Once upon a time...

 I used to have a blog, Scattered & Random, which was short for Scattered Thoughts and Random Ideas (STARI). When I lost that blog, and it went inactive, it died and took with it all I'd written. Occasionally, I find stuff in the Way Back Machine, but never what I really want. As is the way of the internet, right?

But the idea of having a place to explore thoughts and ideas sticks. I've missed blogging regularly, and still check blogs from my 'previous life' (academia and people whose blogs I read then), and some I've found more recently. I need to find more - I long for those casual but meaningful conversations on wide ranging issues. Out of academia and into a far less stressful life now, what I find I miss most are the conversations about ideas, concepts and questions.

Such as: I stumbled onto a FB post a couple of days ago about a woman who'd left the Christian church because her experience was so negative and she saw violence and hatred justified 'in the name of the faith.' I was heartened to read that, even more to see that so many agreed with her. On Pinterest I saw a thing: Forget putting Christ back in Christmas; let's get Christ back into Christianity! I agreed with that too. So I'm glad to encounter others who share my own experience and outlook: I left the church I grew up in when I was about 12. My family got a bill from that church, and on the bottom of the note was: We accept Visa and MasterCard. I was stunned and angry: God sends bills? God takes plastic??!! My poor mother tried to explain and talk me down, but I was just horrified. That experience ended my life-long (all 12 years) of participation in church activities. 

Decades later, I came across a quote: "Spirituality is about a connection with a divine; religion is about crowd control." Don't have any idea who said it, or how it's been modified, but it rings so true to my own experience and my professional training. Religion is used for control and manipulation so frequently, that we really can't say it's 'mis-used' - not when people around the world, from all kinds of religious communities, justify cruelty and violence and even indifference in the name of their god(s). If that was a rare occurrence, we might say it's a misuse of religion; but it's far too common for that. 

So I consider myself a pagan, an animist who works to recognize the value and dignity of every manifestation of being: the trees, the rocks, the rivers and the oceans - all are interconnected and a part of a greater whole and deserve honor, respect and protection. 

The 'whole' isn't just an eco-system, or even a planet - in my lifetime we've moved from a view of the universe as a relatively small Huge thing to our solar system as a tiny part of an enormous system - just take a hard look at JWST images, and our galaxy is so tiny! We can only 'see' 13.5 billion years - 10 years ago, that wasn't really possible, never mind the galactic paradigms of the 1950s! I clearly remember when somebody first found another planet in a different solar system, and how astonishing that was. I remember clearly when Jacques Cousteau first filmed the deep sea life forms, and revealed that photosynthesis was only ONE of the processes that converted energy into organic compounds. I remember my astonishment and wonder at the very idea of chemosynthesis and was transfixed. Hubble images were equally mesmerizing, and JWST? Well, that just blew me away. Still does. A friend once explained to me that we don't know how to see non-carbon based life forms - that there could be silicone life forms out there that we simply don't know how to look for. That seemed so logical to  me, and I wonder if scientists have figured that out yet. I just read that chickens can see UV - and I wonder if that ability is in other animals - having lived with both cats and dogs, I know that both can sense things I can't. It makes sense to me that we don't all share the same capabilities, the same rods and cones... so if chickens can see UV, what else can? The world/universe/multiverse is so big, so wondrous, so amazing... how can we not be aware of how much we don't know? How can we not be fascinated by the unknown? Why are so many people so terrified by the unknown? 

Paganism, for me, encourages an exploration of the closest and grandest 'wholes' around us. Crowd control offers some one else's answers for my (many) questions, and it offers security to so many. I can't help but question that taught need for security. And I resent like hell those who think that those of us outside their religion need to be controlled. Limited. Restricted. They are far more dangerous to everyone than I will ever be. They have every right to their beliefs: they do not have the right to impose their religion on others. Period.

Procrastinating procrafting

 One thing I've really embraced in the past 8 years (since retirement) is papercrafting. In the past 23, crafting in various forms has become my replacement for academic research & writing. Once the dissertation was finished, I had that odd relief/distress of the disappearance of The Diss as The Thing I Need to Do. Gradually it filled with crafting: first sewing (a life-time habit and 'hobby'), the gardening, stained glass, then fused glass & jewelry-making. Moving into the PNW meant that glass became much more difficult - the nearest glass shop was two plus hours away, and while I had an ample supply and a good physical set up, it just never really started up again here. It is/was sporadic and not nearly as tempting, whereas in my previous space/place it consumed my interest and time.

Up here, there was a charming little papercraft/art shop in our charming downtown (which is all of one block long, a mile from my home), and lots of ways to meet new people. So I dove into papercrafting, starting with scrapbooking (that lasted about a month) and card making. And now, eight years on, I'm still deeply into card making although that has expanded into design & engineering. The craft room has finally been reconfigured too: over the summer I got new floors installed (LVP), and had to completely empty that room. So the empty space allowed and encouraged a thoughtful reorganization: out went the last of the stained glass tools and supplies, to be sold/donated to some one who will enjoy and use it. I purged much of the sewing stuff years ago, but what is left is now where I can get to it and use it for only those projects that I want to do: mending, gift bags, whatever. Small projects of my own design. I also purged my papercraft supplies, passing along or selling stuff I no longer want/use. Where I've been making do with mismatched cube storage units and side walk finds, I rethought and reconfigured and reorganized, so that what was unused space is now floor to ceiling cubby space with labeled cubes. I converted the awkward closet that had been used to store unused glass supplies to a sewing/computer nook. I hung the pegboards into a more usable configuration, painted them in bright colors to encourage energy and creativity, and added art to the upper reaches of the walls. Between the consolidation, reorganization, additions and deletions, I created a space that feels fun and creative and serene and roomier than ever. I really like being in there.

But I haven't really created anything since the middle of April. And I went from creating 15 cards a week (all for a regular mailing list of friends who I wanted to let know I was thinking of them) to zero. Long after the floor chaos (22 May), the room remained mostly empty. I moved stuff back into the room a bit at a time. 

There's still a lot in the garage that needs to make the short journey back into living space. I purged my library - well over 1,000 books went off to the library's donation place. Long-time friends were stunned to see empty shelves - lots of empty shelves - where books used to be two deep. (Oddly, what didn't go were most of the nick-nacks that I've had perched precariously on top of or in front of the books.) In the craft room - again - is space I've never had. 

But even when I feel like creating, what I end up doing when I get self into the craft room, is organizing. God knows I'm still buying craft supplies & tools. Temu has been both lovely and deadly: their offerings are, to me, mesmerizing. Stamps and dies are 60-90% less than exactly the same things from the craft stores. Right now I'm waiting on two orders - roughly $70 total - of things I can't find or won't pay the price of in US stores. If I were able to find it here, that $70 would be well over $300 from US retailers and - here's the crux of it - I wouldn't have bought, period. So even as I purged a bunch of stamps/dies, I've now added different stuff at a price and rate that is far less and wouldn't have bought had it not been so cheap. My Temu habit must be broken!

So new stuff comes in, gets cataloged and organized and put away...but not used. I'm procrastinating procraftinating even as I avoid doing the things that need doing...

The joys and challenges of retirement...

Off Politics...

Have you heard of EMDR? I certainly hadn't. I had been diagnosed with PTSD, and the conventional wisdom was that it was just something you learned to cope with, developed new/additional coping mechanisms, all with the hope that someday - apparently magically - you'd either not be triggered OR learn to avoid triggers. The fundamental trauma would remain a trauma. 

I'd been in therapy since 1995 for depression, mostly CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) but until 2015, no one had told me that PTSD was part of my (many) issues. 2015 was a hellish year, and a wonderful one: hell because my professional reputation was trashed and slandered (what was later called institutional betrayal). Wonderful because I found and moved to my present location, which has become Home in ways I never dreamed of. But after several years of feeling delightfully stress free and that the depression was under control (thanks to meds), in late 2019 I realized I was slipping back down that all-too-familiar slope into the abyss.

In early 2020, I sought a tweak of my meds, and a qualified counselor. All that required, per the insurance, was a referral by my PCP to a Behavioral Therapist (BT). If the BT couldn't help me or resolve my problem, they could/would refer me to the insurance-approved shrink (IAS) who could then recommend to my PCP that I see a 'real' therapist. All these steps - had I known how long those steps would take, I might have started much sooner. It took 3 weeks to get into the BT, and a couple of those sessions (30/every 2 weeks) before I could tell her "look. I've been in therapy for 20+ years. What we're doing here feels like high school psych 001. I need more." She was a bit startled, but agreed to bump me to the IAS. That took another several weeks, which was painful because I felt like I was hanging on by a (insert metaphor of your choice). I got in to see him, and he dismissed the prior diagnoses, asked expected questions and ultimately agreed with the previous diagnoses. And agreed to recommend to  my PCP that I find a good counselor.

By some stroke of divine intervention/astounding luck, I stumbled on a woman nearby, and she was accepting new patients and agreed to meet with me (this is in the first months of the pandemic, when finding a shrink was already getting difficult). I cannot express my appreciation for her. In our first meeting, doing the routine intake stuff, I held nothing back. I was so desperate for help that ego and caution were left at the curb. She not only agreed to accept me as a client, but thought I would be a good candidate for EMDR for my PTSD. I had no clue what that was, so she suggested I research it. 

Well. WOW. I read up, searched the internet, asked around. No one I knew had ever heard of it, but of course the internet had lots of answers: some helpful, some dismissive, some clear, others muddy as hell. My next meeting with Beatrice (my new counselor) was good: I told her I wanted to try the EMDR, was skeptical but hopeful. So the next weeks were spent doing the set-up, and the questions were not what I'd expected: after 20+ years of CBT, the questions were completely new to me: where did I feel safe? When? Why? I had no safe place, never have had. That shocked both of us, but I was being totally honest and open (and wretched). So we spent a couple of weeks doing the set-up for EMDR, and those were some of the most enlightening sessions of my life.

Ultimately, she gave me some tools that would and do help me focus, put feelings aside until I can deal with them with her help, start visualizing. I was so excited and so amazed at how well I could get those tools to work, that I told a friend (also depressed & PTSD), and she started using the tools to help her.

 Things I've learned:

• How to compartmentalize responses to triggers and keep them compartmentalized
• How to let go - actually resolve - events/experiences that created the trauma
• Trauma isn't comparable: five people experiencing the same event at exactly the same moment will likely process it in at least 5 different ways. One might be able to react, respond and process it - let it pass. Another might take a few days/weeks, but it will process and pass. Others are traumatized.
• Those processes are a physiological cascade of bio-reactions originating in the amygdala. So what is a trauma isn't a choice - it is a bio-chemical 'lock' on a part of the brain. Removing that lock isn't something one can will into happening, but it CAN resolve via therapy. OMG was that huge. It's not just a case of 'get over it.' No one can say 'that wasn't traumatic!' It isn't a choice.

I've read the studies that dismiss the premises and practices of EMDR, but it has been accepted and used as one of the top treatments for PTSD. Personally, I think most people would benefit from learning its techniques. I've seen it help others, and it's changed my life. For decades I've been asking professionals to teach me to let go of the past, of events, experiences and the memories of the neglect, abuse and abandonment that I've experienced. And I finally got an answer that works for me.

It's made an enormous difference in my everyday life. I no longer have silent agonizing conversations, trying to find the words, the way to communicate the impact of the words, actions, inactions and physical blows have had on my life. I no longer accept any blame for my feelings, or my pain. I've let that go, via EMDR. The PTSD is still there, but it's no longer a heavy burden. Now it feels like a minor twinge of a little used muscle, rather than a cascading mountain lurking on my shoulder, ready to incapacitate me. 

Beatrice says I've been an amazing client/patient, and we agree it was because I came in hoping it would work. I firmly believe that my openness and desperation were key factors: I literally had nothing to lose if it didn't work. Never doubt that the therapy was hard, or pain free. But it has been remarkably effective and it's been lasting. 

If you're interested in learning more, I'd recommend starting here.

Well, Howdy! Starting again. Again.

It's been a while, but as a blog offers both a comfortable space and an opportunity, my therapist suggested I try again. So!

The fabulous news of Trump's newest indictment is top of mind. I cannot believe how many Amurikans continue to believe and support that twit. His howls of purported rage are, IMHO, those of a hyper-spoiled brat who has never had to face any consequences for his stupidity and venality. The fact that it's Georgia makes it all the more surprising: Georgia is conservative and a bit backward, but they are, to date, the only state that has the people who are willing to call a crime a crime in this case. For him, Georgia used to be little more than a fly-over, a minor irritation when they didn't always dance to his fiddle. For them to charge him and insist that he surrender? Please let this be the humiliation he so richly deserves.

And the RICO elements? I swooned. 41 counts, 19 defendants... and so much evidence! Lordy, what that man and his enablers have done. I am still not sure that this country can ever recover from the damage that  the GOP has done over the past half century: Nixon's venality, Reagan's reckless anti-governing attitudes, the Tea Party's canonization of Reagan and his legend (which blithely ignored all the damage he did and further undermined the social contract),  Newt Gingrich, Tom Delay, the Bush Boys back room presidencies, Dick Cheney (war criminal)... and then... OMG, the Moscow Mitch degradations. Paul Ryan. Donald Trump. Kevin McCarthy. Marjorie Taylor-Green. And the politics of fear mongering... remember how horrified we were when Bush Sr (already tarred and damaged by Iran-Contra) was running against Michael Dukakis, and used the Willie Horton case to re-invigorate his campaign? The Republicans had been encoding fear politics into their programs and platforms for years - that was, for me, the first time I personally saw an overt appeal based on racism by the Republicans (which says much about my socialization and blinders, doesn't it..?). Then the Tea Party's pettiness and the disgrace that is Newt Gingrich. It's a long and distressing litany of old white men who sought personal power at the expense of American-style democracy. And all too frequently, not only redefined those traditions, but degraded us all.

So yeah, I pleased that finally somebody called a crime a crime. And is going after the Trump Cabal. Too bad Fani Willis is such a unicorn, and no wonder that a local Republican state lawmaker is calling for her impeachment. May he rot in Trump Hell.

Beyond that...

The Ukraine war is an ongoing tragedy, which Americans would prefer to forget. No, we want to cry for the people of Lahaina in Hawaii. That is not to say that Lahaina isn't tragic, and horrific. It is simply on a totally different scale than the nightmares that Putin and his cronies are imposing on Ukraine. Americans tend to be insular and thoroughly sold on the idea of American exceptionalism, and get downright nasty and even violent when that is questioned. So yes, I feel sympathy for those who've suffered in Lahaina, as I do for those in Lytton BC. And those all over the world whose homes and livelihoods were destroyed by fire, war, greed, environmental catastrophe, climate change, etc.. I cringe when Americans focus only on the local and refuse to acknowledge the loss and humanity of those outside the geo-political constructs of Amurika.

We Might Have Delayed the Decline. Maybe.

 The mid-terms were far closer than I expected. So there is some good news. It wasn't the Red Wave the GOP was hoping for; and the Liars and Accelerationists were - in some places - repudiated. But the Chief Liar (Trump) isn't deterred, apparently. That's bad news for all of us who care about democracy. The House seemingly flipped - that's bad news for justice re: the January 6 Committee and the work it has done. McCarthy is probably preparing the bonfire for that. I wonder if Moscow Mitch will show for it. He's probably being sullen and, no doubt, concocting new plans to subvert the Senate Majority. He'll likely succeed too - he has Manchin in his pocket, and that splits the Senate down the middle. I'd hate to be Joe Biden - his tough job just got tougher. And he doesn't have a firm base anyway. And I've seen/heard nothing from center or left that promises anything better.

As a country, we seem riven and sullen, if not down right self-destructive. If shared values are a basis for nation (a word I use advisedly), we don't have one. In the current political environment, we might all be using the same words, but definitions are all wonky. Not that they've ever been really clear - going back decades, I distinctly remember hearing Dan Quayle utter 'traditional family values' and choking on my beer. My mother glared at me when I said 'well, that's meaningless' (probably less politely). She was sure she understood what he meant. When I asked 'okay, can you see any politician or person saying they aren't for 'traditional family values?' Poor Mom, she got so tired of me parsing BS. I was so tired of people accepting platitudes and easy phrases without paying attention to the manipulation I saw. She just wanted a quiet, peaceful evening, and I was far more political and critical than any one she'd ever known. 

My education sharpened my critical skills - it's purpose, as far as I'm concerned. But this country doesn't trust intellectuals, or critical thinking. Never really has. I theorize that that attitude is part of our public education goals: I was taught to be curious, but not critical. Oddly, I think it was one reason I was the student I was. I did well on paper, got good grades, but was dismissed as anything more than mediocre. Told I wasn't college material. My rebellions were small, but from a distance, telling. Those are other stories, but the point for this piece is that college and university sharpened my critical thinking skills in ways that Traditional Power Structures have found less than desirable. And the current US political system  seems so dysfunctional and so transparently subverted that I am astonished it is still standing. 

The mid-terms aren't yet finalized, even a week after election day. The Democrats have the barest of majorities in the Senate, the House is still in the balance: Republicans have 217/218 they need to dominate there. McCarthy is sharpening his knives and gathering tinder. Locally, we've elected a developer's lackey to the Development Board, but managed to retain the contested Senate seat. McConnell's hand picked choice for that seat came far too close for comfort. 

And on the global level, human population has reached 8 billion. The earth is groaning, and natural balance (whatever that might be) seems dangerously out of balance for our species. And we'll likely take a huge chunk of life down with us when we go down. That's an ugly prospect.

Gee, what a happy thing. I'm going to go get my head out of doom & gloom and try to enjoy what looks to be a glorious fall day.

Election Day 2022: The Mid-Terms? Or The Penultimate Chapter?

 I'm worried. Really worried. The pundits are suggesting that the GOP will retake control of Congress, and that scares the sh*t out of me. The extremists that have taken control of the Grand Old Party and made it the Party of Fear and Hatred have an extremist agenda, one they've made no effort to conceal. So yeah, I'm worried. This could very well be the last election that even approaches what passes for a free and fair process in the US.

It's not like we don't have problems with the existing process, already tattered by gerrymandering, voter suppression and the like. The Republican assault on voting rights has been constant and multi-focused. And the Democrats haven't been nearly vocal or united enough to do anything to even slow them down. After packing the judiciary with conservative judges, the Rs have largely narrowed the path to redress. Which, for them, makes sense. As I said - it's not like they've been subtle about it. They've spent decades plotting a way to reduce the power of the average voter. It's been such a long process, I think most people have now accepted those past actions as 'normal' and 'logical' rather than the insidious poisoning of the entire political and governing process. 

We'll see the results - maybe - in this election. If the GOP manages to rebound and regrasp the legislative branch, they'll have what they need to control the judicial: the power to appoint. McConnell will dance in private and show his constipated smugness in public. Again. McCarthy... well, he's never been the brightest bulb in the pack, but he's eager to manipulate and bully on behalf of his own interests. We'll face another round of deeply flawed elections after the GOP rams through 'improvements' as they purge voter roles. In 2024, we'll be stuck again with Trump and his cronies, despite the mountains of evidence of corruption and sedition. And dear God, the fear-mongering and hateful conspiracy-loving weirdos will once again be waving their guns and bullying everyone. And millions will fade into the background - again - and come to accept this as 'normal'. 

The world is, according to the New York Times, worrying about democracy in the United States. I am too. Not just about democracy in this troubled country - but about the very survival of the country. We've allowed the entire place - politics, economy, culture, people - to be poisoned. We've done that, and allowed outsiders to do it too. 

Gods willing, we might just survive. Maybe.

Brand New Me

 Wow. It's been a while. And how my life has changed. Particularly in the past... well, since March 2020, which most will immediately associate with the COVID 19 pandemic that shut the world down for... a while.

I'm still living here in heaven, a tiny spot on the North Olympic Peninsula. The town itself has changed too, as towns do and must. I've had a nearly complete rotation of beloved pets too - two lost to cancer in 2017, another to advanced dementia in 2019. All those losses massive, painful, memorable. I still have three dogs and a cat - just two of the original 3/1 remain. Gracie died in January 2017, Tucker at the end of that summer. Gizzy joined the pack in late 2017, basically as a rescue hospice case with 'maybe 2 months' bur gave me 2 years of laughter and joy before sliding into dementia that did not let her sleep. I let her go in December 2019, in my arms and finally at peace. We think she was about 15. By then, Sadie had joined the pack as a senior rescue (about 8), and after Giz left, I waiting, searching for a rescue that would need us as much as we needed hir. That was Ohana, who came to us the Saturday before Covid shut things down on Monday,  mid-March 2020. I still miss all who have gone ahead, and remembering them brings tears and smiles. I've been so blessed with my pups.

I'm still doing my radio gig, which is both nice and  irritating. I was yanked out of my lovely time slot and dumped into Sunday afternoons and the sense of grievance has been strong enough to taint my time there ever since. I'd been really active there, giving time, effort, volunteering on other projects for them. The sense of having been done wrong was astonishing. But real enough for me to stop all those other things I was doing for them, and to limit my contributions to the single day of the week. Tellingly, nobody's noticed.

About November 2020, I was struggling with depression again and needed to get my meds re-assessed and tweaked. That began a frustratingly long process through the American mental health care insurance system. I'd call it a medical system, but it seems more structures by the insurance companies than medical anything. First I had to go to my medical doctor, who had to refer me to the behaviorial health people, who were the only ones who could give me the referral to the psychologist who could evaluate the meds and make recommendations. and because of the pandemic, each of those were over booked and over extended. and before BH could refer me on to the meds shrink, they were required to 'give' me x sessions of counseling. I told BH going in: "I've been in CBT therapy for more than 20 years." She nodded, and I swear it was like doing high school psych 001. To get to the shrink for meds eval, I had to do something like 6 sessions with BH. Each session was 30 minutes, and those were 2 weeks apart. That's 12 weeks of waiting, adn after that it was another month before I got to see the shrink. Those 12 weeks were me sliding further and further down the steep slope into depression, but totally required in order for the practice to be able to be paid. I finally got to the shrink, who asked me routine intake questions, starting with "have you ever been diagnosed?"  All of which was in my record, but he had to verify and ask again. At least a dozen of the questions were focused on suicidal ideation - I finally said "I know you have to ask those questions, and you're good at rephrasing it in so many ways, but the answer will always be NO." "Sorry," he said. "I have to ask for the insurance." At the beginning, I told him I'd been diagnosed as chronic depressive in 1995, and PTSD in 2015. An hour later, a hundred questions later, he revealed his own diagnosis: chronic depression and PTSD. So now we're end of January 2021, and he's agreed that my meds need to be re-assessed, and gives the required referral to a therapist. 

Somehow, by the weirdness of the universe and the luck of the cosmos, I landed on a name in a nearby town. Didn't really know what I was doing, or looking for (the clinic said I could pick my own, so it was basically me going through the internet list of providers in my area), just that I'd had CBT and it hadn't done much but maybe they'd be able to help me find the right person? Dear heavens, the goddesses were with me, because the person that responded was the exact right person for me.

So since late April 2021, I've been seeing Phoebe (not her real name). (I'll call her Feebs.) At our first meeting, we did the intake stuff and I realized I was really comfortable with her. I just skipped all the fencing around, flat out told her what I'd already done in the way of therapy, wasn't a novice and was rather desperate for help. Wide open honesty - it startled her that I was so a) desperate and b) willing to answer anything. At the end of the session, she said "I think you might be a good candidate for EMDR." Life changing words, those.

I'll do a post later about EMDR. But for now, I just want to say that it has changed my life in dramatic ways. Twenty plus years of CBT gave me lots of coping mechanisms, helped me get through hellish events and periods. Never touched the root causes of anything. Never went near 'em. Twenty plus sessions of EMDR have dramatically changed my life, detoxified and unlocked many/most of the base traumas that shaped the past 50 years of my life. 

Now, looking back at my retirement life, I see things that I didn't before. I've found new friendships, developed new relationships and withdrawn from others. I truly suffered through the years of Trump, and fear for the survival of my country and my planet. But the way I think and act now is entirely different from the way I did in March 2020. That big of a change that fast - and to be consciously aware of the change, and appreciative of it - AMAZING.

Early November

Well, this is just annoying. First, my blog - this one - seems to still be closed. Despite me opening it up over a month ago. Second, the password completely escaped me, so then I had to go through that rigamarole to get to something google would accept. Yeah, yeah, thank you for the security measures, but all these passwords... even my magic password keeper can't keep track of all of them! These, my friends, are the rantings of the extremely privileged, and I am all too aware of that.

I AM privileged. I live in a gorgeous place, in a lovely home, enjoy good health and a comfortable standard of living. I spend my hours the way I want to, be that in reading, watching tv (actually, very little of that), crafting, walking the dogs, exploring the area.

Exploring the area: oh yeah. Not nearly as much as I should, but since all my shoulds are on permanent hold, I explore as the whim takes me. For many years, 'as my Whimsey takes me' was my motto, borrowed from Peter Whimsey's family. Now it has real meaning - because of my privilege.

From a recent jaunt:

All these from the Miller Peninsula, about 3 miles from my house.

I went on the main road, which turned into dirt road, which meandered into a wide rutted path back into the woods. The further from the pavement I got, the less elaborate the houses. To the point of a wannabe yurt - no more than a couple of layers of canvas draped around a structure vaguely resembling a circle, all on a notably nice, new and sturdy platform. More than one ramshackle trailer house (from the looks of them, they've been there since they were new back in the 1960s). No people that I saw, just a lone dog patrolling the area. Well fed pup, so not abandoned, just keeping an eye on the neighborhood. Back on the main road, lots sell from $79K and homes are upwards of $500K. All lots remarkably vertical; waterfront, surrounded by trees - but yikes. I wouldn't want one of these places - nor to have to navigate one of those driveways... ever. And because of the terrain around here, the weather on that side of the bay is much wetter than over at my place. Very happy right where I am. But the exploring is fun.

Spent about an hour on the beach in the rain the other day - lovely. I stayed in my dry warm car, but watching the wind and the rain over the Straits was lovely too. So is curling up with the dogs/cat and reading. Ahhhhhh.

Timelessness

I love this life. It's really so cool; and apparently, really bad for writing impulses. I generally have no idea what day it is, and time means very little. My dogs tell me when it's nearing 5 PM - their dinner time - but that's pretty much the only trigger around here. There's no getting up for classes, no rushing around to fit everything in. It's quite lovely and feels indulgent.

Fall has arrived, with cooler days and nights, leaves turning. Out my back windows is a hill, covered with large trees. All summer it was simply shades of dark green. Now, the differences between colors is greater; a touch of gold near the top, some browns and oranges appearing. Every day is a new mosaic of colors. The new house on the closer rise has a drive way lined with young trees, newly planted. Two are nearly orange red; another is green-orange - and the rest are all still green. And they too change every day. We've had a very dry summer, even by rain shadow standards. We'll have four our five days of glorious sunny and clear weather, a gray cloudy day - and maybe even a light shower. Then more sunny clear days. Breezes keep temps cool - low 60s - and downright chilly after dark. This past week I saw frost on a roof top behind me, and G's allergies have pretty much died down after a very tough August for her.

I've made new friends, which is lovely. People up here are incredibly friendly and welcoming. It's a delightful change from the red-neck attitudes of Previous Place. And as noted above, happiness is apparently bad for writing, because I've written squat.

I have, however, found new outlets for my creativity. I'm still into glass, although I've not done any up here yet. I have been sucked into the paper craft vortex, and am happily making cards, scrapbooking and discovering the joys of Cricut, BigShot and that. These are all related - glass, paper, etc. - in that they allow me to design and execute designs, patterns, colors, textures - and the manual manipulation of materials brings great joy. Call it taking mixed media to new levels.

Finally having all my stuff unpacked and put away is delightful.

Finally, bookcases up and loaded!

and fun with Cricut!

Vinyl is addictive. It's very tempting to make my own decals for everything...

Weird Feeling: Happiness

It's more than content - it's happy. Happy. It hasn't been around in my life for most of experience. There've been moments, sure. Days long. But not more than that before the world came back crashing in, with the demands of daily life, the trials and tribulations. But long, extended periods of happy? Not really.

As a child, I survived the neglect of my father and the abuse of my brother. I took solace in the company and strength of my mother and her friends. I found love with her and with my family's pets - dogs, cats, peacocks, pheasants, smaller tropical exotic birds. In my teens, I was too shy for my own good, too afraid of my brother to ask friends over. Too many times so-called friends played the clique games of shunning other friends - "it's either us or her." Invariably, I chose the immediate her to anyone who could be so cruel as to exclude someone based on her skin color or body weight. By the time I was 16, that pattern was set, and I was one of the ignored in high school. Not a trouble maker, not an ace student, no cheerleadering or sports or anything. I just went to school, marched with the band, that was it.

Early adulthood was achieved in the Air Force: I earned a (tiny) paycheck, focused on doing my job and having a good time. And a good time was certainly there. But happy? I don't think I thought about it; I just wanted to contribute, be part of something larger. I learned not to be so shy, that I could do anything, that I was smart.

Marriage ended that. The first months were good, but then I made the mistake of letting my husband know that he had me. Once he knew that, our lives went from one of shared activities and friends to different paths. Neither of us should have married - we were far too young and stupid. But we had, and so we stuck together.  Which made my 20s and early 30s okay, but not happy. Certainly not happy. The best part of those 11 years was our - my - dog. That's where I got the love and support I needed. It was a hard daily reality that I was married but very alone and lonely.

Took a long time for me to realize that what he'd done to me was destroy my belief in myself and my abilities, intelligence and skills. I took what he did, and did what I'd learned as a child: I'd blamed myself for his actions. Not uncommon, but not happy making either.

What made me happy in those years was my darling dog and going to school. At school I could stretch my mind, challenge myself, and prove - with every A - that I was of value and had something not everybody had.

Divorce: not happy, but at least free. Alone, lonely - but no longer inside a toxic relationship, no longer beating myself with his neglect and abuse.

Grad school: oh wow, so not happy. Challenging, good for me, filled with new friends and new experiences? Absolutely. Happy? No.

Paris: oh wow, so not happy. Challenging, good for me, filled with new friends and new experiences? Absolutely. Happy? I was there 4 years, and no, they weren't happy. Pockets here and there of happy - the friends and experiences of being in a couple of communities (ex-pat, feminist, English teachers) brought happiness. I found myself there - shed the 'shoulds' of my teens-thirties - and created a me that I really liked. I wrote constantly - 70-100 pages of long-hand a day. I poured out my pain and fear and loneliness and joy and pleasures. Then France voted in a right-wing government, and they threw me out.

Back in the USA: oh, soooooo not happy. But a couple of years of real depression was finally diagnosed and I began treatment - and happy came back in dribs and drabs. Too much drama and trauma. Another round of grad school - drama, trauma - and some real pleasure in developing teaching and research skills. Lots of writing again. Finished the PhD. Got a tenure-track job. And from day one, was aware that 'my' university didn't really value what we were doing.

Family drama and trauma. Days of pleasure and joy countered by months of worry, conflict and pain. Friends helped me survive the re-entry of my brother into my life - the trauma of his idiocy and cruelty. Once again I found love and support with my animals and friends. The loss of my mom in 2009 was awful and still hurts, although it's not as raw. She didn't die until 2011, but by 2009 she'd moved deep into a dementia that kept her from knowing who I was, and that was ... hard.

The career: moments of brilliance and joy in teaching, reaching students and changing lives. Challenging myself every term to freshen and reinvent classes, approaches, assignments. Friends and animals provided the support and affection. Loneliness visited all too often, as did true happiness.

After 2011, I got a degree of financial stability I never expected. And that eliminated a source of constant pressure and worry - opened up some opportunities to explore the world in new ways. And honoring my mom, I took advantage of those opportunities. Happy became more possible more frequently.

Which came crashing down around my ears in 2014, when The Bitch set out to destroy me. I survived that, but my god, it was a hard hard year. She undermined my career at Unnamed University, and once again friends were my sustenance. I can't count the times I cried into the necks of my beloved animals, the days I spent hiding from caring friends who sought to assure me that anyone who knew me would understand that the charges against me were absurd. Happy made a short appearance during the summer of 2014 during some amazing trips - predictably away from my normal world.

The last year at UU was an extended period of cynicism and schadenfreude as I watched UU's poor planning and policies come home to roost. Knowing (but not sharing) that I was leaving at the end of the year made it easier to stand outside the disaster, to keep it at an emotional distance. Happy? Not hardly - but as the weeks went by I was able to feel less loss and more relief. 

Now? My last day at UU was graduation day, the first week of May. This is 3 months out - and in the past two months I've been happier for longer than I can ever remember. Retirement has meant no connections with UU. Moving to a beautiful place, with salt water and beaches close. I can be on these beaches within 5 minutes.

And I have mountains!

I don't have the BS that UU is dishing out (still). I don't have to listen to the right-wing rhetoric of Unnamed State, which seemed with each passing day, to weigh more and more heavily on me. Washington is saner. At least, I'm not as wired into the craziness of the place (yet and with luck, ever).  

My daily living is amazing. I'm happy all the time, not just now and then for short periods. This is amazing. Just. Flipping. Amazing. Imagine what I'll be like when I get my books unpacked!

NB: Happiness is not conducive to writing. Weird, eh?