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.

Where do we go from here?

When I started writing at the beginning of the year, I found that I did not have something to say every day. The effects from shingles continue and I started sleeping later. This was self care for me. But then I had gotten out of the habit, lost my built in time, and now things have started piling up.

Where do we go from here? Every time I think of this phrase, I think of the song from Evita. I don’t know who wrote it. Please hold.

Tim Rice, performed by Madonna for the movie Evita, written in 1996, and that’s how long I have been listening to it. The song is about the wife of Juan Perón, Eva Duarte Perón, who gets sick and is no longer useful to him as a politician, yet he stands by her side. She realizes that he loves her for her and not what she can do for him.

Where do we go from here? The song has meant different things to me over the years. I think I used to sing it to myself when I let someone down. These days I sing it to myself when I let myself down.

“Where do we go from here? This isn’t where we intended to be. We had it all. You believed in me. I believed in you. Certainties disappear. What do we do for our dream to survive? How do we keep all our passions alive, as we used to do?”

“Deep in my heart, I’m concealing, things that I’m longing to say. Scared to confess what I’m feeling, frightened you’ll slip away. You must love me.”

Before we get all excited, I want to state how much I love myself these days. So nothing major has happened like it might have in the past. No one drank, no one lost a job, or a car, or custody; nothing like that. I just haven’t been myself lately and I need to start talking about it again.

The first two years of my sobriety, I had a routine where I got up in the morning and read my prayer and meditation books and wrote on them. I decided to try something new this year by writing daily, but then discovered that was quite a challenge. I just didn’t have that much to say. So now I am not journaling, and not writing.

If we add this to life, which continues to happen, I have lost some of my processing power, a tenet of my self care. So I sit here, staring at the blinking cursor, a little dumbfounded, because I do not want to go back to journalling daily just yet, but I don’t want to write BS in my blog, and I need to keep blogging. Processing.

Before complications from shingles, I would read an actual book when not writing. And I really enjoyed the quiet house to myself in the mornings before the world woke up. If I could get back to getting up sooner, I could read, then write when I needed, and publish whenever the hell I want because it’s my blog. Ha!

The morning inspiration, however, appears to be in remission. Where do we go from here?

Self-diagnosed. Reference material, the internet.

No, but seriously.

Coming off my first writing drought of the year so that’s over and done with and we can move on.

Hello, it’s me, shingle girl. Ending week 6ish with some good news: I wore a bra to work two days this week. It hurts like hell to move but the girls are strapped in. Baby steps. Why the hell is everything baby steps?!

Anywho, new person at work says to me, oh I’m sorry you have shingles but you should have seen how sick I got from the vaccine.

‘Scuse me? Worse than like, actual shingles? Wonder how long that lasted? Nice you got it since you are eligible. And other grumbly stuff.

I headed out for lunch hell bent on finding out, on my own (I wasn’t gonna ask her) how damn long she might have been sick from the vaccine vs actual shingles. I decided to ask mother google for just “how long you are ill from the shingles vaccine vs the shingles disease?” Short answer is like a week, but my snark subsided. I got lost in the internets, as one does, and I found this!

“Postherpetic neuralgia (post-hur-PET-ik noo-RAL-juh) is the most common complication of shingles. It causes a burning pain in nerves and skin. The pain lasts long after the rash and blisters of shingles go away.” ~internet

And this: https://www.webmd.com/skin-problems-and-treatments/shingles/understanding-postherpetic-neuralgia-treatment

And this: https://www.healthline.com/health/postherpetic-neuralgia#symptoms

I am not one to search the rabbit hole for reasons why I feel the way I feel or any of the other feels I may be missing or ways to treat it or which celebrity had it last or any of that crap. But since I wasn’t looking for this, I figure it’s legit. I didn’t go out to prove an existing theory.

It hit the nail on the head: burning, stabbing, hurts when anything touches it, etc. New info explained why I still have all these symptoms long after the shingles rash went away. Treatment isn’t much more than time, but the team is gonna double check things for me. Worse case scenario is it lasts forever, but that’s the rare of the rare.

So I wait. And go slow. Keep going slow. Keep taking care of myself. Pray it’s gone before the wedding, that kind of thing. It’s so random, truly. I just had a physical as a follow-up with all the blood works: and guys, I’m fine. Everything in normal range except my weight. But even with the weight, no high blood pressure, no high cholesterol or any of that crap. Healthy as a horse. One of the reasons I got sober, my beloved grandmother is 94 and counting. She’s still got it.

Look at the physical: check. Look at the mental/emotional: Stress seems to be one of the causes of shingles (the one everyone knows, btw). After several people mentioned stress, I took a look at myself. I didn’t want to be missing things that were causing me stress, and manifesting in my body that I was completely unaware of.

We had court. We had thanksgiving. We have a wedding. We now have Bella every other weekend. Work. House. Winter. And what I found in the end, or if this is still the middle, is that it doesn’t matter if it’s stress related or not. I don’t have anything huge hanging over my head. I am present in my life. I suit up and show up for myself, my person, my kiddo, work, friends, family, life. It is also possible that things are a little more difficult than I realize, and admitting that changes nothing. A closer examination hurts nothing. Commitment.

There is this tail chasing in my head like maybe Ang is gonna get sick of me sitting around or not pitching in as much with the house. Or that our intimacy level is suffering. Or that work is going to stop letting me work from home. Or that things are piling up quicker than they are getting checked off. Or, that my mental health is suffering. Maybe the rest is just a cover for my own mental and physical health concerns. It all comes back to me. I am responsible for me. I love me. Commitment.

So I stay aware. Spot check the routine. Prioritize and let shit go. Be kind to myself and my beloved. Ask for help. Light a fire and wait out the winter. Oof. I can actually just sit and wait. Wat.

Empathizing with my own pain

As I lay in bed last night, in pain, starting my sixth week of shingles, something wonderful happened. A god moment, if you will.

I started feeling this strange back pain at Christmas. We were over at some of Angie’s in-laws house and I just could not get comfortable. I was in a dull pain, nothing terrible. I wanted to sit and rest, but couldn’t find a comfy spot. I was tired for no reason.

A day or two later in the shower, I noticed something on my skin. One glance from Ang decided shingles. I went to prompt care, got a prescription, and started working from home.

Two more doctor visits, and hundreds of dollars later, despite insurance, here we sit. The physical rash is all but got. The internal pain remains. My brain protects me in a way that I don’t remember what the last phase felt like. I am really only aware of where I am with the pain.

I am grateful to remember how it all started, so I can be vigilant if I feel that again, but the in-between phases are a blur. The current phase has me googling things like, what does nerve damage feel like? And, what does nerve damage from shingles feel like? I live in a very visual world with computers and emails and gifs. It felt strange to try to find something that probably didn’t have a picture and a meme to go with it.

So last night, when I was laying in bed, feeling this burning stabby internal pain that happens in waves like contractions, this experience pops into my head. When Isabella was very small, probably toddler age, she got some kind of bump on her butt that was causing her a lot of pain. Today I don’t remember what it was, some kind of little infection, maybe kind of like a spider bite. We saw it and she complained about it, so we took her to the doctor.

At the doctor, they were going to drain it or pop it or something. They knew it was going to be painful. She was young enough that they didn’t think she would lay there on her own. I was tasked with laying on my back on the exam table and holding her to my front. I’m laying there, holding her to my chest, telling her everything is going to be okay. When they did whatever they did, her whole body shook like an intense shiver in pain. She yelped out and then started crying.

I held her tighter as she squirmed. I cooed and hushed her and said things like, it’s over now. Or, there there, that’s better. It’s gonna get better now. I held her till she started to calm down. It was a very intense experience as a mother to be that close to my child and feel that kind of raw pain. I was experiencing her pain as well as my own holding her through it. My poor baby.

One of my therapists one time told me to talk to myself as if I were talking to my daughter. I instantly burst out in tears. I was not talking to myself anything like I spoke to my daughter. I would never speak to her the way I spoke to myself.

Last night laying in bed, I dialed in to that feeling as a mother, holding my child on the exam table, only the child I was holding was me. I remembered the shivering intense pain and the ability to hold her tighter and tell her everything was going to be okay. I remembered those words from the therapist. Everything is going to be okay. This can’t last forever. There there. Shhhhh. I know. I know.

I’m so tired of this pain. I went back to the doctor this week for a physical. I have gained weight as a result of my inactivity. I can’t be out and about for long before the pain creeps in more and more. And I haven’t worn a bra since Christmas! I hate it. I miss my frickin’ bras. I am certain that my boobs will sag more after this experience and I don’t want saggy boobs! I have worn a bra my entire life to prevent that before it’s rightful time! Bah! I can’t even have my therapy cat on my chest without pain!

There there. Shhhhh. Everything is going to be okay. I have you. I am holding you. I feel your pain and I will not leave you through it. I will help you take care of yourself. I will speak kindly to you and help you continue to ask for what you need. I will advocate for you at work and be gentle with you at home. I will not call you lazy. I will be patient with your recovery. I will not make excuses for you but help you stand in your truth. I will be frustrated with you but I will not let you lose heart or hope. I will help you cut back on spending to rebuild your financial cushion. I will help you reel in the crazy with the upcoming wedding. Finances, planning, details, and I will help you remember to enjoy the process. I will help you manage the stress, not deny it. I will see you through your recovery process and help you back into an more active life when you are ready. I will hold space for you. You are doing a really good job with something that you have never been through before. I love you with my whole heart.

Pretty sure I fell asleep quite quickly after that.

Let’s talk about Sam Muse

Well we talked about the Badge Man, so let’s talk about the real love of my life, Samuel Muse Brown.

Sam was a gift given more than 10 years ago. For many of you who don’t know the story of my life with cats, I had a cat curse for many years. All during my 20’s I could not keep a cat for more than three years.

In the course of the 20’s I lost maybe close to ten cats! One got into some poison under the sink and died howling in my arms on the way to the vet. One was hit by a car in a parking lot. One was taken from my front yard. One got a blood clot above his back legs and had to be put to sleep. Several were donated to a friend of mine so I could get help for my substance use disorder. In my 20’s I never had a cat that got to age four.

In 2012, Ex-spouse got me a cat as a surprise. I guessed it before she even had a chance to give him to me. She mentioned quite casually, I got you a surprise. The first words out of my mouth were, is it a kitten? She was shocked. Who guesses kitten right out of the gate, she asked. Me. It’s me. At the time, I was living with two mangey dogs.

Sam around 2012-2013 making his needs known.

I am a huge fan of farm cats and ex-spouse had someone at work that had a litter of farm cats. And so Sam came into my life. I named him after my best friend’s child. Upon hearing the name from Facebook, he called and asked directly, did you name your cat after my kid? Yes, yes I did.

Sam has been a rock over the last 11 almost 12 years. He has been fostered twice in the name of recovery. I could not be more grateful to those that cared for him. At one point, he was named an emotional support animal by my therapist and waived of all rent and pet deposits. He’s pretty special.

Our bond is amazing. He truly is the emotional support animal that I have needed and continue to rely on. He is a cat after all, so he does his own thing, but I do not think there is a day that goes by that I don’t find him in my lap once or twice.

He loves the outdoors. He goes outside daily and has most of his life. He absolutely loves the sun and the heat. He will lay outside in the direct sun until the temps reach close to 100° before he moves to the shade. He loves getting dirty. He lays right in the dirt and rolls around scratching his back on the earth. He often comes to the back door covered in dirt or dried grass.

Outside working with mom, filthy and not giving a shit. 2021

Assisting with water removal from the crawl space. 2021

He is a hunter as well. He has presented me with several birds over the years. One particular time at a First Thursday Fellowship Fire, he came around the corner with a live bird in his mouth, only to be scared by one of the guests, lets the bird go, and it goes flying away. We all stood there dumbfounded going, what just happened?

He loves cuddling and sitting in almost anyone’s lap. He loves being outside with us when we have fires. He will wander around the fire and hop into anyone’s lap that has settled in. He’s black and quiet, so hard to see at night under a camp chair by the fire. He has scared the crap out of me more than once by jumping in my lap or rubbing against my leg before I had visual.

Sam has boundary issues and I like to think that I made him that way. He loves laying on heads when we are in bed. He loves getting right up in your face. If it is therapeutic to put your face in cat fur, then Sam should get an award for all the therapy he allows.

Sam has taken his show on the road at least once. Many years ago, ex-spouse worked at a retirement center for mentally disabled adults. She thought his presence would bring them joy, so we strapped him in and took him down to the retirement center. Once he got his bearings, he allowed anyone and everyone to get a pet. At one point he was in the lap of one of the animal lovers and stayed there for some time. She was beside herself with joy.

Unlike most cats, Sam is down for pets. He will fall over on his side and expose his belly if you are around him outside. He allows scratching of the back, and loves anything near the head, neck and shoulders. He lets me pet his belly when he is in our bed and sleeps dotingly at my feet every night.

He is outside with my just chillin’ anytime I am out there.

I cannot believe how long he has been in my life. The only souls in this world that I have spent more time with, are my family of origin in my first 18 years. He’s on his way to outlasting that time as well. What an amazing guy. I love you, Sam Brown.

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.

It was a long show. Someone didn’t quite make it. Transformations wasted.

Joy, laughter, disappointment, chaos, and it’s only Saturday

I picked the moon up at the post office yesterday. Her other mom just shipped her from KCK. It seemed easier than driving.

Pause for laughter.

We actually met to sign paperwork for the moon to get her first passport. I think this could have been done without me, so I was thrilled to be asked. We sat in their little room, her other mom had done all the work of picture and documentation and money order, all the stuff. All I had to do was stand on the side and then sign under both of their names. It was pretty cool. Bella and her other mom have a trip planned later in the year. Traveling was one of the things that brought us together so I am glad that is being shared with our kid. Not that it matters what I think about their time together, it’s none of my concern. It was nice to be included.

We hit the library after that, my shingles doing their back and forth of screaming at me and then going dead silent. Screams. Silence. And so on. There is a quick burning stabbing pain, and then it’s gone and I am fine. Then another quick stabbing pain, and it’s gone. One of these pain moments, I said audibly, ow ow ow! And then it was gone. I maybe did this once or twice more in the library.

When we got back to the car, I did the same thing as I got into my seat, ow ow ow. Almost instantly from the back seat I hear, ow ow ow. I thought the moon was making fun of me. What? What’s happening, I say. She says, my throat hurts. I barely held it together. She cracks me up. Hears it twice and then boom, ow ow ow.

After the library, we headed home for some outside time before it got dark. We had some great fun.

This jump was as high as Belly’s armpits!

Nice distance here.

Different camera view.

We took turns filming the puppers do tricks and I chopped wood while she set up and higher jump and a higher jump. We got good and muddy. The attention and running around was good for Badger as well.

Shoes removed and back in the house, I wanted to test out my new seed mat with some started seeds. Yes, I know it’s still January, but there is no wrong time to play in the dirt. I got out a seed tray from last year and some recycled pots from our failed fern experiment, and we planted leeks, green onions, cat grass, and marigolds.

Ang came home at that time and started dinner. By the time our project was done, it was time to go see some art that Ang had at two Final Friday locations. It was so much fun! We caught a lively show at the America Music Academy right down the street where people were buzzing about, and live music was being played. There was art all over the walls including Ang’s pieces. Bella took an impressive tour around the place spending some good time at several pieces.

The next stop was the Lawrence Art Center where Ang was a contributor in a print exchange called Edible Art. She made a beautiful recreation of a menu from 1867. As part of the project, she will receive a copy of all the other prints that were done so we took some time to see what new art would be in our home. Bella found a few pieces that she thought she might like in her room.

It all seemed so lovely. What transpired after that is unknown to me. We returned home, got ready for bed, someone announced she was hungry since she rarely eats what we do. I suggested she make some toast since I was done with dinner for the night, so I settled in at the kitchen table to read a chapter from our book while she ate her toast. It was way past all our bedtimes at this point. She wanted to call her mom to say goodnight, and just as I was about to go to bed I hear, I want to go home.

‘Scuse me? It’s 10pm and this a’int our first rodeo. She had spoken with her mom and wanted to go home. Pretty dead set. I ask what happened on the phone and she stated nothing, but that she doesn’t get enough time with her mom, she missed her, and she wanted to sleep with her. I had a nice calm inquisitive nature about me while silently rolling my eyes out of my head.

We talked some more about time with her other mom, and time with us, and logistics of the rest of the weekend. She remained set. Her other mom said she will come get her. I am right in the middle between oh hell no and how important is it? For every definitive parenting decision I make, there have got to be ten questions that go unanswered. I want to err on the side of kindness and love and grace. I also don’t want to raise a spoiled entitled ass. I also know that what little control I have, it only exists when she is physically with me. That’s what, like 72 hours every other week including sleep time. Roughly 48 hours of awake time every other week.

I want her to feel supported. I want her to know she has a voice. I want her to feel heard. I want her to advocate for herself. All the things. I also was not driving to Kansas City at 10pm.

Once I said yes and let her other other mother know, we both turned our phones on and laid down. I don’t know if she would have fallen asleep without the yes. But once she got it, she fell fast asleep. As did I. By the time her phone rang, we were both in dreamland. But she got up and went home.

I didn’t want to make a huge deal of it. We arranged to pick her up at the place where her horse is kept the next day. I didn’t personalize. I observed. I don’t want to make a habit of this malarkey. This was the first time this had happened. Time will tell.

She came back the next day and we continued our amazing weekend. More to come on that.

Love,

Holly

Real time graph of my recovery from shingles, or my cold, or addiction

Let’s add a nice phlegmy cold to the shingles and see how it changes the numbers. I don’t know why I thought my recovery from these blasted shingles would be linear. I adore linear for about 75% of my world and the above graph for the other 25%. Since I like to control things, I’d like to choose the 25%.

But I started feeling better! I chopped wood! I tried going back to work and then found a great excuse to quickly get the hell out of there. I got so frustrated that I actually did the math to calculate how long till my retirement. Spoiler alert: it is not close.

I know that I will do myself no good if I stress about recovery or missing work or working from home or my participation level at home or how well I am performing as a mother or looking towards upcoming events.

I was just thinking this morning, how can I wrangle my boobs for Transformations so I am comfortable and still look nice. I want to make a big deal of this last Transformations but anything more than a T-Shirt is painful and, at best, very uncomfortable without a bra. I also tried a bra on Monday and it was a hard pass. Gen Xers don’t freeball.

The very last Transformations is coming up this weekend. We have the moon and I want to take her out and show her a lovely Lawrence, KS evening. I want to do makeup and all that girly stuff that she loves. I have pictures of me in jeans and a hoodie as well as a nice dress from past Transformations.

It all just makes me tired and anxious. I hate anxiety! I’m sure anxiety loves that.

It feels like I have been sick forever. I added a cold to this ball of awesome this past weekend. What is my body trying to tell me? How can I better serve myself? What is it that I need in this moment? Use your training, Holly.

A quick google search on recovering from shingles only tells me to steer clear of people as long as I have open wounds. I have not had open wounds for a month. I still cannot move without pain, cannot wear my trusty over the shoulder bolder holder, and don’t know if I am supposed to ignore the pain and press on or rest. I am frustrated. I am tired. I am grumpy and worn down. And I am sick of all those things as well.

The new routine with the moon lends itself to less down time. I am so grateful to my person who has been taking art classes and exercise classes and generally doing her own thing. She has been taking care of her while shingles and joint custody have taken my time. It’s very inspiring to watch. I am so grateful that we have built this life together. It is, and I pray it will always be, the backbone. If my recovery is my foundation, then this life with my person is the ground level, the cornerstone.

Thanks to all who continue to show up in physical life, digital life, spiritual life, and mental and emotional life. I dig you all. Love, Holly.

How to Talk to Your Friends, in addition to texting.

Author’s note: this is the latest communication I am sending to a friend. I am putting a digital stamp on this one because I think she will be tickled to be contributing to this blog.

Double note: THIS DOES NOT WORK IF YOUR ONLY COMMUNICATIONS ARE TEXT. Get out your pencil and a stamp.

I am a little old school when it comes to formal communication. Let’s put it this way, last year, I ordered something like 500 or 1000 thank you cards in bulk from Amazon. You get the idea. It’s not the damn card, it’s what is inside.

Dear Goddess,

Thank you for your latest communication. This may or may not have been your intent, but I could not get the glitter off my fingers for the rest of the day after reading your card. It was beautiful.

It was nothing compared to your words. Why are you so good to me? You know I love that support and I pray that I give it as good as I get it. I’m so glad you love the blog. I am thrilled to make it a part of my new morning routine. Almost one month in, and I feel like I am more in touch with myself. Luckily, I love writing, so the outcomes were not planned, as it should be. It’s been fun just to see where this goes. No destination, just the journey.

If I haven’t already, I’d like also thank you for the Christmas card. It gives me such joy to see you and your person’s joyful faces on our Christmas card wall. We put all the cards up over the walkway from our kitchen to our front room, so I see your joy every day. One new thing that we did this year was put our own Christmas card on the wall. It’s such a great reminder to love myself with all the others who send their love.

I also want to thank you for the wedding present. How did you even find the registry? Ang and I were just figuring out how to put one together at the request of another guest that can’t attend, and here comes this giant box on our porch. We were baffled for several moments. It added extra joy to the gift itself.

We opened it with Isabella and placed it in her room for the time being. She has been using the mirror that goes with the dresser in her room which is currently on the floor. I can’t find the darn hardware for it! And who wouldn’t love a full length mirror in their room but a stylish 7 year old? I watched her fix her hair in it Tuesday morning before school. Such precision.

I am so grateful for our friendship. It feels like it continues to grow despite our physical distance. Speaking of growing, thank you for continuously sharing your journey with me. It has been an absolute pleasure to watch you grow and flourish. I follow you on the social media as well. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see you so happy.

What I know is that, like so many of us, this has taken work. Not only have you put in the work, but you have been open and honest about it, and shared what worked for you. I have been privy to the lengths you have gone to find yourself. I know from experience that you didn’t find the love of your life until you found the love of your life in yourself. Sometimes I wonder if people who have not experienced lows like us really know what the highs feel like.

Anyway, thanks for being a part of this morning and unknowingly contributing to this blog. If I know you, I think you will be tickled. I shall close and continue with my morning routine. I am finishing “Quit like a woman.” The book that you gave me last year, “How to do the Work,” is actually going to get read with this new routine. I’ll let you know how it contributes to my life, since it helped you.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you. I love you.

Holls

Do you think dogs get frustrated that they can’t tell us what they need?

I’m sitting here staring at the Honey-eyed Noodle Boy. He’s just checking me out before he settles down in his big fluffy bed by the fire. Does he need anything?

Dogs (and cats for that matter) instinctively take care of their own needs. They drink when they are thirsty and poop when they need to poop. But what if I forgot to fill the water bowl? Badger wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think he would go to the water bowl and start pushing it around. I mean I don’t really know because I don’t think the water bowl has ever been empty. But if it were, and for a significant time, he could die.

Dial it down a bit from needs to wants. Do you think he gets frustrated that he can’t tell me that he doesn’t get walked enough. “Mom, I would really appreciate it if you changed your routine a little and took me for a short walk every day. Even a short walk would be so awesome. It would really contribute to the quality of my life.”

Or, “I favor the rope toys. They make the day so interesting trying to untie those knots.”

Or, “Like if it isn’t too much trouble, that one bone you got that one time, oh I loved that. I chewed on it for hours while you worked.”

Or “I’d rather stay inside if it’s below 50 degrees. I can’t get warm if the sun isn’t out.”

How do we know what they need? How do they tell us? Does he get bored as shit when we leave him in the kennel for 4 or 8 hours? Is that tortuous for him or does he just chill?

Badger is such a good boy that he just does what we tell him. If I say, kennel up, he does it. He doesn’t throw a fit or whine. I know that he doesn’t like sirens, he loves chasing squirrels, he loves it when I come outside and chase him around threatening to steal his toy. I like to think we bring each other joy.

Playtime in the yard.

He is very affectionate but also good with boundaries. He does not lick mine or Angie’s faces but he will lick a face if you let him. He stops every morning when I let him out of the kennel for a hug and some pets before he goes to the door for his morning pee.

He is very receptive to “good boy” and “bad dog.” It’s hilarious. He does naughty things at times, like eat the cat food or get on the front room couch when we are gone, or dig holes in the yard. But if you show him the cat food dish or the hole and ask him, “What did you do? Or “What is this?,” he will cower and walk away while still eyeing you for the okay that he’s not in trouble any more. We never yell. We speak to him in a normal voice when asking him not to bark or “What is this hole in the yard?”

He’s innocent, ornery, smart, and a moron all at the same beautiful time. He’s my boy.

Bella, “I wonder if I have kissed Badger more than you have kissed Angie.”

He only poops in the edges of the yard where we don’t walk. He has never pooped or peed in the house. He has anxiety when we leave him at other people’s houses. Or even if he has to stay outside at a house that we are at. Maybe separation anxiety or fear of being left behind? We got him when he was about a year. I am not sure what he went through in that first year nor the impression levels of dogs in infancy or adolescence.

He does not bark. Hardly at all. If he does bark, he stops when you say, no bark. The only exception being if there is a possum in the yard. He doesn’t bark when the doorbell rings or someone new comes to the house. He is shy when he meets a new person, especially men, especially with hats on.

He is higher maintenance than Sam by far. He has bigger feels than Sam. Sam is fine just fine on his own for days at a time. Sam usually comes for affection at least once or twice a day, Badger could have it constantly. He’s usually underfoot following one of us around. He goes nuts when one of his favorite people arrive, like Bella or Atticus. But his version of nuts is wagging his tail right off and squirming to get close when Bella is trying to take off her coat.

Sam all out yells at you if his food bowl goes empty but Badger eats twice a day and never goes to his food bowl to ask for food or anything like that. He will take a treat or food scraps at any given moment though. 4

It is no secret that I am not a huge fan of dogs. I am a cat person through and through. I never met a cat I didn’t love. I have never loved another cat more than my Sam cat. Badger has changed my opinion of dogs, but mostly it’s just him. I have become one of those dog moms like the kid moms who still really don’t like kids, but they love their kid.

Sam and Badger are both very good pets and contribute greatly to our quality of life. I just hope that I am doing them both as much justice and love as they do me.