5 Years to Grief

Well, it's been five years since "the day it all changed," the day I witnessed my Grandma die suddenly.  Every year at this time,  I'm a wreck.  Okay, let's be honest, for the first several years after, I was a wreck!  And each June 1st, I would mark this day by crying at home, becoming a blob of emotional wreckage, and sometimes writing a post about how much it affected me, about how shitty post traumatic stress disorder is, about how my whole life shifted with one afternoon...

This year, however, I haven't been upset about how she died.  In fact, I've worked really hard on the what/when/why/where part of the whole ordeal and can, to some extent, accept it.  This anniversary, I've still been a wreck, though, consumed with sadness about the loss of my grandmother.  A loss that feels like a horrible, crippling cavity in my chest, empty because she's no longer filling it up.  I know that pain is normal to feel after people die.  But this isn't the dull ache of a family member now gone yet always missed.  This is grief.  Minutes-after-it-happens, bone-shaking, wailing-to-the-universe grief.

Which is actually amazing to feel.

Let me explain.   See, I've spent the past five years feeling the trauma that came with how my grandma died and the part I played in it.  Feeling responsible.  Feeling guilt.  Feeling isolated.  And yes, feeling sad that my grandma wasn't here anymore, but those feelings were either so small compared to the nightmares and the guilt, or barely dwelled on because all thoughts of her led to images of that day...

And now?  Well, now I can see my Grandma's face.  Her deep wrinkles.  Her smile.  I can hear her full belly laugh.  And her rapping her knuckles on the mustard yellow formica island while her beloved songbird clock tweeted every hour on the (wrong) hour.  I can picture her gold stud earrings.  And her "old lady" t-shirts with embroidered flowers on them.  And her tweed slacks that always had to have deep pockets and usually mismatched her many pairs of socks.  I can taste her chili, which she always had supplies for in case one of us kids might drop by.  And her cornbread, made in the same perfectly seasoned skillet every time and still the best cornbread I have ever eaten.  I can smell her, a mixture of something uniquely-Grandma and Dior's Dune.  And I can feel her hugs.  And her unwavering support.  And her love, imperfect as she could be at expressing it.  I feel that love, for me and my dad and my grandpa and my sister and her brothers and my aunt and cousin... I can feel it so keenly now that it has almost erased all memories of that horrible, horrible day.  Almost.

Sure, she wasn't a perfect parent or grandparent or wife or human being.  Sometimes she was codependent.  Sometimes she made racist or ignorant comments.  Sometimes she got really, really sad. She almost never cleaned.  And, as much as I loved the food she made me, it was usually just this side of burnt.

But everything she did, she did with the best of intentions.  For every slur she would use, she was making friends with anyone and everyone, sometimes to the point that we'd spend an hour just trying to get into the grocery store.  And for every time she didn't support her children in the way they had hoped, there were the millions of times she had food ready "just in case," even if no one showed up.  For every time she was depressed and anxious, there were the times that she picked us up at school, or took us shopping, or babysat us no matter how she felt.  And for every time she was ridiculous about something, there were all the times she let us spend the night and never failed to rub Vicks on our chest when tucking us in.  For every time she was petty or shallow about someone, there were all the times she treated her children-in-laws better than their own families sometimes treated them.  And for every time she didn't understand me, there were all the times that it didn't matter any-which-way because she loved me for exactly who I was. 

She loved the best she could.  And based on how terribly I miss her, she loved me a whole, whole lot.

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Forgetting to Remember

I woke up in a funk today.  It took me a while to realize why I was feeling sad when nothing sad had happened to me--turns out that today is the six-year anniversary of the passing of a dear friend, Cathy Fleming.  It's crazy because I actually spent today's therapy session talking about how lucky I've been to have amazing friends like her, who are so diverse in their beliefs and perspectives and self-expression.  And I'm especially lucky because I've gotten to this place of openess and thankfulness after spending years wanting to be accepted and giving my energies and time to people who weren't the types who could ever appreciate me, my friendship, or, in some cases, what it means to be a decent human being.  And yet, though I thought about my friend during therapy, it didn't even occur to me that perhaps I was suffering her loss today and that's why I was in a funk.  It's amazing how the body can remember our emotional trauma, even when our worries about day-to-day minutae push out the more important thoughts.  Like, for instance, how friendship is a gift and should be cherished, nurtured, and valued.  Or how life doesn't always turn out how we planned.  And (perhaps the most important lesson I learned from Cathy) how, even when things feel crappy, that doesn't mean we have to act crappy. 

Anyhow, I am linking to last year's post about Cathy.  Please read and also considering donating to a good cause.

In closing, here's a video to say "thanks" to all my friends out there!  I love you and couldn't navigate this life without each and every one of you!

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Midweek Feminist Brainfood

Here are a couple of great videos passed to me by awesome, thoughtful, feminist friends. The first one, which is a bit long, but sooo worth it, is about the danger of "the single story" in narrowing our narratives about other people and places. The other is about how changing the way that women and girls are treated in this world will help change humanity for the better.

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Friday Food For Thought

I'm a big fan of Jezebel-in fact, if I had the ability to blog while doing my other full-time job, I totally would want to blog for them or Bitch Magazine--and I tend to link back to a lot of their posts on this little blog o' mine.  Today, during my afternoon brain-break, an article on the argument between the "you're fat because you aren't good enough" and the "you're fact because it's what your body was built for" weight schools-of-thought caught my attention, as I'm not only someone who grew-up with family members who struggled with their body image and struggled with my own before I actually had any weight gain to speak of (!), but also find that "fat hate" is as much a social justice issue as feminism is.  I'm also interested in the issue because I'm currently trying to get my activity level back to what I feel is best for me after several years of eating my feelings and attempting to deal with other foundational issues first.  Perhaps this means I'll lose a bit of the weight I've gained or perhaps not.  To me, it's somewhat beside the point (on most days), though as you can see from the comments featured in the article, it's certainly important to some out there what other people's weights are.

Anyhow, you should definitely read the post, regardless of where you stand on "will power," if only to hear a very strong voice speak about her struggles.  But I'll go ahead and share the paragraph that struck me the most:

If you're a regular reader of mine and you feel like you've heard everything in this post a million, billion times, you have my apologies. I am so sick of making these arguments, I cannot even tell you. Unfortunately, people can't even get it through their heads that diets don't work — despite both a mountain of scientific evidence to that effect and a friggin' "results not typical" disclaimer on every ad — let alone that it is possible to be fat and healthy, that it is equally possible to be thin and unhealthy, that correlation does not equal causation, that there is strong evidence that obesity is highly heritable, that calories in/calories out is a ludicrously simplistic equation unless you think human beings are Bunsen burners, and that, above all, fat people are human beings. Which means we can hear you. And our continued fatness is not a personal attack on you or our country or our healthcare system, but the result of complex factors science is only beginning to understand, and in very many cases, something we have already tried our damnedest to change.

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No Country for Old Children

So, last night was President Obama's address to Congress about the health care plan.  At this event, the Obama of old seemed to finally appear before our eyes, calling out the lies and mistruths being spread by "those who have made the calculation that it's better politics to kill this plan than to improve it" and arguing that the fight for healthcare was a fight for the character of America, stating not only that "[...] large-heartedness, that concern and regard for the plight of others is not a partisan feeling. It's not a Republican or a Democratic feeling. It, too, is part of the American character" and but also that when " any government measure, no matter how carefully crafted or beneficial, is subject to scorn; when any efforts to help people in need are attacked as un-American; when facts and reason are thrown overboard and only timidity passes for wisdom, and we can no longer even engage in a civil conversation with each other over the things that truly matter -- that at that point we don't merely lose our capacity to solve big challenges. We lose something essential about ourselves."

And what happened during this speech?  That's right, exactly what you would expect from a group of immature, privileged, power-hungry Congresspersons wanting to appeal to the lowest common denominator: shouting, holding up signs, and ignoring the speech to check blackberries.  It was despicable.  Even more so that not allowing school children to be addressed by our President because of fear of "indoctrination."  Is this what we teaching our children?  That we don't even bother to listen to someone else's opinion because we don't like the person or because we assume they will say something we don't agree with?  I suppose it is when the adults teaching them are men like Joe Wilson (R- S.C.) who call the President a "liar" while in the Congressional chambers. 

What a sad state our country is in.  Two wars, rampant poverty and ignorance, many Americans unwilling to have compassion for their fellow human beings, and jeering our President when he is in official capacity in our honored legislative chamber.  Even I wouldn't do that... Heck, I didn't even shout at Condi Rice when we were both at Circuit City because her Mom was there and you don't yell at people in front of their mothers.

I guess I was just raised differently.

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Changing Your Language

This is a photo of my lovely home in LeDroit Park. It's quite cute, no? Little round window, quaint Victorian style, yellow. I mean, who doesn't want a yellow house?

But... for a while now, it's been a thorn in my side. A still not finished, unpacked, or Elizabeth-fied thorn. I know, I know, I should just shut up: I'm 28 and I own a house in DC, which was a great deal in my perfect neighborhood. I'm privileged enough enough to even be able to have a home, owned or rented or whatever. I get it--but try telling my OCD that. It's been screaming at me because things aren't organized, there are boxes on top of the dining room table instead of place settings, and I have no idea where my cameras have gone... My OCD brain has been saying over and over again that this is my worst nightmare, absolute chaos, supposed to be different!!! Gah!!! it says, loudly, all the time.

So...I've been anxious, naggy (the boy has done most of the repairs cause he's awesomely spatial like that), and on constant cognitive thinking overdrive. I mean, I've handled this better than I expected. I haven't set anything on fire or thrown unpacked dishes out in the trash just to get rid of them, for example. So when I went to therapy this weekend, anxious but feeling pretty okay with myself, and my therapist subsequently challenged me, I was not a happy camper:

Me: I mean, of course the house is still bothering me! It should have been done by now!

Her: Should? Hmm, well there aren't really any absolute time-tables. Things take as long as they take. It hasn't even been a year--some people take five!

Me (crossing my arms in defiance): Well, that's great for them... I personally can't live in chaos.

Her: Chaos? That's a strong word. I mean, it hasn't actually been chaos... You're functioning and going to work and living.

Me (getting more defensive): Well, it feels like chaos. It's been my worst nightmare.

Her: Oh my. I think I'm really going to have to challenge you on that. I'm sure you can imagine worse things, hell, even worse things related to the house.

Me (brain loudly whirring-ooo, I got her now!): Well, that might be true... But its certainly been my worst OCD nightmare!

Her (staring at me because we both know she's right): You are really using absolute language--no wonder it feels so large and unmanageable... The truth is THE HOUSE ISN'T HOW YOU WANT IT TO BE. No right or wrong or good or bad just not how you want it.

Me (feeling small and selfish and silly...): um, er, well that's true, I suppose... I mean, it's not NOT true.

Her (laughing): You know, you really have to use different words if you want your brain to think and respond differently... Try not to use the absolutes and see what happens, okay?

And you know what?! It's helping, the tiniest smidge... I mean, changing your entrenched brain patterns takes time, but it has worked to help ease a bit of the panic when the hair in the bathroom makes me worry about the baseboards and that makes me think about the window trim and then the light fixtures and then the cabinets and then... well, you get the idea. Cause if I just don't like it as opposed to it being a WARZONE, that's a lovely thought, no? I mean, I know that changing your thinking helps, I've been doing cognitive-behavioural therapy for eight years now and no longer re-collate my papers anymore or throw out books with wobbly underline... I guess the house is just my last anxiety holdout.

I know I'll always have good and bad days (I have OCD for Christ's sake, acceptance of this is kinda essential to long-term healing), but... maybe with a little rewriting, this'll all be okay...

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And... Pause!

Life has been very busy for me lately... or for the last six years since I moved to DC, actually... I got a masters degree, had several jobs, got hitched, lost family members and a good friend to illness, moved a mazillion times and then bought a house, fixed up (mostly) said house, worked hardcore on my OCD, discovered acupuncture, made new friends, hung out with old friends, became an auntie, and dreamt about the next steps in my life... In the next year I hope to finish fixing up the house, publish a couple of articles that I'm working on, start going back to school to get my Ph.D., keep getting healthy, and continue to be present in my life instead of being a big ball of squidgy.

This part of my life have been in parts amazing and horrible (sometimes at the same time), and it's sometimes unclear how I'm supposed to process it all... But I'm one of those people that really tries to look at life not as a set path towards a specific destination. I like to think of it more like a discovery--you chart your course and follow the path as it leads you, often to something surprising and unexpected. There's no one right way to live your life or to define yourself. Sometimes the most amazing experiences happen when you accidentally veer off course. I admit that it's hard to keep this perspective with a mental illness that's all about trying to control the unknown, but I really do feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this stuff... I'm much better about saying "no" to things I don't want to do, taking responsibility for my own happiness and not for others', and for knowing when to say "stop." Oh, and saying "yes" to the unknown. Like surfing. That's right. S-U-R-F-I-N-G. On a vacation. That I didn't take ANY work on... That I just relaxed at and did what I wanted to do because I wanted to do it, with amazing friends, natch! And it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, even if I fell off the board and never really "stood" up... Sidenote: can you say "learned to surf" if you never successfully apply the techniques? Survey says...YES!

This is me being present as I fall off my board and under the surf. I got bruised knees. It was AWESOME!



This is the beach where I finally pushed my (much-needed) "pause" button. A vacation with no other purpose than to vacay. No weddings to witness, no family to visit, no conferences to attend, just going for the sake of it.




Say it with me: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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Change Begins at Home?

"I am offering a vision for my country,” Ibrahim said. “I am telling my people that they are worth fighting for."

One of my old University of Missouri history professors, Professor Abdullahi Ali Ibrahim (who, btw, I really enjoyed and thought had a great spirit), is retiring this year. However, instead of enjoying leisure time, he is returning to his native Sudan to run for President. A life-long activist, Ibrahim hopes to help bring peace to the country... I wish him all the luck that I have to spare, and more, as it doesn't look like anything fair will be happening in Sudan anytime soon... Though, Ibrahim thinks I'm wrong, and I sincerely hope he's right:

To Ibrahim, Johnson is simply another negative thinker who is writing off Sudan’s ability to hold legitimate elections based on past precedents.

“This is the same apathy I see in Sudan – that nothing is going to happen,” he said. "The election that brought Bashir last time – this was not an election. This was completely controlled by the government. This was a one-man show."

This time, Ibrahim is sure things will be different. Because the Naivasha Agreement was an internationally brokered peace deal, he expects that the involvement of foreign governments will ensure that the 2010 election will be run fairly and provide a new direction for the country's ailing political system.

"The election is going to be the way to establish democracy and to see to the implementation of these nation-forming charters [of the Naivasha Agreement]," he said. “If (the National Congress Party) would rig it, we would fight it.”

Here's a quick video:

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Ah, Green Space! How I Heart Thee!

Common Good City Farms was featured on MSN Nightly News last night! Yay urban farms! Especially one literally a block away from me and part of a soon-to-be built park complex where an unused elementary school currently sits. Here is the drawing for the future park on the end of our block, which clearly promises to be awesome for sitting outside, playing with the visiting nephew, and attempting frisbee. The boy and I are super excited-- we never imagined that we'd buy a house on what we lovingly call "the 3rd worst block of LeDroit Park"* and end up with massive green space down the street!

Here's the vid:

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*It's actually not a "bad block" at all. Sure, we have the po-lice swing by sometimes 'cause of something or the other and some houses have part-taaays (!) till late at night, but I'm a hillbilly and certainly no snob. I personally think that my neighbors have all been really friendly and we love it here--diversity is important to me, class, ethnicity, sexual orientation, perspectives, all of it. We just came up with the joking self-deprecation 'cause a lot of people in DC think that LeDroit Park is a war-zone or something. Which I'm okay with, 'cause then they don't come here... :)

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Please Donate

I've been thinking a lot about friendships this week... What they mean to us, what we expect from them, how they change or grow or go away, how they make us who we are... In particular, I've been thinking about a very good friend of mine, Cathy Fleming, who many years ago helped me see the beauty and creativity and fun in me that I didn't even realize that I had... and that I never imagined others would appreciate and, even, cherish.

Sadly, one of the main reasons that I've been thinking about her and the changeability of friendships is because five years ago yesterday she passed away after a life-long struggle with diabetes. She was one of the best friends that a person could have and I feel so blessed to have been a part of her life, in any small measure. She was kind, and loyal, and loving, and smart, and funny, and witty, and a true spark of life... never complained about anything (well, except how Arkansas wasn't her native Chicago... and Republicans), especially not her health. To this day she is an inspiration to me whenever I begin to let the little things in life turn me into a cranky, negative shrew.

The world is a tiny bit dimmer without the light that she shined on those lucky enough to know her.

Please read this memorial written by her family and consider donating to help other children who have diabetes live a full and happy life.

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Tide Goes Out

Okay, it might be a bit presumptuous since our mortgage lady will NOT call me back, but...we are done with the first stage of the house!!! We have toilets and sinks and lights and knobs and toilet paper holders and heat (kinda but that's another story for never since I'm tired of it existing...) and all the things that most people have when they move into a house! So now we can buy wardrobes and clean out the pit of an office and decorate!! And, the best part is that we can do it at our own pace instead of someone else's... Finally, I can return to the world and snark on here until my heart is brimming with wit and quips :)

Oh and a shout out to all you peeps that helped and, if crashing at our abode, were flexible about brushing your teeth in the tub! Thanks!!!

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My boy

I am posting this from my iPhone that the boy just bought me.... I have wanted one for forever, one because it's a sweet device and two, I am a crazy OCD freak who desparately wants all her info and lists and obsessions in one place... the fact that I can also search the internets for my compulsions is even better. Sure it might not be "healthy" to have a sleek OCD machine, but damn am I happy!!!

PS again I am not making light of OCD by using it as an adjective- I really have it and the iPhone really is magic for me...

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The Wide, Blue Yonder

I tend to mix rants with personal diary here on this ole' blog, but today is a bit of both. One of my BFFs, Sara, just came to DC to visit and it was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G to see her! She is home-based in ATL as of late, so I'm lucky that her job brings her to my neck of the woods at least once a year so I can kiss her lovely face and color on tables and drink copious amounts of alcohol. And tonight, one of my other BFFs, monkeyhead Allison, is flying in for a mutual friend's 30th birthday. So, two of my favorite lovelies in less than a fortnight! Yay! Yay! Yay! Not to mention that one of my other BFF cuddleheads was up with one of her friends in Jan for the Inauguration, and though we didn't get too much one-on-one time because it wasn't really a visit to see me, it was a visit to experience history, it was great to see her, for whatever reason, for any amount of time, Amen.

So, when Sara left yesterday, it occurred to me that, although my best friend since forever, the Divine Ms. Em, lives a 15-minute walk from me, and I have oodles and gobs of great friends here in DC, some of my favorite people live very far away from me. And the only way to see them is for them to fly to see me or me to fly to see them or us both fly to somewhere to see each other... My family is in Arkansas, so I already have to balance friend visits with family visits, especially since the nephew entered the world and he's my favorite thing EVER... plus I only have so much vacation time... and I only have so much money (read: none... at least that's expendable). Luckily, I have a partner that understands that part of what makes me "me" are these friends and the experiences I have with them, so he's so great about me traveling off to other places without him and spending money on airline tickets, if we have it. I mean, sure he wants some time just the two of us as well, so there's always trying to figure out if he's just being supportive or if he means it, but still, he's awesome about it. Regardless, when you add all those factors up, the actual fact is that I very rarely have the time or the money to see people. They are so great and come to me, usually tacked onto work or a conference or something like that, which rocks. But it's not near as often as I'd like and it seems like it's getting rarer and rarer with work and the house and everything pulling at me at once.

And that makes me sad. 'Cause you far-away friends out there, I want you to know that I love you. You are some of my favorite people in the world. And I would see you EVERY DAY if I could.

But I can't. So... I promise to keep checking cheap airline tickets and working credit time so I can get some 3 day weekends here and there to come see you. And I promise to keep offering to pay for part of flights out to see me if money is really the only issue. I swear that if it doesn't work out because of life on either side, it's okay--I know that you love me and I love you! Finally, I promise to make sure that you know that I miss you and how much I value our friendship, in person or not.

Thanks, friends! You make my world go round! No matter where you live in it...

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Babies IN the Brain

So, I just got back from visiting my sister and my newborn nephew, Matty, who is the cutest, most awesomest baby ever in the history of EVER!  Gah, I want to nom nom him all day long...

However, spending all week helping take care of him, failing (albeit trying valiantly) to get him to take a bottle, not really sleeping (also partially because sis has shotime on demand and I caught up on Weeds), and cooking FIVE MILLIONS POUNDS of food, I'm still in "faux-mommy" mode.  I swear, last night I had the insanest dream where I fell asleep on the baby.  I proceeded to wake up in a panic, frantically feeling around the bed for him and then flipped out because there was no baby... BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE A BABY!!!

Anyhow, that's about all that's going on in my life... I've had tons of houseguests and will have many more over the next couple of months, even though the house isn't finished yet.  We are soooo close to being done but if feels like it won't ever happen and we'll never see our rehab loan check, but I guess the good news is we're actually living in the house instead of just occupying it. 

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Elizabeth and the Tunnel of Doom

So, the boy and I were lucky enough to get purple tickets to the inauguration, got up at the ass-crack of dawn, walked from LeDroit Park, and patiently waited in line. In the 395 tunnel. For four hours.  AND NEVER MADE IT IN. 

Sufficed to say, I'm pissed. I'm sad. I'm angry.  And an apology is not enough.  I won't ever get this experience back... and I'm one of the lucky few who lives in DC, knew where to go when I finally got the fuck out of there, and got home just in time to see the speech.  Thousands of people (way more than the four thousand bullshit number they are throwing out) were in the tunnel behind me and thousands were in front of me and all of us were turned away, many of whom were black Americans who had waited years for this day, never dreaming that it would be possible.  And we couldn't hear a damn word from where we were crammed and jammed and standing.

I want a redo.  And I want it NOW.

PS I have to say, though, that I am still a fairly happy camper... Obama is president, his speech was lovely (loved the shout-out to us non-believers!), I got to go the Mayor's Inaugural Celebration and see T.I. and Wyclef (thanks Em and Paul!!!!!!!!!!!), and Jenn and Tish came into DC for the event, so, I had lots of love and lots of hope.  It's just my hope wasn't floating quite so high after I got out of that damn tunnel...

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