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safe, loved and informed

The days blur, one into another, just as much now that I have a lot of work to do as they did when I had none. They all begin the same, up at five am…ish, coffee and a brief read through of social media, then laptop booted up. That is where I stay for between ten and fourteen hours of my day, well, I do switch between laptops, depending on which work I have to work on, but pretty much it’s all the same.

I have to say, I am so tired y’all. It isn’t the work. I’m grateful to have something to do. I’m just tired. World-weary is a good phrase for it. This world right now is exhausting, and no amount of sleep is going to fix it.

Maybe we’ve been sleeping too long and it’s time to wake up.

I’ve been watching a lot of documentaries about American history this week while I work. I’ve been very focused on the American Revolution and the Civil War. I’ve learned about a lot of people and battles I had never heard of before. Our history has been so whitewashed here in the US.

Add in some documentaries about black and brown folks, produced by black and brown folks, and I’m just so tired of this world. I can’t imagine how much worse it is for those not born to the privilege of this white skin that encases me.

We need to do better, people. We need to be better.

And as we barrel forward into the uncertainty of this virus infested world, with cases spiking, and deaths to certainly follow, we need to be kind. We need to be informed. We need to vow to care not only for ourselves, but for our fellow human beings. We need to demand the government do the same.

Hoping that you are safe, loved and informed, Readers. Safe, loved and informed.

Cover Photo by Abbie Bernet on Unsplash

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happy spring?

It’s another rainy, rainy day here in San Francisco.  Just walking from BART to the office has my legs soaked from the knees down.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the rain, and gods know we needed it, but after a solid month of the stuff, I find myself craving the sun.  My cats are also completely over the rain.  This morning, instead of getting up with me, they sat on the bed staring at the pet door.

The streets are turning into rivers and the ground everywhere is just saturated.  I am sure all of the plants are thrilled that we have escaped drought status, but I think I am quite over the rain at this point.

Enough of that, however.  Today is Ostara on the Pagan calendar, the spring equinox.  Today is the tipping point that dumps us out of winter and onward toward summer.  From here out the days start to get longer, at least until midsummer.

It is a time to plant intentions, to begin new things.  Get those seeds in some dirt and let’s grow something profound!

Of course, it’s also Wednesday, so here I am in the office like a good worker drone.  Lots to do, coffee to consume, etc, etc…

How about you, Readers?  What are you looking to grow this season?

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telling stories

When I was still in high school, someone from the church we were attending found an old typewriter and had it cleaned up and repaired and I found it under my Christmas tree.  We were barely making ends meet, and with little money left over for gifts, my mother had reached out to the church for help.

I had a head full of stories, it seems that has always been true.  And suddenly I had a way, beyond my terrible handwriting, to tell them.  It was an amazing gift, one that likely changed my life.

I wrote my first “novel” by hand when I was thirteen or fourteen.  It was truly awful, and a rip off of every science fiction movie or book I had read. But, it started something in me.  My friends read the hand written words and clamored for more.  The sequel to that first awful book was the first thing I wrote on that typewriter.

I’ll admit, it was a heady feeling to be met at the school doors before homeroom by four or five people wanting to get the next ten pages.

I learned a lot through that experience.  I learned to translate my thought processes differently.  I learned about plot development and foreshadowing.  I learned the joy of having readers who loved my work, even when I broke their hearts.

None of the novel length stories I banged out on that typewriter were any good, but that didn’t matter.  I was a writer, and that, as it turns out, wouldn’t change even as I aged.  I am quite a few years past that Christmas and those stories.  My head is still filled with plots and characters and words.  I still work at putting them down on the page, though my paper is now digital.

Best Christmas present ever?  Maybe so.  It gave me so much more than just a tool.  It gave me confidence, joy…it sparked a passion that still burns inside of me today.

The rain is really coming down outside my window, and the wind is howling on this cold Wednesday afternoon.  I think a cup of coffee is in order, and a start to the work day.  I hope you are all safe and warm, Readers.  Fill your day with kindness, and reap the joy it brings.

 

Photo by Camille Orgel on Unsplash

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the thanksgiving problem

We live in an age of new understanding of old traditions and previously accepted history.  I doubt that there are many Americans who haven’t at least heard that there is a problem with what we think we know about the beginnings of our country, or that the first “thanksgiving” was not what we learned it was in grade school.

Yet, tradition and images that we all learned in those classes persist, and tomorrow much of the country will have the day off of work to gather, happily or not, with family we only ever see at this sort of holiday dinner and engage in the very American past-time of overeating while at the same time body shaming one another and dancing around politics and dark family secrets.

The Thanksgiving problem is multi-layered, really, beginning all the way back when white people first arrived on these shores.  There are people better educated than I am who can explain all the problems with that better than I can, but if I can offer my understanding in short:  There’s the fact that a bunch of white people just assumed the land they wanted was their’s for the taking, the idea that they did so woefully unprepared for what that land would require of them, the notion that we turned the natives into the enemy because they were different, the traditional idea of “good Indians” who helped those white people survive and “bad Indians” who were savages that would kill for no reason…And I’m sure a lot more.

There is the toxic demand for families who live separate lives for a reason, to come together and steep in a day heated by disgust, anger, forced affectation of affection, the stress of getting the food on the table, etc.  This is something I try to help young LGBTQ folks understand,  that they really do not have to submit themselves to that for the sake of a national holiday based on a lot of really bad history and colonialism.

No one should have to spend a day with those who at best despise them and at worst want them dead.  No one should have to pretend to be someone that they aren’t to keep the peace at the dinner table.

We could also talk about the toxic combination of food waste, gluttony, body shaming and the double edged standard that surrounds meals like this.  If a fat person carefully prepares a plate with a healthy portion of healthy foods, they get asked “Is that all you’re going to eat?  Look at all this food we made.”  If a fat person tosses the concept of healthy eating out the window, they get told, “See, that’s why you’re so fat. You need to control what you eat.”  On the other hand, a skinny person eats twice their weight in food and half of a pumpkin pie, and are asked “Where do you put it all?”

Still, as problematic as Thanksgiving can be, there is also something to be said to find ways to reclaim it, remake it.  You can see some of that in the trend toward “Friendsgiving,” where those who have no families, their families are distant or whose families are as good as poison chose instead to come together for a communal meal.  These are the places where LGBTQ get to create family out of supportive friends, allies, and peers.

We can also work at chipping away at those images and traditions that are not actually based in reality and giving voices to those our colonialism, which began in Plymouth, marginalized, abused and murdered.  If we can find a way to morph Thanksgiving from a holiday that celebrates that false history, and start to use it as a means to celebrate the actual humanity of those who are a part of the fabric of our country, meaning the Indigenous people, people of color, women, transgender people, gay and lesbian people, fat people, skinny people, those in between, geeks, nerds, Pagans, Muslims, Jews, Sikhs, and atheists, etc, then maybe we can reclaim it and make it a truly American holiday.

 

 

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november 11

I’m a big fan of remembering our past to keep us from repeating our mistakes, and the keeping of armistice day is particularly important to my mind.  When we look back at human history and the loss of human life that came from both World Wars, and war in general, it’s hard to comprehend any justification sufficient enough to bring us to the brink of such violence again.

And yet, I look at the world around me and it saddens me to see how close we are today to a violent clashing between world powers, and how much destruction it could bring us today.  As a species we seem to have excelled in the technology to destroy ourselves, perfected it in a manner of speaking.  Today we have the power to end life on this earth over the minor, trifling disputes that seem all together important, important enough to demonize and otherize those not like us, those who believe differently or look different or whatever reason we might give.

Even just within the country I call home, I have never in my life seen us so divided, so willing to level blame and accusations without consideration, even without fact in many cases.  Our technology allows us to spread lies as if they are truth in a heartbeat around the world.  It provides us glimpses of who people are when they are presenting their worst side, but never when their better selves are on display.

I sometimes feel as if war is inevitable now.  As if we are about to toss all of the lessons of years past, disregard the humanity of the “other side” and fall headlong into a bloody, terrible conflict that will not end until we have once again grown weary of the bloodshed.

But, sometimes, there is hope.  Sometimes someone reminds me that humanity is not yet lost.  Sometimes we put down our guns and our flags and our pride to remember what has gone before.

Now, if only we could vow to keep that peace beyond a single holiday.

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I voted!

(This Wednesday post on Tuesday is brought to you by Election Day)

It was a wonderful thing waking up this morning to see all of the “I voted” stickers on my Facebook feed.  I always vote by mail, in part due to my agoraphobia, so my ballot went out well over a week ago.

Mid-term elections are known for a low voter turn out, but already it seems that this year will be different.  When less than half of eligible voters actually cast their vote, and so many districts face active voter suppression (I’m looking at you North Dakota and Southern states), our government is decided by that small group of people who actually make it to the polls to vote.

With a country that seems so divided, every voice counts more than ever!  Right now the far-right and the far-left are the only voices at the table, because they’re the ones who voted in the last election.  It’s time to shake off the lethargy of the middle and get out there, make your voice heard.

In most places, Uber and Lyft are offering free/discounted rides to polling places, and some areas have sponsored “I’ll take you” systems where calling a central number will get a neighbor to pick you up and take you to vote.

I’ll ask only one thing of you as you set out to perform this serious civic duty: vote with Kindness.  If the option is between hurting your fellow human beings and helping them, choose helping.  If the option is between taking rights away and letting the equality promised in our founding documents proceed unhindered, choose the latter.

Have a good election day, Readers!  Make your voice heard.

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samhain and the dead

As I am writing this, I am looking at tomorrow’s holiday with a new perspective of sorts.  I’ve always loved Halloween, from my earliest memory.  It was a fun holiday, a chance to become something besides your self, and of course, there was all the candy!

As a new Pagan many years ago it took on new meaning.  I celebrated Samhain as I imagine a lot of new Pagans do.  I did a little research, I borrowed traditions from paths that seemed to get it right, and I threw myself into celebrating this holiday of the dead.

But what I didn’t really have, or understand, was any real connections to my “beloved dead” or my “ancestors”…I never really had a strong sense of family connections beyond my immediate family and they’re immediate family (mother, father, siblings…aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents).  I had never known my mother’s father and at the time I chose my Pagan path, the only people in my life who had died were my father’s mother and a childhood friend.

Still, I had a strong draw toward honoring the dead.  My love of old cemeteries also goes back to my childhood and my interest in the spirit world was part of what drew me to Paganism to begin with.

Over the last few years, my religious path has changed some…nothing drastic, but if your faith doesn’t grow with you as you grow then your faith can die.  I found myself digging into my family tree, into the history of me as it were, and discovered a feeling of connection with several ancestors that I had never known.

Two years ago, I attended a class in bone reading as divination.  It had a strong emphasis on calling on the beloved dead to assist.  It was after that class that I set up a small altar with pictures of those ancestors, and in the two years since I have added images of those who have passed more recently, not necessarily family of my blood, but family of my heart.

This Samhain, after I go to work in my Raven costume, I will spend an evening in quiet contemplation and while I can’t really have a bonfire like I’d like, I will light as many candles as I deem safe and invite those beloved dead to visit.  I may even throw some bones and see if they speak to me.

Whether you celebrate Halloween, Samhain or Dia de los Muertos, may your day be filled with blessings and sweet things.