coming soon

My brother’s got it.

I won’t make any (public) assumptions about an ultra-conservative who lives in Montana…

Another friend has tested positive. We’re waiting to see if he gets symptoms. We’re also waiting to see if his wife tests positive. Then we will be waiting to see if she gets symptoms.

Then, we will see if I test positive and develop symptoms since ten days ago I was in their home.

Meanwhile, I called one son to say, “Please, please reconsider traveling for Thanksgiving.”

His response, “We’re already in The Springs with _________’s family who are trickling in from all directions. But we’re not spending the holiday here, we’re going to the Front Range to see _________’s sister, brother, brother’s girlfriend, sister’s husband, etc.”

What. The Actual. Fuck.

I’m afraid to even see TAM tonight because I feel toxic and meanwhile, my child is running all over kingdom come breathing the air of 52,000 other people, but since they’re family, it’s safe?????????

One of the other children is about to head to California for a wedding.

The third, well, I just know he’s not sporting a mask. I could barely get him to wear a shirt when he still lived at home.

So, my kids are idiots. Nothing I didn’t know, but I hoped maybe they’d grown out of it by now.

I figure it’s inevitable that one of my boys is going to get it. I just have to cross my fingers that he/they doesn’t get really sick because there’s nothing I can do about it at this point.

And since they no longer live at home, I don’t even get the privilege of yelling at them.

I have been so careful. My best friend came over yesterday. We sat outside shivering as clouds darkened the sky. Six feet apart, we had to yell to be heard across the distance and over the howling wind. When it began to rain, instead of coming inside, she left. I haven’t seen my kids in months, even though they live less than an hour away.

And now, clearly, since my children’s ideas about being safe are drastically different than mine (and also quite unrealistic) I’m am facing not seeing my kiddos for many months to come.

It sucks.

They suck, really. I’d like to kill them all.

I thought that the desire to dispose of my children would diminish once they were no longer toddlers.

Or teens.

Fuckers.

With it coming so close, I’m finding myself less terrified and more resigned. I’m no longer looking at “if,” instead assuming “when.”

Numbers in my town, my county, my state, are increasing every minute, just like everywhere else but American Samoa. I now know people who have tested positive.

It is only a matter of time before I know someone who ends up hospitalized, or on a respirator, or dead. In the beginning, last spring, we were afraid because we didn’t know what was coming. Now we are afraid because we do know what’s coming.

And there’s not much we can do about it.

There was a LOT that we could have done about it, but we’re not rule-followers here in the Wild West. We have our guns to protect us so why bother with a mask?

So, no surprise to anyone, here it comes.

I sit in my little house, not wanting to go out because I might be toxic. As careful as I have been, I need to be more so.

So, I will paint my fingernails, shop online (mostly for cute facial coverings), write my Governor pleading for a mask-mandate, and watch all 8 seasons of Bewitched.

And hope for the best.

I’m a mess

Went to town yesterday.

I went to hang out in my recently-deceased friend’s half-empty living room with her family.

Later, after arriving at TAM’s, I had an unwanted, unwelcome, over-sized, emotional event that had me tearing up even in my sleep.

Today is my dad’s birthday

I’m nauseous and fever-y and exhausted

Do ya think it’s all connected?

To or From?

I really hate admitting that there are still times that all of “that” and all of “them” still pinches.

Those pinches often happen when I drive the main drag of my former home town of 24 years.

Wouldn’t you hope that by now, with my life as grand as it is, that it wouldn’t get to me like it does?

That town was my home. It was the place that I chose to live my adult life, to raise my kids, to die. I moved there before it was cool; when people from just over the county line asked where my town was and offered to bring me groceries.

I never thought I’d leave.

And then,

it all happened.

My life was irreparably upended. And the world around me felt hostile and untrustworthy and condemning. I was uncomfortable everywhere.

Especially in my own skin.

After 20 years of calling it home, I no longer felt safe.

I learned very painful lessons about friendships and community.

Over the years, as I healed, I was able to relax a bit. And yet, not completely. There were still (and still are) places I wouldn’t go. People I really didn’t want to see.

As I said, I wish it weren’t so, but it is.

I never thought I’d leave, but then, due to circumstances beyond my control, under the cover of a global pandemic, I snuck right on out and overnight, expanded both my world and my breathing space.

But, I still go back to town – at least once a week. Today.

And when I do, I feel my anxiety twinge and tingle as I drive the last few miles into town. It’s not debilitating and it’s not stopping me from getting a cup of coffee, but I wish it didn’t happen at all.

I swore that I wouldn’t be chased out of town. That I wouldn’t leave just because it felt really fucking small. This was my town. My community. I belonged here. My children were from here. Somehow leaving felt as if I lost. I couldn’t hack it. I was a coward. That someone else won.

I swore, if I left, it would be running TO something, not running AWAY from something.

When I am at my home, in the canyon, or at the farm with TAM, or sitting under my big tree with my girlfriends, new and old, I feel as if I have expanded, as if I outgrew that small town and have now discovered the big wide world. I believe that I ran to this place. And that’s mostly true.

But when I turn onto the business route into the old town, I quietly, reluctantly, admit to myself, “Yeah, I did run away.”

That’s also true.

And while I wish it weren’t that way, wish I didn’t feel a bit defeated, I also understand…because of the angst I feel whenever I am there…I had to leave to fully heal. There is a shadow there for me that isn’t going anywhere any time soon.

I got chewed up and spit out there – by people, by circumstances, by life. It changed me. I am a different person because of it. I give myself credit for trying to make it work for as long as I did.

And I give myself credit for finally giving up the ghost and getting the hell out of there

It makes my desert refuge that much sweeter.

We’ve been here before

In scrolling through some of my old posts on my old blog, I found the following post, dated 7.17.2019 – right after my uterus fell out and my father died.

The thing is, I am still struggling with this issue. Same man. Same good, gentle soul. Still wants to show up for me. I still want to push him away.

Oh the struggles. Growth is painful. Growth is slooooooooooooow.

His patience is infinite.

leaning in and leaning on

“lean into this…it’s safe”

“lean on me, let me be the guy that shows up for you”

oh holy mother of god, have there ever been any scarier words spoken?

there is nothing I want more than to have the support of someone I love; a partner in the true sense of the word

but when it’s offered up, all I can think is that things are so much easier to tackle on my own because then I’m not counting on anyone else and I won’t be let down, disappointed

crushed

I have a history of thinking I’ve found that person who is willing to walk through the fire with me, a person who will be there with a handkerchief in hand and a big ole shoulder where I can lay my head

through thick and thin

in sickness and in health

my ability to discern between all-talk and the real deal has been super faulty

so when it is offered again, the truth, plain and simple, is that I don’t trust it

I don’t believe it to be real

I don’t believe in the other person

when my world imploded two years ago, I learned more than I ever wish I had to about fair-weather friends; about people who bail when the shit hits

I was devastated and disillusioned

a friend said, you don’t trust anyone…and I don’t fucking blame you

I also learned about what it means to have true blue dyed-in-the-wool friends

some friends, near and far, kept showing up – either on my doorstep or on the phone or even just on facebook – letting me know that yes, there are people who are the real deal

but that’s a whole different bag than a man with whom I am in a relationship

at this age, with this life experience, a woman like me gets to the point of saying, you never know if you can trust a man, but you know you can always count on your friends

so how does a woman like me ever trust a man (partner) again?

how does a woman like me lean into a relationship and allow that man to support her?

and, how does a woman like me protect herself without hurting the person (man) who is trying to be the good guy, the guy who shows up, the guy who actually wants to be the shoulder, and who isn’t the guy who bails when the going gets rough?

because right now, the going is really fucking rough

Just a thought

Not a lot of time here – I have to go to work.

But, have I ever mentioned how much the President reminds me of my ex-husband?

Mom asked the other day, “Was he really that much of a bully?”

Yep, he was.

But what prompted this today is looking at Trump’s refusal to accept defeat. When you look at the numbers in the Presidential election compared to the House and the Senate, the message is very clear;

While Americans are clearly still capitalists, while Republicans are still quite popular, the message being sent to the Power-That-Be is that the majority of the American public just doesn’t like Trump.

It’s personal, President Trump. Most of us don’t like you.

And yet, he can’t accept his loss – because if he does that, then he’s admitting that he’s not the most popular kid in school.

And to someone like him, that’s impossible to comprehend and accept.

Which brings me back to my ex.

When he left, I was suddenly invited to social events and gatherings left and right. All sorts of people who had been fringe friends wanted to hang out with me.

I thought – are they just being nice to the lonely divorcee?

Then one gal said to me, “We never liked him; nope, not one bit.”

She has since repeated this to me multiple times over the years – as if she can’t get over the years of tolerating him.

These are people that, when he and I were still married, he disparaged as being too hippy-dippy, or christian, or smoked too much pot, or didn’t send their kids to the public school, or…whatever.

There was always a reason why lovely local folks weren’t good enough for us to hang out with.

But what I came to understand after our divorce was that he didn’t want to be around these people because he’d have to admit that he wasn’t the center of attention, that they might not enjoy his antics, his blustering, his overbearing ways.

But men (people) like my ex and the President can’t admit to that because to do so would crumple their world – would take them off of their self-created pedestal.

And that would be too much to bear.

My ex left town as fast as he could. Rather than face the fact that people didn’t like him he moved away and continued his criticism of our community.

Instead of taking it personally, he turned it back on us.

He discredited those who voted.

Hmmmmmmmmm, sound familiar?

Sometimes one can’t take things personally. Sometimes not being liked has nothing to do with the judged and everything to do with the judger.

But sometimes, you’ve just got to face reality:

No one likes you.

So go away.

Stephen Cobert: Sexiest Man Alive

He joked about this the other night – said that if the President can randomly declare victory in Pennsylvania then he can declare himself People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.

He jokes, and yet…

He pretty much is that man.

Not Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford or Idris Elba, (although, that man’s got it in spades). Nope, none of these men.

Hands down, especially right now, Stephen takes the cake.

He is whip-smart, witty, clever, well-spoken, heartfelt.

He thinks before opening his mouth.

He clearly adores his wife who is often the only other person in the room during his socially distanced late-night shows.

She clearly adores his sense of humor.

He’s socially distanced – total turn-on.

He’s a sharp dresser; his new casual covid style includes rolled-up sleeves which show off his strong, masculine forearms.

A feature most appealing in a world of tiny hands.

He is a man with integrity. He tells the truth.

Another feature most appealing in a world of tiny hands.

And the man has a head of hair that is 1, rare in a man his age (56) and 2, begging my hands to run their way through it.

Which I would gladly do given the opportunity.

He is man who is not afraid to show emotion.

He is THE man who shed tears last night over the threat to our democracy by our very own President.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

He’s pretty geeky, and I like pretty geeks.

so many things to talk about and yet, only one thing to talk about today

I have a shit-ton to discuss here. Demons, sickness, love, adventure, old friends, ex-husband, time in the desert, etc.

But today, there is only one thing on all of our minds.

Yesterday I received a text asking me to “remind three of (my) friends to vote.”

I don’t who other people’s friends are who might not realize that today is election day, but my friends have been lining up at the polls for four years now. No one in my camp needs a nudge.

Remember the friend who voted on her way to her grave?

Those are my people.

my hero

Gail, the friend that left us last weekend, completed one final heroic act before she died.

She was being rushed to the hospital – a visit from which she would not return. She knew this was the end; knew that she was down to hours, maybe days, left of her life.

On her way out of her driveway for the very last time, she insisted on checking the mail and lo and behold, there was her ballot.

And as her final statement to her friends and loved ones and the country at large…

She voted.

Now that’s patriotism.

the difference between the old house and the new one

I’m hunkered down inside. It’s pitch dark out there. I’m cozy as can be.

I can hear the blustering wind, things are flying through the air occasionally hitting the house, and the rain is attacking the roof with steady determination.

My sign hanging next to the front door was banging incessantly against the house and just like in the cabin, I had to go outside and take it down for the duration of the storm.

When I opened the door, I was hit with the smell of sage and the thrill of rain in the desert, and I realized that I’d been clenched up on the couch, unconsciously and viscerally preparing myself for a foot of snow come sunrise.

If I play my cards right, that will never be my reality again.