A Writing Habit

To ease the swirling thoughts in my mind, I have always written in a journal, a habit begun when I was in the fifth grade.  Over the years, some of those journal thoughts became this blog, which I have loved.  Postings fell off in the last two years, at first because in the early days of the Covid quarantine (remember when we hoped to flatten the curve?) I began a hand-written Covid journal.  I closed out the Covid journals in June of 2021 but never quite returned to the blog. 

I think that’s because my journal was filled with growing anxiety about my relationship with T and though I could identify and acknowledge that truth there, I was still hiding it from the world.  I never wanted the blog to be dishonest and so it was mostly neglected in 2021 and 2022. 

Since our breakup, I’ve made an effort to return to the blog, cultivating ideas to write about and share in this place that I consider a digital record of my life since 2006, when the blog first began.  For me, writing is like any other habit worth having: it needs to be intentional.  

One way I’ve organized that intention is by setting up regular monthly things to write about.  Since the blog began, the “About Me” section has been updated monthly, a habit that helped me to identify a list of the things that made me happy.  When the habit began, I was combatting an excruciating depression by looking for small sources of happiness.  That monthly list has paid me dividends over the years and I credit it with helping me through a very dark patch.  Early on, I used the 1st of the month to write a monthly post about something growing in my yard.  Later, the last day of the month became a book review.  Cooking and gardening became regular, if not always monthly features; so did postings about my front porch.  In 2023, I’ve made a plan for other monthly posts: Monthly Nature, Style, Gratitude, and Cooking posts will join the first and last of the month regulars.  In this way, I set myself up with things to write about as I once again manage life as a singleton.  I am a creature of habits; I take pleasure in the ways they structure my days, months, and years.  I expect these new habits to provide a framework for me as I search for peace and gratitude in this next chapter of my life.

The Ides of January 6

When the House of Representatives met earlier this week to select the new Speaker of the House, I kept my fingers crossed in the hopes that Republican Kevin McCarthy - of whom I am no fan - would have a rough ride.  Like every other observer, I figured there would be a few defectors - enough to keep the job from McCarthy in a few rounds of voting - before everything settled down and he became the Speaker.  I think that McCarthy thought the same thing but wow….KMc and I were wrong. 

I could not be more delighted. 

From the advent of the racist Tea Party to the Trump-or-die Freedom Party wing of the GOP, I have been waiting for the Republican party to finally blow up.  It’s clear that mainline Republicans have little in common with the Matt Gaetz crew but Republicans have always been good at coming together for the good of the order, if not the good of the nation.  I didn’t think that selecting a new Speaker of the House would bring about a fracture of this magnitude, though it’s a fracture I’ve been waiting to see.

Trump’s nomination in 2016 left me convinced that a GOP breakup was imminent.  I could not believe that the decent Republicans still in the party could make their way forward with the Trumpers.  I was wrong and as the decent folks began to defect from politics all together rather than confront the elephant in the room, the remaining Republicans adjusted quite nicely to the lunacy, even holding on after January 6 when they temporarily had the power to cast Trump out.  I confess that I didn’t see the 2023 Speaker’s election as the point that the party would finally erupt into a circular firing squad.  Yet here we are and, while it lasts, I plan to enjoy it.

I know that it’s not good for the nation; I recognize that it’s a potentially significant fracture in democracy’s skeleton.  I think that if McCarthy does finally get the Speaker’s position, he’s already given away much of the power of the position and he will fail.  His defenders keep repeating that McCarthy is a “good leader.”  The week’s events - and the 11 failed votes to select the Speaker - suggest otherwise and, honestly, point out the real problem of the GOP.  All these years with no faction willing to stand up to the Tea Party, then Trump, and now the Freedom Caucus have left them rudderless and without the ability to lead.  This week’s events are a preview of the dysfunctional House we are about the experience with a Republican majority.  That’s not good for the GOP and it isn’t good for the nation.  At this point, I think the demise of the Republican party is the only thing that can save us.  It seems fitting that we arrive at this moment on January 6.

Saturday, 1/7 update: McCarthy was elected Speaker on the 15th vote but it's looking to be a title in name only, as he negotiated away much of the authority of the position to have the title.  Time will tell how regrettable that decision will prove to be.  I am still convinced that the GOP is fractured beyond recovery and cannot survive in its current incantation.

Among the Trees: Winter Sunsets

Lately, I’ve been reading about stargazing and I came across an article that explained why Winter sunsets are so beautiful.  It has to do with the arc of the sunset as compared to the position of North America relative to the sun in Winter months.  There was plenty more science in the explanation but the real take-away for me was a reminder to check out the sky at twilight.  We’ve had some lovely sunsets of late and pictures hardly do it justice, though this one will have to do. 

As I wait for the sunlight in our days to truly lengthen, the daily sunset is my welcome companion for the Winter.  It isn’t always be lovely to behold but that’s okay, because the daily sunset is a reminder to stop and look for the beauty around me.  That’s happy at any time of year.

Back in the Swing of Things

We’ve a half day of professional development today and classes resume tomorrow.  I am ready to return to my routines and see my students.  In the coming weeks, we’ll be exploring the place of the U.S. in the world and American participation in WWI.  From there, we’ll move on to the 1920s and it’s a fun decade to teach, so the next few months will feature some very enjoyable history for students and me to explore as we weather the cold.  

I am recognizing that one side effect of the breakup with T is that I no longer feel guilty for loving my job.  She hated hers and I always felt sad about that, not only because it’s hard to help someone whose days are often miserable but because work is a pleasure for me and always has been.  It provides structure and meaning in my days and I value that.  Even when I am frustrated - and that invariably happens - I still feel grateful that I get to teach something that I love to students whom I value at a school that works effectively.  That’s not a bad way to spend my days and it's a nice thing to acknowledge as I move into 2023.

January 1: Taking Root

In December, I began to think again about this blog, which has been neglected in the last couple of years.  For a long time, I was grateful for this place to record my thoughts and mark the passage of time.  I’m not the sort to make resolutions, but I’ve enjoyed writing of late and the blog is back for now.  I’m looking forward to posting more often this year.   

As has been my custom, I’ll start each month with a post about something in the natural world.  This year, that’s going to be the houseplants that bring me happiness on a daily basis.  I’ve a bit of a green thumb and I love houseplants.  More than two dozen flourish in my care and they are all over the house and my office at school.  Some go outside for the summer; all of them bring me joy and help me to feel grounded. 

Like any good mama, I don’t have a favorite plant.  Each is valued on their own terms and each is meaningful to me for a different reason.  For January, I pick this little pothos, which currently has a spot on the radiator in the dining room. 

I have many a pothos plant; they are easy to care for and they grow in abundance.  Some of mine have variegated leaves; others are a verdant green  This plant was started from clippings from the plant that lives on the top of my living room bookshelf.  It had begun to trail the floor and, loathe to throw out the trimmings, I showed JT how to transplant them.  We did that in the midst of our hard summer and I can remember telling him that life was sometimes like a plant waiting to take root; not always much to look at but always with potential.  I told him that the tiny transplant was an investment in hope for the future.  Privately, I crossed my fingers that the plant would take root and begin to thrive and that when it did, JT would also be better situated. 

This little plant is in a better place today, as is the son who helped me to grow it.  I start 2023 with gratitude for this growth, and that feels like the right note for a new year.

Living in Hope, Always

2022 has been a really hard year for me; in many respects, the hardest year I’ve ever experienced.  Tiger the cat died in January.  My partner was angry and unhappy for much of the year and on my birthday  her blow up ended the relationship.  JT graduated college - a moment of enormous pride and joy for me - but he struggled with the meaning and purpose of his life in the aftermath.  It made for the most challenging parenting I’ve ever experienced.  

The year closes better than it started and given this storm of a year, that’s no small matter.  I wrap up 2022 aged 55 and single, a status I still find surprising to contemplate.  I am not lonely on my own, though I’m a little scared of growing old by myself and being a burden on JT.  I wonder why I never found someone to love me for the long haul.  In my darker moments, that makes me believe that there is something wrong with me.  I know that down that path lies despair.  Mostly, I avoid going there. 

Instead, I square my chin, make a list of the things for which I am grateful, and dismiss my self-doubts.  I remind myself that I am kind and funny; loyal and true.  I consult my affirmations and repeat that I am amazing, smart, and worthy.  Stylish and charming.  Beautiful.  Loved.  I’ve got a whole list of happy adjectives to repeat to myself as a reminder of the things I have going for me.  I know and recognize that truth.   

I always say that I live in hope and though much of 2022 felt like I was grasping for that hope in the midst of inky darkness, the year ends better than it began.  That’s hopeful and happy.  Here’s to 2023, with its new beginnings and living in hope.  

Self-Care and Kindness

In the aftermath of the break-up with T, I looked for ways to be kind to myself.   This is not a trait that comes easily to me but if ever a year called for kindness to myself, it is 2022.  I vowed to remember the little niceties that make my days better.  So it was that even when JT was out of the house, I set the dining room table and made supper for myself.  

Over the last few months, holding to this habit has paid dividends.  I sit with candlelight, music, something to read and I enjoy an evening meal.  There’s nothing quite like a cloth napkin, a home-cooked meal, and a seat at the table to remind myself that though I may feel bewildered and bruised by the last few months, I am still worthy.  

And I’ve the soup to prove it.

Gratitude: Playing Hearts

I love to play games - especially card games - and during Christmas in California there were a lot of opportunities to play.  I enjoyed all of it but I especially enjoyed playing Hearts on Christmas Eve. 

I spent most of my tween years resenting my kid status and remember being allowed to play Hearts with the adults with great fondness.  Seated at the table with my grandparents and parents made me feel like I was being taken seriously, the singular goal of my adolescence.  My Dad is a fiend at the game and, as I recall, he would “shoot the moon” with frequency; that he was often successful impressed me then.   

On Christmas Eve, my nephew C dealt out a game of Hearts and I played with him and my Mom and Dad.  True to my memory (and his history), Dad smoothly shot the moon on the first hand.  He did it the deadly certainty I remember from all those years ago.  My Mom saw it coming but, like the rest of us, she was powerless to stop it.  C was impressed and that was fun to see.  I haven’t played Hearts with my Dad for years but this game brought it all back.  It was one of the nicest hours I spent during my holiday and I am so grateful that C dealt me in.

Seeking the Power of the Universe

I have a vivid memory from the year I moved to Nashville, of going for a Fall walk at Radnor Lake and being among the trees.  They were vastly different than the pine forests I saw on my childhood visits to the Sierra Nevada mountains, but, like those trees, their greatness was a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.  They brought me peace and a sense of the universe beyond me and my temporal concerns.  From then on, I have seen the woods and tall trees as my place to seek peace;  to offer gratitude to the universe; and to fill my thirsty soul.    

This past Summer, when things were at their hardest, I shared this story with JT and encouraged him to seek that power and peace for himself.  The trees helped me through those days and I hoped that they would also help him.  In November, after my partner and I went our separate ways, walks in the woods were my comfort and solace when things felt their most difficult.   

For my birthday I received a tiny silver charm with a tree.  It was part of a surprise gift box I bought myself and that I received a tree charm felt like the universe was looking out for me.  I’ve been wearing the charm of late, a talisman of the trees, as I find my way forward in my reorganized life.    

JT and I head home to New Jersey tomorrow.  With plenty of time off still on the horizon for me, I’m looking forward to a daily walk in the woods for the rest of the Winter Break holidays.  Among the trees I will soak in the power of the universe and turn my face toward the sun.  

That’s happy.

Home'ish

I’ve come with JT to California for Christmas, to spend time with my family and to try something different as I am once again single at age 55.  Clovis feels like home in some ways —— my family; places and scenery that I recognize; stories and jokes that are familiar.  The neighborhoods where my family lives are all new but the tidy rows of new homes look familiar to me, even if they aren’t the neighborhoods I grew up in.  I find such streets comforting; the newest blocks of them tidy and matching in a Disney sort of fashion that I find charming.

I had forgotten the way holiday lights look in the misty fog, but the  sight is familiar from my childhood and it stills retains its magic all these years later.  I love the holidays and the traditions, even those that are different from my own, and I’m glad to feel included.  I’m thinking about the hard parts of 2022 - there were a lot of them - and the gratitude I feel now, as the year ends.  I’m thinking about the coming of 2023, not bringing expectations to that prospect, but with a reminder to be gentle and kind toward myself as I see what the universe brings for me.

There’s a blessing to be found in that, as I am in my hometown at peace.  Clovis is a world that often felt foreign to me when I was growing up here, where I didn’t often feel welcome or a part of it.  I feel at home with myself now and that is enough, good, even.  I am grateful to be here and look forward with confidence that I always manage to locate hope when I need it.