Deleted Posts: The Return

June 23, 1995 Comments off

As many of you know, I accidentally deleted roughly 300 posts from my blog a couple years back.

I’m bringing back my favorites. Unfortunately, this means you’ll see many new post notifications for old posts, which will quickly seem to disappear because my assigning them their old dates changes their URLs.

Please click here for a listing of posts returned so far.

If you have another moment to spare, check out my 20-year bloggingversary post here. My life has improved greatly thanks to my publishing that first post June 23, 1995.

Categories: FYI

Racism tourist

I enjoyed some upbeat conversation earlier.

When it turned to the band The Police, I started giggling. My conversation partners noticed me giggling and asked why.

“Have you seen Key & Peele?” I asked. I was certain at least one of them would say yes.

“Nope,” one said.

“What’s that?” asked the other.

Oh, shoot, I thought. No telling whether they’ll appreciate this. But … y’know, why not?

“So, they’re comedians. In this one sketch, they’re two Black men–which they are, really–in the middle of an alien invasion. They’re trying to figure out who’s an alien and who’s a person.” Read more…

Wherever “where” is

Last night I wrote about how I haven’t seen my friends enough since I had my second child.

Today my family and I joined our friend Rara and her mamasaur at a playground. We chatted while running after my kids, and in between my older son’s breathless entreaties to race him. (Spoiler alert: He always wins, but his races are just on the other side of fair.)

We all went to eat. My oldest sat next to Rara and nuzzled her as if they’d known each other forever; maybe they have. My littlest one didn’t so much eat as smear rice all over the table.

I cheered out loud when I saw her little dinosaur.

dino

Im in ur kitchin, eatin ur pad thai!

My continued cheering quietly as we said farewell. See you soon.

After returning home, I read her newest post. It answers the question, “Where’re you goin’?”

I didn’t know that earlier, when I told her I’m not sure where I’m headed. I only have the vaguest idea.

What I do know for sure is that I’ll be in good company getting wherever “where” is.

<3

<3

Categories: Family, Friends Tags: , ,

Jump out of the damn pot

Today I visited with friends.

I haven’t done that much since I had my second child last year.

Emily "made" us visit a few weeks ago, bless her.

Emily “made” us visit a few weeks ago, bless her.

I haven’t had the time or energy. Since I already drive at least three hours each weekday, I haven’t wanted to negotiate drives further than five minutes away from home on the weekends. Weekday evenings have been completely out of the question.

My husband’s nudged me toward the door. He’s encouraged me to make time with girlfriends, suggesting it’ll lift me up like no words on a screen ever could. I’ve waved him off, thinking I was doing myself a favor by avoiding the drive, the time, the emotional output.

I knew my husband was right when my heart plummeted as my friends walked away today. I wanted to shout, “Don’t leave! Please! Let’s just stay here for another ten minutes! Or five? I’d even take three!” Instead, I quietly helped pack my family’s things with tears in my eyes. Read more…

Victory

Jenn is a Republican.

Her wit’s sharper than a Lego at 3 o’clock in the morning, but her heart’s softer than the lightest feathers you’ve ever touched. You’ll never find out the latter if you can’t embrace the former.

She met my family a couple of weeks ago. Living on opposite ends of the U.S. West Coast as we do, she’s followed from afar my transition from anti-marriage, kid-phobic adventurer to married mom of two as I have followed her own transitions from afar.

I don’t remember more than a thing or two we said over burgers, but I remember how it felt to be sitting across from her and my five-year-old, Li’l D. Listening to her talk to my husband as if the two had known each other forever.

It felt like home; like I had just fallen into orbit after being long adrift.  Read more…

Let It Be

Deborah the Closet Monster:

Rara’s out, which is great, but not all is made great by her out-ness. Keep sending that #RawrLove.

Originally posted on Stories that Must Not Die:

This is post 6 of 6, and concludes the series of poems and prose that Rara sent to be shared with the Stories community. 

In a bit of good news, she was released early on July 18th.  

Still, if you can, and you haven’t already, please donate to the Rara Relief fund.  Every little bit will help her get back on her feet.

He wouldn’t be caught dead
In brick-ugly maroon, he declared

And I asked – –
Why?
Would it make the stars fade?

YES.  He said,
With a certainty most reserve for big truths.

(But then – he never believed in measuring truths.  Or dreams.  Or possibilities.  Or the cosmos.)

He wouldn’t have been caught dead
in a brick-ugly maroon box – –

but then he was,
and in appreciation of the way he let them be

– – limitless – –

the stars let him be right…

View original 12 more words

Categories: Uncategorized

The smile you can’t see

How can there be
a storm and a song
in my heart
simultaneously?

Isn’t
it
either-
or?

A contest
of wills,
one to weep
and the other to wonder?

Can’t
only
one
victor
stand?

What strange supposition,
that the human heart
must be so small!

For I,
knowing no better, perhaps?,
dance while dreading;
lift while lurching;
hug while hurting;
blow kisses while bidding adieu;
and still,
always,
find room
for more feelings
than there are words.

Categories: Love, Reflections Tags: , , ,

Being color brave

Sandra Bland was taken into custody after failing to signal a lane change.

She died in custody a few days later. Though she’d tried to post bail just two hours before and would soon be starting her dream job, she was reported as having committed suicide.

I would have taken this story at face value a few months ago, but something happened to change that.

I was between jobs a couple months after events in Ferguson, Missouri inspired a series of protests across the nation. While my children slept, I browsed Twitter, Instagram and Vine for firsthand accounts of both protests and police brutality. I became increasingly agitated by the stark differences between firsthand–yet somehow “unofficial”?–accounts and the secondhand news media accounts treated as official. To hear the secondhand accounts represented as truth infuriated me. I also felt guilty, because I’d never before thought to question reporting I’d more or less taken for neutral presentation of fact; the problem was doubtfully a new one.

As I stood on the precipice of understanding that America’s race problem isn’t just one of redneck outliers, I watched horrifying videos. If others in this country were forced to face brutal realities just for stepping out of their homes, I could fully recognize that brutality and the braveness of stepping out regardless. Read more…

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