From my very first post here, I’ve written about how trauma has shaped my life.
Since before my first breath, I suffered the effects of violence from within my mother’s womb. This wired my nervous system in very particular ways even before I endured my first direct bodily blow.
I don’t write much about many of the specific blows I experienced. Most the specifics are lost to my thinking memory, stored instead in muscle, bone, and implicit memory.
Because most the specifics are lost to my thinking memory, I can be triggered–catapulted back in time, so that I’m confused about whether I’m in relatively choice-filled 2020 or choiceless 1988–without knowing why. Without knowing what sent me back.
A couple of days ago, my sister Rachael wrote “Meringue Pie & PTSD.” Continue reading “each other”
There’s a cicada husk in a very, very tiny jar on my dresser.
If this sounds odd, it is. It’s also, given a very particular set of circumstances, an incredibly sweet reminder:
My mom lived, and her living could be such strange fun.
On March 4, I posted “The Magic of Fighting Monsters.” I wrote about the absolute magic I’d experienced fighting monsters in an immersive theatre show a couple years prior.
That show had connected me to the experience of being with my living, breathing, horror-loving mom; in those moments about which I wrote, she was very much alive
to with me. Continue reading “strange, sweet reminders”
A few days ago, I noticed a hummingbird flitting around my backyard. I told my husband, who said she’s built a nest in her same old spot.
Same old spot? Somehow, I’d never once noticed what was, to Anthony, a predictable part of life at this house.
He pointed out the teacup-sized nest of twigs and feathers, nestled in a rosebush right at my eye level.
This morning, I saw the hummingbird darting all around the backyard. I wondered if there was life in her nest.
Sure enough, I soon saw tiny twin triangles of orange peeking over its top. Without getting too close, I snapped a shot or two on my phone.
Soon enough, the mom returned to her baby, perching protectively at nest’s edge. I snapped a couple shots of this, too–this time, from a greater distance so as to not send her flying too soon. Continue reading “young life”
Today I rode a skateboard,
while remembering another one
I once barely got to ride.
When I was in middle school, my mom knew I was fascinated with skateboards. Since she was forever stuck with junker cars that lasted only a couple of months before croaking, she wanted me to have wheels that would last. She scrimped and saved for months before that Christmas to buy me a kick-ass board.
I was so proud of that board, I almost immediately showed it off to a schoolmate whose mom stopped by our house.
The schoolmate was so impressed, he immediately told his friends.
Within a couple of days, one of those friends broke into my home and stole the board.
I was crushed. I’d been building up confidence to really ride it, this rare and beauteous first-hand gift, and now wouldn’t even get that chance.
When school was back in session, my schoolmate told me who’d stolen my skateboard. Continue reading “a skateboard into the past”
No matter what changes outside my home, there’s one constant within it: Reading.
Each morning, I read to each of my sons for fifteen or twenty minutes. Each evening, I do the same, before my husband picks up evening reading.
The most popular book in our household right now is Max Brallier’s The Last Kids on Earth‘s newly released sixth book. We’d pre-ordered this what feels like millennia ago, so that my kids had lost track of it and were then bouncing-off-the-walls thrilled when it showed up on our porch on Tuesday. Continue reading “So many pages to share”
On Monday, I wrote about re-finding the joy and beauty in right now.
Yesterday morning, I really saw how much time my kids are spending on-screen between classes and fun. I saw, too, how this is leading them to lose touch with the physical world. now; even when screen time ends, their minds often linger on their online adventures straight through to bedtime.
I wondered whether there were some little ways I could help keep them more grounded in the very physical now, and less lost in online spaces around the clock. I landed on a few simple ones.
First, I had them help me with a load of laundry. Astonishingly, they’d never participated in a whole cycle, beginning to end!
For me, though, the real magic was in the kitchen. Continue reading “no better place”
On February 28, I was delighted to vote in person for the first time ever. I wrote about that here.
By then, I already had enough information to know this was Not A Good Idea.
The signal just wasn’t on my mind.
About a week before I voted, I was talking with a fellow fan of author Nassim Nicholas Taleb. I asked if she followed him on Twitter. I explained I’d stopped scrolling through his tweets several weeks back, but that he remained my favorite author and tweep. Continue reading “A bandana the right direction”