Nothing

I've got nothing tonight. I started a post about community band but it was terrible. Sometimes the muse just points and laughs, but I hope for the muse's return tomorrow. Now to go look for a cookie recipe...

Blessings

Today I choose to focus on the wonderful parts, the warm fuzzy bits of my life that comfort my heart. My child is forever my number one. My love for my formerly-tiny, now-my-height human never ceases to amaze me. He is a sarcastic, whip-smart, talented, sensitive, annoying, tender, and funny, funny, funny. He knows when and how to cheer me up, and when he wants to, gives me the best hugs ever. I melt when I hold his little frame, and I pray to whatever is out there that my only baby will always be safe. My parents and my sister are indispensable. I can be the biggest pain in the ass and they forgive me. It might take a while, but they take pity on my sorry self when I screw up. My father never ceases to say that family is all we have. As I have gotten older, this statement has evolved in my mind to include my closest friends. Those are the women I can call at any time, who try to understand words I have drowned in tears, who cheer with me when I triumph, who drink with me and behave raucously, and who always listen. Always. Those same women urged caution when I told them about my love, as they recognize my tendency towards recklessness. I listened to them and my heart, and for that I cannot be happier. He has decorated my life with music, flowers, sweet notes and cards, hour-long phone calls, tender kisses, and a love I thought would always elude me after the end of my marriage. We laugh together, and his smile is a prize. When we dance, I look at those beautiful eyes, hear his heart beat, smell the smell of him, touch his strong, talented hands, and taste the beautiful mouth I stared at the night he first kissed me. I am blessed.

Parents & aging

I feel flip when I say that being a child of aging parents is difficult, but like pregnancy and parenting, one really has no idea until the ride has begun. My parents were young when they had me, in their early twenties, and so in a fashion we grew up together. This is not at all to mean that they behaved more as friends than adults who were supposed to teach me to be a decent human being. My childhood was an odd combination of old-school Latino parenting, minus the chancla, and empowerment to do what I felt was right and do good for the world. My sense is that I emerged from my formative years relatively unscathed, though some may argue that point. As an adult, I looked to my parents for support and guidance, which they have always given freely. My relationship with them has not been without strain at times, but in the end, family cannot be broken. At least for us. At times I have had to take over as the older daughter, using my social worker skills to make sure my parents are well. When my father became quite ill with what turned out to be diabetes and my mother was out of the country, I argued and stood my ground more than firmly to make sure he went to hospital, and then made sure he did what he needed to do to avoid a return trip. Given that my father and I have extremely similar personalities, you can imagine what a standoff between us looked like. A long time ago I wrote about being given lessons I have not wanted to learn. The test now is about patience. This is not a virtue I possess in great quantities, but since I do not want to commit matricide, I am learning. My mother seems to be in the initial stages of some kind of dementia, where she asks the same question repeatedly and something as elementary as my re-entering a room after more than ten minutes leads her to ask me where I went, even though she looked at me as I told her I would be outside. This is not what I wanted for my mother, not anything a loved child of a loving mother would want to see. My mother has always been strong. She came to the US a week before her 28th birthday, not knowing the language nor anyone besides me and my father. She endured an incredibly painful rough patch with my father when I was in high school, in the end making choices she felt would benefit her family, not just her. Seven months after I finished graduate school she underwent treatment for cancer and has thankfully been healthy for almost twenty five years. I know my mother's fortitude, and to see what is happening to her right now, seemingly without her knowledge, is terrifying, painful, maddening, wrenching, and supremely unfair. I need my mother. The one I have always known. I need for her to be my father's partner, not someone who he may have to care for if, when, this nightmare worsens. I feel selfish and childish saying this, but I want them to be as they were. I don't want this life for them, as I always saw them in my imagination as growing old together and enjoying one another's company. They have been married almost fifty one years and deserve to enjoy quiet and fun. I don't know what is coming, but I can only ask the universe for strength, patience, and love.

Being knocked up

It was in this month eighteen years ago that I found out I was pregnant with my kidlet. I had been wanting a baby for at least a year, and it took a bit of time for me to be able to get with child. I was in awe when I looked at the pregnancy test, not quite sure if what I was looking at was real. How amazing to know that because something changed in an activity I had done many times before, in forty weeks a small human would come into the world whom I had carried within me. My period of gestation was essentially uneventful, although I had nausea for what felt like all of the time for the first twelve weeks. My clothes fit up until about the fourth month, as in the end I only gained about 33 pounds. Maternity clothes are a lot cuter now. I often thought I looked like a beached whale. The worst things were the tent dresses. How is one considered attractive in any way while wearing something like that?? I craved hot Cheetos all of the time. And scrambled eggs, except I could not eat them once they were on the plate. They made me gag. I really, really missed beer. I don't remember what else I wanted, but I don't think I ate anything bizarre. The kid was quiet after I ate, and never really had a schedule for kicking me. The hiccups were funny, but the headstand on my bladder was not. And running. I really missed being able to run. I walked a lot, but it was never the same. I know some women run thru their entire pregnancy, but I did not want to chance that. Not sure if it's true that exercise is a way to start labor, but I truly think that my sister did it to me when she made me laugh. Not just a garden-variety guffaw, but the kind of laughter that ends in stomach pain, tears, and breathlessness. She had been trying to artfully, fashionably cut up her jeans while I was in her room with her. When she put them on and turned around, half of her ass was hanging out and I thought it was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. That night/early morning, I went into labor for what ended up being 27 hours, three weeks before my due date. I have since asked nurse friends of mine if it's possible to go into labor because to laughter, and they responded affirmatively. I was pregnant three more times after that, but all ended sadly, so I am eternally grateful I had the joyous, awe-inspiring, sweet experience of carrying my baby.

Blank

Somewhere in high school, one of my English teachers taught me about stream-of-consciousness writing, where one writes anything that comes to one's mind. I feel like that's what I am doing tonight. I cannot think of anything to write about. We had pizza tonight with Max, and it was tasty. The beer that accompanied it was great, but the fries stunk. I can make better ones. I have not been sleeping well lately, and right now I want to collapse. Wish someone would leave me a boatload of money. I think that I am cute and deserving of it. My feet are small. But given how short I am, I think that I would look funny with really big feet. I want cookies. Oatmeal chocolate chip or peanut butter chocolate chip. Or chocolate chocolate chip. All work well for me. I think I talk too much, and that's why my throat is bothering me. I had tea with honey and lemon and that helped a lot. How can people constantly update their phones? What happens to all of the obsolete phones that are not upcycled? I kept one or two old ones in case that I lose mine or that the child misbehaves to the point of losing phone privileges. My friend is returning from travels with her family in South America. I can't wait to see them again. Seriously, I think that I am done here for tonight. I apologize for being obscenely boring.

Dogs

Given my emotional state, today's brief post is gonna be about dogs. They are seldom not cute, mostly friendly, loyal to their humans when treated well, and nice to cuddle on cold nights. The kidlet and I saw an adorable puppy tonight at Target. Pretty sure he was a yellow lab, eight weeks old--precious! My dog just turned seven, and he is a hyper ball of nerves, and yet he still snuggles with me sometimes when it's just the two of us. Dogs make the world a nicer place :)

Where is the parallel universe when you need it?

The unthinkable has happened, and a xenophobic, racist, sexist, bigoted, privileged white male has been elected to the most powerful office in the world. I did not contribute to this nightmare. How are we to get on for the next four years? I ate my feelings tonight, a chocolate banana shake. Then a shot of tequila. The quantity of shots I will have in the near future is roughly equivalent to the idiocies committed by The Orange Nazi in office. Which likely means I will have many shots. Not saying that Hillary was perfect. I was not a huge fan in the beginning nor am I now. But so much better than the Orange Nazi. UGH!!!!! Maybe when I wake up this will all be a nightmare.

Blah, blah, blah

That's what I hear when anything about the presidential election is on tv or radio. It needs to stop. I do not think I will ever be as excited as I was at this time in 2008, and I sincerely hope I never feel as despondent as I do this election year. I am too nervous to write much else. I don't want to witness my country, flawed as it is, go down the toilet if that orange wins.

Music and love

Feels like I am revisiting things I talked about in my initial post, so to continue the theme, tonight is all about music. As I type, the iPod classic is playing Joe Jackson, who I discovered thru a friend while we were in graduate school. I try to be open about all the music in the world, and I am happy to say that my tastes are all over the map. Mr. Jackson keeps company with Linda Ronstadt, The Pixies, Sia, Lucinda Williams, Eminem, Schubert, Deadmau5, Beethoven, The Gin Blossoms, Miguel Bose, Ana Tijoux, Sting, and many others. Spotify has been my best musical friend lately, with my Discover and Release Radar playlists leading me to new artists. My disavowal of country music was thrown out the window not long after my young man and I got together. He loves this genre a lot, and while there are still songs or artists I keep at arm's length, I would be lying if I did not say I enjoy some it. Dwight Yoakum makes me happy, even though he seems to cry in a lot of his songs. Lucinda Williams made me cry at her concert almost two years ago when she sang "Unsuffer Me." This past February in Oakland, we got to see what we think was Merle Haggard's last concert; I even bought a Western shirt so I would not feel out of place. I love to slow dance with my young man when his friends play twangy love songs; my cute cowboy boots make me just the right height for looking into his beautiful blue eyes. I have seen Yo-Yo Ma once and Joshua Bell twice, and wish I had the smallest bit of their talent. I still perform with the community band, but I cannot play the way I played my first year of college. Nonetheless, to be able to be a part of a group that makes music makes me happy. Whether it's Christmas music I know from muscle memory after thirty years or a challenging piece where the page is black with notes, Theodore, my clarinet, and I will play with heart. I have friends all over the country, some of whom I have known since I was fourteen years old, because of our love of music. I've played on muddy football fields, beautiful concert halls, Grant's Grove in Sequoia National Forest, my high school amphitheater, and in the open air with the Grand Tetons as the backdrop. I can never be grateful enough for those experiences and the incredible fun I had with my fellow musicians, whether we were at music camp in Stockton, on tour with the marching band, or putting on black to play a formal concert. Playing, listening to, discovering, dancing to, singing music that moves me--that makes my life so much richer. Music is love.

Missed Saturday

Make-up post to come tonight. 

(not) running

I have been a runner off and on since I was sixteen. I have run two whole marathons, five or six half marathons, a few 5Ks, and I think just one 10K. Running had always brought me solace, relief, pride, and an escape where I could just focus on breathing and my footfall. People have always commented that they cannot run, they hate running, and they think I'm crazy. I can assuredly say that it had not been for the first two half marathons I would have lost my mind during my divorce. Being able to set goals and achieve them gave me confidence and boosted my self-esteem. Not to mention a great ass and legs ;) Lately, though, since the last marathon a year ago, I have lost the passion. I do not know where it went, why I don't feel the same happiness when I lace up my shoes. I just bought a new pair of pink Asics in the hopes that inspiration and desire will occur via osmosis: magic will happen when the soles of my feet meet the insoles of the shoes. I feel frustrated and angry with myself, as I want to feel like I used to when I would hit the trail or run the hills in the park. I promised myself that I will train for the half in the spring and then aim for what will probably be my last marathon a year from now. Fifty will be old enough to be somewhat impressive but young enough so that I hopefully do not die on the course. I don't want to let myself down. I am envious of people who never waiver in their commitment to running, who have that build that I thought I would have, even just last year. Running is never easy. At the height of my training there were days where I did not want to get out of bed or just wanted to stop in the middle of a training run and take a taxi back. But I persevered, and so I guess I need to dig deeper now so I can find my inner runner girl. She needs to lace up her shoes and get out there.

Always the mom

I ran into one of my child's friends tonight while out at Art Hop. She is an effusive person, a point proven when she gave me an enormous, enveloping hug as if she had not seen me in years. She always tugs at my heart, as I know she has no semblance of a good relationship with her father, mush less her mother. She knows she is always welcome in my home, and I hope now more than ever she takes me up on coming over. The man I saw her with is a musician who I know through my boyfriend, and they, meaning he and my boyfriend, are about the same age. If you read the description of my blog and you figure that my young man is a little bit older than me, you will see why I am writing. I find this "man's" troll-like behavior despicable and see him as a leering creep preying on vulnerable girls. No one can convince me that he can get anything out of this "relationship" other than things I do not want to imagine. As I write, the professional part of my brain is going places where I don't venture with people i know socially. I do not diagnose friends, I do not piece together in my mind the broken bits of the people I care about because those are theirs to share only if they wish. I purposefully keep at bay the curiosity that helps me as a social worker because I will become emotionally exhausted, and it's just not right. What this beautiful girl needs is a mom, someone to tell her she has no need to be a vessel for anyone, that she is strong, talented, kind, and most of all, valuable. I wanted to take her home in my car and simultaneously hug her while yelling at her for making such a poor choice. Maybe she really does not know any better and feels this is what she deserves. I have no place to tell her she is making a mistake; I am not her mother nor anyone to whom she needs to answer. I am just someone who cares what happens to her, and I hope her heart hears me.

CUBS!

Tired, but needed to post about the Cubs winning the World Series. Who would have thought?? Good for them. I normally write more, but this will do for now. Hope I write a better post tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo

App keeps crashing, so this is all I am writing tonight. Grr!