Serendipity

Every now and then I wonder about my strange and unusual background.

HAI workshops.

Landmark.

OneTaste.

Burning Man.

Lots of fringe activities, exploring self and relationships with others.

I don’t often talk about it on this blog because it’s hard to put into words what it feels like to probe the edges of myself and explore the depths of my identity.

But that’s the task I was faced with yesterday after conversing with an old friend, who just so happens to be Swedish.

I am forced to admit that all these things I’ve done suddenly made more sense to me.

Even learning the Swedish language to impress a man who is now married to someone else.

Instead of feeling like a collection of failed hobbies, I feel like a whole and complete woman.

Strong.

Independent.

Ready to take on the challenges before me and see what lies ahead.

Bring it on.

Black Friday

It’s Black Friday.

I should be shopping but since I pretty much bought all my presents online I’m watching The Crown on Netflix and eating Thanksgiving leftovers.

The Crown is a dramatization of the life of Queen Elizabeth of England.

I’ve just gotten up to the part where Princess Diana makes an appearance.

It’s honestly hard to watch, knowing how things ended for this poor woman.

I remember when she and Prince Charles got married.

I watched from my grandmother’s living room floor as we crowded into her tiny home in Small Town, Pennsylvania to watch the wedding.

Such hope and promise.

I hadn’t anticipated this much emotion surrounding Princess Diana.

I am neither British, nor am I a fan of the royal family.

I feel profound sadness when I’m reminded of her untimely death.

We could use more of the kindness and philanthropy she brought into the world.

Beards, Tattoos and Dad Bods

I saw this on Tik Tok and fell in love with it INSTANTLY:

Of course, I drive a truck and slapping this decal on my truck might send a message that I look favorably upon men with dad bods, tattoos and beards.

And that would be an appropriate perception.

Because you all know how much I love all those things all rolled into one package.

Give me a handsome, middle aged man with a beard and tattoos and I’m one happy girl!

Saying I love you

I say I love you all the time.

To my family.

My kids.

My friends.

I have to say, as far as saying I love you goes I’m in for a penny, in for a pound.

I have no problem saying it when I feel it.

I’ve noticed however, that there are two times when people say I love you when you should be suspicious.

One.

They say it during The Act.

Everyone knows hormones enhance the urge to bond and say whatever comes in our brain.

Sometimes it’s kink.

Sometimes it’s romance.

Two.

They say it when drunk.

I have experience with this too.

Both saying it to others and having others say it to me when we’re a few drinks past good taste.

I love EVERYBODY when I’m tipsy.

And lately, drunk men have been coming out of the woodwork to claim their affection for me.

One texted it over Kik, and don’t think I wasn’t amused by that.

And another said it during a party.

And the third guy just spouted it out one night, while drinking with his pals.

And you know, even when people say it and I know it’s fleeting, I still get a secret little thrill from it.

Wouldn’t you?

Hunky Guys

I’ve been noticing lately there’s a lot more hunky guys lurking about.

First of all, I was talking to Tejas about a mutual friend with a “hunky son.”

We both laughed at that characterization.

Then I’m on Facebook, and in the “You Might Know. . .” section, there’s a whole bunch of hunky guys.

Men who know LITERALLY 50 of my friends.

How it’s possible to share 50 friends with someone and not have met them, I’ll never understand.

But there you have it.

I’m surrounded by hunky men.

Which probably means my hormones are out of whack or something similar.

Just between you and I, I did feel so strongly attracted to one fella, I added him as a friend.

And he added me back!

Also, it’s rumored that I am sorta kinda on the down low seeing a hunky guy occasionally, so THERE’S THAT!

I’m flush with hunks, at least on paper.

And a little IN THE FLESH!

P.S.  I’m loathe to use the term hunky because the last time I called a guy a hunk he pulled a Napoleon Bonaparte on me (he went into action without proper coverage, if you catch my drift).

Sorry to my French friends.

‘Tis the season

It’s raining.

Normally, I’d be itching to see sunny skies but I find this change in pace very satisfying this time of year.

My favorite sound to fall asleep to is the sound of rain on a tarp and I confess that having a bedroom that flanks the downspout of the house is soothing.

I listen to the patter of the slow drip, drip, drip of big droplets and the occasional gust of wind which blows the rain up against my window.

It’s this time of year when a huge nesting urge starts to settle into my body, motivating me to do things I normally would shun.

Baking cookies, cakes and pies.

Crafting.

Organizing my room.

Well okay. . . that one I do year round.

The urge to quilt and to make blankets for friends and family now beckons me to come and create.

I usually spend hours pouring over fabric samples online, selecting just the right ones to go in a quilt.

Arranging and then rearranging complimentary fabrics.

But this year I’m so far behind in quilting I don’t need to buy anything, I just need to work with the huge assortment I already have.

Looking at the weeks ahead, I feel this expanding sense of happiness growing inside me, as I look forward to all the time I will get to spend with my kids, my parents, my sisters and my brothers, my extended family and all my friends.

Oh shit!

That’s right.

COVID.

Confronting mortality

Something strange has happened.

Three men I dated suddenly passed away within months of each other this year.

They were far too young to die.

David was in his early 60s.

Steve was 58.

Bob was 47.

I confess, I’m more than a little shook at the suddenness and finality of death.

It’s made me think about my own life in ways I wouldn’t normally think about.

What do I want for my funeral?

Who will be there?

Do I have a long time until I pass or will it be swift and sudden, as with them?

There’s no doubt they have left behind family and friends who are suffering from their losses.

Steve had a son and an ex-wife who he was very close with.

Bob had three kids.

And David was a newlywed.

Although I can barely stomach the idea, it seems important now to at least provide my family with guidelines for my funeral or memorial should anything ever happen to me.

I want the quilts I’ve made to be brought to decorate the service at Burning Man.

And I’d like for my children to both speak about me.

And my friends Michelle, Barbara, and my cousin Jennifer.

I want everyone to wear bright colors.

None of this black nonsense.

And at the end, when everyone is processing out, I want Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s What a Wonderful World/Over the Rainbow to play.

I want to be laid to rest with the ashes of my dogs and my children Douglas and Ruby, who preceded me in death.

Kinda morbid for a Tuesday blog post, but there you have it.

I’m confronting my own mortality.

What do YOU think?

I have a bone to pick and I’m not proud of it.

But I’m gonna bitch about it anyway.

I have a friend, who will remain nameless, but who posts pics of kisses with their partner to Facebook ALL THE TIME.

Now I’m SUPER happy they’re happy.

And I’m SUPER sure that they’re madly in love.

But do I really need to be reminded of this EVERY TIME I DROP INTO THEIR PAGE TO SEE WHAT IS GOING ON?

The answer, my friends, is no.

And it’s not just because I don’t have a love story of my own right now.

I too, have pictures of me sucking face with men.

Although not as many as you’d think an exhibitionist like myself would have.

No, really?

Really.

I get it.

You’re in LOVE with a capital L-O-V-E and you want everyone to know.

So yes, I’m being a Scrooge about love and a Grinch about couples, but I just need to take a moment to say ONE THING:

What do YOU think?

Holiday Break

My work will be closing down for three weeks for the holiday break.

I can’t believe it!

The last time I had three weeks off in a row, I was unemployed.

Over the 2017-2018 holiday break, I took a one week trip to Sweden.

Oh, how I miss Sweden in December.

All filled with Christmas lights, snow, 3 pm sunsets, dala horses, advent candles and spiced wine.

This year there’s not much I can do besides stay at home.

There’s no point in travelling when you’d have to quarantine anywhere you go.

Were we not sheltering in place, I’d consider a trip to London to visit my friend Michelle.

Or perhaps a trip to Oslo to see where my great-grandmother came from and explore a little of my genealogy.

Sadly, I think my holiday will not be filled with travel.

I think I’m stuck at home, quilting.

Again.

I’ve got about 6 quilts to work on so I definitely won’t run out of things to do.

But part of me longs for travel, this year especially since I’ve got so much free time on my hands.

Lucky for me

When I was a child, I had a little stammer.

It was pronounced enough that my parents took me to a doctor to get checked out.

The doctor thought that I’d grow out of it and he was correct.

But I was a painfully shy child, often hiding behind my dad’s legs and my mom’s skirts when there were new people around.

It takes me a while to make a good impression, I think.

I am not the only person who suffers from a little awkwardness.

That’s why alcohol makes such a good social lubricant for people:  it makes them a little less uptight and a little more relaxed.

Of course it also lowers inhibitions, so there’s a limit to how much is acceptable social lubrication.

I’m going to a party this weekend.

A friend is turning 50 and he’s celebrating with another friend in a socially-distanced backyard party.

It’s being hosted by a wonderful friend who is herself celebrating a birthday.

Two for the price of one!

It’s Scorpio season and I am flush with parties and online zoom get-togethers and I’m happy to report that all my social awkwardness seems to evaporate when I’m with my burner friends and family.

A kinder, more accepting group of people you will never find.

Lucky for me!