At least Three Cultures for the Price of One

One of my favorite things about traveling is getting in below the surface level and experiencing the culture. For this reason, it has been amazing to know not only my beloved profe, but her entire family here in Ecuador.

I have experienced not only the Ecuadorian culture, but also the tourist culture, and the retired gringo culture. They are, of course, meshed within each other, but I have gotten a distinct experience of all three.

When my beloved and I are alone, especially when we are zip lining or wandering through the rain forest with a tour guide, we have gotten to experience how Ecuador, or Mindo specifically, treats it’s tourist. The people are so kind. They are light hearted and knowledgeable. I’m not sure if we have asked a single question that has gone unanswered. Many speak English, but if not, they are super patient with our Spanish. The prices are set; the currency is the American Dollar, and we have not been overcharged or had to “haggle” for anything.

We have also experienced retired gringo life, some first hand, and some in stories from the over a dozen friends of Keri and Paul that we have met. Keri told us that the vendors here will raise prices for building materials and services for things like wood or working on their house. They told us that if their Ecuadorian daughter goes in first to set a price on something like building materials for their house, they are grated a better price than if they were to go in on their own.

From left to right: Kansas, Canada, Paul, Missouri/Kansas, England (2), Missouri (2), and I think Michigan. Jose, the gentleman on the right is Ecuadorian by birth but lived many years in the US, and then returned to Ecuador. He is the owner of the establishment that we had our coffee tour. He built that business from the ground up and then retired, leaving his daughter in charge.

White people are assumed to have more money than Ecuadorians. To a certain extent, this is true. The Ecuadorian minimum wage is $4.25/hr, so if you are traveling, depending on your budget of course, your money will go farther here, as a general rule. Most touristy things are not overpriced. We have spent $10-$20 per activity on touristy things: zip lining, night walks, coffee tour, etc.

Also, depending on how much you retired with, of course there could be a reserve that would go farther here than in the US. But once you move here and become part of the permanent community, it is my humble opinion that you should be granted the same prices as the Ecuadorians. You are living here, you are building and maintaining your home here. You are contributing to Ecuadorian work in many forms.

We have been invited to several of the retired gringo lunches and activities. They definitely live a different life than the average Ecuadorian. They are the owners of several of the establishments, hotels, restaurants, even some of the tourist attractions. We have been to some of the nicest restaurants in town on account of the retired gringos. If you are white, no matter where you retired from, you are considered a gringo. It’s possible that this is a self-named title. I am not certain.

One particular gentleman that we met is Eric, here living and making his living because of “all things creepy and crawly” according to his website and tourist attractions. He is a guide and has built a business on the reptiles, amphibians, and arachnids that many of whom, only existing in the climate and location on the earth. The biodiversity here is second to none. We took his night walk tour and it was fascinating. His employees are bilingual and very knowledgeable about many many things in the rainforest. The tours are on his own land up in the mountains near Mindo where he also lives. It was beautiful. He is a conservationist, a scientist, and an Ecuadorian, but he is also a gringo. I personally felt super grateful to have met him. He is a super nice guy who is fascinated with anything that moves in Ecuador.

Terrible picture of Eric on the right, who is originally from Canada. Many other cultures were represented at this dinner as well.

The night we met him, we had been invited to a fondue party at another expat’s house and restaurant, Di Di, the Frenchman. Eric had a snake in his bag that we all got to hold and play with. He had found it on his way. Angela asked him how many snakes he owned and he quietly shrugged and said, “It’s hard to say, because I picked this one up on the way here.”

Because Keri is such an a awesome tour guide herself, we have learned about many of the typical Mindo experiences, road construction, customs, and gossip. My reference point has been good ole Ellsworth, Kansas. Mindo is about the same size as Ellsworth. This has helped me exponentially. There are many things that they have to “go to the city” to get. There are no big grocery stores here. No Home Depot. No Cosco. Quito is the nearest city and it is two and a half hours by car. I’m sure further by bus, but there are busses that go there. One could exist here without a car, but a car is handy.

This is a single Catholic Church in town. It is small and quaint. I have seen one other church. While we haven’t walked every street, we have been down many and have walked everywhere in town.

Wood carving of St Francis of Assisi. The tree branch next to him is covered in beetles that have been preserved. They are, however, real beetles called rhinosaras beetles.

Adoration Chapel with host holder carved from wood.

Cross on the side of the sanctuary that I can only assume is used for reenactments. It is tied up with green cord and has a place that a human might stand for reenactments.

We have bought food off the street from street vendors: cookies and fresh fruit. There are vendors that have carts that can be pushed, hooked to bicycles, some even motorized. There are also trucks that drive around the streets selling fruit or bottled water. The water here is used for washing dishes, showering, etc, but not drinking or preparing food unless boiled.

There are no closed doors in Mindo. By that I mean that everything is open space. Many homes do no have windows and all store fronts are open air. There is no winter here although it’s kinda chilly in the morning. As I write this, I am in track pants and a sweatshirt. Everything is damp.

The main street is lined with shops that are also open air. Several of the grills for the restaurants are located on the street in front of the stores. I think most of the stores have pull doors that close over them at night, like in a mall, but I have not been awake late enough or early enough to see this for myself.

If you can afford to do so, the best home designs are built off the ground. Some are just a few feet off the ground and others have their first floor as their garages. It is naturally dryer in town than in the country and especially in the cloud forest. The hotel where we are staying, Hotel de Libertad, has it’s first floor made from cement and holds the laundry room, the pool, and facilities for the pool like showers and restrooms. Bikes, motorcycles, and cars can be stored here as well for guests or residents.

My current view including humming bird feeders. There are 48 different species of humming birds in Ecuador. We have spent several mornings in the common space watching the humming birds come to the feeders. The sound is the dog rescue place up the street.

The wood starts with the stairs leading to the second floor with reception and several rooms. There are three or four separate stairs that have rooms, and the final one is the kitchen and dining area. There are no screens on the windows. The gathering areas in reception, my morning sitting space, and the kitchen, are all open air. No windows.

Let’s see, what else? Because many people do not have cars, there are taxis readily available even though the town is the size of Ellsworth. Taxis will take you to any tourist attraction in the mountains, and even the airport or the coast. I would assume they would also take you to Quito for your big city needs, but a bus would be much cheaper.

Tourists, gringos, and locals. Not bad. Three cultures for the price of one. Thank you Keri, Paul, Grace, Estepha, Leo, Wendy, Jeremy, los gringos, y la gente de Ecuador.

We Learned How to Make 100% Pure Chocolate!

These are the fruit or the pods of the Cocao tree.

This is the single fruit we worked with.

Carolína cut the fruit without cutting into any of the seeds. She said that if you cut into any of the seeds, you release bacteria into the entire fruit and none of the seeds would be useful for chocolate.

Close up of the inside of the fruit with the cocao seeds. The fleshy part of the seed is had an awesome sweet tart taste. We each got to suck on several. The texture was wet and cool.

The pure cacao seed cut in half. That is the most raw version of cocao. If you were to bite into the cocao at this stage, it is super bitter and raw, kind of like a peanut or a coffee bean. Carolína said that it would suck the moisture out of your mouth. It is worth stating that there is no sugar in cacao. We add that as humans. It’s quite bitter in it’s natural state. I am personally not a fan. I like my Hershey’s with all the milk and sugar that they can cram in to it. Cacao in it’s natural state is nothing like a Hershey’s bar.

This picture shows the Nacional Cacao tree. It grows about three feet and then splits off. It does not start producing fruit until it is three years old. The seeds take on the flavor of nearby plants. For example, if you plant vanilla close to a cacao tree, you will have a hint of vanilla in your cacao seeds.

Although you cannot see the base of this tree, this is the hybrid called CCN51. It was developed in the 1970’s but did not become popular until the 1990’s. This tree produces fruit in two years. It also produces twice as many fruits to be harvested. The down side is that it does not have as much flavor or variety of flavor from seed to seed. The farmers and producers of chocolate like it, however, for obvious reasons.

This is the flower that turns into those huge fruits. The flower is pollinated by mosquitoes. It’s super tiny compared to the giant fruit that comes from it.

Notice the tiny flowers in the top left corner of this picture compared to the fruit in the center of the picture.

These are the fermentation boxes. They ferment the seeds for two weeks flipping the boxes every 24 hours. The fermented liquid drains out of the boxes and is caught in containers below for booze de cacao. Nothing is wasted. It was hot as shit in this greenhouse. Easily 20° hotter than the temperature outside.

The moisture is kept in the boxes with banana leaves. The boxes must be carefully maintained as well since the seed could still take on any flavor they come in contact with.

The drying process. This was in the same greenhouse as the fermentation process.

Dried cacao beans that have not been shelled. We tasted five different cacao beans and each had a slightly different flavor.

Here the shells of the seeds are removed after drying. They use the shells of the seeds for cacao tea. Again, nothing goes to waste.

This machine takes the seeds and turns them into a thick paste.

Here is a close up of the gritty paste. 100% pure cocao which contains the cacao oil.

Then the paste is put into this machine that grinds in stone on stone at over 100 degrees. I can’t remember how long they did this. Here she stated that the shiny color starts to come out so you know if it is good chocolate or not. She also stated that these two types of trees do not produce bad chocolate.

The chocolate is them moved to a cold room which is 70 degrees. The chocolate is poured into molds or drops and sold as bars or bags of drops.

100% cacao does not melt like milk chocolate. For example, the “cold room” and the loco chico are at 70°.

100% melted cacao. When we tasted this, it is bitter and sucks the moisture right out of your mouth. Your whole mouth becomes void of moisture and you have to lick the roof of your mouth and lips to re-moisturize. It was rough on this milk chocolate lover but I loved the experience.

The final product and taste test of the different percentages and additives. 67%, 77%, 85%, cafe is with coffee, macadamia is obviously with the macadamia nuts, jengibre is with ginger, ají is with hot pepper, sal y pimienta is salt and pepper, cardomomo is cardamom. The front three were sugar, raw sugar, and 100%.

Examples of the final chocolate bar product.

The Travel Bug

It’s pretty intense the things we do for travel. We deprive ourselves of sleep, comfort, regularity, routine, home. We save and plan. But if you have the travel bug, there is not much you can do to suppress it for too long.

We save up our vacation and take time from work. We enlist our friends and family to watch our dog, our house; take us to the airport at god awful hours. Or we semi-abandon our cars in parking lots. We take cars to busses, to trains, to planes, taxis, hikes, bikes. We put ourselves in dangerous places. We visit doctors and get shots. We bring medications and comforts with us. We converse and dream. We research and look at pictures of far away places. Exotic plants and animals; people, food, destinations and places on the way. We plan timing and location, things to do, experiences to be had. We hire guides and talk to strangers. All in the name of Travel.

I have long called myself and experientialist. I have traveled to many of the places that I have on my invisible list. I have done many of the things I would like to do.

This particular trip started with a grand plan, as usual. This plan was a loose plan. There are certain points we need to hit like flights, but the soft center is quite open. Stay tuned for my final review on the when, but my lovely wife, Angela and I both got off work at 5pm on a Friday. Our flight was not scheduled till Monday morning. The same is true for coming home. We arrive on Friday and will still have the weekend before returning to work. This sounds like perfect timing to me, time to get ready, and time to decompress.

I don’t think I can continue without acknowledging my privilege. For me, as a recovering alcoholic, gratitude and privilege tend to be intertwined. I could not speak on my privilege without speaking of my gratitude and versa visa. I don’t know if my gratitude changes my privilege. That is an entirely different blog post.

3 am on the shuttle bus from parking lot to airport.

One of the many many gifts of this trip was that we were able to each take two full weeks off of work. We have weekends bookending our trip. I think that sounds divine. Our first morning started at 1am getting up in order to catch a 5am international flight. I don’t know if things are more relaxed at airports or if people who use airports are just more used to all the hullabaloo. In any case, We were up at 1, on the road by 2, and in the airport by 3 for a flight at 5. I didn’t think much of it until I started to calculate when we would be arriving in Quito, Ecuador. We had a 9 hour layover in Miami, where we decided to hit the beach and get some Cuban food. Sounds simple enough. And before I go into the full story, I want to say that we nailed it. We were back in the airport with plenty of time to catch the flight. Some of you may remember that we were not quite that lucky when leaving Chicago that one time.

I love traveling in big cities and taking public transportation. It’s always like a puzzle that you need to figure out. Our greatest delay in our Miami travels was figuring out how the hell to get out of the airport. Once we nailed that, we found a very friendly public transportation worker, told her our plans for the day, and she guided us on a day pass for the buses. We hit the rail out of the airport, then hopped a bus to Miami Beach. The bus dropped us off two blocks from the beach. Minutes later, we were on the beach staring into the Atlantic Ocean.

We had come directly from the airport, so we were still wearing travel clothes but had our swimming suits with us. We grabbed a little fold up cabana thingy and changed in the sand. A few minutes later, we were in the ocean. The waves were soft and the water was warm but not too warm. The sand on the bottom was gradual enough that we were able to go out quite far and still be able to touch. If that was what got us into a little trouble, it’s hard to say.

At some point, we started seeing translucent objects floating around us. The first one I saw, I let pass without much of a thought. The second looked like some kind of mesh trash. I reached out and touched it. It was smooth like the sting rays we had touched in Chicago. I knew just enough to know that it was a jellyfish and that they stung so I pulled my hand back. At this point I was feeling little stings here and there. All of a sudden we were engulfed in jellyfish. We quickly swam out of the area, but not before Ang was stung in the back of her leg. I was feeling little stings here and there. I’m sure for all the ones we could see, there were probably many more that were smaller. Ang was a pro, very calm and cool. We left the water and she promptly peed on herself, letting it run down the part of her leg that had been stung. I believe she was still feeling pain for a little while, but managed to keep it decently in check. She was always calm.

About the same time, a storm rolled in, so we were forced to pack up and find some shelter. I was kind of grateful for that since I was feeling some smaller stings on my thighs. Jellyfish can be quite small, so I didn’t know if I had any caught in my shorts. We packed up and headed back off the beach to the nearest overhang. You quickly realize that you are out in the open world with no car, no home, etc, when a storm rolls in and you have no shelter.

We found a hotel overhang and hung out while we decided what to do next. As it started to rain harder, I rinsed the salt out of my hair and swim shirt and shorts in a run-off from a roof on the edge of the hotel drop-off spot. Something like that can make you feel so alive. Away from home and rinsing your hair in the clean water Mother Nature is providing. Also the stinging stopped.

After the quick and wild ride of several emotions, I was pretty spent and not fully funcional as we decided what to do next. Cuban food. But where and how do we get there? I searched for an Uber. She suggested a coffee shop to regroup. My solutions was something like $20. Hers was a two minute walk after we got our bearings. Since we each paid something like $2.50 for the day bus pass, $20 was a large increase. Instead we found Starbucks literally across the street. We were not alone either since the storm had sent all the beach goers away. We dried off and searched for a Cuban restaurant.

Two tries and about a mile later, we walked into Bella Cuban Restaurant.

The appetizer we ordered was half and avocado with shrimp and greens. When it arrived at the table, it was massive. Neither of us had ever seen an avocado that big. Main course was a traditional Cuban sandwich with pulled pork and Swiss cheese. I’m sad to say that the pork was dry, but there was a strange sauce on the side that made it manageable. It was something like mayonnaise, but orange. For dessert we ordered caramel flan. It was divine.

A little bit of caramel and the cinnamon from the decoration on the plate made it incredible. I found out quickly with a small test that the dark brown liquid was rum instead of caramel, so I steered clear of that part, but otherwise, marvioso!

At this point, I think the time was creeping into midafternoon. Our flight was at 6:57. We wanted to be back to the airport about 4:00. We had already walked about a mile with backpacks and such, so the nearest bus stop back to the airport sounded like a plan.

There is a similar bus in Mexico City, maybe for folks just like myself that have a layover and want to see the city. It goes from the airport to downtown in the touristy spot and back. Again we hopped the 150 bus right back to the airport with minimal stops. One direction was about 40 minutes and again for about $2.50, beats a $40 Uber for these travelers any day.

Back to the airport and through security again just so we could lay on a hard dirty floor and wait for our next flight. Ahhh, travel. We were asked by speaker and Angela’s great detection skills to change gates where we did more laying until boarding. Boarding an airplane is always an adventure in itself to stow your crap in the overhead and find a tiny little seat in this cramped space. Our first flight was half empty so we got our own rows, but this one was full, and longer.

Turns out that the flight was about an hour longer than scheduled because we had to divert between two of the storms coming in to Florida.

Not really knowing any of this, we sat on this plane wondering, has it been four hours? Did the time change back from East Coast time? We were both too tired to calculate it. Once we arrived in Quito, another burst of energy got us off the plane a to wait for our luggage and find our friends who awaited with smiles and cameras.

Their foresight from doing this with other friends paid off as we settled in for the night at a local hostal ten minutes from the airport. The time then was about 12:30. After getting up at 1 am to leave from Kansas, it was very rewarding to fall asleep in Quito, Ecuador.

Not as rewarding as waking up to this view, but rewarding all the same.

Adelante, Ecuador. Love, Holly

If nothing changes, nothing changes

I don’t know if anyone noticed the date on that last post, but it was August 3rd, 2023. It took me till yesterday, August 22nd, to share it.

There has been some hard fought work going on. A lot of processing and all the emotions. I went through several days of hard hard depression, not getting off the couch, some isolation, and a decent self-pity party for 1. Yesterday alone was a ride of emotion as I dropped another $800 to my attorney and made the mistake of doing the math on how much she makes over some time.

Let’s talk about what did not happen. I did not fight and struggle against the brick wall that is Bella’s other mother. I did not defend, rationalize or explain anything. I did not mention the matter.

EVEN WHEN a DCF worker contacted me telling me that “someone” had filed a case of emotional abuse against me. “Emotional abuse” that sounded like a laundry list of 8 year old problems. “We don’t have food that is liked by an 8 year old. We withhold food. Or food is taken away. We yell. We drag the child out of places.”

Well, y’all know Angela and myself so this is almost laughable, but not when one of the choices of this report could land me on a Child Abuse Registry.

But again, guess what I didn’t do? I did not contact any “someone” about this report. I did not speak to the child about it. In fact, as far as the child and the other mother were concerned, it didn’t exist. I believe that the other mother was trying to “strike while the iron was hot” so to speak. It saddens me.

Wanna rewind with me for a sec to 2018? Recall that yes, we fought. There was yelling. I broke a plate. I was drinking. Also recall that I was home asleep in my bed when the police knocked on my door. I have maintained stupid ridiculous behavior, but no crime committed since that fateful day in 2018. I am a moron when drinking. I am not a criminal.

And so, what did I not do? I didn’t talk to the other mother about this. I responded to the report, as did my beloved. We spoke our truths and got advise on moving forward. We need a family therapist, y’all. For real for real. Raising Bella is going to be as much undoing as doing and I sure as shit need help with that. But I didn’t reach out. I did not make things worse. I did not fucking drink over it, wouldn’t that be something if that was a motive behind a motive? I stuck to my side of the street and managed myself. Full time job, I assure you.

1185 days ago, I took my last drink. So much has changed since then. My higher power that I choose to call Mother today, Mother Google if I’m feeling spicy, has guided me to be softer, more compassionate, more caring, understanding, to recognize and realize my own damn humanity. I am far from perfect and I don’t even know what the hell is best for me, so how would I even begin to conceptualize that for another human.

Hey Holly Dolly, remember when you said that you would change? Don’t let me down.

A quote from a Gwen Stefani song called 4 in the Morning.

Houston, we have a problem

15. If Respondent fails a breathalyzer test or refuses to take a breathalyzer test during her parenting time, her parenting time shall immediately revert to supervised parenting time.

Oops. I didn’t think to get a backup plan. I didn’t think to ask if the breathalyzer failed, what then? I just said okay and skipped out of court. I wonder if anyone outside of my circle will believe me? Alcoholics are liars. Once a liar, always a liar? Not so, in my case, but I can see that side.

I really want to be mad at Bella’s other mother, too, but I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this one slide, what happens on the next one? I never considered the possibility that this could happen. I wonder why my attorney didn’t mention it. Yes, if I am drinking, my visits with Bella should be supervised. I probably shouldn’t see her at all, but if I was drinking, it would take care of itself, because I would eventually stop seeing her by going to rehab or jail. If I was drinking…

Fuuuuuuck… So last Friday, July 28th, 2023, I blew numbers other than zero into the breathalyzer. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be a funny story. Let me say this, no good can come from stealing office supplies. It all started when I decided to bring home a package of alcohol wipes from work. I had intended on using them on my dashboard. I went to the river last week solo with my kayak hanging out of the back of the Prius. When I hit the dirt road, the dust kicked back up into the car and my dash was covered, and I mean covered, in dust. So I was going to use them to clean the dust off of the dashboard. There were other things going on besides the dust. I had wood in my car at the beginning of the summer and the inside of my windshield got coated in water that had evaporated during work. So I took my finger and ran the water off the inside of the windshield. Several pools of water formed on the dash from this and I had just let them dry. I was going to clean the hell out of this dash.

First pause, why the hell did I need those wipes from work? I have wipes in my home. We have cleaning products! So stupid.

Angela and I are headed to pick up Bella and Angela mentions something about the state of my dashboard. Oh, I say, I have some wipes right there in my bag if you wanna start cleaning all this dirt off while we are driving!

Hindsight: I very rarely circulate the air from the inside of my car. 97% of the time, I would have had the air coming from the vent and not recirculating. But the air gets cooler if you recirculate and it was over 100°. Ang even asked me if the smell was going to bother me, and it never occurred to me to change the air to vent because the smell was not going to bother me. I use the alcohol wipes at work on my mouse, keyboard, and desk.

Angela proceeds to clean the passenger side of the dash including vents and part of the center section where the radio front is… and where the breathalyzer is stored. I would have to ask her how many wipes she used. I would guess two. We get to the destination, I blow in the breathalyzer in the car and hop out to get my Bella while it processes. Bella gets out of the car with a friend’s baby to show me. Cute kid. All the coo’s and kisses. Bella goes back to put the kid in the car. Bella’s suitcase is sitting by my car, she is grabbing her phone, and I go to show her other mother the screenshot of the breathalyzer, and it has a red number on it. .027. I look at it and say aloud, wait, what the hell? That has a number on it. I look again in disbelief.

I won the court case to have unsupervised visits and parenting time with my Bella on November 2nd, 2022. I had my first full weekend with her November 5th, 2022. Ne’er once has there been an issue.

I don’t think I even batted an eye before I was like, wait, that has to be wrong. That has to be a misreading. I take the breathalyzer outside and again, blow a number that is not zero. .015. I take the test again two more times within 5 minutes, standing outside on the asphalt in 100 degree weather. All red. .013, .011. At this point, I am assuming that the device is overheated since I keep it in my car and my car was parked in the parking lot all day and it’s hot as hell. Angela steps out of the car and I’m like, I’m getting a reading. She says, here, let me take it. I switch to the free app that isn’t monitored and she blows. .01. I try it. .01. She tries again. .01.

I’m so stunned that I’m not even going over what might have happened, other than the heat. Bella’s mom says she can wait about 15 minutes and we could try again. We all get into our cars and wait. Angela and I discuss different things that could have gone wrong with the heat or the calibration. I think we started looking at the BACtrack website for storing temperatures and such. I would like to go on record as saying that my wife recommended that I not keep the breathalyzer in the car during extreme heat or cold because it could mess with the device. After all this has happened, I am looking at the website, and she was 100% right.

Five minutes later, I take the test again. .018. What the hell? Now it’s going up again? Mind you, we have returned to the car that is running, with the air circulating. I thought nothing of it and couldn’t have told you if there was an alcohol smell in the car. This is all hindsight and research on the website. The minutes are starting to get long and this wait is difficult. 6:12, .018. 6:30, .013. I get out of the car and tell Bella’s mom that I don’t know what the hell is going on and she says we could try again tomorrow. I think she said that. I am bummed, but no where near going to worst case scenario. Doesn’t cross my mind. I open the back door and let Bella know what is happening. I tell her that the machine is malfunctioning and that I have absolutely not been drinking. She says, I know mom, you never lie to me. I ask her if she remembers what Pastor Valerie said in church last Sunday, about where is god? She says yes. So I tell her we will just have to see what god has in store for us here.

Bella had texted me earlier in the day and asked if she could come on Saturday morning. She wanted to help babysit the twins that her mom was babysitting. I said no, that our time was our time and I would see her at 6pm. Then I messaged her mom and told her the same thing.

Still leaning in the car, I cock my head to the side and ask, did you pray for this? I start poking at her so she knows I’m kidding. She giggles and says no. I said, did you pray for this so you could stay home and watch the twins tonight, while poking at her and tickling her more. “No, noooo,” she says. Okay, I say, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Her mom says to message her in the morning to arrange pickup time. And I walk around my car and get back in where Angie waits. I’m a little stunned, but it really doesn’t seem too bad. It could be worse. She could have canceled the whole weekend.

I took the last breathalyzer at 6:30 and by 6:34, had called BACtrack customer service, gotten a voicemail, and messaged Bella’s mom that information. Angela and I and Bella were supposed to have dinner plans with friends, so we drove back to Lawrence from the pickup spot in Bonner Springs and went to our friends’ for dinner.

Now why oh why did I not take another breathalyzer sooner than 10pm, I have no idea. I never took a breathalyzer when I was actually drinking, but I know that the human body can process approximately a drink an hour after the first three drinks. I also know that .08 is the legal limit. Math tells me that the highest reading of .027 theoretically could have been processed back down to 0.00 in an hour. But I don’t take another breathalyzer till 10pm. I go to my friends’ house. I leave the device in the car. I tell the tale of why I don’t have my little beloved with me, and we eat and watch a movie. I thought about taking another one at our friends’ house once. I think I said it out loud, should I go take one? Should I get it out of the car? Laziness won that one because we were eating and watching a movie and the car was all the way down a flight of stairs out in the driveway. I still didn’t think much of this. I was not freaking out. I was not worried.

I took the test again at 10pm when we got home, sent the results to Bella’s mom, and told her that we thought the machine had just overheated. I had also been on the website and found out that you are supposed to get the damn thing calibrated once a year, so had paid like $35 to send it in immediately Monday morning for calibration. I communicated this with Bella’s mom. She replied that the entire weekend was a “no-go for her due to positive results.” She also asked if BACtrack would be able to confirm product malfunction.

Having no answer available at midnight on a Friday knowing customer service would not open till Monday morning, I went to bed without responding and slept 12 hours. Have I mentioned what is going on at work these days? Oh yeah, so we are getting a new computer system. And I work at a bank. Banks call their computer systems cores. I suppose it’s because we work with a ton of other programs, but the Core is the main guy where all the money is “kept” and accounted for. I have never worked at a bank other than this one, and I have never been through a core conversation, but apparently it’s a big deal. NOT only that, but we are also getting a new online banking platform and mobile app. They, the other bank work people that have been there longer than myself, say that it’s common to do one or the other, but both in the time they gave us is kinda nutty. My days have been full.

So I slept. I turned off my alarm and I slept for 12 hours. I can get away with four or six hours of sleep for a night or two. Hell, I can travel across the country on an airplane with two! I prefer eight. When I’m bad and watch an extra show in the evening, I get seven. Nine is lavish. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping till noon on a Saturday.

When I woke, I told Bella’s mom that I did not know if the company could confirm malfunction, but what I did know was that I hadn’t had a drink in 1160 days, I planned to send the device in Monday for calibration, and I would check with customer service on their thoughts about leaving the device in a hot car, if it would cause it to malfunction because yesterday was probably the hottest it had been in 1160 days. And then I sent her a picture of my sobriety counter.

I was not trying to be flippant and I don’t love that I am saying this now, because it feels like I am defending possible flippancy. Or perceived flippancy. I sent it because I am proud. And there is no way that device showed a number because I was drinking. No way. Oh wait…

I think it was around this time that Angela and I started to put together the whole alcohol wipe thing. We talked about the vent being closed and the car air being full of alcohol while the device sat in a little cubby just below the dash, below the radio. We went back to the website, and sure enough, it has warnings about keeping the device around cleaners or household items with alcohol.

I had to crack up a little when reading this because there is no alcohol allowed in our home. This includes mouthwash and cold medicine. We both abhor hand sanitizer. I would be shocked to find a single bottle in our home. I don’t even know what household cleaners would have alcohol in them besides actual alcohol wipes. We use hydrogen peroxide for sanitized disinfectant and blood. My darling wife prefers, how shall I say, kinder softer gentler natural cleaners whereas I like to bleach the shit out of things and Dawn the hell out of floors or kitchen sinks. And neither one of us wears perfume.

So we start putting this together, that it was probably the alcohol in the air in the car from the alcohol wipes that she was using to clean the dash. And sure enough, we went back to the tests, which have screen shots of my face while blowing, and the test inside the car when we first got there was the highest, then lower but not gone outside, I took two more tests, and then back inside the car, the number went back up a little before dropping a little. It went from .011 outside to .018 when I got back in the car. Then .018 seven minutes later in the car and .013 fifteen minutes later in the car. All in the car with the AC on, circulating, not venting.

I am trying to kind of low key document some of this stuff that I am finding instead of blasting Bella’s mom with it. I load some docs into the Family Wizard app, the calibration receipt, the shipping receipt, and the pics above. I load the documents Monday, July 31st and then on Tuesday, I send her a message stating that I loaded these docs in there if she wanted to look at them. I stated that Angela and I had found an article on the website about cleaning with alcohol and that we had been cleaning the dash on our way to meet her. I mentioned the upcoming weekend. She had stated that I could make up the weekend that I missed due to the malfunction in the device. I stated that I had sent the device in and the return time quote was 10-14 business days so I didn’t know if I would have it back by this weekend. She did not respond to that message.

She did, however, send me a message a few hours later stating that, per court orders, my parenting time would return to supervised and to contact her when I wanted to arrange that. She directed me to my attorney if I had any questions. Sometimes the pause button works and sometimes it doesn’t. I did respond to that message, but I didn’t say anything bad or mean. I said the positive was 100% false. I told her that I understood not wanting to do a visit until we got the device back, but that I had not had a drink in over three years.

See, if you let me go for a while, I eventually come ‘round to a circle. Or a point. Or progress. Back to not being mad at Bella’s other mother: I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this slide, then what? Why didn’t we have some kind of a contingency plan? I don’t ever even remember talking about it with my attorney. Ne’er was a malfunction discussed. In fact, I think former spouse wanted to talk about or set a plan for if I ever started drinking when Bella was in my custody or care, and if I remember right, I didn’t want to have anything to do with a “what do we do if Holly drinks” plan. I was adamant in court, trying to convey a confidence to the judge, that that wasn’t something that needed entertaining. If anything happened, I think I said Angela would return Bella with me or I would contact Bella’s other mother if Angela was out of town.

And so I signed a paper with the first line of this very long blog post on it.

My last contact with Bella’s other mother was August 1st. Tuesday. Today is Thursday. What I have done in between is roll out a hell of a lot of new stuff coming in from other departments. I have sent out assignments to test my rep’s paperwork docs, printers, and sign-ons. I am sending out information as quick as I can collect it and if one of my people asks a question that I don’t know, I shoot out more emails to other departments. It sounds stressful, but I find myself doing the best I can nearly all of the time and my goal is to get my people what they need to be successful. I find it very rewarding.

I have also contacted my attorney. She has not responded and again with the frickin’ hindsight, but why did I text her? I should have sent an email or called. So tomorrow I will send an email or call. I am scared about how much more money this will cost. That’s why I texted. I wanted to be like, oh hey here’s this casual little text, please don’t charge me 15 minutes on a $300 hour to read it.

I wonder why we didn’t put something in place for this. Why no one said anything about a device malfunction versus the alcoholic drinking. I know I cannot be the only person that this has happened to. I wonder if writing that little wiggle room into a legal document would be all an alcoholic would need to take advantage. Well, I know the answer to that, but what about the alcoholic that actually needs a little wiggle room because of a device malfunction?

I guess we are up to date. I am mad at myself for not saving money. After the divorce, I had less things. When I went to treatment, I had a few suitcases. When I went to Wichita, I had a carful. I have everything I own now under one roof. I like things. I like all the little gadgets and tools. I like having money to spend. And I need all these things, dontcha know? I wish I had saved more money. Perhaps after Ecuador.

“You gonna learn today.” ~Kevin Hart

It’s a giant big heavy different dumb scary frustrating awesome new healthy wonderful computer program that a bank gets. It’s the one that stores all yo money, honey. Digitally, of course.

But that’s not what we are talking about. We are talking about little ole me. I am going to say very little about the bank that I work for that is getting a new core. Sigh. It really means nothing to customers except a disturbance to their lives. TO BOOT, we are replacing our online system as well. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I am the trainer in the customer service center. Customer service be doing all the things. We work with prolly 20 systems. We do everything we possibly can over the phone or with verbal guidance online so that people don’t have to go to the bank. Hey, I get it, and I’m down.

We got this huge new system. I wonder how much they paid for it? Anywho, I have about 30-40 reps I think? I had one, yep I said one, day of training in the capitol city a couple weeks ago and now, oh yes, it is my job that I love very much, to train everyone that answers the phone.

Terror. Depression. Self-doubt. Hidy hole. And what the hell else can I do other than learn this system on my own with written instructions. Gross. That’s why I am a trainer. So my peeps don’t have to read a paper, or 20 or 50 papers and be expected to do the things.

Well, I got a start on it on my own. A start. And since it was on me to lead the charge, a start was good enough. Oof, it was going to be rocky.

I was up at 5, ready by 630 and in the parking lot at 7. I had my laptop and my extra monitor from home. I had a week’s worth of snacks and lunches. The training room only has one monitor at the work stations, so I BYOM-ed it. Buuuuuut, it turns out that I was also to attach to the big screen in the training room, so I ended up having 4 monitors. I kinda felt like a bad ass.

Now I couldn’t figure out how to work said monitors to 100% of my liking and I have a sore neck and shoulders as a result. The giant screen was right down the row from my desk, perpendicular. AAAAND I couldn’t figure out how to mirror one of my screens, so I sat, looking down the row all day manipulating this giant screen from my desktop.

I kept imagining my mouse zinging across the room when I went from the screen on my desk to the monitor at the front of the room. Zing! Zing!

Oh Oh! And half the class was in another room in another city. We were on the zoom zoom. My screen was their big screen as well. So technically I had like 5 or 6 screens. The one they had was the mirror I was looking for for mine.

The training was muddy. It was mirky. It was trudgey. Yes, I know it’s not a word. I took five reps through a 40 page study guide tour sample starter kit. I went line by line. I messed up a lot. I often couldn’t find things. I talked my way though every procedure, hoping that they were following. Checking in with them as we went. There was some awesome collaboration as we got comfortable. We were just a team learning together. If someone found the next step before I could, they shared where the hell the button was.

I followed my own advice. We trudged together. Line by line. Read a line on the workflow. Do the action. Back to the workflow. Next action. We played a little, seeing what the system would do if we pushed this button or that. We were like baby deer. We all leaned a lot of things. I got some reference material started.

Since I started my Quality Analyst/Trainer/Mini-Sup position, I have never been in a position where I was learning the system with the people I was teaching. Normally I come prepared with an outline, workflows, pictures with red arrows and step by step instructions.

We got through it. I know with 100% certainty that my first five folks walked out of there knowing something they didn’t before. These are my people. I want to take care of them. I also know that I am not special in any way and if I am nervous about the change, they are, too. And unlike the training I got, I can do better. I can take care of them. I can get them the tools. It’s what I do!

It was okay. I just did what I always tell people to do. I learned how I train them to learn. The sky didn’t fall. I will be better tomorrow. I won’t be much better tomorrow. But I will be a little better. I think, once everyone has the intro course, I will have gone through the system 4-6 times. Then I have to get them to do the same. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.

Suit up and show up. And Breathe.

Ellsworth without Grandma

The headstone has been up for at least 5 years. The new addition, death date, was dark after having just been added.

I was pretty nervous about my first trip to Ellsworth after my Grandma died. I found some pretty unexpected results. First and foremost, I was able to take care of myself amidst all things Ranker. Secondly, my memories tended to focus on times when I was a kid.

Surprisingly still to myself, I was able to take care of me. My family is loud, argumentative, and often unkind to each other, especially on the male side. There are often arguments, unkind words, impatience, and we all have control issues. Sometimes this hits me upside the head because my brain helps me forget, every time I go there. Thanks, brain, but sheesh, it can be jarring.

I focused on myself, had the privilege of focusing on my child, and choosing how I speak to her and the rest of the family. My Belly and I just had a good time and did what we needed to do. First stop: Grandma Della’s grave. Throughout the years, I have almost exclusively stopped by Grandma’s first, so I thought it fitting to visit her grave first. Seeing the fresh dirt was gross at best. Someone had put peonies on her grave. One of if, not her very favorite flower. I added my 3 year coin.

I only saw my Grandma cry twice in my life, and both were alcohol related. One was exclusively my doing, staying out all night and cheating on my first wife. That’s all I have to say about that. And the second I will not speak on.

Bella was by my side and we inspected the grave, the new carving, and the amazing sculpture that had been added to my Grandfather’s side. This was made by my Uncle Duke and I think it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen him make.

The blue N is for Northern Natural, my Grandpa’s company that he retired from before I was born. And I guess piston parts, and a circular crank from the plant as well. Other additions that were from my lifetime: the gearshift from my Grandpa’s truck, and his hammer. The back, a handmade hand-welded cross, all made by my Uncle Dwayne, who we also call Uncle Duke, who is a welder. Behind is a separate yard art sign that reads:

On Angel’s wings you were taken away, but in our hearts you will always stay. Your loving children. Dorsey Ranker. November 11th, 1924-September 23rd, 2017. Grandpa’s side is also decorated with the American flag and the Navy Flag.

They done already mowed over Grandma! Lol. And Grandpa’s grass isn’t looking too hot either.

Belly and I went, we saw, and then we headed for mom and dad’s. The weekend went off without a hitch. I was able to nap one day and sleep in the next. I was able to hold my tongue mostly most of the time in a very conservative place. I was able to be myself without shame or fear. I was able to take care of myself and my daughter.

I tricked her into this picture when she wouldn’t look up by yelling, “What was that?”

The most surprising thing was how easy it was to take care of myself and Belly. I had to laugh at myself upon reflection because the surprise was on account of me forgetting how much work I have done to be okay. 3 years of sobriety has never been achieved in all my attempts starting in 2009. I have done the work. I have taken the steps. I have failed forward hundreds of times with the only thing going for me is that I never died. I lived to tell, and try again. This time I am succeeding, thriving, really truly living. I am the only one to whom I answer, to whom I am accountable. That used to scared the shit out of me and I didn’t love me enough to show up. Today, that is so far from the truth that I still get to delight in it.

I get to grieve. I get to mess up. I get to show up. I get to “embarrass” my kid. I get to be bored as shit at horse shows. I get to swim with my belly hanging out because a sports bra is the only thing I can wear with the neuralgia. I get to love myself in my obese skin. I get to stay calm and speak kindly to EVERYONE. I get to travel with my kiddo and not worry my wife. I have a wife!

Back to Grandma: I may have put some of this on my family, but I think the result was healing for all. I started talking about homemade ice cream weeks before our visit. Now consider that Grandpa died 5 years ago and Grandma lived with my folks after he died and then the nursing home. So we haven’t made homemade ice cream for years, even before their deaths. But that was something that we used to do on big family weekends, so I had my heart set on it.

My folks have their own hand-crank ice cream freezer. It needs to be soaked in water before we make ice cream to seal up the cracks so the salt water doesn’t leak out. Bags of ice and rock salt must be acquired as well. And I needed them to find Grandma’s recipe, which I had taken for granted that someone had saved. I urged my folks to prepare all the things and I would bring my cranking arm. They delivered and we had a really nice time making 2 freezers, each a gallon, of homemade ice cream.

I’ll tell you right now that it was not as good as grandma’s and I had not one, but two alcoholic scares in making the damn shit. Grandma always mixed up the batch. Always. I often watched, but even when I “helped,” I probably just pored the sugar that she had measured out, whipped eggs that she had already cracked, or did two teaspoons of vanilla. Once everything was set, she would always add a little bit more sugar, and, I think, vanilla. To taste. Her taste. She had it perfected.

My mom delivered with the recipe. I found out that my folks’ freezer was smaller that Grandma and Grandpa’s, so she had a smaller recipe that was proportionately cut down. She also had Grandma’s hand written original recipe. I have no idea where she got it. Mom and I mixed up the first batch and off we went. Kids gathered around the freezer and asked questions about the process. Why the salt? Why the ice? Why are we making this when we can go to the store and buy it?

Mavrik, Wyatt, Isabella, Arabella, Me, and Papa.

The first freezer of ice cream is harder as the ice melts and molds around the freezer inside, but the second batch goes pretty smoothly as the salt water is already melting and super cold. I went into the house to make the second batch. Without thinking at all, I licked the side of the lemon extract bottle after measuring it out. It’s a bad habit that is also strangely a family thing. My mother does it as well. Anywho, lemon extract is 87% alcohol. I was instantly nauseated and full of fear since I take a breathalyzer every night that I have Belly at 8pm. It was about 7:20. I freaked out and put my mouth under the sink and starting rinsing my mouth out and drinking a ton of water.

I grabbed my phone and texted the Calvary, who very quickly let me know that it would not show up on the breathalyzer. My heart was racing. My body temperature was high. I dropped the ice cream mix off into the freezer so the kids could crank and I headed out to my car to grab my BACtrack. I tested the BAC, and the Calvary was right, 0.00. Phew!

The next day, we were sitting around eating the ice cream with Uncle Eugene and Auntie Louise. I mentioned how the ice cream was subpar. My mom says to Louise, that we wouldn’t want to add too much extra vanilla on account me. I was like, why-not-oh-my-god-it’s-raw-and-doesn’t-cook-out, so there is an alcohol content. SECOND FREAKOUT! It never occurred to me. Vanilla is like 17% alcohol. The recipe is two teaspoons in a gallon, so I am good, but again worried about the 8pm breathalyzer. Oof.

In the end, all was well, but it was a great reminder to stay vigilant. I was thrilled to make homemade ice cream in order to honor Grandma Della and Grandpa Duke. We crushed it. We added plenty of new tradition as well. Mom and Dad have been in Ellsworth for like 3 or 4 years and I pray they are there for many more. I will bring my happy little ass without apology as often as I can. Living amends. May we never outlive them.

Me and Mommie: She is the new Matriarch and I absolutely adore her.

I successfully navigated the first weekend in Ellsworth without my all time most favorite person. I achieved self care and brought the kid back alive. We had a really wonderful time. I continue my grief process by walking right into each situation. The definition of courage is taking that action in the face of fear. Today I am safe, sane, sober, and strong. Caterpillar to butterfly. #loveholly

One week anniversary of being Mrs Brownrabbit

First question, did we legally change our names to Brownrabbit? You’re damn right we did. I was Brown and she was Babbit, so we meshed the two and came up with Brownrabbit. Simple. Fun. Iconic. Different. New.

These last two weeks have been such a journey. I laid in bed last night thinking of all the things I wanted to write about. Instead of prewriting this post in me head, I just starting thanking god for all the things that were popping into my head. I can write a gratitude list, let me tell you. One thing leads to another and it turns into a meditation that eases my mind and puts right to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, “it’s a great day to wake up instead of coming to.” This was a quote said at the beginning or end of a share by my dear friend, Gloria, who passed away I guess a couple years ago at this point. Two days ago was her wife’s birthday. Her wife, Belinda, a very dear friend of mine since my first days in recovery, about 2009, passed away this year as well. I happened to still have a rose from her funeral hanging on my dashboard while we were on our minimoon. I released her into the fire. Her death comes in waves when I wish to reach out to her, or, more often these days, think about her kids. Belinda and I had a short talk and I assured her that I and her children were fine. We would be okay and she should just enjoy being a free soul.

Back to my gratitude meditation, let’s start with the fact that I am grateful that I have the right to marry my love. Only since June 26th, 2015, has same sex been federally recognized in the United States. Thanks, Obama. Since I was a baby gay, coming out at 15 or 16 years old, I had been told that gay marriage would not be legalized in my lifetime. Now look at your full grown gay, divorced and remarried! I imagine explaining this to my kiddo when she’s older, telling her that when she was born on March 13, 2015, it was not legal for her mother and I to marry. Since 2 moms is all she has ever known but will be inundated with a heteronormative world, I can just imagine her simply stating how stupid it would have been if her moms weren’t allowed to marry like everyone else on the planet, or something of the like.

I digress because we divorced like so many couples; grateful for that opportunity as well. I would have died in that marriage. And now, 5 years later, give or take, I am one week Mrs Brownrabbit.

But wait, let’s go back one more week. Two weeks ago today on April 16th at 12:25 pm, Della Fern Wachs Ranker passed away at 93 1/2 years. Born November 29th, 1929, this woman saw some things. Before she was 10 years old, the Dust Bowl struck Kansas and then WWII broke out. She would have gone through the Great Depression as well. She grew up on a farm outside of Ellsworth, KS. I wish I knew more about her childhood, but she never complained about it. Hard work. Well into retirement, coffee break was at 10, dinner at noon, coffee break at 3, and supper at 530. Farm time. My dad was born in 1948 as the eldest of 3 boys and he graduated KU in 1970. That puts my grandma at 19 when he was born, in her 20’s in the 50’s, 30’s in the 60’s, and 40’s in the 70’s. By the time I was born in 1979, she and my grandfather were retired, folks. Boom. Done working. At 50ish.

Della Fern Wachs: Confirmation 8th grade

Grandma was second of 5 kids. She still has 3 living siblings! I wonder if she was ever that ornery second born kid. I was also second of 5. I don’t think she ever graduated from high school. Her obituary says different so I could be wrong. I think she started working at the grocery store to help out the family as early as like 13 years old. I think her family had moved into town at that point because she told me that she was scared to walk home from the grocery store at night. I don’t know what her mother or father did after the farm or if they just moved into town but kept the farm. Not sure. I should reach out to my Aunt Nancy and Alice, grandma’s sisters, to get some stories.

Her obit says she kept the books for several different organizations. She was an excellent record keeper in so many ways. She was highly organized from scrap books, to checkbooks, to holidays, letter writing, etc. As I was writing this, another wave of my losses in addiction hit me because I am certain that I lost many of her letters. Grandma and I wrote avidly to each other and I found out later that she did the same with her siblings and who knows who else? I was one of few who could read her handwriting with ease. She was well spoken and wrote well.

I’m sure I knew at some point where her and my grandpa met, maybe a town dance? I think it was after WWII. My grandpa’s mom signed a release for him when he was 16 or 17, to join the navy so he could go into the branch he wanted to go into before getting drafted. So I think he went at 17 and was back at 21. He was born in 1924. It is my understanding that my grandfather worked 3 jobs and my grandmother was a battle axe stay at home mom. I think she ran a pretty tight ship.

She wasn’t my mom though, she was my grandma. She is the one who gave me my first nickname, Holly Dolly. I don’t remember much about my early childhood. We went to Ellsworth for holidays or they would come to Manhattan. They were often at grandparent’s day at school and around for plenty of soccer and tee ball games. They were at First communion, confirmation, and graduation.

First Communion with Grandma Della, Grandpa Duke and Grandma Terry.

Grandma, Grandpa, Erynn, Holly, Paul, Nick. Possibly Easter egg hunting at 701 Elling St in Manhattan, KS. Notice Paul’s Bert and Ernie shirt. That old yeller passed down through all of us.

Grandma’s house was spotless but there was no running in the house because you would “stir up the dirt.” There was significant dirt outside though. My cousin, Sommer, is my age and we grew up when I was in Ellsworth, together. We played in very small warm puddles on the patio that was laid by my grandpa. We made mud pies in the back shed. We made homemade ice cream that was hand cranked and would not freeze, hand to heart, unless one of us sat on it to hold it down for the cranker. Coffee break was at 10 and 3, cookies and milk for the kids. Dinner was at noon. My aunts and uncles would come by for dinner or supper when I was in town.

During the summers I would get to spend a week alone at grandma’s. It was a welcome vacation with cable TV and my choice of dinners. I first fell in love with shells and cheese at grandma’s because we had the Mac and Cheese with the powder at home and she bought the good stuff with the cheese that you squeezed from the package. We played a ton of games, many of which no longer exist like Cooties and Snoopy. There was a significant amount of Play-Doe. Grandma had a “playroom” in the basement. Imagine! A whole room just for play!

That smile though. She loved giving. We prolly each had like 5 presents from grandma and grandpa every Christmas. And that little feller is my cousin, Luke. Hims full grown with a Masters degree in City Planning these days.

Grandma taught me how to play rummy. My family has a strange version that I have never seen elsewhere. It consists of 7 hands, each a different requirement. I learned how to play sitting on my grandma’s lap. Dominoes was another family game. I remember playing cards and opening Christmas presents with my great-grandpa, grandma’s dad. He was very quiet. He lived across the alley from grandma and grandpa and did his own thing well into his 90’s. He had a wood shop in his garage and I still have several pieces he made. They are mostly hideous but grandma displayed them about her house with pride.

Marble game made by great grandpa. One of the few good pieces. What a racket!

They had a massive garden in great grandpa’s yard for a long time and we ate fresh cucumbers in vinegar or half and half, fresh tomatoes with sugar, watermelon, cantaloupe, carrots etc. I wish I had spent more time out there with grandpa, but I was either with Sommer or grandma, always. As they got older, the garden became too much to take care of, great grandpa died, and they sold the house. Great grandpa’s wood shop caved in on itself and sits there to this day. The back shed, where mud pies were made, was rebuilt and we grew up. The raceway for tricycles was replaced with individual stones, but the lawn remained spotless. My grandpa’s signature canas were no longer able to be cared for and were replaced with grandma’s peonies for a time, but then those were too much as well.

Family reunion in 2017, me grandma and her sister, my Aunt Alice.

Grandpa developed Alzheimer’s and once grandma couldn’t care for him, he went to the retirement home in Lyons. He died about 5 years ago in 2017. Grandma stayed in the house till my folks retired to Ellsworth about 3 years ago. She went to live with them until they were unable to care for her. She spent her last couple years in the retirement home that she took us to to visit her mother as kids. She was still quite vibrant until her death. We played cards every time we would go see her. She wasn’t much for conversation. She “didn’t know anything.” So we would tell her what we had been up to lately and then settle in for a game of cards. I would have sat there in silence doing nothing though. Oh how I adored that woman.

Grandma trying to use a smart phone. She never owned a cell phone or a computer.

Covid Thanksgiving. Matriarch. Mom and Dad on the left and my dad’s middle brother Uncle Dwayne and Aunt Geri.

Last trip to Lawrence. She got to see our home and spend the night with my mom.

Her last Christmas (I think). I gave her a giant board of photos for her room at the retirement home. She sat and looked over every photo.

Her second to last day on this earth was incredibly moving. I will write about it another time. And more as it comes up. I love you forever with my whole heart, Della Fern. Ang and I named our kayaks Fern and Irma after a different old lady couple in her family, but mine doubles as a guide of the greatest love I have ever known, you, grandma.

Until next time, Holly Dolly.

Transformations 2023: The Finale

The final Transformations was held this weekend. It was full of emotion for me and many others. I competed in Transformations in 2016.

For those of you who still don’t know what Transformations is, it started as 10 women, then later changed to 10 men, competing as female impersonators, or drag queens, in a pageant style event for the charity of their choice. I competed for DCCCA Women’s Treatment Center. There are an evening gown, talent, and onstage question portions. Each contestant has a consultant who is an active drag queen. The consultants helped with everything from costumes to makeup and wigs to talent.

Me and Miss Priscilla, my consultant. (2016)

For me, and I believe many others, Transformations was an incredibly intense event that led to extreme bonding with those in the same experience. As I attended Transformations over the years, there was an instant connection with those that were fans, audience members, other participants, and other consultants. Many of the contestants bonded deeply with their consultants.

I was among those. Miss Pricilla MC’ed and performed at my wedding reception in July 2016. Another consultant from my year in Transformations altered our wedding dresses. I stay connected with other contestants and consultants via Facebook. It also changed the Kansas City drag scene for me. When I go to Kansas City for a show, I usually personally know at least one of the drag queens performing.

I got 10th out of 10 contestants in 2016. I wouldn’t change a thing.

In 2017 I performed as a backup dancer for two other performers. It was a thrill to be on the stage again. The creator/director of the entire 12 year event is Brandon Eisman and he is a joy to work with. I can only imagine wrangling 10 seasoned drag queens and 10 men and women who may have never performed before in their lives. Not to mention backup dancers, stage crew, friends and family, and Brandon always ran the show as Deja Brooks herself.

After 2016 and 2017, I was always on the lookout for tickets to the event. The event changed from men to women and sells out rapidly. As most of you know 2017 is when I hit a tumultuous time in my life. I missed Transformations 2020 due to relapse. That is something I will never get back and it stings.

Transformations 2021 was a redemption year for me and a living amends to my person, who had bought the previous year’s tickets. 2022 was just gravy. I was emotional the whole night. I was able to bring my kiddo with me and show her the love I and many others had for this gift to the community. Over the course of the 12 years running of this show, Transformations donated over $120,000 to local charities, and, like I said, brought so many people together.

We dressed up, did makeup, went out to eat downtown, and made it a real Lawrence, KS night on the town. From the moment we arrived, Isabella was on the hunt to get her picture taken with the drag queens.

Isabella and Deja Brooks. This moment was spectacular. This red carpet spot was swarming with people. Isabella has attended Reading Rainbow hosted by Deja Brooks for years and was on the lookout for Deja. The moment we saw her and asked for a picture, she took us to the red carpet, dispersed all the people for this one on one shot with Isabella. Then waved her hand and the crowd was back.

Isabella and Daisy Bucket (pronounced bouquet). Daisy hosted a KU drag show in 2015 that I attended with Isabella strapped to my chest.

Baby’s first drag show with Daisy Bucket. (2015)

Isabella and The Whore of ‘84, Genewa Stanwyck. Ang and I are huge fans of Genewa.

For me, in recovery, with moments from my past that have led to broken relationships, there were no less than three people in that audience that I owe amends to. None of those three people are interested in hearing my amends. That is hard. They were once part of a strong tight knit village. I ran into one of them, who was thrilled to see how much Bella had grown. One of the tenants of amends is that we do not cause more harm, so if someone has cut ties with us, we do not force the amends. So it’s something that just sits with you. Well, it’s something that sits with me anyway.

On this final night of Transformations, I was thrilled just to be in attendance, and amazed that I had my beloved and my kiddo by my side. I can be proud of the life I have built and still be sad of the collateral damage that I have caused. For me, the emotions ran the gambit on Saturday night at Transformations 2023, The Finale.