driver one home to show to the girls; it's creepy in an almost Twilight Zone-esque way.
• That although I am fairly comfortable with the "student management" part of the program, I'm a bit intimidated about the actual driving of something so much bigger than my minivan.
• Never fear; they won't put me into a bus on my own for weeks (and even then as a substitute driver); I will be taking written tests and getting a CDL learner's permit and so forth for a while first.
• Also, there are other things one can do early on, like spending the first few days making sure the kindergartners and other new students get on and off the bus at the right stop. Or driving the smaller vans that don't require a CDL for certain programs in the district. 
• That one can have more than one substitute position at the school district. I have an interview Wednesday as a substitute assistant cook, for instance. This sounds very exciting to me!
• That some people in a few of my games on Facebook take the games and their position in the games way too seriously. And too personally. And as though they know what they're talking about as far as app development goes.
• That I really do not understand how Google works; why does my Chrome keep logging me out and not letting me share these blog posts easily?
• That Lizzy is adorable (I know; I knew that already). But she spent the morning at art camp with her bestie, and she built a robot from TinkerCrate this afternoon, and now she's showing the neighbor kid how cool it is. So CUTE.

A New Adventure

Not this kind of adventure, though that happens in our house. Nor this. Not even this kind, although that might happen later this year; it often does.

Actually, I am going to learn to drive a school bus.

That's right, I got a job; I start training Monday.

It never actually occurred to me - of all the things I could do in the educational sector - that driving a bus might be on the list. I mean, I have experience working with little kids (I worked in preschools and took classes back in the day), girl-scout-aged kids (though I'm not a troop leader or anything, I have certainly helped them sell the cookies!), and cared for my own two and my stepkid (more on that later). So when I went to the NSD job fair last Saturday, I thought, oh, maybe paraeducator, recess teacher, lunch lady, things that fit my communications-major-with-a-side-of-early-childhood-education view of myself.

But they need bus drivers, and the more I thought about it, the more attractive it sounded. I would learn a valuable skill and gain a useful license. I would be working with the kids and making a difference. I would be making decent money in a position that aligns (mostly) with my own kids' school schedules.

This is not technically a full-time job, so there's plenty of time to do other projects. One of which is, possibly, that lunch lady position I mentioned up there; my interview as a substitute assistant cook is Wednesday after my bus training. The others of which are things I already have in my pile; textbroker, CopyPress, any remote one-offs I can get from my job contacts in the creative space for writing, and a few - as yet not fully formed - personal writing projects.

Now, as you may know, today is the second anniversary of Laston's death. And yes, I am feeling sad and a little mad and somewhat out of sorts. But it's not last year, when I could barely function at all, and it is, more importantly, the 18th birthday of Laston's oldest child. Last year it took some major effort to make August tenth about Lee rather than Laston. This year, it just is. And that is totally okay; it indicates healing and growth and positivity.

So we're having a small family-and-besties party at Lee's house with Karry this evening after all parties are done with work/camp/etc.

And Monday, I get to go to work.

Should be an adventure!

Everything I Know I Learned from Star Trek

Well, more or less.

I learned about kindness, and why racism is bad, and history and myth, and heroism and villainy, and friendship and enmity, and doing what's right when that differs from what is legal. In other words, I learned about life in theory, and - in spite of my mother's worries (which she still has, though I am in my late forties), I do understand the difference between Star Trek and reality.

Her concern may now have more to do with my daughter's ability to separate the two, as my enthusiasm for the stories and characters has infected Abby. I showed it to her deliberately, and over the course of the summer thus far, we have watched all of the Original Series, all of the Animated Series, the first four films, and about two-thirds of The Next Generation.
She loves it.

It's possible that she is not as involved as I was at her age or a little older, because she has an outlet for all that creative energy already, in the theater (and let me tell you about the great production of Footloose she's part of just now, but that's really another post). When I was her age, I hadn't yet discovered role-playing games or fanfic writing, and although I played the cello, I didn't have a lot of awareness of my true passion for communication.

So we're watching, and enjoying, and - as was the case with Doctor Who, but less so, as I only know NuWho very well - I am seeing it afresh through the eyes of my child. And that's kind of amazing. She's also far more genre-savvy than I was at her age, and so things like the dichotomy between Very Progressive Ideas and Very Short Skirts are discussed and deconstructed. Also, most of these actors have done other work that she has seen (or heard) them in. She really digs that.

Abby's not the only one with whom I am sharing old favorites. I'm rereading the Mallorean, which is my usual Comfort Literature. And Lizzy and I are listening to the audiobook of The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy, courtesy of Audiobooks, Inc. and Stephen Fry, whenever we're alone together in the car. I love that she understands these, as I certainly wouldn't have at not-quite-eleven.

I do love my electronics, and my Facebook presence is far less involved these days for my own (mental health) protection; I am now set to Friends Only, and am only posting lighter stuff, and for the sake of my sanity, I now refuse to read the comments on any political article, anywhere. I'm just trying to stay informed without twisting my guts into a knot over the stupidity of my fellow humans and countrymen. So I'm reading less fraught articles, and posting such gems as "2016 Presidential Election - Shaka, when the walls fell," which mostly only those of my own tribe will grok.

And if I can teach Abby and Lizzy about reality through metaphor, based on the classic science fiction of its time, I will.

Hypocrisy

We all do it, on some level. As an example, I sometimes pull the do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do with my kids, especially as regards food choices.

Nobody does it with quite the same verve as the US Republican Party, circa 2018.

I mean, do they not see it, or not care, or honestly believe they're doing the right thing with their white nationalist, gun-loving, pro-life-until-it's-born, racist, sexist, homophobic (but not so much phobic as just hating), hateful and hate-filled selves?

There are probably some of each of those, honestly. The ones I totally can't fathom are the women (their own party hates them) and people of color (ditto) in this camp. And people who say they are pro-life but deny children sex education - which actually makes for fewer abortions - or say they're pro-life until it comes to brown children who come from over an arbitrary line denoted by a river.

Look, it's not that they're all Christians either. I know a lot of Christians who are basically kind and decent people. They try to live the actual word they were taught as children, loving their neighbors and turning the other cheek. Of course, none of them have any power in the secular world whatsoever. They're just not ruthless enough as a group for that.

This is why I've been on Facebook Lite Mode for a week or so. I know it's using my privilege to back off from the hard stuff. I'm still reading about it (off Facebook), still writing about it (generally comment-and-run), but I cannot immerse myself in it anymore - especially not the comments sections - without becoming absolutely useless to everyone.

So Facebook Lite - I've started #ClassicTrekWithAbby, which is interesting, light, and still explores some (a lot, actually) of the same themes we are dealing with today. Racism, sexism, serious amounts of hate by people who should know better. And I don't think it's hypocritical of me (or Abby, 15) to enjoy the lighter bits of it in the process. Her love of the dance-style fight choreography, for instance ("very West Side Story, mom!), and the mind-boggling dichotomy of progressive plotlines paired with barely-there skirts; these are good lessons.

And they may be the reason I am so bothered by that hypocrisy up there; I was raised on Star Trek and Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. I know better.

The people allegedly in charge? They should know better too. And that they don't act that way might be the biggest hypocrisy of all.

About Me

Reading through Facebook and Google Plus and online news sites - and feeling sick about what I read - and I just thought I'd share my thoughts and feelings about... well, lots of stuff. Feel free to disagree (see point 2) but if you're a jerk about it, I'll block you.

1. I may believe in a higher power. I don't know for sure, so I call myself an agnostic-leaning theist, although I am culturally Christian, celebrating the major Christian holidays and such. I do know that Christianity the way the likes of the current administration's members claim is not the Christianity I was taught about. Saul/Paul was a bigoted jerk and most of the recent crop (in power) seems to be following him rather than the guys who reportedly hung out with Jesus. I just try to be a decent person and a good parent. I usually - but not always - succeed.
2. On a similar note, I only care about your belief systems, sexuality, color, gender, ability, physical and mental health, (and so on) insofar as they are interesting. They are part of you, and none of them define you on their own. So yes, your characteristics and beliefs make you interesting. I'm not going to judge you for them as long as no-one is hurt by them (at least, no-one who is not a fully informed consenting adult). 
3. I feel that "President Trump" (air quotes intentional) is a horrifying example of a human being (along with others in his administration and both houses of Congress, especially Ryan, Sessions, Huckabee Sanders, and DeVos, but they are freaking legion), but I still try really hard to focus on the behavior, and the statements made, not the orangeness of the skin or the fakeness of the hair or the tiny hands. I spent all this energy learning to tell my kids when their behavior is bad, not they themselves. And although I may believe it of the folks listed above, I'm not going to pick on the size of their body parts.
4. I worry about Barron Trump.
5. Abortion is lessened when birth control is discussed. It's a fact.
6. Ditto teen pregnancy.
7. The shit our (U.S.) government is doing is, in fact, shit. How dare they treat helpless children like cattle because their parents didn't come into the country legally? And try to use the name of God to justify it! Thing is, as near as I can tell, they believe what they're saying. I mean, I can't tell with "President Trump" because he's erratic. But the others I listed up there, trying to say this shit is God's will because Trump said so? And the people who honestly believe it and support them? I just can't fathom it. 
1. In fact, I told a friend I didn't understand it - all of it from border crap to protesting against kneeling football players- and he said it was racism. I'm sure it is, but that doesn't mean I understand it. I just do not grok.
2. Also, healthcare and guns. Other first world countries do not have the problems we have with these. Do Trump supporters think this is a coincidence? Facts exist. 
8. Climate change is a real thing. The earth is (almost) round like a ball, not a disc. We did land
   
   on the moon (and I'm reserving judgment on whether we were told on international television to kill all the Silence on sight).
9. I'm not only an autism awareness advocate; I'm an autism acceptance advocate. People who want to "cure" it, I feel you, and some of you have a lot harder row to hoe than me. But just because it's different doesn't mean it's wrong or bad or an illness. Or caused by vaccines. 
10. SCIENCE. Live it. Love it. Be one with it. Vaccinate the kids. Look at the facts as well as the faith.

For crying out loud, just be decent human beings!

Land in Sight!

We're still swimming, and now we seem to be actually getting somewhere.

You see, today would have been Laston's birthday, had he lived past 51. And I'm a little sad, of course. But I'm maintaining, and I'm functional, and that's certainly better than this time last year.

Part of this is due to the Calm app on my phone; meditation is a great way to keep on an even keel (just to extend the oceanic metaphor). Their Sleep Stories are fabulous too. And sleep is its own healing. I've been getting enough of it lately, and that's a big deal in and of itself.

And my sister-in-law, Tori (who happens to share Laston's birthday, so happy birthday, Tori!), used a phrase the other day that really seems to be helping me. "Relentless Positivity!" Anyone who knows - anyone who has ever even met - Tori knows that she lives and breathes this phrase. And it struck me as a very Hufflepuff (loyal and kind) version of Mad-Eye Moody's "Constant Vigilance!" There is truth in faking it until you make it, and I can fake Relentless Positivity™ with the best of 'em.

Still no job, though a good prospect or two, in part because I realized that it's not call center work itself that is the problem for me. It was call center work in that time and place, with those wonky retail-esque hours. Once I opened up my mind (with Relentless Positivity™) to call center work in a smaller company, with a more important (to my mind) mission, and reasonable hours for a widowed mom... well, I started getting a lot more hits on my resume, people actually calling me back and stuff.

This certainly helps me be relentlessly positive!

I can see the beach from here, and the view is glorious.

And Now for Something Completely Different

And no, it's neither the Spanish Inquisition (bet you weren't expecting that), nor the Ministry of Silly Walks.

Nope, this one is about allergies.

But wait, you might say, you've talked about allergies before, so it's not something completely different. I have, because usually allergies lead to sinus infections. Sinus infections lead to bronchitis. Bronchitis leads to suffering. Thus is the Power of Cottonwood Pollen the Dark Side.

This one is about the science of hay-fever-type (or "seasonal allergic rhinitis") allergies. In easily-accessible English, with lots of pop-culture references and links, because that's how I roll.

I know, as I have been doing this for a long time (since 1994 or 1995, the first time I got pneumonia and ended up with asthma thereby), that it's not what we think of as cottonwood (really one of several types of poplar) "pollen" (really seed pod puffs); they're just the visual sign that this has been brewing for several weeks.

See, the boy trees have been spreading their pollen around (isn't that just like a man?) for about three weeks. And by the time the girl trees release their pretty white puffs, those of us with seasonal allergic rhinitis have started hitting the overload point; our systems just go, "Uh-uh, that's a big nope!" We get all overreact-y to the stuff we've been breathing for weeks (and whatever else we can normally handle when we haven't been breathing boy-pollen for weeks, like whey for me) and the sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy head, (but not usually aching or fever) begin. (As a side note, in tenth grade, my partner and I did that commercial in Spanish. We got an A.)

For those of us with asthma, it's even more exciting, of course, which is why my initial plan for today - to work around the house and yard until I reached my step goal - did not happen. Can't breathe easily, therefore can't walk much. So I did the dishes and some laundry and job-hunting instead. Indoor stuff. And I'm not even talking about food allergies, which as we know around here can be actually deadly, not just make you feel like death.

I did everything right; I've been taking the preventive stuff since March. But still and all, with a warm and dry (for us) spring, the system can still get overwhelmed. And as it's just a miserable allergy, not a serious one, Benadryl does well in a pinch.

A Morning in the Life of the Unemployed Mom

This may get a bit ranty, but I'll do what I can.

Here's how weekdays go at Chez GamersBabes. Example, this morning, May 21, 2018:

5:50: Make sure fifteen-year-old is awake so she can get ready for school. She takes the bus, and a trusted neighbor with a kid in the same school drives them both to the bus, as it's almost a mile on a country road with no sidewalks. At least this time of year I don't have to worry about it being dark, too, though there's always that niggling back-of-the-mind concern about them getting shot at school, these days. Yes, she can get up and going by herself, but the couple of times she has overslept her alarm made an impression; it's a pain to get her to school if she does this. And I was pretty sure she wouldn't have slept well, as she had a callback for a part at Studio East yesterday and was having trouble settling down last night.

Attempt to go back to sleep, but don't really relax enough to do so until front door slams on her way out. You have to slam it if the lock is engaged, so if I don't hear that slam by 6:25, I go out and check it. She's only forgotten once.

7:45: Get up and make sure ten-year-old is awake and moving. She needs more help, as she is a creature of routine, so we lay out her clothes the night before, in the proper order. From bottom to top of the pile, this is: top or dress, undershirt, socks (or tights if she's wearing a dress), pants or skirt (or modesty shorts if she's wearing a dress but not tights), undies. That way they're in the correct order for putting on in the morning. Today is a red striped top, black pants, pink and black socks (her choice, folks, not mine), and the underwear. She had a shower yesterday so she doesn't need one until tonight or tomorrow.

Mondays she has PE, so it's not a dress or skirt day, and - thank the god(s) of your choice - she's buying lunch today, so we don't have to negotiate that. But also, today is SBA (state testing), so she didn't sleep well; in fact she came out of her room at nine last night to inform me she was panicking a little because she couldn't sleep and testing is today. This is after telling me that this was the easy part of the test, because the writing portion is Tuesday, and she hates writing, but Tuesday is also Music, and she loves Music, so they should balance out. Plus on Tuesday, because it's Music and not PE, she can wear a dress, which makes her feel more confident. So it should really balance out, right, Mom? Right.

Also, today she informs me that she needs a "bigger breakfast than usual" (I don't starve her, I swear it, but it's sometimes a challenge to get her vegetarian self enough protein in the morning). So today she had oatmeal with nuts and berries, a banana, and some cheese. She says her plate looks like "a Cyclops talking on the phone," so we're all good.

I have coffee with creamer and a banana. I'm out of yogurt, and we used up our boiled eggs yesterday. The cottonwood is drifting like snow out there, so I should probably stay away from my allergens (like whey) anyway; why tempt fate?

8:45: Ten-year-old gets off to school, and Mom gets moving on her own stuff. I empty, reload, and run the dishwasher. The not-dishwasher-safe things are washed. I make a huge pot (gallon and a half) of iced tea (several tea bags, a ripe strawberry, half a cup of sugar, and a bit of lemon juice). Boil a dozen eggs in the Instant Pot. Throw in a load of laundry, as I didn't get all of it done Sunday with other things going on. Make ice and leave the trays out so I can rinse them before I make more. Make my first run of the day through LinkedIn. Nothing new, but then it's barely nine on a Monday on my coast.

Run through Facebook. Block someone making racist and misogynist comments on a friend's wall. Snooze someone who thinks that school shootings are because of medication for depression; wish that everyone in the country could take a Logic 101 class and learn the difference between correlation and causation. Commiserate with a friend who is having a "my baby is growing up" moment. Friend someone who really likes the profile pic I designed (I had stickers made!). Get the heck away from Facebook for the morning, because between the constant school shootings and Mad (in more than one sense) President Tweets and picking apart the royal wedding, I need a break.

Start writing a blog post.

10:45(ish): Lookit that, I'm almost ready to post. Cool. Now, for the rest of my day, I will write textbroker articles (probably netting me a grand total of ten bucks for the day), continue the job search now that the job market has had its coffee, fold the laundry that I threw in, empty the dishwasher, do some tidying up, figure out how to hang up Lizzy's chalkboard in her room, figure out how to hang a pretty ornament thing she got from her grandma, and work on organizing the shed a bit (if I can take the pollen count). I'll get a shower in at some point; my water heater is not capable of showers and the dishwasher at the same time. Lunch somewhere in there. At 4:15 I get Lizzy from the bus and go to my mom's for dinner. Vegetarian tostadas, yum!

A day in the life. I'm unemployed. I'm fat. But I'm not (although I have my moments) lazy.

Writers Write (Reposted from LinkedIn)

I write. It's what I do. I'm good at it, I enjoy it, and it's my go-to self-therapy. I keep a personal blog, a work-safe version of that personal blog, and I spend a fair bit of my social media time writing. I play with tropes and I write fan-fiction. I teach my children about etymology and literary devices and whether cops-in-donut-shops is a stereotype. I talk about writing (and reading, and editing, and grammar, and the Oxford Comma) with my friends. I write for SEO companies, but at a few cents a word, that's generally enough for my Seattleite Coffee Snob self to have a daily latte (non-dairy, one pump of whatever the flavor of the day is... as long as it's not macadamia or white chocolate, because bleah).

So yeah, I write. In these situations, I write colloquially, but I'm certainly capable of using whatever style guide you like or need me to use. I can proofread and edit, too. I have a Bachelor of Science in Intercultural Communications, an open mind, and the ability to work with people (the last few months of my time at AT&T was an aberration; I was not in a good mental place to work in a customer-facing position immediately following the death of my husband). And I don't want to work retail or call center or hospitality hours anymore; I'm a widowed mom of two and I want to work when they're in school as much as possible.

It's really that simple. A position where I can write, during standard business hours; that's all I'm really asking for here. How hard can that be?

Rejection, Grief, and Depression

Depression comes in several flavors for me, and it's a fairly comprehensive list. The types are very entwined; some of it is just my brain's chemical makeup, some is grief, some is situational-but-not-directly-grief, some is body-chemistry-but-not-brain-chemistry.

It's not a good mix.

Please don't suggest meds, meditation, weight loss, Vitamin D, melatonin, counseling, etc. We're doing these things, and doing them appropriately. They've helped a lot; I can now use the phrase "widowed mom of two," for instance, without curling up into a ball. People offer to help, and although those offers (especially from family) often make me feel like an incompetent-at-life-preadolescent, I do usually take them, especially if they directly benefit the kids. Swallowing my pride over and over is not helping with depression.

But these things don't actually help a lot with the current underlying issue, which is that I need a job.

I'm working a bit on a freelance basis; textbroker.com is terrific. I've tried delivery services, though there are some technical snafus going on with that. But these are not a living in and of themselves. I don't qualify for assistance (except the food bank, according to my research) because the death benefits I get for the girls means I make too much for that. And I wouldn't want to do that anyway; I want to work. I'm not disabled, not enough to be unable to work anyway, though if you read my blog regularly you probably know that temporary emotional disability due to a death in the family was certainly a big part of the problem at my last job.

In any case, this is not meant to be (yet another) post about that whole mess; suffice it to say that I'm better now, and as long as I don't have to deal with retail or call center hours and bottom-line-only-screw-the-worker employers or irrational-Veruca-Salt customers on the daily, I could work. I could work full time and be happy and productive in it. Because the daily rejection is adding to the depression in a big big way, and as well-meaning as it is, so are the offers of help.

So here goes.

Requirements: standard work week or telecommute ability, 25 to 40 hours a week, $16+ an hour, in writing or editing or communications or software testing or even plain old data entry.
Wish List: the above, plus a few dollars an hour, close by (to northeast of Seattle) or with commute subsidy, full benefits for me and Lizzy (Abby has her own through her dad), and writing about video games (at which I'm actually pretty good, thanks, Atari/Humongous).

And for the sake of all you hold holy, please no "business opportunities." I don't have the wherewithal, financially or mentally, to start my own business or participate in your MLM.

Well, Crap

Now I've gotten that out of my system (so to speak), I'm going to talk about the more medical and dietary aspects of recovering from (fairly mild) illness.

Here's the thing; I have had a sinus infection, for which I needed antibiotics starting last Wednesday (and yes, I know how they make bacteria more resistant, etc. I only get the anti-bx when it won't go away using other methods). I am an old hand at this (I'm almost fifty, after all, and I have done the upset-intestine thing before), so I've been taking my probiotics as well (yogurt, acidophilus capsules). All was well until Monday evening, when the fecal matter hit the revolving blades. So to speak.

Uh, yeah, my body is not happy.

So I went to BRAT. Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast. As I said, I've done this before.

But here's the other thing; my husband died of colon cancer about twenty months ago, so upset stomach and the treatment thereof makes me a little more panicky than it used to. Not panicky enough to go into the ER or anything, though, so I called the consulting nurse at the hospital.

"Do I need to take these last three pills? I know you're supposed to finish the antibiotics, but BRAT isn't good for long periods of time; it's to let your system have a rest, not as a replacement diet forever (besides, do you know how many Weight Watchers Smart Points are in rice and toast?!)."

The nurse laughed, congratulated me for calling in (most parents only call for their kids, apparently; for themselves they wait until it's bad enough to take that visit to the ER), said yes, I should finish the antibiotics as sinusitis is a stubborn beast, and explained that now I've done BRAT for a day or so, it's time to move to BRATTY Plus. More nutrients for the body.

"Terrific; what other things can I eat for the next...?"

The next oh... couple of days, Ms Kirkland; I'd stick to BRATTY Plus through Thursday, then start adding other stuff in one at a time.

Bananas plus: sweet potatoes
Rice plus: oatmeal and other cereals
Applesauce plus: apples and pears
Toast plus: saltine crackers, baked potatoes, plain pasta
Tea plus: chicken broth and gelatin
Yogurt plus: kefir and other cultured foods, small amounts of nuts, seeds, and egg.

Also, no fried foods, no gassy foods (ed: that's probably a bit of the issue for me; while sick I've been sucking down bean soup like water), and very little dairy and protein except the yogurt and kefir, chicken broth and nuts/seeds.

Well, goodness, with the exception of things like chicken and fish and produce, I hope to be able to stick to that after my gut feels better! Just adjust the ratios some. More like BrAtTY Plus Lean Meat and Produce.

As it is, I've lost weight in a NON-Weight Watchers-approved fashion over the past couple days.

And I'd rather do it the right way.

Past Times

I'm cleaning out my email and Yahoo chat logs, and I came across some things that came Out of the Mouths, things I never put here before.

Like this gem, from when Lizzy was four: "Mommy, why don't the star-belly Sneetches just get markers and draw stars upon thars?" Because honestly, little kids not only think outside the box, they don't even get that there is a box.

At approximately the same time, Abby (then not quite nine) taught Lizzy the very important fact that books are read left to right (in English, anyway). Although this has apparently not stuck in Lizzy's brain when it comes to writing; she tends (even to this day) to make cards and book covers on the wrong page, so although the book itself is left to right, the cover is what should be the back cover.

These pictures. Long, curly, nearly-dark-blonde hair on Liz (age four). Where the heck did that come from? And where did it go? Because in this year's school pic (age 10), she's a short, wavy brunette. I changed the length, but the rest... The bright blue eyes don't change much though.

Also, why did I get her two drinks (granted, one is clearly water)?

The first time Abby watched Doctor Who: The Unquiet Dead, she loved it; I attributed this love to her Perky Goth-ness. She and a friend are watching it as I type, and she now has some Torchwood under her belt. She groks the Rift and how things may look supernatural but actually be alien instead. It's an interesting contrast.

And this entire scenario:
Abby just came into the apartment, flanked by neighbor kids, brothers who bracket her in age (so Ash is eight, Abby is nine, Tris is ten) whom she recruited to help her take out the garbage. I asked them to take the Netflix envelope out to the mailbox, because the next thing in our queue is Doctor Who: The Infinite Quest. Then the following conversation ensues:

Ash: You're getting something from Netflix? No fair!

Abby: Yeah, it's like a cartoon about the Doctor.

Tris: Doctor Who? (I tried really hard not to scream with laughter, and failed)

Abby: Yeah, Doctor Who. He's a Time Lord and he looks like a human, except he has two hearts and twelve lives and he travels in this blue phone box called a TARDIS that's bigger on the inside and he has friends and sees the universe and sometimes he saves it and there are lots of aliens and tonight are the aliens who use other people's bodies called the Slitheen.

Ash looks a little shell-shocked. Tris - who reads Ultimate Spider-Man - is a little more sophisticated in such things and takes it all in stride.

And they leave, taking the garbage with them (and forgetting the Netflix discs, but no worries, we're nowhere near the Infinite Quest in terms of what to watch next)

Abby is so freakin' troperrific.

(There is no Timeline for) Grief

See, this is the thing, right here, that people don't seem to get. I only have a couple of bad days a month now (nearly 20 months after Laston's death) unless there's something special (last Saturday would have been our eleventh anniversary).

It's clear that my last employer didn't get this (or didn't care, being a multi-gazillion dollar company). Most even well-meaning people are like, "hey, it's been more than a year; you should be okay now." But (say it with me) "there is no timeline for grief."

It doesn't work that way.

Even the employer itself; I grieve the loss of that job, no matter how much I despised it at the end of my time there. No matter how much I myself screwed it up at the end. I loved it there for the first year and a half. It was really supportive for almost a year after that, after Laston was diagnosed, and the local folks took care of me, and even corporate wasn't awful. They were ridiculously bureaucratic about leave and stuff, but that's standard for any large company. And I was grateful, because I worked for a company that cared about me as a person.

Until they didn't anymore. Until the bottom line was more important than contented employees. I mean, it's always been that way to some extent, or they wouldn't have needed a union, but we managed to bump along just fine. When did this change? When they acquired DirecTV? When our country elected a me-first man who encourages screwing the little guy, and Corporate America followed suit? I don't know.

All I know is that I grieve for that lost job. Not as much, and not in the same way, that I grieve for my lost husband, the father of my younger child and the stepfather of the elder. 

But it is still grief.

You'll ask what triggered this particular grieving event, and it's that I was denied the appeal I made for unemployment insurance; the appellate judge ruled in favor of the company. Now, I screwed up big, and I own that, regardless of the mitigating circumstances. And the judge ruled correctly by the letter of the law; the spirit of it is more subjective.  I expected the appeal to be denied; I was prepared for it. I also expected Laston's death. Proper expectations don't stop the grieving, and the disappointment, and the anger. Even the feeling of betrayal; by a person or a corporation or the universe doesn't matter.

It. Is Still Grief.

And there is no timeline.

Out of the Woods

As you have seen before, my friends, Into the Woods is a favorite for me.

But Sondheim is hard; all those key changes and tempo changes and whatnot, and it's long as well. Two and a half hours (plus intermission) is a very long play.

But they aced it.

There were a few little problems here and there; these are very young performers for a play such as this, the piano was too loud during one performance, a spotlight did not work properly on the last show. Two casts, as is often the case at our favorite children's theater. But this time, instead of doubling the same play with the same director, there were two very different casts with two directors. One of them was the 15-19 year old kids, and one was the 12-16 year old kids. Abby was in the latter.

And she was playing the adult, and hamming up her role in a big way. You see, she was Jack's Mother (Jack of beanstalk fame), and he is "a foolish child," so she is constantly... oh, it is too long. Suffice it to say, for those of you unfamiliar with the story, they've taken the stories of Rapunzel, Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Little Red Riding Hood, added music, and mixed well.

Abby, as Jack's mom, played the Anger Born of Worry and My Beloved Smother tropes to the hilt. He loves her to the point where he's willing to kill to avenge her death, and she loves him enough to stand up to a giant (with "forty-foot feet") to protect him. She has the hand-wringing of an exasperated parent down to an art form all its own (I wonder where she learned that one), and there are a couple of her lines that she delivers in ways that make me literally laugh out loud every single time (though I saw this production four times, and I've lost track of how many times of other productions).

In any case, they rocked it, and it was over far too soon in some ways (and not soon enough in others; I'm looking forward to a stretch of two or three months without rehearsals for the one or cookie sales for the other).

As for Lizzy, she is getting to know herself and how to self-regulate more each day. After the final performance of the play, at ten-thirty PM, she decided the lobby was too packed full of noisy people (it was a sold out show) and retreated into the theater. When asked if she was okay, she said (somewhat sarcastically), "I'm only sensory seeking until I'm overtired. Then I'm sensory avoidant."

All righty then.

Children will listen, after all.

How to Deal

I'm having some trouble with it today. Simple tasks have been overthought into oblivion, to the point where even other over-thinkers in my family are laughing at me.

There is housecleaning to do, and a date with my father and younger daughter after she's out of school today; both of these seem currently insurmountable. I'm hoping that writing my feelings and my list out here will help some; it usually does. Because, well, I'm intelligent, I can adapt, and I've certainly done a lot here lately!

Finding that I'm bothered more by Stephen Hawking's death than I have been about other public figures I admire; I think that reaction probably has to do with the fact that my late husband was a huge admirer, so it makes me more sensitive. Also, the fact that some of my more religious friends are all saying things like, "Gosh, I hope Hawking is happy in heaven," in online voices that come off as smug really bothers me. The man was an atheist; don't try to slot him into your worldview now that he's dead. That's just rude and disrespectful.

And the walkout.

I have a high school child living in my home. She did not know if she would walk out today or not; I think it's important that she had the opportunity to do so without getting punished by the school. She's old enough for it to be her choice. But I've heard horror stories about other kids in our district being more or less publicly shamed if they chose not to. I don't know how prevalent it is; the horror stories I'm hearing are mostly from other concerned parents and they may be in Mama Bear or Papa Wolf mode and not unbiased.

But this is not okay. The whole concept of free speech is undermined if the folks who choose not to walk out for whatever reason - religious, academic, political, just can't be bothered - are pressured into thinking their choice is a Bad Thing. Neither of my daughters better be in the groups shaming these kids (and neither are likely to). They're both more of the make-friends-so-others-don't-feel-alone sort by nature in any case, but there's no reason they can't be both.

So yes, I do feel a bit better, having written it out. Now I can deal.

I think I'll go have some Pi(e). Spanakopita from Trader Joe's counts, yes?

March Marches On

In many ways.

March is super busy for us, although at least this time there is only one play to worry about.

You see, this is Cookie Month (that is, the store sales, with little girls in green or brown or tan or blue out there selling cookies in front of your local supermarket or hardware store or what have you; the pre-sales were mostly in February). And although our cookie site sales have been fun, it is now evident that Lizzy is pretty much done with her Customer Service Face for the rest of the weekend after one of these. She becomes, well, a bit of a jerk, even to people (like her grandmother) she loves and trusts. Some of this is Aspergers/Autism/Whatever-it's-called-this-month, some is her personality, and some of it is Just Plain Ten Years Old and Grumpy With It.

Especially as there is also Spring Ahead Jet-Lag for everyone involved.

So although we had big plans to deliver the last of our cookies (we have six boxes left of the pre-sold cookies), and to distribute flyers to all 151 houses in our neighborhood (we started a Facebook Group; more on that below), Lizzy was rude to Grandma and not-exactly-rude-but-certainly-not-her-usual-cheery-self to assorted neighbors. So we managed about a dozen households (plus the half-dozen who are already part of that Facebook Group) before not only was Lizzy being insufferable, I was getting there myself.

We'll do the rest over the course of the week; may as well take advantage of the Spring-Ahead-Light.

Oh, the Facebook Group? Yeah, I have no authority to speak for the landlord (we all rent the land and own the buildings), or to speak on behalf of the neighbors to the landlord. But there is no means of communication between neighbors (aside from shouting or a phone tree, I guess), so when there was a water outage a couple months ago, my mom and I started this group to disseminate that kind of information to the whole neighborhood.

It's the neighborly thing to do.

And last week, some of the very few of us in the group (didn't know other's email addresses/weren't Facebook friends with them) actually used it to return a lost pet to a neighbor. So we printed out flyers to share out to the neighbors, inviting them to join the group.

That, my friends, is what the Internet is for, along with reconnecting me with not one, but two people I haven't seen in person for thirty years this last week.

Then there's The Play.

We are (you may have noticed) going Into the Woods this weekend.

It's always been one of my favorites. I am so excited to see Abby in it, even though I've heard her (and the boy playing her son, and the girl in our carpool) doing practically the entire play in the car, in the hair salon, in the parking lot... you name it.

And thank goodness for that carpool; it means that I take the girls to rehearsal (or my mom does when Miz Liz and I have her piano lesson), and the carpool friend brings them back of an evening. Even today, when they're doing tech rehearsal (lighting and all that) from noon to eight.

Because you know what that means?

That means Lizzy McCranky gets to bed on time tonight.

And that will help March go out like a lamb.

Shades of Gray

Not these shades of Grey. I don't want to even see them, much less with my mother. I write better fanfic than that.

I'm talking about the shades of gray that art (especially the visual arts of film, TV, and comic books) makes us think about (i.e. "was Killmonger right?").

Here there be spoilers for Black Panther.

Which is why I didn't title the post Who Let the Rhinos Out?

There are also multiple links to wikipedia and TV Tropes.

You have been warned.

-----------------------------------------------------

Was Killmonger right? Yes, in that people who look like him have been terrorized, kidnapped, raped, enslaved, murdered, etc., all over the planet, for hundreds of years. He was even right in that the fictional Kingdom of Wakanda should do something about it; they have the social equality, technology, and resources to do so. But his methods (kill 'em all and take over) is not the way to get things done.

Same goes for other comic book folk; it looks to them like sensible ways to fix things, but the methods do no good and often quite a lot of harm (*cough*Young Justice*cough*). There is certainly something to be said for direct action, or not telling your whole team the plan, or whatever; these are often necessary. But killing one's cousin and staging a coup because other people have done horrible things to your people isn't, well, rational.

Now keep in mind that I have not read the comics at all recently, and I have not seen Captain America: Civil War, so to me, this film exists in somewhat of a vacuum. I know the basics as I've heard spoilers, but this is the first Superhero Movie I have seen that was released since Laston got sick a year and a half ago, so I'm a bit behind.

That said, I really really enjoyed the movie. The casting alone, and the sheer acting skill of everyone involved. Okoye (the warrior) and Shuri (the gadgeteer) and Nakia (the spy) and Ramonda (the queen mother) being incredibly tough badass women, all in different ways, while still being women and not just the distaff counterparts of their menfolk. The costuming and sets and effects and Stan Freaking Lee's Cameo and all of it. The hilarity of having my favorite Befuddled Everyman as the "broken white boy" of the piece (and who knew how well he could do an American accent?).

The line "But in times of crisis the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers." Would that others would listen. But they won't, because the people that need to are seriously intimidated by this movie. 

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In lighter (or at least orange-er. Orangier? Ah, ginger!) news, Miss Abby will be Dyeing for her Art this weekend. You see, she is playing Jack's Mother in Into the Woods at Studio East (cast B; there's a link) starting on the 17th (yes, St. Patrick's Day). One of her lines is describing Jack as, "a carrot-top boy with a sunny - yet vague - disposition," and so she (and the boy playing Jack) are both going ginger. Just a wash, no bleach needed, but we wanted it done before tech so they know how to light it properly. Hmm... I wonder if they cast her in this role because her skin tone casts its own shadows; she makes a believable redhead.

More and More Often

It seems to me that my politically charged posts used to be limited to one or two a year. Elections, pork, government being made up of normal people.

These days, I feel like every single post I write has to be political. This could be because I strongly disagree with our current administration, because I'm just more aware of this stuff in general, or because it's just me as the only adult in the house.

I don't understand why the Second Amendment trumps the First (or the rest of them for that matter) in our society this past couple years. Let me explain my philosophy here: Human beings are more important than guns.

Any human. From anywhere. No matter what papers they have or don't have. No matter what color their skin is, what language(s) they speak, or what deity(ies) they worship. Or don't worship.

That simple, really. I get that some of you feel that you will not be safe (or your country will not be safe) without you having your gun. Of course, some of you think a wall across an international border  (but not another international border because why? There are no Bad Hombres in Canada?) will keep your country safe too.

Nobody wants to take your guns (well, there's probably somebody who does, but as a group, nobody wants to take your guns). We want your guns to be licensed. We want your guns to be insured. We want to make sure that nobody but the licensed and insured people (adults!) are using them, and we want to make sure they are held accountable if someone does use your gun without your permission (or knowledge).

You require auto insurance, because yes, yes, people driving automobiles cause more deaths than people using guns. But you don't require gun insurance. Logic 101; I'm sure you can take it as a remedial course somewhere.

And arming teachers? Seriously? Most teachers I know are neither trained, inclined, nor even willing to shoot back.

Maybe if we went back to being decent to people even when they're different from us, we wouldn't be so scared of other people all the damn time.

And yeah, those of you with whom I've already had this conversation? You know I'm not talking to you; I'm talking to the folks who derail your posts into "but not all..." 'splainings of various types. Please don't do that here.

Calm and polite discussion is encouraged. Ranting, 'splaining, proselytizing, and derailing will be deleted and blocked if necessary.

Brassieres and Reading Glasses

It seems an odd combination, no?

But here's the thing. I am prone to chronic allergic sinusitis, as anyone who has ever read this blog in February or March is aware (although two years ago it was actual flu). Allergic sinusitis leads to fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

Well, the suffering anyway, if not the things in between. Allergic sinusitis comes with sinus pain and pressure (that's where the reading glasses come in; they were painful to put on this morning), as well as often leading (in my case) to viral or bacterial sinusitis, otitis media, bronchitis, and on at least one occasion, actual pneumonia (the last two of which is where the brassiere comes into the narrative; tight bras are uncomfy with bronchitis, et al).

I don't want pneumonia (or any of these things) again, so I stayed the heck away from the doctor's office in this year when the flu is kinda deadly. I have friends in the hospital, friends toughing it out at home refusing to acknowledge that it's flu, and everyone in between. It's my general policy (last year notwithstanding) to treat the symptoms of allergic sinusitis, until and unless I get an earache, wheezing, or fever, and I was damn well going to stick with my herbal teas (I decaffeinated about a week ago) and NyQuil unless I absolutely had to go in. (Yes, I know I was going to the doctor all the time in the year following Laston's death; I was easily panicked. That was an aberration.)

This morning I woke with all three. Not a high fever, thank Google, but sinuses, ears, lungs, dizziness. Called to make an appointment with my doctor. They said, yes, please, do come in; we have masks and hand sanitizer. So I did (though I brought my own mask; I already have them here, so why not?).

This is the first time I've been sick enough to go to the doctor since leaving AT&T, and isn't that interesting? So I discovered  when I got there that when I switched to the Washington State's ACA brand of my insurance company (because I'm no longer on AT&T insurance), they don't cover my regular doctor's office.

Well, expletive.

I have to give serious kudos to the nice woman at the Canyon Park PacMed office, who not only found the information I needed, she wrote it all down for me, including the phone number for the department I need to contact to switch my coverage to one that PacMed can take.

In the meantime, this insurance does cover urgent care and emergency rooms, so off I go to urgent care, where I was seen, well, urgently. They have my chart, because this urgent care is connected to the hospital bracketing our lives; Lee and Lizzy were born there and Laston died there. The doctor comes in, looks at my chart, and smiles at me. "This is not your first rodeo, I see. What can you tell me?" (honestly, I think he was so glad it wasn't flu he just wanted to stick around a bit!)

"Um, well, if I were allowed to prescribe, I'd say that I need antibiotics and prednisone, as much as I hate the side effects..." (the former upsets my stomach and the latter makes me alternately spacey and wired, gives me the munchies, and causes hot flashes). He smiled again and started the exam. Nose, eyes, ears, throat, back, chest, with lots of "mmm," and, "yes." Sticks the Giant Q-Tip of Doom in my nose for a culture.

"Hard to say whether it's actually bacterial until the culture comes back, but your history (he thumbs through the chart) indicate that's a common complication for you. You don't want cough syrup?"

"Nah, cough's not that bad; I can NyQuil it if I need to."

I think this last won him over; he could see I wasn't out to get narcotics, and I do actually know what I'm talking about here. He wrote an Rx for augmentin, one for the thingy so the augmentin doesn't tear up my stomach, and the prednisone.

Oh, and all you coffee or tea lovers? He said in this case, the caffeine (one serving a day, preferably in the morning) might actually help with the sinusitis, because it does to a lesser extent what the prednisone does; it's a vasodilator so it will make me feel less stuffed up. He did suggest I stick with tea until I'm off the antibiotics though, because coffee upsets my stomach.

So, as the wired part of prednisone wears off, I'll wind up here. Besides, I would like to remove my reading glasses now. Tomorrow, except for carting kids to Studio East, I plan on staying home, contacting the insurance folks, and resting up. I clearly need it.