Death and taxes: In which grief is like malaria and though it serves me rarely, as it turns out I'm an excellent shredder

This past weekend, Nick and I went to his office to work on taxes.

Well, he worked on taxes while I shredded documents.

The time had come to clear out old tax files. So we toted downtown everything related to taxes for us and for my mom from eight years ago and older.

When I was growing up, we burned everything with our information on it. Nothing identifying us was allowed to be discarded.

Lemme tell you how hard my dad embraced shredders when they became a thing. Pretty sure he gifted us all our own wee shredders.

I don't mind shredding. It's not exactly meditative, but there's something calming about the repetitive action and the hum. And it's sort of mindless but you have to pay some attention so you don't jam it.

Plus there's a rhythm to keeping it fed while not overlapping.

Such a good thing I went to grad school.

Anyway, Nick's office has an enormous shredder. It's pretty great in that it can shred wads of paper at once, and you can leave staples in. There's a limit, of course, and sometimes you have to pull really large documents apart. 

I guess I'm easy to impress?

Anyway.

There I was, standing in his hallway in front of the shredding closet on a Sunday afternoon, feeding documents in. 

And then I hit 2009. It was labeled "Betty's taxes 2009."

But when I opened the file, there was my dad's writing.

He was a leftie, with sometimes hard to read, distinctive handwriting.

I hadn't expected this.

But, of course he'd done the taxes, even though he attempted suicide in April and was expecting to die.  Unlike me, who always panicked right before taxes were due, Dad was organized.

And in fact, since he planned his death, though he died in May, of course he'd have done them early so my mom didn't have to.

I hadn't thought about that before.

My chest was tight and my eyes and nose were already prickling as I started leafing through the documents.

And then I came to a handwritten page listing their donations for the year. I don't know why it was the money given to WETA that walloped me, but it did.

Nick found me sitting on the floor of the hallway, sobbing. Absolutely wrecked.

I didn't have any whys or what-ifs. Really, I was just overwhelmed with missing my dad.

I wish so much I still had a voice mail. I wish I had a recording of him laughing.

The soundtrack to that moment was Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here".

"How I wish, how I wish you were here..."

Grief is so weird.

I feel like it's like how malaria can live dormant in the body for decades, and then out of the blue you are wracked with a high fever and such. 

Or maybe that's liver flukes. But I'm pretty sure it's malaria.

But really maybe I should just not make analogies and tell it for what it is, which is that I've been living with huge loss and the vicissitudes of grief for coming up on 13 years. 

In the way that grief is random, I don't always feel it. Long swathes of time can go by without it hurting. I can have memories that feel happy, joyful, without them being tinged with sadness or loss.

I can also be in a really healthy place, just going about my day, and then something completely unexpected rips open a little scab I weren't even aware of. All these memories and feelings rush out,  colliding and shifting, like looking through a kaleidoscope. 

They're all swirled together, in one big beautiful feeling of loss and longing.

For me they squeeze my lungs, stick in my throat, and leak out my eyes.

So Nick found me sobbing disconsolately, and I wailed about 2009 and my dad. And he enfolded me in his big old arms and I think I probably snotted on his tee shirt, but he didn't notice because he was wearing a cardigan.

I haltingly and hiccupingly told him that he would have to shred 2009. I just couldn't do it.

Part of me wanted to hold onto it, just because, but I reminded myself that I have myriad keepsakes and I don't need a list of charitable deductions.

Though I do fully support public broadcasting of any variety and I'll forever be grateful to NPR for towing away my albatross.

Runnering with scissors

I step out the door and I realize that I should've put on a hat as well as a scarf and I get all bitter that it's still so cold...

And then I'm all, oh, here I am on my stupid little walk for my stupid mental health, on my stupid little safe, bomb-free sidewalks in Washington DC, and I'm mad that it's not warm.

While there are people living in subways in Ukraine trying to avoid dying from Russian bombs.

And every disgruntlement or inconvenience is like this.

(Though I remain bitter that it's so cold. I just feel guilty about it.)

So.

We got a new rug.

Well, first we needed to get two old Persian rugs fixed. 

These rugs are nice, and they have memories attached. 

Prior to the revolution, we stopped in Tehran for a couple days on our way to Cairo, and our parents spent the afternoon looking at and haggling over rugs, drinking tea, chatting. My brother and I ate biscuits and climbed on mountains and mountains of carpets.

(Honestly, I use rug and carpet interchangeably. I don't know if this is correct.)

Anyway, I love these rugs, and they are old and pretty and hell if I was going to let the edges all fray off to nothing.

So I asked around, and a friend whose mom is Persian said she had a guy. He passed along the number.

This guy, now our guy, came over to pick up the rugs.

Naturally, as it's his business, he went from rug to rug on the ground floor of our house inspecting them.

He lifted them and expressed horror at the state of our rug pads.

Which, apparently, are a big deal. He explained why.

Also, he's Persian carpets or nothing, really. He has the goal of eventually "upgrading" all our rugs.

So we have a few good ones, and then, gasp!, a number from other places, like Afghanistan. Some purchased in Afghanistan, I might add.

The one in the kitchen, which I think rather horrified him, is a legit hand knotted carpet purchased on Craigslist. It may also be from Gasp Afghanistan or Pakistan.

(I didn't point out the Big Yikes IKEA one, but he spotted it anyway.)

So he said that if you're going to clean two carpets, which we had to do prior to getting them repaired, because they hadn't been cleaned since like the aughts, then you need to clean all your carpets at once.

He described these carpets as house filters. And once they get full of dust, you have more dust in your environment. You can't bring one clean one in with all the others full of dust.

Furthermore, he begged, don't buy the kinds of carpets with glue on the back. Because eventually the glue breaks down and then you're breathing in glue.

So there's that. We're unintentional glue huffers.

But in any case.

It kind of turned into if you give a mouse a cookie kind of thing. If you've read those books.

Soon they had all our rugs from the ground floor. Only one rug pad was left, because it was still in good shape.

Also, we've been destroying the old when my mom bought it at auction in Cairo hall runner because it's just not the kind of sturdy that can withstand the traffic. We need a new one for that space.

So not only is that being cleaned and repaired, but we're on a runner hunt.

Of course we went to his store and looked at carpets. We keep taking them home and trying them and bringing them back. We've been a revolving door of hall carpets.

We seriously visit him every Saturday now. It's becoming a running (runnering, heh) joke.

But in the meantime, the floors, they are naked.

This has Wanda perturbed.

Finally, one Saturday, we bought a new rug from him for the dining room. 

I mean, that wasn't where we envisioned it, but once we took the stained and deteriorating IKEA rug out of the black (glue huffing all the while) we had to reconfigure everything.

So we got this new and beautiful Persian carpet and I love it. I just love it.

Wanda also loves it.

She loves it so much she has urinated on it thrice. 

One time I saw her nonchalantly prance over to the rug and squat. I bellowed at the top of my voice, scared the crap out of her, and lost my everloving mind.

And if this whole story seems like a weird sidebar, let me get around to the actual point.

The point is that of course I'm obviously not cool with my dog peeing on my carpet. 

I love that Wanda, but I'm not gonna lie, she's broken my trust.

But I'm also like, oh, here I am with my stupid beautiful carpet, while people are escaping carrying their children and what, maybe some clothing. It's freezing, and the Russians are shelling women and children.

And Russian citizens are being arrested for protesting the war. Because they don't want it, either.

I've given money, because we always give money. To families separated at the border. To Afghan refugees. To Ukraine.

But I feel so powerless. So privileged and powerless.

The other day I rounded the corner onto our street, and the sun shone on the houses in such a friendly way. The sky was a spectacular blue with really interesting clouds.

And I felt guilty for enjoying the beauty and serenity.

I had to remind myself that I can simultaneously be upset about atrocities elsewhere in the world and enjoy the beauty of a beautiful day.

I have to remind myself of this regularly. Because the guilt and despair can paralyze me.

A friend said that we have to take the beauty when it comes, as it's the only way we can survive.

And maybe that is the perfect way to put it.

I need the beauty of a sunny day. I need to feel grateful.

What I would really like is to watch Ted Lasso on a continuous loop. I know Nick thinks it's weird that I'll finish with a show I like and immediately rewatch it to feel good all over again. 

I'm OK with this. I feel grateful Ted and his kindness. And also Roy Kent and his angry hotness.

I feel grateful for my family, for my friends, for sunshine.

I feel grateful for my little hound.

My little, rug-peeing, poo-eating, kibble barfing hound.

Apparently just the act of searching your mind for something to be grateful for changes your brain chemistry for the better.

So here I am, grateful. 

And also here I am taking my dog on a stupid walk for my stupid mental health and to reduce the amount of pee available for stupid peeing on a stupid beautiful carpet.

The Nature Outing

Yesterday was glorious. Warm, sunny, beautiful.

The kind of day that gives a person hope that winter will not actually last for the rest of our lives.

February may be the shortest month, but damned if it doesn't last like eight years. Every single time.

But yesterday. Ohhh.

So Nick said, "Let's go for a hike! We'll go to Great Falls!" 

Our children, who turn out to be about as nature-y as I am, were all, "Noooooooooooo!"

They went boneless. They slumped on the floor. They groaned. 

And while it is true that if left to my devices I will have a nibble of the outdoors, like a nice run, perhaps, and then retreat to a good book indoors, I do recognize how much better we feel when we walk outside, touch a tree, connect with actual earth.

In the grim depths of the pandemic, I would drag the kids and Wanda to Rock Creek, and we would walk for maybe 30-40 minutes. On the path next to the water, we would stop and yell at the top of our lungs.

We'd return rejuvenated.

So we scraped the kids off the floor, and I packed water and snacks. We settled the kids and Wanda, who loves the rare car ride, comfortably in the back. We headed for Great Falls.

As did, unbeknownst to us, the rest of the DC metropolitan area.

As I said, the day was gorgeous. We were all immediately in better moods on the road to the nature!

The kids had snacks. We listened to music. We got into Virginia.

And everything slowed down. The road got narrower and windier. The traffic increased. Everywhere that there was a parking lot along the road was packed, with cars waiting for spaces to park.

It was stop and go. 

We were about a mile and a half from the park and traffic was stopped in our lane. We assumed it was a line to enter the park.

We had three hours until India's orthodontist appointment. And no desire to wait an hour to get in.

We decided to turn around. If there was a spot in any of the lots on the way, we'd park and take a hike there.

So Nick pulled a quick U-turn.

A few minutes later, Jordan started to yell. "Wanda's puking! Wanda's puking on my lap!"

Wanda, dearest Wanda, who has been terribly itchy for a while, who has recently started eating fish kibble, which has totally helped with the skin itching, puked that fishy kibble into Jordan's lap.

Which caused Jordan to retch. Which caused India to retch.

If this is reminiscent of an earlier incident, let me just tell you that regurgitated fish kibble is way better than poo.

Nick pulled the car down a small side road and parked in front of another car, also pulled over. Because, as it turned out, her small daughter needed to go potty.

She offered us wipes. Boy, were we grateful.

So Nick swabbed Jordan off, and mopped up the back seat with the wipes, while I walked Wanda in the big grassy area next to us. 

India saw what looked like the back of a tiny library and asked if it was OK if she went and looked at the books.

I was pretty sure it was one of those signs that tell you the name of the manor or horse farm or whatever property we might be trespassing on, but she was having so much fun running in the grass.

Seriously. She and Jordan and Wanda were frolicking.

Jordan was like, "I like this field! Can we hike here?"

I didn't have the heart to tell my city child I was pretty sure it was someone's lawn.

So we got our sunshine and prancing out, and then India checked herself for ticks, because The Nature has many dangers great and small.

And then we went home. And Jordan took a shower.

The end.

Ah, New Year's Eve, we meet again

Happy New Year's Eve from our home in Washington, DC, current Covid hotspot. 

I mean DC is a hotspot. Our home is probably more like a warmspot?

So, last summer a friend of mine gave me a packet of CBD gummies.

They were little prettily-colored rectangles, ostensibly fruity but all tasting kind of like freshly mown grass, but most importantly, helpful for sleep.

In any case, I packed them in my Dopp kit but at some point it was a billion degrees in the car, and that night when I opened them to take a small slice, they were all melted together.

You could see the distinct colors but no physical delineation. They were firmly one multicolored glob.

And that's how this pandemic has been for me.

I can sort of attribute events to the first Covid year and the second Covid year, but as I have a tendency to think that everything was last month, even in normal time, I don't always get it right.

When was it that the kids and I were lying on the ground crying about online school, like, every day? Was that last year or this year? I honestly can't remember.

I remember wiping down our groceries and setting the mail aside for 72 hours (I think it was 72) and wearing latex gloves. I remember being scared of any and every molecule outside the house. 

That was early 2020, right?

I remember going to protests in front of the White House. Everyone was masked, and obviously we were outside, but I remember being worried about getting Covid. But feeling like it was important to join the protests.

(And when I say in front I mean about 500 miles away because so much fencing had been put up to keep the hoi polloi far away.)

After that, or maybe even because of all those protests and really no transmission, we learned that outside transmission is very unlikely. That was definitely 2020.

Vaccination was 2021. Hope that this would all be coming to an end. Seeing fully vaccinated friends inside. Only a couple, here and there. Not a party. No, definitely not a party.

But feeling confident in gathering outside, all vaccinated and maskless and in way closer proximity than we would have the prior year.

And then the news that people were getting Covid and transmitting it despite the vaccines. 

We'd still be protected, and we most likely wouldn't die, but we could still get very sick.

That was recently, right? I think before Thanksgiving?

So imagine my surprise to realize that it was nearly Christmas.

And now, as time as we mark it is linear, it is now New Year's Eve. 

Lo, 2022 is upon us!

We ended the first pandemic year without catching Covid.

We are ending the second Covid year with plague in the household. India brought Covid home from school. Honestly, it tore though her school.

They had everyone go online for the last day before break. They emailed to say 20 people had reported being positive.

India had a cough, and felt a little tired, but she was fine. Good appetite, good energy.

I gave her a rapid test, and it was positive. I hauled us all to Rockville for the only PCR tests we could find on Christmas Eve.

Then Betty caught it. Betty! Who we have worked our hardest to shield. My mama, who has COPD and has been my primary concern this entire pandemic.

She opened gifts Christmas morning, and then said she was tired and went to bed, and then didn't get up for several days.

Fortunately, DC has been giving away free rapid tests at libraries, and we have made good use of them.

So we knew.

She is doing OK, I'd like to report.

Saturday she got sick, and Sunday was scary. Her oxygen got quite low, but not emergency-level low. The doctor on call told me to buy a pulse oximeter, and gave me a number below which to rush her to the ER.

We flirted very near that number, and we set our alarm for 2:00 am and 5:00 am to check on her. Nick very kindly donned a mask and did the checking and let me sleep.

But her oxygen has been quite good since then. She now has a crazy itchy Covid rash. It's a thing.

And here's the part where I, after nursing my baby girl and my mama, also get Covid.

Which is hardly a surprise.

What is a surprise, a good surprise, is that neither Jordan nor Nick have contracted it. 

We hope to keep it that way.

India has already tested negative.

My mom's doctor assumes it's Omicron, because that's what seems to be going around DC.

Thanks to vaccines, none of us have gotten critically ill.

I feel like I have a cold. I'm exhausted, and have some joint and muscle pain.

But mostly I'm tired. And oooh, crabby. I don't think the crabbiness is listed as a typical Covid symptom. Anyway, it isn't on any checklists I've seen.

It is exhausting to be sick and taking care of another, sicker person. And making sure your kids eat. And making sure they walk the dog.

Although now Nick is on vacation and he has taken over, and I am glad.

Yesterday afternoon Nick came home and I stayed in bed. He fed the kids steak sandwiches, vegan crab cakes, canned fried onions, and ice cream.

They were delighted, though frankly, typing that makes my stomach all swirly.

God knows what their NYE feast might look like.

So we are ending 2021 in a quiet sort of way.

I mean, quiet but for the coughing and nose blowing and occasional bickering.

Who knew we could spend such saturated time together?

As 2021, a year with moments of extreme joy, and a lot of fear, and truly, the knowledge that I have so much to be grateful for.

I'm grateful for the people I love who love me back. I say regularly that I have many flaws, but I have excellent taste in people.

This is still true.

I'm grateful for Dr. Fauci, for scientists, for the many who believe in science, and for vaccines. I do hope they are made available to way more people in the world.

I'm grateful that we are safe and together, even if I have to wear a mask when I come down to the kitchen.

I'm incredibly thankful that my mom is well enough to be home, and not to be in a hospital, sequestered from everyone. This is not luck, or heartiness, though she is a very strong frail person. 

But let's be real: this is the gift of vaccination.

I also, however, believe in the power of prayer, the power of good energy, and so many friends have been praying and sending good wishes to my mama in this time. I am so thankful for those. I believe every single one of them help.

I'm thankful for our loving community. I do hope that 2022 is a better year for everyone. 

I have no predictions, and I have no resolutions.

Thank you for caring about us, and thank you for reading. 

I hope for health, safety, love, and joy for all of you.

Love love love to you.

Gift ideas from women-owned small businesses

Although I love Christmas, love the lights, love the cookies, love the color and sparkle, today I was all, "Holy crap, it's December!"

How did this year go so fast?

So maybe in this holiday season you need a gift or two for someone else or maybe someone who loves you needs to buy you a gift?

I don't want to be all food blog where you're just all get to the fucking recipe already, but I have stories, so I warn you in advance. Since I have a lot to say, I'm going to kind of tell this in story form based on things I own, use, wear, benefit from, love.

You know how to scroll if you'd had enough of the blah blah, so I'm not worried about you.

Here are representative suggestions of their wares, but really, you should visit their sites and browse and revel.

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Earrings from PamChamJewelry

The link above is to her Etsy shop, but you should also follow her on IG, because she posts a lot there that she makes for local markets and so they don't make it into her Etsy shop. Also, if you message her with something you have in mind, she will make it for you.

Pam has a phenomenal sense of humor and her creations have a lot of whimsy and she's an incredible human on top of it all.

I lucked out with this jelly bean ring. A friend saw me wearing it, and Pam didn't have the exact same stone, but a very similar one, and now my friend has her own creation. So.

I met Pam because she lived in a group house with Maude, although I have to mention here that by group house I mean a number of unrelated people who lived in a large house to share housing costs. 

I say this because a friend thought I meant an addiction center or something of the sort. And while there's no shame in that, it's not what I mean.

So, I lived like six blocks away in another group house, and I spent a lot of time at Maude's. This was before I discovered antidepressants, and so I likely spent a lot of time languishing, moping, or openly weeping at Maude's.

And still, Pam liked me enough that we're still friends and I get to see her every summer when we head up to Maine, and sometimes I get lucky enough to stay with her family. 

Last summer, post-vaccination, Maude and I both stayed there, and I hadn't laughed that hard in years.

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Stabby chicken mug from freemanclayworks:

Andrea ships a lot of her pottery to stores and doesn't yet have a personal website, but look her up at freemanclayworks on IG (linked above. That's where I contacter her when I learned (through Pam, because they are friends!) that she makes these awesome stabby chicken mugs. I had to have one.

And because the world is an odd and sometimes magical place, it turns out that she lived in Nepal in her youth and we have common dear friends. I love that.

Look at the back of the mug. It's perfect. Whoever Georgia is, I love her.

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Whimsical, stretchy, comfortable clothing from Jordan Piantedosi (who you should also follow on IG)

Yes, that's me. I wear a lot of her outfits and they seriously make me feel like a superhero.

And look, it's not all athleisure suits-- here's my mama in her lovely possum scarf. 

 (Also, I am hoping to receive this Strawberry Dragon puffer for Christmas. It will match my strawberry dragon athleisure suit. I just really need pink boots. Maybe lug soled or clog boots. Very pink. I haven't yet found any.)

The truth is, Jordan vastly improved my pandemic. I started ordering her clothing and my days got brighter. I walked around our neighborhood in these matchy-matchy tops and bottoms and sometimes this made neighbors laugh out loud.

And then I laughed out loud. It felt good. 

India and I started doing Jordan Piantedosi photoshoots around the neighborhood. We had a blast.  

Jordan and I started messaging about clothing, and then moved to sharing memes, and honestly, and aside from being an incredibly talented artist, she's just a really great human.

India and I met up with her for an afternoon in Boston last summer. The three of us wound up doing a photoshoot. This is possibly my favorite photo from it.

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Jewelry, perhaps a bespoke name bangle or necklace made by English Norman at ESN artisan jewelry

I met English through Wendy. First we were in a workout group together. The group morphed into a work out but also talk about everything else that might be going on with our bodies or minds group. 

And then I got to spend some time with her in person. I love English.

Look at this bangle stack. I have one, but stacked is really cool.

I have a very special name bangle with my kids' names on it, and also an I DISSENT necklace with pearls. They're both so interesting and charming, and I always get compliments.

English is, in addition to being an incredible mom, hilarious person, and creative artist, a beekeeper, chicken keeper (chickener?), dog and cat rescuer. She rents goats to clean up her garden. 

When she finds insects that are already dead, she incorporates them into jewelry. I sent her a bunch of cicadas recently. I'm interested to see them in adornments.

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And finally, for something lovely you can give or recieve nownownow if you don't have time to wait for shipping.

An energy balancing session from Alexa de los Reyes

Alexa is a dear friend of mine and one of the smartest people I know. She's kind and loving and she makes me laugh. She has this totally calming energy just speaking to you.

I've written before about Alexa, and how she has helped me with her energy healing. I recently had a phone session with her and while I don't understand it, I know it's helpful. She says it's not like Eleven going to that dark alternate plane, but she goes somewhere and connects with your body there.

I can't understand it, but I do benefit from it. Like how I explained to Nick, when I was trying to talk him into acupuncture, saying that you don't have to believe for it to work. Acupuncture works on animals, for example.

And then he was all hilariously, "Animals don't believe in acupuncture?"

And he wonders why I joke about stabbing him.

Anyway, to get back to the topic at hand.

Alternative treatments such as these aren't covered by insurance, sadly! But what a lovely, healing, calming gift during the stressful holiday period/endless fucking pandemic.

It's been fun to write about women I adore who create beauty and goodness in the world. I hope these are helpful.

Love to all, and to all a good night!

(Happy shopping/browsing. No stabbing.)