50 at 50: The Angry Season

It started in about 10 days, maybe 2 weeks ago, and it will keep going for another week or so. The relentless guilt trip that is Mother's Day.



My friends know that I've always had an ambivalent relationship with Mother's Day, maybe due to my imperfect relationship with my mom. In my 20's, it was a consistent reminder that my mom and I were often at odds, and we would never reach a point of seeing eye-to-eye. We lived a quasi-awkward detente for so many years. It was also a reminder that the idea that I would one day be a mom was slipping away. Don't ask how I knew this in my 20's -- some things you just know in your marrow so deeply that it's how you cope with a reality not-yet-real. Sure enough, my thirties rolled around, and I cared less how it affected me as a childless person. By that time, I came to realize that so many of my friends also had conflicted relationships with their mothers -- like attracting like, I suppose.

There's something about it that kind of rankles me in a million ways -- for all of us who are childless whether by choice, or by biology, or just by circumstance. For all of us who had difficult relationships with either our mothers or our children (or both). For all of us who feel that a woman's worth isn't dependent upon being a mother, but simply by our existence -- that we are whole humans regardless of our status as a progenitor or a caregiver.

The year Mom died, it was so very raw -- even more so for my cousin, who had lost her mother just days before, who had one of those great relationships that I would never have had. I remember standing in the craft store and seeing all those "make this for Mom!" displays and thinking, "Just another stabbing reminder that I don't have a mother anymore." I don't even remember what we did that day -- I think just treated it like any other Sunday, floating in a cocoon of emotional goo and waiting to birth into the butterflies we should become.

The next year, the grief was still raw, though lessened somewhat by time, and I was angry. I wanted all those damn advertisers to hurt as badly as I did. I never related to M'Lynn Eatonton as much as I did in that moment. I wanted to deliver a bouquet of throat punches and weiner jabs to all of them. I wanted to deliver a box of chocolate laxatives to them. Take them to a lovely dinner where the food had been salted with my tears.

Last year was a bit better but not by much. On top of that, by that point, I had suffered two more jarring losses. I had to cantor that morning at church, and it was almost too much. Odd -- the morning after Mom's death, I was in the choir, singing as if my own life depended on it, and now two years later, I suddenly can't? I made it through, but I went home that day and in our ministry scheduler, marked myself as unavailable on the 2nd Sunday of May from now on.

This year ...... I don't know. Part of me wants to wrap the blankets around my head and pretend the day just doesn't exist. Part of me wants to go to the cemetery and talk to Mama...... Part of me wants to smash things. I hear the ads and such (mostly on radio because I spend so much time in my car) and I roll my eyes and groan at the pandering and commercialism. I silently smile smugly at the knowledge that Anna Jarvis herself regretted establishing the holiday because of the commercialization.

I'll always be ambivalent and probably always a little angry. And sometimes, that's okay too.

I think Anna Jarvis would be okay with that.

50 at 50: Soul Sisters

I've never seen a truer sentiment than this:



If there is anything I've learned in my nearly 50 trips around the sun, it's that you find your tribe and you love them hard. Your girlfriends are there for you when shoes and hearts break. They're there for you when you have buried your mama and your dog in the same year. They're there for you when you get the promotion -- and when you get passed over.

In my life, I've noticed that a good many of my girlfriends all share either being a oldest child who happens to be a daughter, or an only child who's a daughter. I think we vibe to each other because we know what it is (especially by now) to care for a sibling and later a parent. Often we've parented those siblings and sometimes those parents (even in younger years). We know how hard it is to make your way in the world in a culture that still treasures boy-children as kings just because of their anatomical makeup, and expects us girls to adjust accordingly.

My girlfriends were there during all the fights with my mom (from elementary school on), during crushes and getting crushed, during the breakups that devastated me. They've held my hand and literally wrapped their arms around me to keep me standing when I didn't have the strength to do so. They've cheered my successes and ate ice cream with me in my failures. And a select few also look at me and say, "Okay, girl, you have bullshitted yourself long enough. No more" and I know that they say it with every ounce of love in the universe.

Some of them made their way into my circle early on. Some left as more came in but I believe in U's instead of circles where everyone has a place..... and in circling up when it's warranted for my own protection. Some of them I have yet to lay physical eyes on -- even after almost 20 years -- but the magic of the Internet has made those barriers nothing.

If I could teach young girls these days anything, it's that their vibe attracts their tribe -- so be aware of what you're putting out into the universe. But when that tribe comes together, you hold onto them for as long as possible. Men will come and go but your girlfriends will feed your soul. You may not share DNA but they are your sisters.

To every one of my soul sisters -- and you are legion -- thank you from the bottom of my wounded but still beating heart, from a soul overflowing with gratitude.

50 At 50: Real

I think that as I age, one of the compliments of the highest degree that I could ever hope to hear is "she's real."

It wasn't always thus. Not that I was false, more that I wasn't truly real.

I am a people-pleaser to the core. I'm not sure why, or what drove that instinct in me, but the need to please and to fit in was so incredibly overpowering. For much of the first portion of my life, I was a chameleon. I could adapt and blend in and everything was malleable and up for debate. It was kind of like Julia Roberts' Maggie in The Runaway Bride: with every new boyfriend came a new favorite type of egg dish. Finally, she realized her own favorite was Eggs Benedict. She'd been so busy trying to be perfect to please someone else that she didn't know her own life.

Hello? Hand raised?



Yep. If we hung out long enough and you decided you didn't like Italian food.... okay, that might be a deal breaker. But let's say you decided CCR was the worst band ever, then I would never ever mention that I like their music, or get very wishy-washy about my opinion on their work.

For example: Star Trek? Haven't watched an episode since he left but yep, loved it when he was here. (But to be fair, I'm still a fan of TNG and DS9 -- I just don't have my DVR set for every single time an episode comes on). Started liking Pearl Jam again after he was gone; stopped listening to the local morning show. You get the idea -- I hadn't been a huge fan of this or that or the other, and I quashed my own likes and dislikes in order to possibly gain some sort of advantage.

I'm not sure what triggers the change in someone to finally stop doing that and own themselves at last. For me, it was a lot of different things, all over the course of the rest of my life so far. Mostly, though, it was the realization that I didn't need to be artificial. People were either going to like me or not. It had taken long enough for me to learn to like, then love, myself. I didn't have the energy to convince others to do so. If you like me, great. If not, well, hate it for you but wish you well.

Being real is so much easier -- why didn't I do this back in my teens? (Easy answer: small town, and those "people pleaser" tendencies). 

Real is knowing that I'm most at home in jeans, a tee, a hoodie, and a comfy pair of tennis shoes or my beloved Docs. Real is laughing at my own awkwardness. Real is knowing my customer service voice went to Ivy League and my "come at me bro" voice is country as can be. Real is facing my shortcomings every day and knowing I gave it my best.

Real is pain, indescribable and sometimes almost unbearable. Real is joy from the depths of that same wounded soul. Real is walking around with huge holes in my life and not being embarrassed by any of it. Real is laughing with your girlfriends and knowing that they have your back and you have theirs. Real is holding their hands when bad stuff goes down - just like they held your hair when.... well, you know.

I'll take real any day of the week.

50 At 50: Looking Forward

This has been a difficult week in Cerveau de Moi. There has been a lot of upheaval, a lot of wistfulness and sadness, and yet some good in it as well. It gave me reason to reflect, and as I am wont to do, I meandered down a few paths.

It is still mind-boggling to think I am going to be 50 in about 7 months. For a couple of decades now, I've been 27 in my brain. There's always been this disconnect with my age and me -- as a kid, I was the little old lady in the bunch. Too serious, too mature. Now that I'm middle-aged, I don't feel it -- I feel much less serious. My body tells a different story, too many years of wear and tear and so so many years of fighting myself. I think I've moved myself up to a mental age of about 33 now.

When I was in my 20s, OH THE ANGST! OH THE EXISTENTIAL CRISIS! OH THE MELODRAMA!! To think of that time in my life, I'm actually quite sad at how much energy I expended in navel-gazing, and about things that weren't worth my time. I read my journals from those last couple of years in college and through my twenties, and I want to both laugh and cry. I laugh because again, THE DRAAAAAAMAAAAAAAH and so much of it self-induced!  I cry because I want to grab my younger self, and to tell her to snap out of it, that he's not worth this much emotion, that your mama is not the arbiter of your worth, that you don't have to live life settling -- DIDN'T YOU SWEAR YOU WOULDN'T? -- and yet, here you are. I wish I could take that girl who was so lost at 23, 24, 25.... and remind her earlier of who she was, and not to lose that person.

But because of that, my 30s were filled with rescue: rescuing my self-worth, my essence, my soul, my health, my career. I started with a slow crawl out of a tomb, shook off the cobwebs, unwound my graveclothes, and started living more. I remembered the young girl I'd been in college and resolved to find her again. I decided my health was worth saving. It wasn't always easy and it was one step forward, three back sometimes, but I arrived at 40 happy and becoming fulfilled. I finally started feeling comfortable in my own skin.

My 40s were life's way of saying, "Mmmm, not so fast there, hoss." Healthy was about to be a relative term. At 42, I had a cancer scare (that ended up literally being nothing, just "smudgy film"). At 43, it was a year of headaches that would not go away and a slew of work stresses that just exacerbated the issue. Worse, I had these nagging feelings that things were not as bright for me as they once felt. At 44, I was under such stress that I broke out in shingles. At 45, I had foot surgery and a continuing downward spiral pas de trois with anxiety and depression. At 46, the losses began piling up: my mother and an aunt in just 8 weeks. And losing my faith in people to do the right thing. At 47, more losses: my dog, another aunt, a beloved artist, and then my brother all within 9 months. At 48, I began holding my breath every time I had a twitch, wondering if I was the next one whose picture would be X'd out in some grand scheme of the cosmos. All along I was again losing my battle with the bulge -- and swearing it was going to get better. Right. I finally turned 49, and on January 1 of this year, I exhaled heavily when I hadn't lost anyone else in my immediate circle that year.

But on the decade as a whole, I gained just as much as I lost: I gained perspective and clarity about what really matters. I gained a completely new appreciation for my family, who rallied around me in my darkest moments. I gained friends for whom music was a lifeblood, as much as it remains for me. I gained a lot of compassion each time my heart was crushed, because it broke up the crusty outer shell and allowed my heart to grow all the more. I gained a sense of now-or-never. I had to really start living again. The years were no longer on my side...... I rediscovered my love for live music. The backbone that finally emerged around age 35 became galvanized.

What do my 50s hold? I don't know. I have some expectations, but if nothing else, I've learned not to count on anything - and not to count anything out either. I'm in this last year of my 40s having literally just gone through another head-spinning transition (one which caused a pretty decent spike in my anxiety). I know that whatever awaits me, I will meet the challenge head-on. What other alternative is there?

Forgive me if.....

Forgive me if I’m not myself over the next few days. This is probably my hardest week of the year, because so many things hit at once.

Today is March 4, 2019.... 3 years since the last time I saw my mom alive. Correction: since I saw her existing. She was on so much pain medication that she was out for all but about 10 minutes of the time I spent with her. I sang to her that day, and the songs “Given to Fly” and “I Am Mine” and “Scar on the Sky” still hold a very sweet place in my heart. They always will.

Tomorrow marks three years since that phone call .... 6:04 am. She’d passed at 5:55. I knew what it was when they wouldn’t speak to me but wanted to speak to Daddy. The resignation of “what time?” and knowing for sure. Dealing with things I never imagined — waiting on the mortuary, figuring out clothes to cremate her in (like it mattered but it was for us to see the body one last time.

The next day (March 6) will be both joyful and weirdly somber — Ash Wednesday and Daddy’s 75th birthday! I’m also getting together with some friends, one whom I haven’t seen in 5 years! I’m looking forward to that and will celebrate with Daddy over the weekend.

March 7 is back to somber — my maternal grandmother passed that day in 1982. There are moments it still stings as much as it did back then. She was the one person in this world who showed me completely unconditional love as a child. I miss that as an adult. We need more Grannies in the world who are here to do nothing but give unconditional love.

March 10 is another hard day, especially this year. My friend Tee from high school would have turned 50. It is still unreal to believe she’s been gone for 13 years now. It sucks that she hasn’t been in the world.....

March 12 will suck even worse. That would have been Richard’s 44th birthday. I am still not over the fact that my brother is perpetually 42 for the rest of my life. That I’ll never get to wish him a happy birthday ever. That I’m an only-again. Is there a support group for oldest-only-agains? There has to be somewhere.....

March 19 is a weird day too. It was my grandfather’s birthday but also the day his sister passed. My great-aunt Mary was like another grandparent to me. Weird to realize that she’s been absent from my life for all these years and yet I still remember how much she impacted my life.

And as always, there’s the 18th and 22nd..... days I never forget.

Maybe someday March won’t be weird......

Shades of Grey

I sit here on yet another grey day. It's been grey most of the winter -- and I mean levels and amounts of grey and rain that we'd normally associate with Seattle or Portland and other places in the Pacific Northwest. Grey, grey, grey. Variant shades of white going into black with occasional hints that there is blue beyond the grey. That somehow, through the veil of mist and fog, there is perhaps life in color and yellow sun. My yard isn't even green -- it's muted green and brown dead grass and pools of standing water. If it doesn't dry out soon, we may have mosquitoes in April.

I miss color in my day. I am trying to wear more color - not necessarily bright ones yet, but color just to break up this monotony of grey. Even my cubicle walls are a mix of taupe, brown, and grey. My phone is grey, the desk surface is sandy grey. The office walls and carpet are grey. Neutrals and blah-ness every-damn-where. I'm using Thieves and "Immunity Blend" essential oils in my diffuser to both ward off germs and to provide a little bit of fragrance to take the place of color. I've found a great rose-oil perfume that does something along the same line, because I need something to brighten things. I'm thinking of getting some sort of tie-dye banner or something bright to put in the cubicle to break up this far-too-dull boxy area. (OOOOH, World Market might have something!)

And if you think for a second that the greyness of the world isn't affecting my feelings and emotions, you'd be dead wrong. Several years ago, I bought a Happy Light (by Verilux) because Seasonal Affective Disorder (along with unmedicated anxiety and depression) made me a virtual monster one very grey autumn. It has paid for itself this year. I use it about 10-15 minutes each day and I swear by it. It may be purely anecdotal but...... I can't ignore the evidence. That and Lexapro have kept me sane this winter.

Punxsatawney Phil, your "early spring" better happen soon, buster. It's been four weeks tomorrow. You owe us.

50 at 50 (New Series)

So I'm going to be 50 in approximately 9 months. And I'm thinking it's probably not a bad idea altogether as I approach this milestone to reflect on things I've learned in those last 50 years.

Fifty. When I was a kid, 50 was old and getting ready for a rocking chair. I don't even feel even remotely like that. Instead, I feel like rocking out for the rest of my life. Do I have aches and pains? Gawd yes; Snap, Crackle, and Pop is no longer just a breakfast cereal. But do I feel like I ought to be 50 -- at least as I remember 50? NO. Not in the least. I've been 27 in my head for enough years that it's a nice place to be. I've kind of bumped it up to about 33 lately, but still, way younger than my calendar years.

My twenties were harder than I ever dreamed. The hustle wasn't happening and things weren't going as well or quickly as I hoped and planned and schemed. My thirties were better because I started figuring out what was really worth the pursuit and what wasn't. My forties were starting out awesome, then life threw me more curveballs than I ever asked for: a cancer scare, a parent in decline, whirlwind job changes, losing the first of my aunts and uncles, then losing more of them.... then losing that parent. Losing my dog. Losing a person I'd never met but who felt like a dear friend and mentor. Losing my only sibling. Losing my innocence. Having my cynicism bumped from a comfortable 5 to a plus-20. Losing a crapton of weight and regaining a lot of it in a grief-induced fog, and as I'm approaching 50 going, "Oh no, not this crap again."

But I'm here, I've survived and I haven't slit my wrists yet. And I have some things that I felt I've learned in that time and need to pass on somehow. The lessons may not apply to everyone but maybe I can have someone say, "You too? I thought I was the only one."

So over the next few weeks and months, I'll be doing this series. I'll tag it as 50at50 in the title, in case you're interested only in those posts. I hope they'll bring you as much insight and love as I hope to gain from doing them.

Square One, all over again.

Note: Cross-posting to Weighty Matters, Bad Catholic Anonymous and Birdcage Wisdom

Take the high road or take the low
No one but you and God will ever know
And you play rough and win or lose
Either way, you'll get the blues
-- Lucinda Williams, "Ugly Truth"

I found myself staring again at something I didn't want to see: ugly truth. The scale didn't lie, and neither did two-plus years worth of knowing I was eating to get away from what was eating me. But two anxiety attacks that awoke me in the middle of the night, scared to death of some physical ailment, the absolute fear not of dying but of leaving people behind and things unfinished -- and knowing I could damn well do something about it........

And facing my worst truth: I'm trying to fill a hole that can never be filled.

I haven't written much in a while -- or spread it out over other outlets -- because I was compartmentalizing things. General stuff here, weight stuff at Weighty Matters, spiritual stuff at Bad Catholic, mental health stuff and grief stuff at Birdcage Wisdom. But to quote the famous George Constanza, "Worlds are colliding" and I find them crashing down on me. The weight gain of the last two years is in direct correlation to a mental health issue from the last 4 years and the crushing weight of grieving 6 losses in 18 months and the effect it has had on my life and spirituality and OH MY GOD IT IS SO MUCH.

You know how Facebook has that "On This Day" feature where you get to look back (and repost) things that you posted on this day x number of years ago? I've noticed so many of mine from 5 years ago were of me checking in at the gym or from walking with my friend Sheri..... and so many of them from 2014 were of me in the early stages of going into another downward spiral of depression and anxiety. Of course, I see it in hindsight -- at the time, I was fine. Just fine. In 2015, it was my recovery from surgery; 2016, the loss of my mom and aunt; last year at this time, it was even more loss and a renewing focus on regaining my mental health. Recipes which 6-8 years ago were all veggie or healthy grains were replaced in the last couple of years by cakes and gooey things and all manner of sweet or unhealthy.

It was watching a person who had worked her ass off (literally) to become the best self ever disintegrate before your eyes back into what used to be.

I'm not crying. Hell no. I'm not sad, I'm not mad, I'm not even pissed. What I am is ready. It took long enough but I am ready. I've worked for the last few years on finding myself again -- while I was losing portions of myself at the same time.

What I am is grateful. I'm grateful for those freak-out, nearly-pass-out moments of anxiety at 2:15 am where I wondered if I was dying and being determined that if I could help it, I was going to ensure that I bury my father and not have him go through the agony of burying another child. I'm grateful for the opportunity to start over, with a few more years of wisdom under the belt, and leaving behind the drill sergeant persona I had developed with myself. The nearly 50-year-old me is going to be a lot kinder on my failures than the 38-year-old me would have been.

This me realizes my worst enemy isn't my body but my mind, but if I work with both of them, I bet we find a happy place where we all can live in peace.

I may never see "Onederland" again but I'm not sure that I care to, really.

What I care about is living. Plain and simple. Just living.

Time for Me

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Okay, really when am I not pondering the mysteries of life and the universe? But really, lately, my mind has turned inward yet again.

I’m coming up on the second anniversary of mom’s passing. It’s the point where I stopped really taking care of myself and once again sacrificing my own self to serve everyone else’s needs. Not that they asked me to, it’s more that I felt compelled to act. It’s kind of what daughters do: we take care of others.  The care wasn’t enough to keep my brother. He died anyway. Daddy needed my care for a little while but like me, he’s a tough old bird.

In two years, I put back on a substantial amount of weight. I have to take it off. It’s not for vanity, it’s for my health, my sanity, and my general well-being. I don’t know that I’m going to use the same methods that I used before. Not that it isn't a successful way to do it — it’s really a monetary thing. And I just truly don’t have time for meetings. So there is that. I need to get my growing hindside back to the gym — not that the membership is that expensive. But right now, it’s wasted money. I need to use it.

I’ve been saying for a while that I’m DONE. D. O. N. E. Duuuuuuuun. And I am. I’m done with being everything to everyone except myself. The person I need to come by on most. Time to stop letting myself down. Time to love the one person again who needs my care the most: me.

Christmas Eve Reflections

12/24/17, 9:25 pm

As I get ready to take part in yet another Midnight Mass (27 years now, I think?) I always pause to reflect .....

I think back to December 2014 — the last year we had anything close to a normal Christmas. Mom was still fairly mobile, but was starting to have issues. Richard was here. Maddox was around. Dad had just retired for the second time. We were together .......

I think back on those three years since then.... I could focus on all the losses, all the pain and the many tears I have cried. I could look at my own struggles from foot surgery to staying sane through all the whiplash changes. I could concentrate on all the disappointments, the dashed hopes, the what-might-have-beens.

But instead, I want to be grateful for the many blessings. Through all those adversities, I have been abundantly blessed — the kind of flowing grace that makes me drop to my knees, sobbing in gratitude for the love I’ve been shown. Love that makes me want to share it out, paying it forward to a world desperately in need of unconditional love. Kindnesses that have been poured out on me like a rolling river, that leave me shaking my head and wondering what I have ever done in life to deserve such favor.

In the last few years, my faith has been shaken and stirred and made gelatinous. It has been shredded and reconstructed and my soul sewn back together as much as possible. My hope has at times wavered like undies in the breeze on Granny’s clothesline. But I pray fervently that I only grow in my ability to love without measure or condition. It’s all I know to do these days. Just love.

Yes, I have lost family members — and the pain is still raw and fresh and I still find myself tearing up at the blink of an eye. But I have  gained a deeper, stronger bond with my family as well. They have held me up so much since March 2016 that I can’t even begin to say adequate thanks. I am so glad we are close after all these years and I love you all so much!

And I also gained a worldwide “framily.” My framily contains people I grew up with; people from my young adult life; people I’ve just met in the last couple of years, and some I have yet to meet in person. You are all SO vital to my life, and I am so very grateful to you.

No matter the specific holiday you celebrate, the one thing we share in common is the light — whether Hanukkah candles, Yule fires, Christmas lights, or any other representation. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, as the sun has diminished and now as the days will slowly lengthen even as the cold settles in, there is light that darkness can never overcome. Be that light, reflect that light. May all of us find ourselves warmed by the light and the fire it generates in us and in the world.

Looking Back - And An Eye To The Future

I thought 2016 was enough to kill me. I was so wrong.

2016, to be perfectly fair, was a craphole of a year in which doom and gloom seemed omnipresent in my life, in which I could not escape the spectre of all things wrong - and yet, one in which I experienced some amazingly awesome events.

2017 was much the same, multiplied tenfold. Once again, the Grim Reaper overshadowed my year, losing an aunt, my favorite musician (which most just do not understand how much his loss affected me), and finally and most harshly of all, my brother, so suddenly and so painfully. I feel his absence from my life even more harshly than I did my mother's (which was harsh enough).

But today, new hope. I brought home a new pet to love.

As most of you know, it was 375 days ago that I had to say goodbye to my beloved Maddox, my heart and soul of nearly 10 years. I had many opportunities from friends who knew pets (or who had pets) that needed rehoming. And as much as I wanted to do so, I couldn't .... Dad had an eye on knee surgery, and then losing Richard...... but over the weekend, I just started looking in earnest.

He called to me. His sweet sad little face and his story stabbed my heart.

So this morning, I went to the Humane Society. He was skittish, as they told me he would be. But then.... and I called my dad. He was very skittish, as they said he would be around men. But then....

We brought him home, and unlike Maddox -- who, make no mistake, worshipped my father -- he marched right into my father's workshed and lay down. Eyes on my father at all time.

Maddox, part deux, at least for the worshipfulness. I'm not surprised. That makes 3 of us now -- Kendi, Maddox, and me.

Kendi brings me hope. Making creative gifts for family and friends and coworkers has brought me an outlet.

Maybe - just maybe - 2018 will leave me the hell alone. Will give me space and time to heal at last. Will give me a chance to find myself again - maybe the parts of me I hadn't yet grown to know and love.

And at last, may we find peace and comfort and solace in a world grown bonkers.

L'chaim my friends.

What I Miss Most

It's been a little over three weeks since I lost my brother. Most days I'm good..... I haven't had my extreme meltdown yet but it is coming. This I know. But as it was today, I had quite a few tears. They were good ones, healing ones, cleansing ones. They were not tears of sadness, just tears. Tears that had spent far too long trapped inside me.

This week especially, I had quite a few people reach out to me to say, "Hey, I'm making sure you're ok, so really how are you?" And I always reply that we are managing. We feel our way through the days because I don't think there's a blueprint to be followed. That by Day 22, you're supposed to (whatever). It's Day 23 and we are still figuring things out. We have until this Friday to file paperwork with probate as a "small estate." That will save a lot of headache and trouble - I think, anyway. This is such a different process from Mom's probate. Feeling our way through.

We've discovered that the grocery bill has gone down a good bit -- which is good because we're going to need the money for other expenses. The house is quieter on football Saturdays -- even though Dad and I can do quite a bit of yelling our (ahem) encouragement and (cough cough) love of the officiating crews. Mornings are minus the laughter coming from my brother's room where he would watch reruns of Married With Children while the rest of us were expanding our minds with the news and current events, and occasional breaks from that while watching reruns of Parking Wars. For 23 days, we haven't heard -- criminy, I don't even know the name of it, but it was a smooth jazz song that he would play over and over and over..... I almost used it as the backdrop for his memorial slideshow but I couldn't torture anyone else that way. And I couldn't stand to hear it for 3 hours on end. Years of it was enough.

But I also miss jumping up to share funny memes with my brother -- especially this time of year. He purely loved the whole Friday the 13th thing, and Friday I missed him most. So many cool jokes that I couldn't show him. So many other horror movie spoofs that he missed out on. So many funny things in general that he would get and no one else would, not in the same way. I miss teasing him about things. I miss Saturdays where we'd have one channel going, he'd have another, plus listening to a game via livestream.

I feel like a large part of me has been excised, like a limb that's been removed, and I'll have pains (not just phantom ones) for the rest of my days. I don't quite know how to manage. I just wake up and keep doing. One foot in front of the other. One hour, one minute, one whatever at a time. More tears will come, of that I am sure.

Richard McClellan: In Memoriam

From Tuesday night's visitation at the mortuary. If you didn't get a memorial card, just let me know.

A more fitting obit....

On Friday, September 22, my baby brother departed this life. It was sudden and very unexpected, and I find myself at loose ends, not knowing what to do.  It is now me and my father. We're it. We are having to pick up the pieces and figure things out in a way that we did not have to do with my mother.

This is my brother's official published obituary.

Richard McClellan
Liberty, SC

A memorial service to honor the life of Mr. McClellan will be held at 2:00 PM Wednesday, September 27, 2017 at St. Andrew Catholic Church in Clemson. A visitation will be held from 6:00 until 8:00 PM Tuesday, September 26, 2017 at Liberty Mortuary. Private burial will take place at a later date at Westview Cemetery.

Richard Thomas McClellan, 42, of 114 Lee Street, died Friday, September 22, 2017 at Cannon Memorial Hospital. Born in Easley, Richard was the son of Tommy R. McClellan of the home and the late Nancy Prince McClellan. Richard was a 1993 Graduate of Liberty High School and was employed with Data Trac. He loved music but more especially college and NFL football. He was of the Catholic faith.

Surviving in addition to his father is a sister, Annette McClellan of the home. 

The family will be at the home. Condolences may be sent to the family by visiting www.libertymortuary.com 

It's serviceable but it is stale. One of the joys of my genealogy days was finding obituaries of my ancestors, and when I finished reading them, I felt as if I knew them - or at least knew them better. This is facts and figures and cold hard data. It is not the story of my brother's life.

But obituaries do not come cheap. Had I published this one, we'd be in a deeper hole than we find ourselves in now......

Richard McClellan

Liberty, SC

Richard Thomas McClellan, age 42, died unexpectedly on Friday, September 22 at his home. He was a teller of stories both true and slightly embellished; a lover of music, from smooth jazz (no, really) to European metal; a fanatic about sports, especially his beloved college football; and a connoisseur of both fine German brews and cheap American swill. He was a great cook as long as the instructions read "peel back the foil from tater tots...." or similar wording. He knew sports statistics backward and forward, kept track of all the college teams -- especially his beloved FCS/I-AA teams, and watched wrestling when it was "rasslin'." He had the fortune to be singled out by The Nature Boy Ric Flair (WHOOOOO!) at a house show and did an amazing impression of him. 

His laugh was infectious, and in the midst of his storytelling, he would get so cracked up that he would lose track, lose his voice, and start crying. He did impressions that made everyone laugh, and he had a memory like a steel trap. He was a savant with dates, an ability that astounded everyone. He carried around 40 tubes of lip balm and still couldn't keep track of them. He hated having his picture made as an adult, but we have managed to find a few. He had a wanderlust for driving around all over the mountains of North Carolina, the back roads of Georgia, places in Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and once drove to Memphis just to spend the weekend. He loved telling of his 11:00 AM drink in BB King's bar on Beale Street, just to say he'd done it.

He loved live music, and had the privilege of seeing some of his favorite bands when they were not too far past their glory days. He loved everything from George Strait to George Michael, and had an odd penchant for "yacht rock." No, I didn't get it either. Richard had many quirks which would cause you to shake your head in bewilderment, but you never stopped loving him. If anything, it probably made you love him all the more.

He is now reunited with his mother, who preceded him in death by 18 months, and his dog Maddox, who preceded him by 9 months. Mama is now back with her favorite child (we all knew it, ha ha ha), and with his beloved "Smaddikins." Together they will roam heaven on crumb patrol. Having to learn to live without his physical presence are his father, Tommy, and his sister, Annette; his coworkers at DataTrac, and former coworkers at First Franklin, Perception, and Greenwood Mills; a legion of brothers from his high school days (all of "Mama's Boys"); friends from all over the US who knew him as Catamount Man or other varied aliases from his football messageboards; and countless others who may have benefited from his kindness and acts of charity. 

Yes, and that only covers a part of who my brother was. I had 42 years of beautiful memories, but what I wouldn't give for 42, 52, who knows how many more.

This picture was taken at one of the few concerts we attended together. When I learned that Pearl Jam had put Greenville on the 2016 tour, my brother -- not a huge PJ fan -- said, "You *ARE* getting tickets, RIGHT?" Yes indeedy. We went to the show and had a fun time. He laughed about my musical choices just as much as I did about his. It was one of the best nights of my life. 

23 Words

So for the last few weeks, I've been part of an online challenge where we do a physical activity, 23 repetitions, in memory of those who have completed suicide and to bring awareness that it's more widespread than we can think.

As part of it, I've also been writing daily thought -- condensed to 23 Words only. I write them from the perspective of someone who lives with mood disorders that affect my life. While one may feel anxious or depressed over situations, it isn't the same as having anxiety disorder and/or depression. Those are baseline conditions -- a lens through which the world is viewed.

I'll be sharing some of those poems / thoughts  in a series of posts. Hope you enjoy them!

Chris Cornell, My mom, and Me

I have lots more to say but that's a separate post. This is about my first time to see Chris Cornell live:

His music helped me through a very dark place in my life during late 2015-early 2016. In late February my mom was taken to the ER with what was thought to be another cardiac event. She never recovered.

During those two weeks, Chris announced he'd be playing at Ravinia near Chicago. Mom was teaching me from her hospital bed that life was too short, to go for what I wanted to do. So I told my father that if I had to sleep in my car and eat peanut butter crackers to see him, I was going to.... harrumph!

My mom passed March 5. On March 6 (also my dad's birthday), Chris announced the entire North American tour. There were three places all within a reasonable distance. I decided I would go for one of those.

March 7 (also the anniversary of my mom's mom's passing; freaky, no?) I'm sitting in the mortuary helping finalize mom's arrangements. My Ticketmaster app buzzed and only one of my locations was operating through them. I couldn't stop to call the nearest venue, but I could do this one (next closest). So I got my ticket -- don't laugh, the mortician was running late.

I got home later and looked up the seat on the venue's website -- my mother and grandmother gave me one of the most precious gifts ever. My seat was 5th row, almost exact center stage (#20 on a row of 38). I cried buckets. I could not believe it. It was my first ever Chris Cornell show in any version. It was going to be magical.

And it was.

And mom continued to work her magic -- I got tickets to Temple in NYC; a friend ended up with a spare for Seattle and asked me to join her. I got tickets for Carolina Rebellion and then with days to spare, lucky enough for an opportunity to see them the next night in Tuscaloosa.

This morning in the grey dreary rain, on the way to church, I had a heart-to-heart crying conversation with my mother. I thanked her for all she'd done to help me see my favorite artist so many times in such a short time frame. I also told her to please find him in heaven and to give him a huge hug and thank him for meaning so much to me and countless others. I asked her to keep his sweet family and close friends in her prayers as well.

I don't always subscribe to a traditional understanding of theology. I honestly don't know what the afterlife holds..... my own thought is that we're bathed in light and goodness and that love fills every missing piece, all the gaps. And so I pray and hope with all my being that whatever gaps were there have been filled to overflowing with light and love..... and that the overspill comes down and makes us better people for it.

Loud love my friends.

The Spring 2017 Grand Adventure

So, in all mi vida loca, I had never attended a music festival. I had considered it on a few occasions -- especially something like Bonnaroo or Coachella. Heck, I'd even settle for Floyd Fest (Floyd VA, not all that far from me). But I just never had done it.

Well, when Soundgarden announced they'd be playing at Rock on the Range -- a 3-day harder music festival in Columbus OH -- heck yeah, sign me up. Two weeks later, I learned they'd be playing at Carolina Rebellion on an even EARLIER date -- only two hours east of me. I debated internally and decided ah heck, I'm only middle-aged once. I'm living my mid-life crisis, so sure - why not? I decided to get a one-day-only pass, because I'd be seeing all the acts again in Ohio, right?

Yeah. Then I found out they'd added some non-festival dates -- including Atlanta. Big salty tears, because that show was mid-week. I just couldn't swing it, so I was going to settle for my festival dates. At the last minute last week, an opportunity presented itself to see the non-festival show, to be held in west-central Alabama, the day after my one-day pass in North Carolina. Again, I'm only middle-aged once, why not? I'm still young enough to put in that much driving in a weekend and that much fun.

Well, I did a really stupid thing on Thursday evening: I took a yoga class. This in itself is not a stupid act -- but taking a class you never have done before, stretching and using muscles that haven't really been engaged and activated in a while....... You can imagine how I was feeling Friday morning, waking up early and driving to just east of Charlotte. I got to the festival parking site around 12:00, and began walking toward the edge of the parking lot, where I could hear the band pretty well. I then learned the band was across the road -- and back a few hundred yards. So I kept walking.

Keep in mind, this was a cold morning for early May for us. So I had put on my long sleeve Gamecock tee, and my thin black hoodie. I had packed a short-sleeved tee for later - you know, when it warmed up. And I kept walking in an overcast sky and began to stand in an interminable General Admission entrance line. I'm not sure why it took forever to get through -- the gates had opened at 10:30ish and here we were, well on 1:00 and past. I know this because the band that was screaming its lungs out was one of the bands serving as an opening act on Soundgarden's tour....... I pretty much decided that I wasn't crazy about their style.

I meandered around and found the merchandise tent. Nothing really interested me. There was a Soundgarden shirt that I knew I already wanted but it wasn't one of the ones on sale at the festival. They had all the shirts available on the LiveNation web site -- but having already waited three months on a tee I'd ordered from them (and then asking for a cancellation and refund)..... um, no. So if Alabama didn't have the one I wanted, then I would just have to order from the site, much to my dismay. I couldn't decide if I wanted a festival shirt or not. And there weren't many other knickknacks I wanted -- no keychains or koozies. Hmm.... I was going to have to decide which (if any) I wanted. But I had all day to do so.

I was going to meet up with several fellow Knights of the Sound Table (a FB group) who would be at the event. I found the first one during the Eagles of Death Metal concert -- by the way, EODM is really good! -- and we were waiting on some of the others. We wandered over to another stage and found a little punk trio named Radkey -- WOW! Punk is not dead! These guys were good and definitely worth another listen! Then I had planned to see Pierce The Veil, but I just watched them from afar - mostly waiting for the guys to come back from the portapotty lines. Wandered to another stage where a screamy-metal group was playing. I've listened to enough of that with my brother, so I put my poncho on the ground and took a much needed break off my feet. We then wandered over to see The Cult. That was phenomenal!! Their music was around during my high school and college years, so hearing some of those songs was a sweet trip down memory lane. Afterwards, part of the group (myself included) went to grab some grub. And the weather was brutal.

Remember that short-sleeved tee I packed? Yeah, I put it on -- on top of my long-sleeved tee and under my hoodie for a third layer. I was freezing!!! By 8:00 it was back in the 50s and so, so windy. We went to the mainstage for Soundgarden's show. The temperature only got better when more bodies joined in and whatever body heat we had began to commingle.

The show began and oh my God!!!! the dream came true. It was absolutely un-freakin'-believable. The music was spot-on, the crowd was into it (and heavy into bodysurfing), and to hear "Kyle Petty, Son of Richard" in the heart of NASCAR country....... OMG, unbelievable. (PS: if you are easily offended by language, don't even bother to click the link for the song.)

So festival sets are usually shorter (anywhere from 30 minutes for early acts to about 90 minutes for headliners) -- but even in a shorter set, they did not disappoint in the least. But better stuff was to come........

So I got up pretty early on Saturday and started going west toward Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I began to call this the #RoadWorkRoadTrip ..... because there was SOME slowdown or variation on construction in four different states. North Carolina had a holdup for 3 miles for literally no reason. It seems someone forgot to turn off the flashing sign that said "Left 2 Lanes Closed, Merge Right" -- we all got in the right lane for nothing. The construction crew was not there. I imagine someone in Raleigh sitting in a control room somewhere, laughing their asses off at us. South Carolina -- yeah, we have road construction in 3 or 4 places along a 100 mile stretch of interstate. Georgia -- one word: Atlanta. 'Nuff said. Even Alabama had some in various places.

Oh, did I also mention this weekend was Talladega? Which is on the road I was on? Yeah.

Because of Talladega ..... and 'Bama's graduation in Tuscaloosa .... and graduations at UAB and Samford in Birmingham, there wasn't a hotel room to be found anywhere along the I-20 stretch. Even the Motel 6 in Tuscaloosa was going to be around $100. Sorry, but I'd rather sleep in my car. It's safer and certainly more hygienic! As luck has it, when I got the ticket for Tuscaloosa, I booked a room in Birmingham. It's only an hour away, I can deal with that. The hotel called me right before I crossed the state line to ensure that I was still planning to come and use the room -- YES! I couldn't scream it loudly enough. As it turns out, when I got to the hotel, the clerk explained that a couple of the online booking sites kept taking reservations even though they were at 100% capacity. She'd had to call them to explain that all the rooms really were taken.

Okay, so I got to the room, took a quick nap to alleviate the tiredness, and then headed over to Tuscaloosa. It was being held in the Amphitheater along the river front, and you could not ask for a prettier venue. We ended up as second row along the rail, and the opening band came on...... same screamy-metal band from Friday afternoon and they're not my style. I cheered for them and for their hard work, but I won't be rushing out to buy their album.....

Forgot to note that before the show, we did go by the merchandise booth and YESSSSSSSS they had the shirt I wanted!! While there were plenty of other designs on the web site -- and at the venue -- this is exactly what I wanted all along. And I love that they used a lyric from their 1989 song "Loud Love" -- and so apropos.

So anyway, it was time for the main act -- and I was so psyched. They started with a song from their 1988 LP that was recently remastered and reissued. It was phenomenal to hear again! They also did one of their earliest songs, which I think came from a demo in 1985 and eventually ended up on their first record (an EP from 1987).

Of course, they played a lot of the hits from years of recordings. Thirty years' worth of music trying to be distilled into 2 or 2-1/2 hours is hard, but they did a great job!

I was especially happy to have heard two songs, one on both nights and another just at the Tuscaloosa show. I have what I call the Big Three by them -- "Fell On Black Days," which I've heard live twice by them and once by their lead singer on a solo acoustic tour; "Blow Up the Outside World" (same - live twice now by them, and on the acoustic tour), and "The Day I Tried to Live" -- which he did not do on his solo show, but which I heard both nights here.

Let me state up front for the record -- if anyone ever tells you that any activity or hobby saved their live, they aren't joking. You best believe them. Music has saved me -- constantly throughout my life, and again in very key moments. That song saved my sanity in December 2015 -- so hearing it live and done so well was very nearly a religious experience.

Then one of the other songs from that time frame that made me happy at a time when little else did: "Burden In My Hand" ...... it's hard to explain because the song is dark, the video is slightly odd, but for me, the song is absolute delight and joy. It makes me want to pull my car over, get out and dance and sing along. And to hear that........ I sang right along, heart full to near-bursting.

And then -- the same closing from the night before: An extended version of "Slaves and Bulldozers" from their Badmotorfinger CD from 1991. The original itself is near 7:00 -- this clocks in around 11:30ish. There's an extended jam in the middle, coupled with some lyrics from "In My Time of Dying" that match the rhythms of S&B. I wish I had gotten video of it, but I was just enjoying it way too much. Which is kinda the whole point of the show......

So then Sunday morning, I got up, checked out of the hotel and went to church (thank you, Catholic guilt - HA!). Then I bummed around Birmingham until that afternoon to meet friends for a late lunch/early dinner. I found some of my beloved Diet Buffalo Rock, the spiciest ginger ale that I absolutely adore! Hung out at B-N because I wanted to check out some books on quilting..... but nothing that really screamed "YES" at me. Much like many crafting projects. I need to just start designing stuff for women like me!

Met my friends and we had a grand time laughing about a lot of things. Then it was time to head back -- remember that little race going on east of Birmingham? I was heading that way just as the race wrapped up. God bless the state troopers and other traffic enforcers because they have that exit strategy down to a science and an art form. There was no delay at all on I-20 E at the speedway. Bravo, Alabama - you do this right.

Back through the hell that is Atlanta traffic and then WHAM! 3 or 4 major slowdowns between Lawrenceville and South Carolina. At least there was a relatively smooth drive once I crossed the state line.

So........ 950 miles. 14 hours round trip. Two AMAZING events. Feet that still ache. Hammys that need to be stretched out. My chiropractor is going to have a field day on Wednesday.

Oh, and Ohio? Welllllll......... as much as I want to go, real life kicked in and I am very sadly giving up my opportunity to go. I'm still going to use the time off (partly to recuperate!) and I am going to live vicariously through others -- just as others did through me this weekend. It sucks but I'm choosing to be an adult about it.

Dear Craft Companies

To Whom It May Concern:

Allow me to share with you my frustrations at not finding craft products that speak to me.

I am over 40, single and childless. I'm not swimming in dough but I do have some discretionary income. And I'm pretty creative and crafty. But the products just don't address who I am. 

Feminine? Yes. But I'm not into all florals. Glitter? OH PLEASE! That's for 8-year-olds. Fabrics with prints of Parisian cafes and the Eiffel Tower are..... no. I like shabby chic but it just isn't me. My favorite shoes aren't Louboutin and Choo, but more on the lines of New Balance and Dansko or even Docs. I love tee shirts and jeans but I'm not all red-white-and-blue and country chic. Note: denim isn't just for the yee-haw crowd. I love bright colors but I don't want neon, I don't want sparkly, and I don't want polka dotted everything! I do not always want faux paisley. I sure as hell don't want chevron ..... and zebra prints and leopard spots? Oh no, no no, especially when combined with marabou feathers. STOP IT! I'm so over all this! Who decided that this is what women wanted and needed and we are this style?

I want something that speaks to the girl who loves attending both rock concerts and Broadway shows. To the girl who loves flowy Boho scarves and skirts -- and tartans and plaids -- alongside her tees and jeans. To the one who isn't a sports mom, who doesn't have a froo-froo pet, who maybe has a tattoo or piercing other than her ears. To the girl who is a sports fan and who isn't there because of her man, but because she loves the game. To the girl who knows who she is -- and it's none of the things being marketed to us.

What I really want is something that speaks less to the girl we were back then, and more to the woman we have become. To the one who has persevered and overcome things in the way that countless others have: with style and grace and a reserve she never imagined she had. I want real and authentic. I want Stratocasters next to the daisy prints. I want stylish and confident, secure in knowing who I am at this point in my life.

I want a line of embellishments that reflect my likes, my needs. And I'll happily help you out for a small consulting fee. 

The Year of Firsts

Yesterday marked 50 weeks to the day. In exactly two weeks from today, it will be one year since Mom left us. This Wednesday is the one-year anniversary of her final trip to the ER. Everyone told me about the "year of firsts" -- all the big events that are suddenly missing a person.

Last year, we had less than 24 hours until we hit the first of those firsts.  Mom died the day before Dad's birthday. A week before my brother's birthday. Three weeks before Easter 2016. Those firsts came along so rapidly that we didn't have time to process them. Then came Mother's Day, which is a day I would just as soon forget for the remainder of my days. And on and on it went.......

The first six months were horrible. I grieved Mom so much. Then on that anniversary weekend, she sent me a sign, a siren call really: it was time to let go as I'd promised, as I'd wanted her to do and be free. She was telling me that she couldn't be free as long as I clung tightly.

My birthday came and went. I missed Mom giving me a card and saying "I'm sorry it's not more...." As if I were still five years old and expecting a couple of dollars tucked in there. It was a rather wistful day.

Thanksgiving came and went. Then we lost Maddox. Losing Mom hurt, losing Maddox cut hard and sharp. Christmas came and we were okay until Dad choked up during grace. We made it through New Year's and all the bowl games.

And now comes the anniversaries we never wanted to "celebrate" ......

Another friend in the one-parent-left club mentioned that for her, the second year was the worst. The first was bad but you expected to come upon these things ...... But in that second year you're somehow supposed to be over it. As if you ever are.

The hard days for me will be Feb. 27 -- the day the doctors told us to start considering all our options -- and March 4, Mom's last full day, when I spent hours in silence with her at Hospice and sang to her. March 9 will be the anniversary of her funeral, and that day too may be hard.

What this year has taught me is that life is short and fragile, that you had best tell those you love that you love them. You have to follow your bliss and enjoy every moment, because you are not promised even one additional second. Do what makes your heart sing and soar. And love. Don't put tags or labels on it, just love unconditionally, as you are loved. Love large, love often, but love wisely all the same. And fear not.

As my family has unpacked Mom's passing and her life, we are saddened by how much and how often she was guided by fear. I usually am not the type to allow fear to rule my choices, but now I'm even less inclined to do so. I will not allow fear to make my choices for me.

And in doing so, I will honor my mother.

When Adulting Sucks

Today marks 48 weeks since Mom passed. And come Monday, we McClellans will gather again to say goodbye to yet another member.

Dad's oldest sister, my Aunt Joyce, passed on Wednesday, February 1. Another one to pass at age 78. There have been way too many people I know recently and throughout my life who died at that age, and it's kind of freaky, to be honest.

So since 2009, we have lost Uncle Clyde, Uncle Bill, Aunt Harvalene, Uncle Jack, Mom, Aunt Glendel, and now Aunt Joyce. Two siblings and their spouses, plus three more of the in-laws. And counting my Uncle Bob's first wife, two other cousins lost a parent as well. Eight family members gone in as many years -- but four of them in less than two calendar years.

There are five left..... Uncle Bobby, Uncle Donnie, Aunt Peggy, Daddy, and Uncle Harry. There are two spouses left: Aunt Peggy "Red" and Aunt Betty. Bobby will be 81 next month. Harry just turned 71 last summer. Daddy will be 73 next month. I knew the day would come when my childhood and the people in it would be gone. God knows I went to enough funerals as a child and teen (and continuing...) that I have a pretty decent grasp on death and dying. But it never gets easier.....

In fact, as I get older, it gets harder. It's a slap in the face to my own sense of immortality. I know, I know, I didn't really ever believe I was immortal -- when you lose a classmate at age 14, it really steals that whole idea from you. But I've been trying to slow down time since I was 18. In my head I still think I'm in my late 20 or early 30s at worst. I've been to high school class reunions and number 30 is upcoming this year. But it's impossible, is it not? So my oldest cousin just turned 60 - I'm still a baby, right? The mirror tells me a different story and I know it.

There's a special irony in battling wrinkles while you're still battling acne -- or that you're still battling acne when wrinkles are supposed to be your biggest skincare issue at this age. When you're coloring your hair not to look spectacular but to hide the silvers and greys and making sure that you're covering the mousiness. When you're caught in that space of trying to look the young person you know that you still are, but not trying to look as if you're desperately clinging to a long-gone youth. Subtly covering the gray is great, but using "Loretta Lynn Bootblack" is another story.

Adulting sucks at times, and saying goodbye to loved ones is among the suckier parts of being an adult. With that, I look back on the fond memories of my family and my childhood, and plan to say a sweet farewell to my aunt. She is with her loved ones, and I rejoice that she is free from the confines of a body that did not want to cooperate with all she wanted to do still.