When my mom
met my now-husband
four months before she died,
she told me I had to
“marry that sweet man”
I resisted, of course;
marriage sucked, and
my mom still didn’t know
Except, years later,
I understand she knew
much more than I
know, even now
As Anthony left
the house earlier,
that I was lucky to marry
such a man as him
“Not to be smug,” he added,
with a laugh
“Yes, I am,”
I replied earnestly,
“And I told your mom
she raised a good man,
(And then he
and that was
watched me grapple with
centuries of painful truths
in a couple
He’s supported me
even when he doesn’t
agree with my conclusions,
and encouraged me doing
what I must to
He has been
I don’t know if
I will blog here again,
but I want you to know,
if you take nothing else
from having joined me here,
that the best thing I did
my whole life
Many years ago, I bought a box of antique fans at an estate sale. My mom gave me the dime being asked for them.
Before I found the box of fans, I’d complained about being dragged along to sales with my mom. After I found the fans, I felt decidedly more pro-sale.
My older son, Li’l D, discovered the fans a couple of years ago. At least once a month, he’s asked to look at the fans. I even gave him one of his own, and promised him the fans if he still wants them when he’s much, much older.
My husband, Anthony, has witnessed these exchanges. He’s seen the little cardboard box that’s housed the fans for decades and, it seems, decided a better home was deserved. He made that home himself.
For years, I felt my mom when I took out the old box and thought of the gifted dime that bought its contents. Then I felt my mom and my oldest son while sifting. Now, another layer of connection has been added. Anthony is part of the experience of these fans, too.
Someday, Li’l D will pull a small green box off a shelf. When he does, he’ll remember a little of my mom, and a lot of me. And he’ll think of his daddy, too, and how Daddy once sat down to make a fan box in Mommy’s favorite color.
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