Remembering Nancy

 

If you don't know Nancy, she's my step-grandmother, better known in the grandkid circle as Nannan. She held the honor of being the last grandma I had left. I didn't grow up with her, but we became family when I was a teen. She's been instrumental in my successes for many reasons. I didn't really comprehend how highly she thought of me until I was older. I'll share some memories so you can get to know her, too. 

Summer with Nan: Peaches, peaches, peaches. 

I'd occasionally spend some time in Grand Junction over my summer breaks. If you know much about her, you know she loved peaches. It was always a treat to have dinner out on their back patio--grilled steak, fresh corn on the cob, iced tea, and fresh peaches for dessert. They had a magical yard full of flowers and birds and critters, and I enjoyed time with their inside critters as well. Many pets ago, Sophie the fluffy orange cat and I were fast friends. Their dog also enjoyed summer walks and extra pets. I once got a letter from Nancy when I returned home, where she said one of the pets was "in seventh heaven," and my mother kindly explained that it did NOT mean one of them had died, but it was just that they enjoyed the extra attention while I was there. One of my favorite movies as a kid was All Dogs Go to Heaven, but I thought maybe it had a special number; I didn't know the phrase. I was not keen on the western slope summer heat, but the trip where she was watching the neighbor's house, and I got to enjoy the pool all to myself, I was the one in summer seventh heaven. 

We spent an afternoon once (though I'm not 100% sure it was in the summer) making Whoopie Pies. Those became a big favorite of mine. I could never quite duplicate it, but I do still have her handwritten recipe. My absolute favorite thing she made was her Christmas cookies. I was skeptical at first, as a connoisseur of thick sugar cookies with a hearty amount of frosting. Hers were paper-thin with delicate decorating sugar, and the snowmen had little redhots for noses. She mailed them a couple of times and was always worried they would break, but I always ate the broken ones first, as cookie law requires, and I'd save the snowmen for last. Maybe I didn't care for biting their little heads off? The process was arduous, and I've never even attempted it. I don't think I have the patience. She didn't make them often as she got older and there were fewer big Christmas gatherings but I think of them every year. Maybe someday I'll give them a try. I might have that recipe somewhere as well. I've never had a cookie like it. They have a potato chip quality, in that you just want to keep eating them for the satisfying sweet crunch. 

She enjoyed a shopping trip and liked to treat me to some nice clothes or things for school now and then. She was a girl's grandma, for sure! She enjoyed pretty and colorful things. From flowers and birds to fashion and bags. She always found treasures and trinkets, usually something I'd never seen before. She and my husband have very similar tastes in jewelry, actually. I hope she'd approve that many of the items she's gifted me over the years now live in his collection. He wears them much more than I did, so they get to be on display as they deserve.  

The last time I saw her was when I graduated with my master's degree in Education in 2023. She was slowing down a bit and appeared more fragile than I remembered, but was still thrilled to be there. There was no question that she was coming to celebrate with us. I didn't do the big graduation thing when I got my bachelor's degree, and she was very excited that I chose to continue my education. She knew it was always a struggle for me. It was with her support that I was able to attend the high school that I did; if you don't know about that, it's one of the most significant reasons I...am. She saw me through from start to finish and was cheering me on the whole way. If I didn't go to that school, I think it is highly unlikely I would be where I am now, and I would not have an advanced degree in Education. 

Nancy was generous beyond measure, and she believed in me at every turn. She always liked getting letters and she always wrote back. That was most of our communication over the years. Even though we didn't have the same relationship as I did with my day-one grandmas and were very different, she always treated me like I was important. We should all be so lucky to have someone like that in our lives. 

So, go do something Nan might do. Write a letter, wear your favorite colors, sit and watch the birds, make some cookies, get a unique little trinket for someone you love, enjoy a fresh peach (when we get to again), and make sure the people you think are important know that. 

The Rest of the Story: 2025 ✨

 What a weird time that was. 

I'm not sure if anyone was entirely immune to the "wtf" nature of this last year but there are always points of joy amongst the muck. 

The year started off losing my grandpa Harold; you can read about him in an earlier post. I don't know what happened in February and much of March. I'm sure I was there. 

April was when things really changed. If you don't know the story, this is the short version (though it may not seem it). After numerous last straws in Hays, America (that'll be a whole post on it's own some day) the final boss straw came up. 

After trying out every opportunity afforded by our rural hamlet, Jason thought he'd try one last time and apply to bag pick up orders at Dillons. Get some steps in, chat with the shoppers, no big deal. Upon his SECOND visit, this is important to remember, the interviewer mentioned that they "have a policy" and he'd have to "cover his tattoos", while gesturing to her face (with her tattooed arm). He asked if they'd like him to come in with a mask on or a bag over his head. It was too absurd to not be somewhat humorous (they didn't notice the first visit?) but also too stupid to be tolerable. Multiple cashiers have visible tattoos, even facial tattoos. It was a puzzling situation to say the least, with much that came before, but it felt like the last exit to somewhere. We had the discussion we'd had many times of "what now" and on Sunday night, our eve of our 10th wedding anniversary, I told Jason to call someone and see what we could get from our house as a start to an exit strategy. On Monday, we had a number and an interested party. On Tuesday, April 1st, we sold our house to some awesome youngins that thought "it was the coolest house they'd ever seen". Then the true madness began. 

If you noticed that our "strategy" above did not include anywhere for us to live, you'd be correct. It wasn't until after we signed the paperwork to sell our Hays house that we had a moment to figure out the rest of that strategy. We'd considered for many years getting back to Colorado but since I had not found a job paying, at minimum, twice what I made then, it wasn't even an option. That was the case for many places, as most people know. We had a list of basic parameters for where we preferred to be and Jason put those into ChatGPT and asked for some cities that met those expectations. It came up with Peoria, IL. I checked it out and it's got downsides but it checked most of our boxes. It's also important to remember neither of us have stepped foot in Illinois to any real extent. 

Jason found a house he was interested in on the old Zillow. I thought it looked interesting--it was old, it had big porch pillars, it was central to town, all pretty good on paper and very affordable. We contacted someone, we got a virtual tour via video call, and we started the process to buy it that week. The house is another drama all in itself (lots of undisclosed details and thousands of dollars of unexpected work) but that's the one we bought and we're making the best of it. It has much potential and is slow going but it's going. That left us with the next obstacle of me having a job in Kansas and a house in Illinois. 

We got the Hays house fixed up with much help, we got Jason and the (absolutely furious) kitties transferred to Illinois with much help, and I was able to spend most of the fall semester with my beloved Nuggets in Kansas thanks to my family giving me a place to live during the transition, and a conveniently placed bestie who was kind enough to host me on my ocassional "commute". After much longer than expected, but I believe in the time it was meant to take, I was offered a student support position at Bradley University just a few minutes down the road from my house. 8 months of uncertainty, exhaustion, and stress but with it came lots of support. I could write pages on what happened during that time, but that's enough for now. 

[If you want to read my Farewell to the Fort, you can find that on the HC blog.] 

Unfortunately, I also lost a great-uncle in the summer and another grandparent right at the end of the year (she'll have a post soon, too). It was a year of big changes and we're very lucky to be able to make those changes but when you move on to something new you're leaving something else. While we were excited about the new opportunities and getting to be somewhere that suited us better, there was a lot of loss and grief coming in many forms. We all know the world was WEIRD and most of us know why but there's so much uncertainly there that it's hard to keep from wallowing in that, especially when the rest of your life is kinda weird too. 

I've been HOME home for a month and I've finally been able to start feeling like I live here. My husband is glad for a break from his own cooking. My cats might finally be convinced that I'm here to stay. We've been able to explore the city a little more and are spending time with the Unitarian Universalist community and meeting some cool people there. (I don't feel like saying I go to "church" sounds appropriate but they call it that.) We both miss some of what we left behind but the silver lining of knowing people in higher ed is that many of them don't stay in one place for long. They're on the move and now we are the people they can visit south of Chicago, and they are scattered all about the country for us to visit. It's harder to stay in touch but we make the effort because we know people worth the effort. 

My new job is going well and the new boss is excited to have fresh eyes on their process. I think I can be of use here and I'm pleased I get to continue doing student support, even if it looks quite different than it did before. If I haven't mentioned it--the mascot is a gargoyle named Kaboom and it's one of my favorite things. Out with the black and gold, in with the red. One of their taglines is: Whatever you do, BE YOU. 

While I could write chapters more, these are the big plot points to catch you up. So, what have you been up to? 

If you know the saying....we'll see if it plays in Peoria...

Did I mention we live 5 minutes from the Illinois River? 

The Ones Outside

The ones outside are always there. The barrier is like a snow globe. The ones outside don’t know what it’s like on the inside. They spy a little spark inside, imagine a possible peace. What’s it like in there? Is it cold, is it just right? Is the snow real? Is there any way in?

Us out here, we’re like ghosts that can bump into each other. We’re comfortably numb on the good days. Ethereal and magical, and not to be confined to what makes sense. Not meant to cross the barrier where the ones inside move about. When we get too close, oh it squeezes and squeezes until we might burst. We forget we can't cross. We move toward the spark--it whispers so familiar, there is a little breeze of joy, but then the squeeze comes and life flashes before our eyes in hot stabbing pains. Our breath is taken away like a punishment, only returned when we think it will never come.

Sometimes the ones inside might see us out here. They know we're here, they can feel it, they see a shimmer. They know we peer in and they wonder why we're not in where they are. But surely if you belonged in, you’d already be. Yes, there is an order to things! If you are the ones outside that's where you should be. If you came in, things would be...uncomfortable.

What none of them know is that the outside is where the light comes from. The ghosts remain at the barrier making sure the spark doesn’t die, all the while those in never know the spark comes from out. They don't know they can move the barrier, the ones inside. If they moved the barrier the light would be so bright it would be hard to comprehend and it would overflow into a harmonious swirl of inside and outside.

But they don't know.

The ones outside fade, we try to help the others but we feel the sting of the barrier and the fade passes unnoticed. Once we see the fade, it's too late. Once they diminish we can send them gently into the nothing and the others make the spark remain. Sometimes during the fade they'll foolishly try to burst through the barrier. The pain is immense. The ones inside, they see it happening but they don't know the barrier causes pain. They see a flutter and then it's gone. They think it must just be what it's like outside. Outside we know it's one final desperate plea, one agonized scream to be with the ones inside, be reunited with the light that is ours.

We are simply blades of grass. No one notices a single blade removed. It's only when all are gone that the ones inside will notice what's missing. Why do we remain? Why do we tend the spark? Is it a duty, an instinct, a curse? It's the only way to be near it. Seeing the spark gives enough false hope that the ones outside remain, just in case one day the ones inside discover they can remove the barrier, remove the pain, rejoin and rejoice with their other halves. Before the barrier we were one, each with our own light to share.

Soon, the ones outside will no longer be seen but they will be locked to the inside light, with no will of their own, the light no longer full, the ones inside in a fury. An unintended trap of no one's making that will bring the end of all things...but they don't know until the end. The barrier will never move, the ones will never reunite, the light will never be full, and harmony cannot be any other way. We all become the ones of the nothing. Perhaps...if we're lucky and hopeful, a new light will come when we're gone but together.

Have a pizza party

 As we all may be familiar the pizza party is often used as a tool to boost morale by those who enjoy our labor without adequate financial compensation. This is a temporary high. In that setting, it's a meal not morale. 

HOWEVER the pizza party has a very important role when it's not being used as a tool of capitalism to mimic joy and fulfillment. Every birthday as a kid required a pizza party, every cool day at school was a pizza party, some of us even earned pizza by reading books back in the day. We should probably bring that back, honestly. My first lunch date with my bestie of 20 years was pizza. I still have a hand-written recipe card from 7th or 8th grade home ec where we learned to make pizza crust. Why is it so relevant? Is it just me? 

My birthday at Chuck E. Cheese

You can still get me to do something by using pizza as a reward. Maybe the 1980s and '90s marketing was THAT good that it's simply ingrained in some of us that pizza=reward, but it's still sort of seen as a food of celebration. It's more festive than other foods. I don't make the rules. 

Yesterday we hosted some dear friends and their young children in our chaotic cat-filled house for an impromptu pizza party. It was proposed just a few short hours before with people who usually have to do a combination of voodoo, prayer, and calculus to find ways to spend time together because of busy schedules and life obligations. But on this auspicious day, we all had pizza together. Jason got to share some of his very cool toys, I got to share a new wine I'd wanted to try, we got to catch up, we got to share our goodwill amongst people worth sharing it with and WOW DO WE NEED MORE OF THAT.

Many of us are guilty of being "too busy", and rightfully so. The world is very demanding of us and we've really forgotten how to get in touch with a friend and just be together without having to make appointments. When I was a kid we'd ride our bike over and see who was home, or we'd call and ask if they could come over, we'd write notes between classes asking if they wanted to hang out at someone's house after school, we'd have parents come pick us up or we'd hop the bus to the mall (where we would get food court pizza. Don't get my started on how good that was). Our time spent together felt infinite. 

When did we decide we didn't do that anymore? No more pizza parties, no more sleepovers, no more fun for the sake of fun. We're adults now, we get to decide....and ~THIS~ is what we've decided!? Yuck. 

I will admit...my standards have changed. When I was a kid and someone came to the door it was VERY EXCITING to see who was there. Was it mail, a friend, a surprise? Who knows. Now? If you come to my door without notice (if you see my face at all) you're likely to see this face... 

From Black Books, one of the greatest shows of all time. 

I don't love that this is my response but I might not be wearing pants so...just cut me some slack. I'm trying to be more prepared for the day to happen to me. It's going moderately ok, I guess? (I've literally changed my daily routine so that I can be more functional in the day. I won't bore you with the details but it's been kinda helpful, though not without imperfections.) I could also talk about reasons why neurodivergent people have less friends so they don't have to plan things but I'll save that for another inspired day. 

My other caveat here is that the only reason I've been able to do some fun chill things lately is that I've had time off from work. Otherwise my body is exhausted. I'm too exhausted to find joy. That's bullshit and I don't want that anymore. I'm still an agent of capitalism so I'm finding ways to adjust. Work in progress. 

The important point of all this is that sometimes you need to do nothing at all together. Don't plan it, don't curate it, don't make a thing of it. Just do it. (Brb I have to send Nike a dollar.) We don't have to fill every moment of every day but WE GET TO CHOOSE OUR MOMENTS. Why do we choose so poorly? Geez. Yes, some of them are chosen for us but the ones we get to choose are the ones we should use wisely. When we were kids we dreamed of all the decisions we'd get to make and we messed up. We've got to find ways to get that back. Make decisions that would make 12-year-old you feel like a friggin badass grown-up. Dump obligations off your plate-you can't do everything, take a night off from worry-it'll still be there, ignore emails-seriously..., clear a seat for a friend and order a pizza*. 

(*Jason doesn't get to eat pizza but he was fed and it did not diminish our joy. If pizza doesn't work for you, do your thing.) 

Harold

It's been challenging to figure out what to say about Grandpa Harold. 

His official obituary can be found here, for anyone interested.  

He was a Danish first-generation American, Marine veteran, lifelong Lutheran, and fixer of machines. I don't know what he was like when he was younger but he was the definition of a grandpa. He'd bounce the grandkids on his knee, give us little treats, fix our bikes, and say silly grandpa stuff we didn't understand. It wasn't until about 10 years ago that I found another person who used the word "larapin" to describe food. (It was Kinky Friedman in his book Texas Etiquette, which I later gave to grandpa.) I'd ask him what it meant and he'd always say it just means larapin, don't you know larapin? Is that larapin? Where HE got it, I have no idea. 

I was always curious about his Danish family, if he remembered the language, what kinds of things he did when he was younger, but he wasn't ever terribly chatty. I took and cherished what I got from any of the Johnson grandparents because they never found things about themselves as interesting as I did. When grandma Doris died and the Johnson headstone was created I found it fascinating that carved into it was "Jesus Elsker Dig", which is "Jesus Loves You" in Danish. This must have been something the Danish Johnson's said and he must have still thought it was important. I don't think he really remembered much Danish but I'm sure he was never taught to read or write it. Others in the family that I've never met have done tons of genealogy work and I have many records, which is great, but I never got very many stories I'd hoped for. I've found more photos of his parents and family recently while digging through boxes of photos. I love them. I never met his parents since they were gone before I got here. 

The thing I thought about soon after he was gone was that he's one of the only men I can think of who has never been upset or cross with me. (As far as I know...I'm sure I got in trouble a time or two as a kid.) He never expected me to be anything I wasn't. He never made me feel bad about anything at all. I didn't feel like I was ever treated any differently than my cousins who got to see him all the time. I'm often never more alone than when I'm with my relatives but this was never the case with the grandparents. 

They always got up much earlier than me and he'd already be out working in his shop by the time I got up and had breakfast. I'd sometimes go out and see what he was working on or I'd see him when I went out to play in the yard or get my bike. He'd head out to coffee midmorning, and sometimes I'd go with him and have a glazed donut and a glass of milk while I swung my feet off the stool. He'd always come in for lunch when the noon whistle blew. He always had Wintergreen gum in the cabinet. When everyone was younger, since I was usually there in the summertime, we'd all go out for a walk or bike ride after dinner. We might have popcorn when it got dark and the night news came on. Grandma always went to bed a little earlier but I'd stay up with grandpa to watch Letterman, then MASH, during which he'd usually fall asleep and snore himself awake sporadically until he decided to go to bed. 

On the weekends or days he wasn't busy we might watch his VHS of Victor Borge or Grumpy Old Men. His favorite part of Grumpy Old Men was when they'd call each other moron and putz. That's made all the more funny by the fact that I don't know if he ever said anything unpleasant to another person. There were certainly people he didn't care for but I never heard him say anything negative about almost anything. He didn't look for it. He sought out the simple pleasant things and the rest didn't seem to interest him. The exception there is sports. He'd comment on their lack of ability if they weren't doing what he wanted. He also hated Kathy Sabine's hair, for some reason. (She's a Colorado news meteorologist.) He said she needed a comb. That was probably the 90s when the Rachel hair was going around and surely it was just too fluffy for his liking. But truly...his dislike of Kathy's hair is the worst thing I ever heard him say. 

He enjoyed a simple bologna sandwich, just like me. He enjoyed black licorice and jellybeans, just like me. He'd happily try just about any kind of cookie, cake, ice cream, candy, mustard, pickles that were presented to him, just like me. It's an eternal argument about these things, whether or not we both had it in us genetically or if I learned it from him, or both. He enjoyed Spam, we'd eat pancakes for dinner, and he always said the pre-supper prayer if he was home. Sometimes a sale would keep him away later than usual and it would be just me and grandma for dinner. Meals at the Johnson house were never anything fancy but for whatever reason always an essential process in my day. They operated on clockwork most of the time. I'd fuss at grandma for saying dinner instead of lunch and supper instead of dinner. Sitting at the little built-in table in their vintage, full-to-the-brim kitchen, is at the core of my being. I will probably never do so again but it'll never leave me. I'd sometimes help with dishes but if I didn't they'd go into action automatically. Grandma would wash and grandpa would dry and put away. 

It's hard to lose the people who have been such a part of your recipe of existence. It's different hard to lose the places familiar to you, that have not changed in your entire life. Grandma and grandpa's house has changed a bit over the years, new knickknacks here and there, new family and friend photos every year, but so much of it is exactly the same as it ever was. I dream entirely unrelated events in their house on a regular basis because it's a mothership and my brain just defaults to that physical place. It was also common for the other grandparent's house as I never knew them anywhere else. 

I am without any mothership but I retain many of the pieces that made it. 

I am relieved he no longer will have pain and struggles, though he was very hearty and active until the very end of his time. I hope whatever comes next means he's reunited with all his loved ones because after 93 years he outlived just about everyone in his family or that he knew as a younger man. This is a frail attempt to illustrate him but he was a kind man who enjoyed the simple things in life. As Pastor Jeff said at his services, "We need more people like Harold Johnson." This is one of few absolute truths. 

2024 books

 I made an intention to read more in 2024. Usually, though, my intentions are temporary. It wasn't until I went back and looked at my Hoopla/Libby apps that I realized how many I got through. They were mostly audiobooks (reading with my eyeballs makes me fall asleep, audiobooks I can stay awake for longer), and I know I read other physical books but I'm not sure I remember them. So, mostly for me to be reminded later or for anyone that cares, here's a list: 

All 7 Harry Potter books. I do not approve of JK, but Harry is a comfort item that I needed and it was lovely. When you go back to HP, after all this time, you can REALLY pinpoint who JK hates. It's fascinating. I honestly don't know if she knows how much of her inner work-not-being-done is in these books but that's her issue to fix. 

I also read all the supplemental things. Tales of Beetle the Bard, Quidditch Through the Ages, and Fantastic Beasts. 

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgsen Burnett. It was a favorite growing up and I thought it would be a good "falling asleep to" book because I'd read it so many times. HOWEVER, the flaw in my plan was that I hadn't read it in so long that I entirely forgot much of the book. I did imagine Colin Firth while reading it, which was fun. (He's in one of the movies.) 

The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor LaValle. This is a great little mystical book with primarily Black characters, which I was seeking because most fantasy/magical books are based on white experiences. There are many new ones out there though! Efforts are being made so make efforts to find them. 

Never Lie by Freida McFadden. This was...kinda fun. It's very basic and full of gendered ick but the mystery factor was entertaining enough to get through it. 

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree. Fantasy creature coffee romance. Adorbs. 

C.B. Strike books 1-5, by Robert Galbraith. (RG is JK, so I didn't want to enjoy them but I really like the stupid detective stories and the reader is really nice so they also became a comfort item. Also filled with traditional gender BS.) 1. The Cuckoo's Calling, 2. The Silkworm, 3. Career of Evil, 4. Lethal White, 5. Troubled Blood. Same commentary on JK. She's SO. WEIRD. About other people's bodies. 

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White. This one was silly and dramatic and odd. Magical creatures and their messed up caste system and murder and stuff. It was pretty funny I thought and they use inventive magical curse words. 

Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters. 1800's English lesbians and drag. Looong and so much drama. Obviously. 

The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. We watched the show earlier this year and it seemed to stick very close to the book. I saw the movie ages ago but never really got into Percy & Friends. The book was fun but since it was so close to the show there wasn't much to ponder so I might keep going with the series. 

A crap ton of Batman stuff. There's an audiobook version of the original movie, which is silly but fun. There's an audiobook called Batman: The Blind Cut and one called The Lazarus Syndrome. I've recently read a boat load of comics and that will continue. I'm currently working on one called Damned and I'm excited about it. It's DC Black Label, which means it's adult content. Constantine is in it, which is all I need to know. 

The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown. LOVED this one. It's about a magic book that can lead you through any door. (Very similar to Locke & Key--I've watched the show but it's also a comic. The show was great.) 

A good chunk of TJ Klune's everything. Started with The House in the Cerulean Sea. Read the book, listened to it twice. It is just as the review says, "like being wrapped in a big gay blanket." Read and listened to In the Lives of Puppets, which I really love. A-sexual romance but also puppets and robots and distopian stuff. Listened to Under the Whispering Door--cutesy about the afterlife, and The Bones Beneath My Skin--odd, gay romancey, kinda dark. 

As much as I LOVED The House in the Cerulean Sea, I think I might have actually enjoyed The Extraordinaries series the most. (Flash Fire and Heat Wave are #2 and 3.) Collectively, at least. It is 3 books versus one but the second Cerulean Sea one just came out. I didn't like The Extraordinaries right off the bat because it starts with fan fiction but it is so funny and the guy that reads it deserves an award for the array of voices. It's very gay, very cute, but has all the elements for a good superhero story. I've never enjoyed reading anything (like, at all) romantic until I read TJ Klune. He just makes it wonderful. 

I just finished the other day Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. If you enjoy Harry Potter but would like to not partake in that particular franchise any longer, or just want something new but similar, this is what you're looking for. It's essentially gay Harry Potter with characters swapped around. It's cute and fun and there's magic and drama and stuff. I just started the second one called Wayward Son (and not even because of the titles). It takes itself a little less serious than HP. I'm not sure why but it just does. 

I started many that I didn't finish because I no longer require myself to be bored for no reason. But it's possible I would have finished them if I was reading a physical copy. I'm not sure. I included some here in the list that weren't too bad but just didn't outrank whatever was waiting. 

American Magic- government drama with magic, pretty fun but got slow and I moved on. 
Stoneheart- dragon stuff. 
The Myths of Meritocracy by Malcolm Gladwell- excellent topic but non-fiction so I drift away. What I got through was great and I should finish it. 
Assistant to the Villain- village lass starts working for the known villain. Cute, got bored. 
What Grows in the Dark and What Lies in the Woods- kinda mysterious but literally don't remember which was which. 
Accidental Demons by Clare Edge. It's possible I finished this one and that I just don't remember how it ended. It was quite amusing. It's about a diabetic blood witch who keeps accidentally summoning demons because she has to draw her own blood every day. If I was a diabetic kid, I think I would have really enjoyed this. 

So, I guess I made a lot more progress than I thought I did! I'm quite happy about that. I should start keeping a list but I just checked by apps for these because I would have forgotten half of the titles. 

I read about half of Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. The beginning was like reading my own thoughts but the more she got into the details of her mental illness(es) it got a little too trauma-porn for me. She's super funny, if you can get through the other stuff. 

If you want any thoughts related to Batman comics, let me know! I might write something just Batman-centric later. We'll see. Anyway, I changed the blog title and thought I'd write something up as we all start reflecting on this *%&#*@ year. Hope to be back soon! 

Don't finish strong or start 2025 strong. Finish cozy and start slow. Show it we've learned our lessons.

2023: A Year for Love?

Something that was very present for me this year was the realization and understanding that I've had FAR more invisible barriers for my entire life than I ever considered possible. What I'm still working on is giving myself some god damn grace for it, as I would for anyone else. 

Along with my interactions with the world, learning more about myself, coming to understand bigger things better, I've made the discovery that LOVE is an intentional act. I'm talking about romantic, platonic, shallow, rooted, short-lived, eternal, all of it. I believe there are so many kinds of love that we collectively dismiss because it's not what Valentine's Day commercials show. 

If you're not actively loving, you're not quite there yet. And that's ok. I didn't realize it until I did. You can love in whatever way you want, but if you're giving it with no reservations, then I applaud you. And I don't mean, like, the "good vibes" or "thoughts and prayers" kind of love. That's care and kindness, which is lovely, but there's something more to it that I can't quite put into words. Maybe some day I'll be able to. The actions are the same, really, but there is something internal that needs to click for it to be genuine. I suppose it's simply the intention. If it's a habit then is it still intentional? I dunno. Maybe for some. Maybe over time it's the same? 

The world needs more kindness, which has to be rooted in love. Where else would it come from? Capitalism? No. That's cruel, inherently, by design. Individualism? That's what makes us all amazing, but love is collective. If we're not creating a system in which people are able to feel loved, then we're failing. Not only should we be able to survive, we should be able to thrive around barriers. We all know this, but we can't enact it without the puppeteers working on a large scale. Any of us can do one thing at a time, though, right?  

Don't get me wrong, not everyone earns or deserves your active love. But everyone deserves love. Everyone. The worst festering human turd on the planet deserves love. They're only a walking turd because they don't have love in the first place. That doesn't mean it has to come from you. Or me. Or anyone we know. The person to love that turd might not even know they exist, but maybe some day they will fall upon something resembling what they should have had before their turd status fully bloomed. Do not sacrifice yourself for love. Love and trust are the not the same. It's given freely, accepted by those who know it's value, and that's the end of it. Maybe it encourages others to decide to be active in love as well, but that choice is upon them. 

All the love in the world can't fix something that's broken, but it can perhaps give space for the tools that can fix things to find their way to the right places. Maybe love can smooth a road for someone. Maybe love can soften a hard landing. Maybe love can offer a realization. The fun and/or horrific part is that we have no idea how it'll go until it's already out there. We can't hold on to the outcome. It's up to us to give it, like releasing a balloon (please never release balloons, it kills animals) and never knowing where it'll land. 

So, what am I saying? A bunch of stuff that's very complex whittled down to a few words minutes away from a new year. There are a million different kinds of love and you choose which ones are the most important for you. Make it an action, especially if it involves living things, and release the need for reciprocity. That's what makes it joyful. I'm not saying you should give effort to those who dismiss or devalue you. Nope. That's giving them energy, that's different. Love can use energy but it's like a spout in Wonka's factory--a million dials for all manner of things. Some you always leave on, some you never use, some you're still not sure what to do with. Maybe you even need more, maybe you need to retire some. 

All I know for sure is that sometimes I feel like a real life Care Bear and if I can't burst into a rainbow, I don't even know what. It applies to people I love and care for regularly, it applies to people who have been awful to me, it applies to people living in the worse kind of fear imaginable, it applies to people living in the luxury only unethical wealth can provide, it applies to baby kitties on the internet. (It doesn't even mean I always LIKE them.) I want to shoot it out of my glowing tummy in all directions and hope beyond hope that it'll get where I want it to. It often won't. That's ok. I know it's out there. It's not wasted, I have more. You can have some. 

I wish I had better words to explain how I'm developing these thoughts but it's a work in progress, and I'm hoping to learn more so that I can speak on it with less chaos. Chaos Bear. 

I didn't watch it this holiday season but...to quote a movie that gets at some of what I'm saying; yes, even with all it's now problematic moments: 

'Love, actually, is all around." 

I hope you find all you need in 2024.