I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.
There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.
Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.
For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.
I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.
Virtue signaling: a public expression of opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or social conscience or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue.
Take note of how often virtue signaling consists of saying one “hates” things.
It’s another way to convey that someone feels superior to another.
I recently experienced being victimized by virtue signaling, which I feel is REALLY annoying.
Here’s the story:
I attended an event and a couple of women and I were chatting well after it was over. We decided to get together the following week for coffee/tea and continue the conversation since it seemed as if we had common interests.
When we met, we started talking about all the usual things: our personal histories, our children, education, and what we like to do for fun.
When it was my turn to share, I mentioned how much I love to shop. For me, shopping is truly therapeutic. I don’t necessarily mean I have to spend money to reap the benefits; I enjoy looking at pretty things whether it’s for me, for someone else, or finding special presents for the Angel Kids.
And it’s the truth. While I love to garden and bake (for the kids) and a (sometime) community activist, going to stores brings joy.
Well…my innocent confession set off a chain of negative comments…”I hate shopping.” “I never shop if I can help it.” “Shopping is a waste of time.” “I wear my clothes until they’re worn out like rags.”
Virtue signaling 101.
“Shopping is buying into the patriarchy.” OKAY, they didn’t actually go that far, but the spewing of hatred for my pastime wasn’t very nice at all. I felt personally attacked.
What I detected by those comments was their close-minded conspicuous, self-righteous, lofty, superior moral viewpoint with the intent of communicating their BETTER-than-me attitude.
The subtext was that I was a frivolous naive one-dimensional superficial fairy-like creature who doesn’t dwell nearly enough on the somber, grim, seriousness of life. Like they do.
To look down on someone with disdain and contempt for sharing what they do as a leisure activity or distraction is judgmental and close-minded.
I didn’t ridicule THEM for NOT liking retail therapy, although the snarky side of me privately thought that they could both benefit from some (teehee).
I have found this experience to be something I’ve endured several times in my life, and recently. It’s like a moral badge of righteousness for some women to declare how much they hate shopping. “I don’t shop.” “I don’t care what I wear.”
Well, I DO. I love treasures and bargains as much as l love to look at Gucci handbags and Chanel jewelry, not with envy and longing, but with appreciation for the beauty of the craft.
The lesson I learned that day was that I didn’t really have anything in common with mean-spirited people, so they won’t be my new BFFs and I won’t be joining them again for coffee. That wasn’t the only personality difference, though. They had detached parenting styles while mine is more drone-like and very much attached. Their own parents weren’t like mine; they both had complicated and angry issues with their mothers and lots of complaints. I couldn’t relate as mine has been dead for a long time but I miss her every day.
“Whence October is upon us, There shall be magic in the air, why it shall be everywhere. All ye leaves shall fall as Autumn does call. And as the faery folk are now gathering up and foraging, tonight I shall be leaving them a wee offering. Why, I shall leave them a few freshly hand picked Bramble berries & a wee tipple of Whiskey, Oh why how merry they shall surely be.” –Athey Thompson
First I’m hot and then I’m freezing. I confess that I’m having a hard time locating the magic in October. Not yet.
Because I wasn’t very smart last year and didn’t get a pneumonia vaccination, I ended up really sick with the most horrible case of double (bi-lateral) pneumonia, so bad that but for the fact that I’m incredibly stubborn, I would have been hospitalized,
THIS time I got the vaccination, reluctantly, because I always endure side effects for about thirty-six hours: headache, chills, fever. Most people only experience a sore arm but my immune system likes to give me a more ambitious taste of reality.
That’s why I’m now wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, drinking ginger tea and binge-watching my new obsession, Blue Heelers, an Australian TV show from the 90s about the daily lives of Victorian police officers working at a police station in the fictional small town of Mount Thomas.
I think I’ve pretty much exhausted all the available British shows, so I had to search in a completely different hemisphere. Yes, it’s outdated with the gigantic brick-like cell phones, floppy disks, and scrunchies, but I’m learning a lot of new words like “mozzy” for mosquito, “esky” for Eskimo cooler, “slab” for six-pack of beer, “good on ya” and “you beauty“. I had to look up “it’s my shout, mate” to learn it means whoever said it will pay for the next round of drinks.
Previously my DIL and I loved A Place To Call Home, Rake, The Newsreader, The Doctor Blake Mysteries, and of course, Bluey.
I’m bracing for more vaccinations next week because it’s better to have a robustly active immune than the alternative. The first Covid vaccine sent me immediately to urgent care with an allergic reaction (read about that here) but the rest of them have been well tolerated except for the thirty-six hours of subsequent hell.
At one point, Angel Boy 2.0 would often ask me to do something for him; for example, he’d ask me to reach something or make him breakfast or a snack or to play MagnaTiles, anything really, and he would become incredibly impatient if it didn’t happen RIGHT THIS MINUTE.
As an impatient type myself who wants everything RIGHT NOW, I totally understood.
Instead of getting angry or telling him to wait, I started to say, “BLINK.”
It was enough of a distraction the first time I said it that he stopped and said “WHAT?”
I repeated myself, “Blink.” I mean do it, really BLINK YOUR EYES, OK?”
He blinked and looked at me.
I said, “Did anything happen? Am I magic? Do I possess magical abilities?”
He slowly shook his head…nope. (I’m sure he thought his grandma was totally cray, and he might be right, but he was engaged and interested.)
“Well, I wish I could blink my eyes so that what you want would happen in the blink of an eye, and since it obviously did NOT, it’s going to take as long as it takes. What do you think about that?”
He laughed and I did, too.
It must have been the perfect response for him because we’ve continued the tradition.
“BLINK! Did it happen? Nope, not for me either. I’m still not magical, I guess, still only human.”
It was a more fun way to get my point across that he could be a LITTLE more patient. I think I got the idea from watching Bewitched. Although I can’t twitch my nose like Samantha, I can blink my eyes.
Angel Girl recently did the same thing as I mended a torn dress for one of her dolls. Watching me, she kept impatiently repeating, “Are you finished, are you finished, why is it taking you so long?”
“Blink, girl. Blink your eyes. Is your doll all sewn up yet?”
She blinked and shook her head while her brother nodded with all the wisdom of his 7.5 years.
“See”, I held out my hands. ” I’m not magic. These hands of mine can only sew one stitch at a time and if you want me to do a good job, it’s going to take as long as it takes.”
It’s not like I have the powers of Bianca in Wishenpoof, the story about a young fairy girl who grants children’s wishes, although SOMETIMES I do swirl my arms around and say “Whish” like she does in the show, but sadly, I’m still not magical. Not at all.
No matter how many times I blink MY eyes, I’m only human.
It’s all going to take as long as it takes. Lesson learned. 🪄
I knew it would happen again, and sadly it did, at the EXACT same location. It's not a good outcome when emergency vehicles stay on-site for more than an hour.
Another update...After talking to a couple of local police officers, and at their suggestion, I called the traffic division. When someone returned my call two days later, I can't say she was all that interested in my near-death experience but gave me some mollifying type of assurance that she'd request enhanced patrols on the weekends at that busy intersection. It was a spectacularly unsatisfying conversation. I felt placated and patronized. I have every belief that nothing will change, someone else won't be as agile as I was and they'll have a more tragic outcome to deal with.
Quick update: Is there something in the water here? Just now as I was grocery shopping, yet another almost collision occurred. The lanes I was driving in had no stop signs or a light, but the cross street had a stop sign. There were two lanes and a couple cars and I were traversing in the same direction when a car that SHOULD HAVE STOPPED and waited for us decided for some unknown reason to NOT stop. If we hadn't both been going slow and able to swerve safely out of harm's way, there would have been a collision. I swear, you could probably have heard my horn on the east coast. The errant driver yelled, "Sorry!" but that doesn't change the fact that it's dangerous to be a pedestrian OR a driver. The moral of the story is to be extra careful, extra cautious, and alert!
I think I just used up about four of my nine lives on Sunday. Without being accused of being melodramatic, it was the closest to death I’ve ever been.
I woke up around 6:30 a.m. because I heard a really loud diesel truck idling outside, which is unusual around here.
When I ran downstairs and looked out the living room window, the street in front of my house was filled with the bright flashing lights of fire engines and paramedics. I watched as they took away my neighbor strapped on a gurney, but I don’t know what actually happened.
A similar thing occurred last week to the neighbor on the OTHER side of my immediate neighbor; paramedics and even police cars were there for a couple of hours. So far, I don’t have any intel on that event, either.
I think these odd episodes set the stage for what (almost) happened. Could it be due to cosmic forces and planetary tumult? Don’t things happen in threes? I think I heard that somewhere.
Anyway…
There was surprising and UNforecasted welcome rain last night and it left behind much cooler temperatures, so I decided to walk to the beach.
I was almost there and stopped to cross the street at a well defined four-way stop and pedestrian crosswalk. (That’s at Garfield and Tamarack if you’re from my town.) There were stopped cars at three of the stop signs. Knowing there are distracted and horrible drivers everywhere, I pay careful attention to stuff like that.
I began to cross and as I approached the middle of the intersection walking north, the SUV that had been stopped at the stop sign going south, just started going like a bat out of hell, making a speeding left turn, directly at me, as if I was invisible or something. Which I’m NOT.
There was no real time to think about avoiding being hit because in that split second, I knew I was going to be badly injured.
What I recollect and what four witnesses corroborated, was that at the point of NEARLY being impacted by this accelerating vehicle, I actually slapped the side of her left hood with my hand and did a very ballerina-like twirl to avoid being hit. The SUV almost touched me as I evaded the collision. There was truly about an inch between me and the vehicle, an INCH!
I didn’t call the police because not one of us could get her plate number since she sped off as I believe she realized what she had done. It was a woman in a ubiquitous white SUV, and there are literally a million of those around here. We couldn’t identify any specific make or model because it all happened so fast.
People came out of their houses to see if I was OK. They said it looked as if I had been hit. I was a bit shaky and shocky from all that adrenaline so I sat down for a few minutes and had a glass of water.
The four witnesses high-fived me (really!), commented on my agility and how that saved me from serious injuries. They said they had never seen anything like it because the impact seemed unavoidable. They were also suitably charmed by the string of unfiltered expletives that I hurled at the driver as she sped away.
I’m beyond grateful for those many years of ballet training because if I hadn’t reacted like that, I can’t even imagine how many broken bones and internal damage I’d have to heal from. The whole thing probably took less than five seconds and as quick as it was over, it also felt as if it was happening in slow motion — all very strange.
There are two ways to think about it. Either it wasn’t my day, or it really WAS my day. I can’t for sure say it wasn’t divinely scripted. Do angels exist? Did angels intervene? I really need to stop and think about it.
I feel like I’ve used up several of my nine lives – I only hope I have a few more. There’s so much to be grateful for, that’s for sure.
I finished my journey, took a photo of the ocean, calmed down, and walked back home without any further scary experiences.
There it is, the peaceful serenity of our Pacific Ocean. Sadly, there weren’t any whales or dolphins, but it’s still an eternally beautiful and nourishing sight.
Reaching my destination almost killed me, but I persisted, prevailed, and live to tell the story.
Yesterday’s bizarre event gives a whole new meaning to dumpster diving.
Driving home from a few errands, I was about a block away when I noticed a GIGANTIC truck blocking the street, backing a GIGANTIC dumpster into someone’s driveway.
I first thought to myself, “I wonder who’s getting some work done” and then I thought it seems to be right next door, which is weird cos they’re having their first baby any day now and nobody would begin a major remodeling project with a newborn to care for.”
As I got a bit closer, I said to myself, “HOLY SHIT, THAT”S MY HOUSE.”
The driver began to unload the massive dumpster as I drove up and from my car I frantically (as you can imagine) told him to STOPSTOPSTOP!
I jumped out (after snapping a photo) and asked him what the heck did he think he doing and he needed to take it away IMMEDIATELY.
He showed me the work order which definitely had MY address, but the account name was my neighbor who lived three doors up the street. I guess it was a typo or a careless, not-very-thorough employee who didn’t do his/her due diligence.
We both walked down the street to double-check with said neighbor who confirmed that they ordered it and with a bunch of apologies to me, the driver successfully deposited the dumpster where it was supposed to go.
If I had been just one minute later than I was, I would have come home to an absolute disaster, a true dumpster diving nightmare! Timing is everything.
As it was, I’ll never get back the twenty minutes of my life I spent on the phone with the company to make sure that I wasn’t charged for a dumpster I didn’t request.
After that, I needed to take a few deep breaths, calm down, and lower my blood pressure…disaster BARELY averted, thank goodness.
Out of the mouths of, well, not babes exactly, but out of the mouth of my Angel Boy second grader.
A long time ago, even before there was an Angel Girl, AB and I would hug when we first saw each other and then at various times throughout the day and before bed.
I always asked first, “can I have a hug?” or “would you like a hug” because of course it’s all about body autonomy and if he didn’t feel like being touched, it’s his right to say no. That’s a good lesson for all of us, right?
Then he started to say, “I need a Grandma hug” and my arms would open wide.
When Angel Girl came into the world, she would stretch out HER arms and say, “Hug” and who could ever say no to that? Definitely not me.
Now they both jump into my arms and just about knock me over. I tell them I have two arms so there’s plenty of love for both of them. Yes, there’s a bit of sibling rivalry because AB had me all to himself for almost four years and sharing his grandma has caused some angst. Actually, learning to share anything is an ongoing lesson for him…
Recently, Angel Boy has become a bit more thoughtful about what it means to be his grandma.
He told his sister, “With Grandma, the hug store is always open. Right, Grandma?”
I hugged them both and said, “That’s a really cool way to describe it and you’re one thousand percent correct. Best of all, it doesn’t cost a single penny. My hug store is always open, night or day, 365 days a year.”
After that beautiful moment, I told him we needed to write a story about The Hug Store, and that’s exactly what we’re doing.
There’s an endless ocean of love with these two angel kids. ❤️
It was a serious deja vu moment for us; me and Angel Boy 2.0 playing endless games of Candyland in the exact same location that MY mom used to play endless games of Candyland with the original Angel Boy.
They played so often — marathon sessions — that the first game pieces wore out and we had to buy a new one. I’m not sure what the actual appeal is of Candyland, as it’s such a simple concept with no reading involved, but it’s incredibly mindful it its simplicity. Maybe that’s the key to brilliance.
After a very early breakfast of fresh pineapple and buckwheat pancakes, we went downstairs to play on the table where we kept the board set up in anticipation of laughter and great conversation.
In the afternoon, we hung out at Dad’s former elementary school playground and looked in all the classrooms that he attended during his six years there. It was a surreal and very happy rush of memories for us, watching his own child on the very same monkey bars he used to climb.
Later, at the end of the day, freshly bathed and having eaten a night snack of applesauce and yogurt, it was back downstairs for the final game before bed.
These are the building blocks of joyful shared experiences that create a lifelong tapestry of love that spans generations.
This is the kind of legacy I’m grateful to be able to share with these precious Angel Kids.
I haven’t done this in a while; here’s a compilation of random high energy Angel chat…read all the way through to learn about Squishies.
“Grandma, watch me brush my hair! Grandma, watch me, no, right now! Looklooklook!”
“Grandma did you put the picture I drew for you on the refrigerator?”
“Mom, I totally freaked Grandma out!”
“Grandma Princess Rosebud, I totally freaked you out, right?”
OMG she really did (and yes, they really call me Grandma Princess Rosebud). We were at the park and seemingly for no reason at all, she took off running and was headed OUT of the playground gate faster than I have EVER seen a four-year-old run. What I didn’t know was that she had spotted Dad and was breaking all land speed records to jump in his arms.
“You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“T, remember how I totally freaked Grandma out?”
As a reminder, this is a verbally precocious four-year-old and she was absolutely astonished at my “freaked out” reaction.
All I know for certain is that I guard those kids’ lives with a fierce laser-focused intensity, and I had no idea why she was running OUT and away, as that had never happened before. The kids stay close to me and I have my eyes on both of them at at all times. Their safety is my number one priority.
“Grandma, how long do I have to hold your hand to cross the street?”
“Until you’re ten, ‘cos that’s when Daddy stopped holding my hand, but if I ever say it’s super important to hold my hand, please agree to do it because it’s my job to keep you both safe, right?”
“Oh, okay.” (Insert teenagerish eye roll.)
“Grandma, look at this Pokemon card. Is it real or fake?” How about this one? How come you always can pick out the fakes?” “I played chess with my friend.” “Why don’t you play chess Grandma?”
“Grandma, do you know what? You haven’t been very annoying for a few days.” “I just thought I’d tell you that.”
“Well, my little friend, thank you for sharing because now I will work extra hard to be annoying!”
“Grandma, did you send more puzzles? Really hard ones? How many pieces?” “T, I sent you two Pokemon puzzles, one with 100 pieces and a really hard one with 300 pieces. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Yes, I can handle it, Grandma!”
“DAD, GRANDMA SENT ME A POKEMON PUZZLE WITH 300 PIECES!”
“How about ME, Grandma?” “Your two puzzles each have 48 pieces, my smart little angel.” “But that’s not hard enough!” “When you’ve completed those a few times, we’ll see about moving up to the next level, OK?”
“Grandma, did you send us more Squishmallows?”
“Yes, I absolutely did. Don’t I always?”
Are you dialed in to the Squishmallow craze? You probably are if you’re a mom or grandma. It started a couple years ago when the kids received one of these very soft, very squishy stuffies and the addictive desire for more multiplied. It seems to have become a worldwide phenomenon. I admit I love them too and can’t stop collecting the new releases. If I had to count, I’ve probably bought the kids each about thirty-five, so that equals a grand total of SEVENTY Squishmallows. (Since they MUST have the same ones. I always buy TWO.)
I know, I know, I know it might seem excessive, but that’s what grandmas DO!
I just found these ADORABLE giant Halloween Squishmallows and yes, these will be presented soon…
Some stay here to be loved while others are held on the flight home. I send a new one pretty much every month which is the reason for the question.
They come in smaller sizes too, and brilliantly branched out into other merch — I’ve even gotten Angel Girl Squishmallow socks.
Pineapples, tigers, and dinosaurs, but I really love the enchanting unicorns, don’t you?
With August’s second full blue moon emerging in a few days and Mercury in retrograde until September 15, the Universe has essentially strapped us into a cosmic rollercoaster and I’m feeling it.
This is so ME.
I have a history of driving to meet someone, park, and simply sit in my car for a few tortuous minutes until I turn around and drive home.
I try to talk myself into staying, but the walk from my car to the destination can be paralyzing, so it’s easier on my brain and psyche to go home.
It’s an overwhelming feeling. I came. I saw. I had anxiety, so I left.
Yup. I need that mug. Also the one that says “Not today, Satan.”
(Not sure where the photo came from, credit to the creator.)
Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud 