Saul Good and Co.

Rollin' 4 Generations Deep

It's almost like I was a different person when last I wrote here. It was Valentine's day, and I had just emerged in a great mood after a rough morning. Hours later the country was devastated, AGAIN, by the Parkland school shootings. My words dried up, as they do. There was nothing I could write about for days and days in the grief and anger, nothing that seemed important enough. I was, however, able to stand in awe at the survivors. I find it  so, so heartening to see what's happened in the aftermath, how, in just under two weeks, the kids are leading the way. Yes, badass babies. It's exhilarating to have the feeling of hope once again. The gross and corrupted adults in power need to be unseated by the youth. That's how we move on and move up and change for the better. That's progress. I'm more hopeful now about gun reform than I've been able to be since before Sandy Hook. It's sickening that either massacre (any massacre) took place, I still can't face the details of them, but let's build and build and build on this momentum. Let's make a better world for everyone. It shouldn't have come to this, but here we are. Enough is e-fucking-nough.

Other things have been happening, namely HR had February vacation and spent most of it down with the flu. I'm the worst at parenting a sick kid. I mean, I'm fine at the nuts and bolts of it, I cuddle and catch vomit and administer meds and whatever it takes but inside I'm a basket case. As long as my boy is running a temperature, I'm not right. Nothing's ok. I know that sickness is a normal part of life, but that fact doesn't register in my crazy brain. I've seen too much of the worst case scenario in life and in my line of work. It certainly gives me a renewed appreciation for the parents I deal with at my job every day. How they even function is a mystery. I know as a parent your job is to haul yourself up and do what you have to do, but jeezum crowbars I can't fathom being capable of those resources. 

We did make it up to my old homestead in Maine as planned for a long weekend when the boy was able to be around people again, and aside from not getting to see my brother much, it was one of the most perfect trips we could have had at that time, or any time. It was a few days of utter nothing in the best way. No plans, nowhere to be unless we wanted to go there, just doing jigsaw puzzles with my Gram and laughing hysterically with my cousin and sister and eating good food and smushing my nephew. We hauled out the old photographs and reminisced and it was literally awesome to have all that photographic evidence of decades of shared history and all the amazing souls who came and went and stayed and filled our lives with love. By chance I got to spend an evening out with two of my oldest and dearest friends and it was magic. I was sad when it was over, but I think it topped up my tank and we were all back at it Monday morning, ready for whatever's next. The sun is shining and dreaded February is nearly over and all I can do is hope it's mostly good things. What a luxury, to hope. 

 

Any Major Dude with Half a Heart

I love living in the city. Growing up in the sticks I always knew I was a city person, that I was just meant for it, and I'm still not sick of it after 25 years. I don't even mind living on top of people, I accept that it's the price I pay to be able to walk everywhere and have 50 great restaurants at striking distance. I love nearly every little thing about the experience, but the one big giant dislike is that if you're not on foot it takes a hundred unpredictably held-up years to get anywhere. This morning I was going to an early yoga class and I allotted plenty of time to get there because I'm not a noob at this and even still I was in danger of being late because of cross-town gridlock and unloading moving trucks and other drivers being their lovely selves. The entire ride I was beating myself with the stick of irony, fully aware that I was on my way to yoga class, but not even attempting to access any of the principles I've learned in the practice and have been trying to integrate into my every day life. It was like a test and oh, sweet baby angel valentines, I failed. By the time I got to the studio, somehow not late, I was wound tighter than Felix Unger's sphink.

Class itself was a marvel in undoing all that damage. Today we practiced Budokon style, something I've never tried before, and the mental focus it required wiped everything else away. I know for sure that the goal is not the physical manifestation of the philosophy but bringing the acceptance and patience and grace we cultivate for 90 minutes beyond that womb-y sacred space. Every day is a new reminder, and opportunity to try again. Next time I drive to class, I'm sure I can do better.

HR finally lost his first tooth and he's ecstatic. I'm hooked on Olympic figure skating, as happens every four years. Pitchers and catchers reported to spring training yesterday. Today is Valentine's Day, and Ash Wednesday, two holidays I don't really observe, but here I am in my red dress anyway, trying to lead with my heart and ever edging toward renewal. Life, you are winning this round.

 

Dig if You Will, a Picture

In the summer of 2009, I was just starting to get over my miscarriage and Niki was in remission. She made the trip from Florida to Maine, as she often did in the summertime, and of course I went up to Maine to meet her. We were both in the market for a completely insane, restorative bit of time together, and that's what we got. It turns out I'd only see her one more time after that, and when I look back on that weekend, I always think of it as a wild, joyful blur of abandon. It was us, being us--REALLY, really us (sorry spouses and bystanders)--for the last time. We didn't know it. We couldn't have known it. Jesus Christ, I'm so grateful we didn't know it. 

Niki was the de facto historian of our group of friends because she was the one who always took pictures. She had a knack for capturing the every day moments, the times we were together that weren't special occasions but became special occasions in retrospect. This is especially impressive when you consider that there were no smart phones at the time, mostly not even a digital camera, but a point-and-shoot-and-develop-and-discover-later type deal. She wasn't shy about getting a group together, asking people to pose, asking strangers to take the shot (or sometimes get in) and, I know for a fact that this is a very tough thing to do, she managed to keep herself in the picture. She's there, always there, mugging, posing, her personality busting through her tiny stature. Her spirit took up the space of King Kong and I can see it in every crazy shot.

This picture from that weekend is nothing special. Just some friends, hanging at a townie bar, drinking terrible beer. Nobody looks especially good in it (except my ridiculously photogenic sister). The backdrop is decidedly un-scenic. Even before the rise of social media, you know for sure that a similar scene is created every day, somewhere. The real thing is, though, that it IS special. These are some of my favorite people in the world. This is evidence of time we spent together that we'll never get back. The fact that I'd never seen it before last week (I can't thank you enough, Sue), and never hoped to see it because I frankly forgot it was even taken just drives home how important things like this are to a person's life. After that night a lot happened to the people in the picture. Among us, two got married and three had baby boys. We stayed the same, but became different people at the same time. Niki lived only three more years. There will never be another picture just like this one. There will never be another picture ANYTHING like this one. It's not possible to take it, but I'm so blastedly thankful that it was taken. 

I want to tell you this, everyone, and it is that Niki had it right with her incessant shutterbugging. We all of us now have the ability to take pictures alllll the time, every day, and we should do it. Fill up those clouds. Go broke on photo paper for your printer. Make sure that YOU are in the picture, even if you don't like looking at yourself. Don't worry about being annoying. Just think about how whatever you're doing, you're doing it in that moment and someday that moment might mean the world to somebody, even if it's only you. Especially if it's only you.

Pictures matter. Memories matter. Evidence of our time on earth and how we spend it matters. I like to think I would feel this way even if my most beloved historian wasn't stolen from us before her time, there's no way to know, is there? Why take the chance of losing out now? 

 

Content Conjuring

It's the dreariest outside and I have a quiet moment in the office and it's the perfect setting for writing a blog post. It seems I'm always waiting for that perfect setting, and now it's here and my mental output is static and gluey oatmeal. It's times like this where I'm both thankful and regretful that writing isn't my "real" job  - thankful because I'd probably be failing at it, regretful because if this was something I truly had to do I'd push myself more and maybe, just maybe use that drive and focus to come up with something new or interesting or halfway worth reading. Alas (and not-so-alas) I have a "real" job and this ain't it so I'm leaving a placeholder today. My late best friend's mom recently sent me a treasure trove of Niki's pictures that she found, many of which I've never seen before, which was a happy-sad surprise. These photos conjure so many feelings, and my plan for tomorrow or the next day is to dedicate some time with one of my favorites and tell you about it. When I'm feeling blocked there's nothing like telling the story of a photograph to squeeze some juice from my brain, and you know, it can't be understated what a gift it is to spend time in a space where Niki still lives. So, check me soon if you're into that sort of thing. 

 

 

The Lucky Two

Over the last week I had a scare that wasn't really a scare but a very commonplace occurrence among women of a certain age and genetic makeup (shout out Team Dense Breasts!). That is to say, my routine mammogram came back with an abnormality and so I had to do a re-take and an ultrasound and the important thing is that I am a-OK.

I'm good, nothing's wrong, halle-frickin-lujah!

It might be a lymph node she saw, it might be nothing, but the doc said she wasn't concerned for the moment and sent me away after making a 6-month follow up appointment and I went out for celebratory pancakes.  This is something that happens ALL the time and it's almost always nothing, I knew that going in, and I tried to not overthink, to save my worry for when I have something to worry about. I was mostly successful, though experiences like these really force you to cozy up with your mortality while you wait for the appointment. It prompted me to blurt out my instructions to Mike that if I died, he had to promise to find a woman who loves HR, but make sure he still got to see my family. Premature and irrational screeds are the right of the person with Schrödinger's cat in her lap, ok?

Make no mistake that I am nothing but overjoyed about my continued good health, but there's that guilty downside. Do you know what I mean? Obviously there's a percentage of women whose abnormal scans mean they actually have breast cancer. People I know. People I love. Millions of strangers who are no less important. My relief, and my telling you about that relief, feels tricky. I'm lucky, that's all. So many people aren't lucky. So many people get bad news and have a reason to make these enormous plans with their loved ones in the case that they die. It's the ebb and flow of humanity, it's what it is, and I'll get my turn one way or the other, but goddamn if it isn't the hardest thing to ponder. I remember thinking briefly that there's no way I could have cancer because, for one, the universe couldn't be this cruel to my parents. I know better than that, of course. There's no order or rhyme or reason to tragedy. It is, and it compounds on itself, and we deal with it when we have to.

Having decent health insurance that takes care of most of the cost associated with excellent regular preventative care is another way that I'm extremely lucky. It's so wrong and unfair that I should be able take my access to this for granted when so many struggling women die needlessly. Planned Parenthood will always, always get my money, not solely because they help the poor and uninsured have access to mammograms and such, but it is one reason. I can't even begin to understand how people don't see the need for the services they provide, or misunderstand the scope of women's health or straight up believe that there are certain segments of the population who don't deserve the same level of healthcare because of their choices or life circumstances. It keeps me awake at night, this casual callousness and appalling false morality among we humans. 

Anyway, for the time being I'm 100%, ok maybe a little extra if I'm being honest, and don't I know and appreciate it. 

Happy six more weeks of winter and junk!