I watched Jordan Peele’s Get Out tonight. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to write, but I do know it needs to go behind a cut. There will be spoilers.
On Wednesday evening, I caught the flu my two-year-old had just ditched. I stayed home Thursday, but was determined to make it to the office on Friday. Why was I so determined? First off, my cube is quiet and tidy, unlike my home. I cherish my time there.
Second, a beloved teammate was in from another office this week. I so seldom get to see him, I wasn’t about to let a little thing like “recuperating” keep me from the office.
Finally, it was a rare jersey day. With the Super Bowl just a couple of days away, I could wear a jersey and sneakers to the office! How could I sit that out?
My husband, Anthony, loves hockey and owns at least a dozen jerseys. At first, I put on one from his alma mater. It more or less matched my comfy toe shoes, which was this sports-ambivalent person’s main criteria for choosing a jersey.
Seeing myself in it, unfortunately, I could easily imagine a dozen conversations explaining that, no, I didn’t actually go there. (Been there, done that. It’s no fun for an introvert, even one in peak health!)
Anthony brought out one from a bin under our bed. Unlike the first, this one, a gift from his third season on a show for which he worked five years, had shared meaning. I’d worked on the show as an extra once, when my husband and I were newly dating. My heart fluttered when I caught a glimpse of him from the bleachers, and again when he swung by to say hello. Read more…
Last night, I wrote about winning the real prize at yesterday’s office holiday party: poop slippers. I forgot to include the picture in last night’s post, so here it is:
As I picked up my phone to post the picture above, I saw another picture worth taking and sharing.
Since I’m “making my SoCal husband cold,” he’s using his old Cthulhu hat to keep his head warm.
Everything about this tickles me!
Happy weekend, y’all.
My older son greeted me at the door as I got home from work.
“Guess what?” he asked, continuing before I had time to guess anything. “Daddy got lots of movies in the mail today!”
(This is his daddy‘s first year receiving Academy Awards movie screeners.)
“Oh?” I asked Li’l D as I offloaded my bags.
“Yeah! He got–”
“I got five movies in three packages,” Anthony finished. “The first is A Monster Calls, and then–”
“Wait, what? You got that?! It’s not out until next year!”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, before trying to continue his list.
“I’m sorry, hon, but from A Monster Calls, it’s all downhill.”
See, I wrote in July how deeply the book A Monster Calls moved me.
Revisiting that post now, my heart is absolutely overflowing to see its conclusion.
I’m believing it (again) a little more each day, but all the same, it’s good to be reminded that:
Love is more powerful than fear.
Love will win.
My politically moderate husband and I were just arguing in the kitchen.
“Deborah, you need to tell people that you’re trying to figure shit out by writing about it.”
“I already did! I do it, like, every fifth post on Learning to Speak Politics. Are you saying I need to spell it out in every single post?! I mean, the entire premise is in the blog’s title. I’m learning by writing!”
“Yes! You need a note on every. Single. One. Copy and paste it: ‘I am not a Trump supporter! I did not vote for Trump! I am literally live-broadcasting my political journey, and this is my scratchboard! I’m making it public so you can aid that evolution! I’m not at an endpoint but walking a road. I’m trying to figure out what I believe and why I believe it!‘”
He’s probably right. I don’t know what that footnote will be, exactly, but I do know its first incarnation was the preface I wrote on my politics page a few months back:
This page reflects a selection of politics-related articles
curated by a (new) U.S. third party voter.
While both main-party presidential candidates threaten
prospects of retaining any semblance of U.S. democracy,
links below emphasize the Democratic threat,
which is all the more horrifying because
it’s hidden under the guise of
My journey of discovery began from a place of shock and horror. I thought my votes for Democrats (versus Republicans) were votes for peace. They weren’t.
So now, understanding this … it’s up to me to figure out how I can play a role in propagating actual peace–positive, not negative, justice.
No one else has paved this road for me. No one else can pave it for me.
My husband just told me not to argue with my team. But who is my team? Right now, I’m not sure.
The people I thought were my team spent the last six months yelling at me for ever disagreeing.
So maybe it’s up to me not to yell. Maybe it’s up to me to be even clearer
that I’m simply
Anthony (And now and then an elephant all in white.) is my husband. He’s infuriating and delightful. I love him, else I wouldn’t have married him … even though he was on Survivor (gag!) and marrying him involved marriage (gag!, or so I thought, until I married him).
Wild Is The Wind (2)
We all spend so much time
trying to find happiness in the world
that we are blinded to it
like so much dross on a dusty shelf,
when there is gold to be found
in the everyday,
in the mundane,
The smell of fresh cut grass on a summer day
The smell of the dust, just as it starts to rain;
The laughter brought on a truly terrible,
ill timed fart;
The satisfaction of rescuing
that one piece of meat that’s
been stuck between two back molars
for the better part of the day,
after Sunday Brunch,
having only used the dexterity of your tongue,
and creative suction;
Home improvement shows;
Finishing the final brush stroke,
on a set of miniature fantasy soldiers
just as the movie you had playing in the background
resolves its audible crisis, rolls credits,
and plays music to exit a theater by;
Your dog coming over to you,
on your lowest day,
and putting his head on your knee;
A kiss on your cheek in the middle of the night
from your love,
followed by a half murmured comment to
someone in a dream,
followed by stolen covers and soft snores;
A half naked child waking you up at 3:41 am
on a Tuesday morning,
to find solace in the warmth
that is buried somewhere
deep within the cavity of your nose–
so deep that only a child’s foot can free it;
Twenty-Five undisturbed minutes in the bathroom;
Handwritten correspondence in the mail,
your name scrawled across the front;
Clearing off a long littered desk;
A good cup of coffee;
Driving home in loud silence
after an overwhelmingly
Not Quiet day;
An Ice cold glass of water on a fall morning;
The moment of removing
sock, then shoe,
sock, then shoe,
and then flexing your feet;
Putting on a clean pair of jeans
that you’ve not worn for weeks,
putting your hand in the pocket
and finding a five dollar bill;
Hugs, and smiles, and laughs,
and memories of baby teeth;
tiny toes on children;
Music, played too loud,
from car speakers,
with the windows rolled up,
so no one hears your singing along badly to
Tony! Toni! Tone!
L.L. Cool J
Going to bed tired,
laying your head down on a cool pillow
and letting sleep devour you,
one molecule at a time,
only to have that one moment,
of knowing the answer is–
Sitting on the porch,
on any given afternoon,
watching people going about their day,
their ordinary day.
Eyes looking at you with love;
and watching them close,
and flutter to sleep;
So many little things,
lying around our world
like so many wild horses
waiting to carry us off,
(holding on for dear life,)
cackling like school children
overflowing with tiny