When Can I Stop Screaming Inside My Heart?

I had to take my car in for an oil change and for an issue with the AC (as we move into day 18 of 90+ degree weather in the DMV). I didn't really want to do this, but I also don't want to buy a new car right now, so it's best to take care of my car when I can. Of course, AC services are no longer available even though it's on the website. Always call first. But I digress. I was sitting in the waiting area wearing a mask (plain pink cotton, not super cute, but super efficient) waiting for them to finish the oil change, when another woman came in to wait for her car. The waiting area was set up for social distancing, so we were well over 6 feet apart. She was wearing one of those bandanna-style masks that make people look like old West train robbers. I really need to get one of those. 

She said hello to me, which I didn't expect, and then asked if I'd been to this place before. It was my first time as well; I mentioned I moved to this side of town "recently," but had heard good things about this place. She was quiet for a few minutes, then proceeded to ask me if I was married, if my non-existent husband was in the military, and if that non-existent husband happened to be the man in the white SUV who arrived in front of both of us. I politely answered no to all of these questions and wished her a good day, signaling that I was done with our conversation. She gave me a look that could only mean "I don't understand why you're annoyed with such questions; a woman your age should be married with babies and stuff." She was by herself, but heaven forbid, a woman younger than herself be unaccompanied in public. 

I tell you this not to share my annoyance with the woman, although I was annoyed, but to say that she could still be herself while wearing a mask. We would have had this conversation if the mask mandate here in Virginia didn't exist or if we weren't in the middle of a global pandemic because this is the kind of conversation that happens to me all the time when I'm around women I don't know in a public place. I've been asked this question at the dentist, the bank, restaurants, while waiting at the salon for a haircut, and at the grocery store. Even if I was married, why would I bring my husband to the grocery store with me? That sounds terrible; he'd inevitably put things in the cart incorrectly or bag groceries like a crazy person with no respect for order. It's always an older woman, sometimes a few years older, sometimes a few decades older. She's always by herself or with a friend, never with a husband or man-friend, although she always has one. I know this because she always tells me about how wonderful her husband/man-friend is and that I should really find one for myself. Thank you, random woman for the advice. I'll get right on that. (Spoiler: I will not get right on that.)

Anyway, the point of this is not about random conversations with strangers but about the mask. The point is that this woman was wearing a mask, and was completely comfortable asking me questions that were none of her business while we both experienced a public space while wearing masks. Her right to be a busy body was in no way obstructed by her wearing a mask. My right to completely disengage was also not obstructed. In fact, it was probably easier to do so because I didn't have to waste energy fake smiling. Fake smiling takes so much more energy than it's worth. 

I hate that wearing a mask has become some sort of political statement. There is literally nothing political about wearing a mask right now. Mask usage has been promoted as a best practice, at varying levels, since the beginning of the pandemic. I started wearing a mask at the end of March, and now have quite the collection of them, including a cat one and a Detroit Tigers one. Wearing a mask reduces the spread of viruses, not just COVID-19, by putting a barrier between you and others, while still allowing us to be out in public. The CDC, WHO, Johns Hopkins, and hundreds, maybe even thousands, of other legitimate medical journals, hospitals, and experts have shown the effects of mask usage in stopping the spread of COVID-19. Countries who have slowed the spread, and even returned to mostly normal life, can credit mask usage among the reasons. It's science.

So why is it so hard for some Americans to wear a mask? I would love nothing more than to lay the blame at the feet of the 45, but it's not entirely his fault. It's mostly his fault, but not entirely. Since this is my blog, I get to share my observations and theories about things, so that's what this is. I have no scientific proof to back what I'm about to say, but I hope one day, someone way smarter than me, will do a study on this and prove my theory. 

From a very young age, particularly in the US, we're told we can be anything we want to be. We can be successful and make a life for ourselves in this grand experiment called America. If we work hard and do the things, we'll be able to own a home and/or a car, have a fulfilling job or maybe even open our business. We can exercise our right to vote, and also have a right to voice our opposition to those in power if we disagree. Democracy is cool! Capitalism is awesome! This is the story most of us have been told since we were young. For those who come to the US as immigrants, I'm sure some version of this story is told, but with limitations, especially if you're not white. You can still come here, and do the thing, but it's going to be harder and more limited and people are probably going to be assholes. That's the adjacent story. (NOTE: This is a gross simplification of the immigrant experience and the experience of any person of color. I am aware of this; it's not my intention to be disrespectful or dismissive about anyone's experience.) 

So a global pandemic hits. We're told that we "have to" stay home and wear masks when we go out in public. Kids can't go to school because we don't know much about this virus and it could be hard to contain with kids going to school. Lots of jobs move to remote work setups because they can; many more people continue to go to physical work locations because they're essential and have to be there in person. Hospitals fill up. People are scared. There's no national response; states have to figure it out on their own. States, like mine, who put mask orders in place early and moved through reopening phases carefully, see the numbers decrease in positive ways, although we're seeing spikes again because people are being stupid. Other states, do the bare minimum, and their cases skyrocket. They reopen too fast and it's more damaging. People start throwing "COVID parties" to prove the virus exists. I guess 130K+ dead isn't proof enough. 

All of this is to say, people don't want to wear masks because they're no longer controlling anything else about their lives. Mask usage is the most physical and personal thing we're being asked to do after staying home. It requires us to wear something that identifies the fact that a virus exists and that it can do serious harm. A mask says, "I care about you, my community, my family, myself." We're not used to such bold statements of humanity in the US...at least not since November 9, 2016. Every new video featuring another person throwing a tantrum/being horrible in a public place because they're asked to wear a mask is less about the tantrum and more about fear and loss of control. It's hard to all of the sudden be powerless when you're used to getting your way or always being "right." When I watch these videos or read about another "white woman in the wild," I react in three ways: 

1. I feel terrible for the people, usually a cashier or store manager or a dude walking in his neighborhood or a mom in a parking lot with her kid, who have to deal with this person. I physically want to reach through the screen and do something to help the person being yelled at. I want to punch the person causing the problem in the throat.
2. I'm angry at the person causing the problem because I don't understand why being asked to abide by the rules of an establishment you chose to frequent immediately means you have to become violent and hateful. A store or coffee shop or other place of business is private property. You have to follow the rules of the property owner if you want to be there. That's how a civil society works. 
3. I feel sorry for the person throwing the tantrum because all I see in their face is fear (even through the hate and anger), and I think about how awful it must feel to have that much fear over something mundane, like wearing a mask. And I wonder if they've ever experienced actual fear or if this is performative. And then I spiral into thinking about all the "think pieces" written about people who voted for the 45 being scared about their way of life being threatened (translation: they don't get to be hateful people anymore), and I'm back to being angry almost immediately.

It must be exhausting to be that hateful and full of fear all the time. Imagine getting angry at a sign in a store window that says "Masks only" or "Masks required." I'm exhausted listening to these types of people on social media and the rare times I do go out in public. If we don't continue to do the simple things like wearing a mask, social distancing, and washing our hands, AND the big things like staying home as much as possible, we'll never get to do anything again. Your kids will be home in the fall. Concerts, theatre, sporting events - not for you! I hate that we have become a living example of why we can't have nice things. 

If you can't be motivated by simply being kind and caring about others, wear a mask so we can do things again. You want to go on vacation? Wear a mask. You want your kids to go back to school in the fall? Wear a mask. You want to go to a baseball or football game? Wear a mask. Wear a mask and you'll get to do things again. You don't get to be hateful and racist; we're still going to call you out on that behavior, but you'll be able to go places again and return to whatever normal means these days. If this has to turn into the country-wide equivalent of pizza parties for finishing summer reading, I'll support this movement 100%.

Wear a damn mask so I can stop screaming inside my heart.

 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.

This Republic of Something

Back in 2017, I submitted a photo and personal story to the National Museum of the Army. The museum was still being built, and they were gathering exhibition material from the larger Army community for various permanent and special exhibits. What I sent in was for the exhibit "Growing Up Army," focused on the children of Army families. I wrote about postcards and adventure. My dad sent me my first postcard in 1987. He was on TDY (temporary duty travel) in Puerto Rico. In the postcard, he described going to the beach when they had downtime, and seeing and catching fish. He signed off with "Be good," something my dad has written on every postcard he's sent me since. It's a thing; he says it to me on the phone before we hang up and when I leave after a visit. I guess my dad always knew I was the "troublemaker" of the family (a rather tame troublemaker, but still). I also sent in copies of a couple of pictures of me, my brother, and dad at an Army field day at Ft. McCoy in Wisconsin (at least I think that's where it's at). I'm a very little girl, sitting inside a very large Army vehicle, smiling like it's the best day ever (because it probably was at the time). It's adorable.

I have no idea if my submitted materials will be in the exhibit. The National Museum of the Army was supposed to open in June, but of course, that's been put on hold right now. My dad is a volunteer at the museum, because of course he is, and he's hopeful that they'll open soon. I'm guessing sometime in 2021, but who knows when anything is going to happen anymore. 

My dad was in the Army for 30 years. We moved all around the US, and he had an amazing career. He worked at the Pentagon, ran logistics for units during the first Gulf War, commanded a base through its closure, and served as Deputy Chief for the Pacific Command. He was/is respected by his colleagues, and probably did a lot of stuff I'll never really know about. When we lived in Hawaii, I was taking classes in the political science graduate program at the University of Hawaii, and I'll never forget the time my dad agreed to come to one of my classes to discuss modern warfare. He had read the book we were discussing in his own graduate program, and was well versed in a few of the other books we had on our syllabus for the semester. I think my classmates thought they were getting some uneducated "grunt," but instead got to debate with someone who knew a lot more than they did. One of my classmates argued that all military operations should be unclassified. My dad explained, and I can't remember his exact words, why that was a terrible idea and more specifically, why none of us really want to know that sort of information. We think we do, but we don't. I think about a lot. 

When you grow up in the military, patriotism is a very interesting point of discussion. I think a lot of people have this set idea of what a military family is and should be like; very "rally round the flag" kind of stuff. That's not my experience. My dad has never told me to think a certain way or believe a certain thing because of his career. Did he instill a love of country and service and respect in us? Yes, but he didn't do in a way that was absolute. My parents have always encouraged me and my brother to question authority and injustice. They wanted us to form our own opinions, even, and especially if those opinions were different from their's. I wouldn't be the delightful feminist/activist you all know and love if they hadn't been supportive and encouraging. We don't agree on everything. They push me, I push them. 

Growing up in a military family is weird. My family is the least military military family I know, but there's still stuff that doesn't make sense to people from outside. I've been to way more airshows and patriotic programs than I care to admit (some good, most very bad). I've seen the extraordinary sense of duty of of my father and his colleagues in action. I've heard people say hateful, ugly things about the military for no reason. I remember my dad telling us about changing clothes before flying because he and his unit didn't want to be harassed (in 1989). I spent the first Gulf War worrying my dad was going to die in Iraq. (His larger unit went in country, but he did not. I didn't understand the difference at that time.) While I appreciate the fact that everyone "loves" the troops now, I question how we got to this point. When did y'all just decide that recognizing those in the military at sporting events was a thing? 

But I digress.

Where am I going with this? 

I'm struggling with the idea of celebrating July 4th this year. Normally, I love the 4th. Fun fact: it's my third favorite holiday. Military celebrations of July 4th are always the best; this is one of the "traditional" things I loved about being a "child of." The 4th was special always so special. One of my favorite memories from my dad's time at the Pentagon was being able to sit on the Pentagon lawn to watch the fireworks from DC. We hung out with his co-workers and their families, had a nice picnic, and watch the fireworks. It was so beautiful and patriotic and so very American. The civics nerd in me just loved it. 

But this year, it seems like an odd flex to celebrate the "birth of American independence," while also thinking about the fact that 130,000 Americans have died from COVID-19. That's a hard number to come to terms with. I've been thinking a lot lately about the book This Republic of Suffering by Drew Gilpin Faust. Gilpin Faust is a historian, and the first female President of Harvard University. A lot of her work focuses on the impact the Civil War had on society, often looking at the experience of women during and after the war. In This Republic of Suffering, she details the way in which mourning customs and processing death had to change because of the devastating loss of life during the Civil War, and the way in which soldiers died. Often, a body wasn't recovered, and this completely shattered the rituals associated with the concept of "the Good Death;" the idea that someone is prepared to die. How can someone prepare to die on the battlefield at Gettysburg or in the prison camp at Andersonville? Families had to adjust to this way of mourning, often with nothing to mourn at all. Scarcity of things like fabric also subverted how women moved through the stages of mourning if they lost a husband or other family member. 

I read the book not too long after it was released in 2008. I can see it on my bookshelf when I sit at my desk for work. I keep coming back to the idea that we're in another period of time where we're forced to rethink how we approach death and mourning. People are watching their loved ones die on iPads. Funerals are on hold, or reduced to quick ceremonies that don't allow family and friends to adequately grieve together, often an essential part of healing. In New Orleans, for example, jazz funerals and second lines aren't allowed because of the restrictions on crowds. Cultural practices like this are essential for grieving, but currently cant't take place because we physically can't be together. Maybe I've been spending too much time alone these days, but I can't help think about this and contrast it with the many celebrations that will take place this weekend. While I understand the power and necessity of normal rituals, (I went to the post-Katrina Mardi Gras, I get it), this feels so different.

I think it's gross that a fireworks display is going to take place at Mt. Rushmore. This is incredibly dangerous from an environmental standpoint. The area near Mt. Rushmore is highly susceptible to fires. That's one of the reasons fireworks have been banned from the park for the last decade. It's also in violation of the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 that designates the area as part of the Sioux Reservation. Mt. Rushmore is on stolen land, but of course, we don't want to talk about that. People coming to this event/rally don't have to social distance or wear masks. What could possibly go wrong? Literally everything. 

I don't know, y'all. How do we reconcile reality with the need for normalcy? How do we celebrate the "birth of American independence" when police are still violently assaulting peaceful protesters and people just out living their lives? How do some continue to ignore racism in our daily lives when a new video pops up every day of some white woman (white women - what the fuck are you doing?) threatening grocery store employees or brandishing weapons at a Black woman and her daughter in a parking lot? How are we okay with obvious shows of pandering patriotism like the event at Mt. Rushmore when the 45 hasn't said anything about Russian bounties on American soldiers? How do we celebrate when so many have been lost? 

I don't have any answers for you. I'm not going to tell you how to spend your weekend or celebrate this July 4th. By the time I hit publish on this post, most of my friends will have watched Hamilton on Disney+ for the 400th time. At least they're staying inside. 

It would be nice if we all took a few minutes this July 4th and reflected on what we have lost as a nation, if we collectively grieved and mourned for those lost to this horrible pandemic. I don't expect our sham president to ask for silence or to even acknowledge this at his rally, so we'll have to do it ourselves. So maybe tomorrow, before you set out to do whatever it is you're going to do, take a few minutes to recognize what we've lost. Write something, draw or paint, pray, listen to music, light a candle. Maybe do a primal scream. I don't know your life. Then, take some time to think about how you want to enter the second half of the dumpster fire year of 2020. 

Maybe if we all take a little time to do these two things we can refocus what it actually means to celebrate the birth of American independence. We can recommit to what it means to be revolutionary. This country was formed by revolutionary acts and thinking. We have the responsibility to be revolutionary again, in the way we act and vote, and in the way we treat one another with respect, dignity and kindness, rather than with hate and division. 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.

The Mystic Krewe of Karens

"Mardi Gras is a helluva drug."

-Random person in the chat of a recent Facebook Live broadcast

"It's like if Drag Race and one of the Real Housewives of Whatever City had an actual baby, and then the baby was raised by an amateur true crime podcaster."

-Me, describing this whole thing to my brother (he laughed)

We live in a very strange time. Never in my entire life did I think to myself, "2020 is going to be a disaster movie featuring a global pandemic, wrapped inside a protest movement, alongside some environmental concerns, completely redefine the world of work, all being led by a president who would rather protect rich people and racists." I didn't have that on my 2020 list. I didn't have "NASCAR bans the Confederate flag" or "Trump knew about Russia targeting American troops in Afghanistan and did nothing but invite them back into diplomatic circles" or "It's been 100+ days since Breonna Taylor's murder and her killers are still walking around as if nothing happened" on my list either. What is the world right now? 

As regular readers know, I process things when I write, but I haven't been writing much lately (unless you count rewriting stuff for work - I don't, but you can live your life however you want). I've been hesitant to keep sharing my novel, a few chapters at a time, as I had planned to do over the summer. It doesn't feel appropriate right now (I will finish posting it later in the summer). I write in a journal each morning, but it's not the same. So I thought today, let's write a little something. Let's tell everyone a weird little/big story. It's got everything: glitter purses, narcissism, controversy, social justice, gossip girls, and the drug that is Mardi Gras. The wild part? I'm 100% involved because this is 2020 and literally anything goes.

In 2019, I joined, with two of my very favorite humans, Heather and Kelly, the Mystic Krewe of Nyx. If Mardi Gras is unfamiliar to you, Nyx is one of the parading krewes that takes part in the season. Nyx is/was(?) a super krewe, specifically the largest (until three weeks ago), and membership is all women. I grew up in Louisiana, and loved Mardi Gras as a child. I wanted to be in a parade, but back then, all-women krewes were not asbcommon, and they certainly didn't play on the big stage like Endymion or Bacchus. It's wasn't until I was back in New Orleans in college that krewes like Muses and others started changing the Mardi Gras landscape.

Nyx is what I'll call a "third wave" parade - its existence is built on the successes of other krewes who came before, most notably Zulu and Muses. Zulu, founded in 1909, was the first all Black krewe, dealing with segregation in Mardi Gras well into the 1990s (Mardi Gras was officially desegregated in 1992). Muses, founded in 2001, was a new parade when I was in college, bringing women into the world of super krewes. Nyx is part of the next generation of krewes, not as traditional, a bit more "modern." I've learned a lot more about the history of the group in the last few weeks, something you'd think I'd know as a (former) member, but why would an organization want new members to know things? When Nyx began, it was the first krewe in a decade to get a permit. That alone should be a reason for the leadership to want to succeed. The krewe was founded on the idea of being diverse and inclusive and the women who joined were part of a sisterhood. 

The idea of sisterhood and community is what prompted me to join. Since leaving New Orleans nine months after Katrina, I've struggled with finding a real community. I've been friends with some of my dearest friends for over 20 years. Most of them were people I met while in college in New Orleans. There's something different about the friends you make in your late teens and early 20s - you're all becoming fully formed people together. It's very powerful. Heather and Kelly were not only my friends, but we were roommates most of college. Eventually, we all left New Orleans. We'd come back, but we'd never all be there at the same time. Being part of Nyx was both about finding a larger community and getting to spend time with them. That's why I jumped in. That's why I spent months making glitter purses. That's why I came back for 2020. 

Before we can even begin to talk about the current situation, we have to talk about the 2020 parade. It seems like this was last year, but it was only four months ago. Y'all, is 2020 actually seventeen years long? Anyway, I was looking forward to my second ride. I knew what to expect, for the most part, so I was planning to really focus on enjoying the experience rather than being so stressed about everything. Remember kids, overthinking is my superpower, so I have to focus on letting things go and going with the flow because it's not in my nature. I even stayed an extra day to enjoy a little more time at home. Well, Mardi Gras 2020 had other plans for us. At about the halfway point in the parade (float 21), a woman was struck and killed by a float. The parade was turned around, and we were all dropped in a parking lot to fend for ourselves, while also trying to grapple with the fact that a woman had just been killed. It was awful on so many fronts. Most of us felt abandoned by the Captain and the board. There was no leadership during that experience, or at least not in the way there should have been. Hats off the float lieutenants, tractor drivers, and fellow riders who did their best to help us all in the chaos that was Nyx 2020.

Flash forward a few weeks to late March. We're all trying to figure our lives in the midst of a global pandemic. Fear and uncertainty were/are the feelings of the day. The krewe sent out renewal emails with an extended payment schedule for membership fees. In a time when many people lost jobs or weren't sure if they'd have them for much longer, we got hit up for money. For women like me who didn't actually parade this year, I think we expected a discount or an acknowledgement of some form. Nothing. I paid my first installment despite these things. I wanted to ride in 2021, the 10th anniversary year. I wanted one more ride since this year ended so tragically. I decided I'd play each payment by ear, and drop out if my financial situation changed or if Mardi Gras 2021 got canceled (that's a thing that could still happen). 

And then the end of May happened. George Floyd's murder by Minneapolis PD was captured on video and the outrage at what officers did during this arrest has led to protests, vigils, and a call for defunding police departments around the world. Since then, we've all watched countless hours of police, including random unnamed police forces in DC, shoot tear gas and rubber bullets at protesters. We've watched the 45 support racists, while calling protesters "antifa" and saying that being anti-facist is a bad thing. We literally fought a war as anti-facists, so please sit the fuck down, Impostor in Chief. 

I woke up the Monday after the first weekend of protest to notifications on my social media accounts of a post from the krewe captain. She used her own social media and the krewe's to post an "All Lives Matter" post. It was totally inappropriate and was against the very ideas of sisterhood and diversity that she claims the krewe represents. When I saw the post, my first thought was "Are you fucking kidding me?" My second thought was of the Black women who ride - does she not understand what this means and how they may feel when they see it?" My third thought was "Why does she have to be this way?" 

The post was quickly removed, but enough people had seen it and taken screen shots that it wasn't forgotten. Our private float group was buzzing, and reactions were, as I predicted/hoped, not favorable toward the captain. The forum on the members' only website had some posts too; those were eventually removed, but the overall sense was that the majority of the membership was pissed. She sent a video to members, apologizing and expressing her need to "learn." Eventually, a public apology was issued. At no time did she say "Black Lives Matter" or show solidarity or even knowledge of what is actually going on in this country right now. And this is where things begin to fall apart. Since the post, half (if not more) of the membership, including myself, have resigned. Many of the support groups, like marching bands, dance troupes, and walking krewes, have refused to continue to support the krewe in solidarity. The sister krewe, Pandora, has only 15 members left. Other krewes have come out in support of us "Nyxed Sisters."

And then the flood of allegations began: financial misdeeds, racist practices around board member and float lieutenant selection, racism within the associated dance troupe, transphobia. One of the women I rode with has a great podcast episode that explains the events up until this point if you want to check it out (also, please enjoy the use of the word "allegedly" in this episode - it is everything). There have been two Facebook live broadcasts featuring former members and board members talking about the problems within the krewe (there are two more planned). Members protested at the Nyx office, calling for her resignation. The captain refuses to step down, and the plan she announced is lame at best. People are being served with cease and desist orders from her lawyer (which are apparently just show according to the lawyer of someone who was served). It's a mess, BUT it's one that could have been avoided. 

She said she wanted to learn, but refused to meet with or listen to the countless members who wanted to speak to her. Black members of the krewe have been ignored. She had people who wanted to help learn and to educate her about why what was posted was wrong, why previous statements or actions are racist, why it's not all about her. But she choose to get a lawyer, stop communicating with any of us, and act like a petulant child. I hate to use the term "Karen," mostly because I know some really lovely women named Karen, but she's a Karen, and she's now the leader of the Mystic Krewe of Karens. For her, it was never about anyone else. It was always about her. And those who stay and help her, well, it's still about her. They're loyal to her now, but I'm sure something will one day make her call the manager on them too. 

Of course I can't stop thinking about any of this. The thing that keeps coming to mind for me is this: does she (the captain) not realize the power she actually has? Think about it, you have approximately 3500 women in an organization who are all interested in empowerment, being part of a community, and having fun. We were willing to spend lots of money to be part of this. For me and many others, Nyx was our vacation, the luxury item we saved for each year. Most of us spend months designing and making glitter purses, something that was incredibly cathartic for me. The sheer power of this group could have made such an impact on the community. Members come from all 50 states (51 - DC should be a state - pass it on) and several countries. Instead, we got "Eat, Prey, Love/Girl, Wash Your Face" empowerment, racism and transphobia, and financial mismanagement. She had the power to make this into a real moment instead of the drama that is now. Her husband is under investigation by the NOPD for computer fraud. If other financial misdeeds can be proven, she and other members of the board may end up under investigation. For what? So she can feel important? So she can be the captain forever? 

I saw the comment about Mardi Gras being a drug during the first Facebook live video, and it's stuck with me for the last two weeks. I know exactly what that person meant. There is something very powerful in being in a krewe.  When I was a kid, it was about family ties to a krewe or who you knew. No one, it seemed, was randomly in a krewe. A person like me, not from the area, would have a hard time getting in. That's why the second and third wave groups are so important - they bring more people in. And with more people, more diversity of thought and experience and life become part of the fabric of Mardi Gras culture. I'm sure others will disagree with me; that's cool. We can disagree; let's just be civil about (if you can remember how to be civil).

I've also felt the power of riding in a parade. I've seen what the promise of a coveted Nyx purse or a special throw can do. I've seen, from the top of a float, the wonder on people's faces. I've made eye contact with people, from that distance, and had the ability to decide if they got anything at all. It's powerful to be a woman, in a large group of other women, in a public space, deciding whether or not someone gets a throw. It's a lot of other things, but this is the part we need to focus on now. If that's what it feels to be a rider, imagine what it must feel like to be captain. Mardi Gras is a helluva a drug.

We had the potential to be a group on the right side of history. As I wrote in my resignation letter:

You had the ability to amplify the voices of our sisters, but chose to place yourself and the krewe on the wrong side of history. Earlier this week, a group of our sisters sent you an open letter concerning this matter. That you have chosen not to engage with them or any other sisters asking to speak to you is even more evidence that you don’t understand sisterhood.

If the last few months have taught me anything it's that nothing is removed from the systems of oppression and white supremacy we've created in this country. Mardi Gras has a long history of racism. I'm not going to pretend that doesn't exist, but I've felt like most modern krewes had moved away from that history or were trying to do more to bring diversity and inclusion into Mardi Gras. There is so much joy in Mardi Gras, and this entire event has taken that joy out of it for me.

Why does it even matter? I resigned. I should just move on, focus my attention on more important things, right? But this is an important thing. At first glance it is the drama of Drag Race married with the cattiness of The Real Housewives sprinkled with an overuse of the phrase "forensic audit," but it matters so much. It's 2000ish women and supporters walking away from something they loved because one person couldn't see past their own ego to embrace the change that has to come. It's important because some of these women have probably never taken a stance in this way before, and this is how they become allies and activists. It's important because each time one more woman tells a story we hear her and we take her seriously. If we don't hold organizations responsible for the actions of their leadership, change will never happen. It's important because this exodus from something as "frivolous" as a Mardi Gras krewe is the true definition of sisterhood. 

I'm not naive enough to believe the captain will change her ways or the board will find a way to get rid of her. They don't want to. The people who are still left are, for the most part, are people who feel the same way or who don't care enough about others to do something. They can have it. They can have this rotten shell of a parade. They can keep that busted up purse float and their pop psychology empowerment. But they don't get to take the friendships that came out of being part of this. They don't get to take the memories of doing something I've wanted to do since childhood. They don't get to take away the love that went into every handmade purse the Nyxed sisters made over the years. They don't get to take away what true sisterhood and solidarity is.

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter. 

Do one thing

I'm not really in the mood to have a birthday this year. My mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday and my response was "I guess cake?" Normally, I love celebrating my birthday, but it feels weird this year, not just because of social distancing. It's weird to think about celebrating when all I really want to do is burn things down (both metaphorically and literally). 

When I was thinking about this whole birthday thing this week, I thought "I should ask my network to do something for me. That would be cool." I don't like to ask people to do things for me on my birthday, but I'm making an exception this year. I feel like y'all can handle it. 

My request may seem simple, and in many ways, it is. BUT it's also not. It requires you to do some work and to be the good citizen I know you can be. You know how I love being a good citizen. Sometimes being a good citizen means putting your shopping cart in the shopping cart return area or wearing a mask in a public place. Other times, it means doing my favorite thing in the world:

VOTING

We are at a crucial place in history. The next several election cycles will have a substantial impact on the future of our country, up and down the ballot. The choices we make in these elections will impact all branches of the federal government in more ways than a president or members of Congress. You're voting for Supreme Court justices, federal judges, funding for programs that protect healthcare, immigration rights, civil rights, the fairness of our elections, and regulations that impact our planet. State and local elections have the potential to change the way policing works in this country, not to mention the impact on education and state economies. This is the reality of the next several election cycles. 

Are you registered to vote? Take the time today to ensure you are registered to vote. You can check your registration status by going to sites like Vote.Org or Rock the Vote (for all you 90s kids out there). You can also Google your state and voter registration to connect to your state's department of elections (or voter registration) to register. It takes under 10 minutes to register and you don't have to leave your house. 

Once/If you're registered to vote, make sure to confirm some additional items:

• Get the address of your physical polling place. For those of you who already are registered, check to see if it moved. This happens all the time, and can cause confusion when you go to vote. 
• Know the hours polling will be open - if you are in line before the end of polling hours, you can still vote. 
• Understand the identification requirements for your state.
• Check into mail-in and absentee ballot rules for your state. Not all states are allowing for mail-in ballots because of COVID-19. so you need to know what you're able to do and how to do. 
• Educate yourself on the ballot. You need to know what positions and ballot initiatives will be on the ballot. Find candidates that support your values and learn about initiatives because your tax dollars pay for them. 

All of this information can be found on your state's department of elections website. 

Don't let anyone tell you voting doesn't matter. We are where we are today because it does. The systems we have in place in the United States are designed to protect and benefit white people. That's the reality. If this makes you uncomfortable, well, too bad. Because of this reality, voting plays a significant role in how those systems work, are changed, are funded, and are dismantled. Because of this reality, our vote matters so much.

Let's use an example. 

Say you live in a town where the director of the town animal shelter is an elected position. On first glance, this seems like a pretty straightforward elected position. It should be an apolitical position; they're helping animals find new homes. You didn't take time to learn anything about the person running, so you vote for them because A. they're the only one on the ballot and B. it's the animal shelter - it doesn't matter that much. (Side bar: I adopted my pets from shelters, so please don't think this is me saying management of animal shelters doesn't matter. It absolutely does, but this is an example so go with it. Also, many people think this exact thought about local elections and local ballot measures - they all matter, but we don't treat them with the same gravity of voting for President.)

The newly elected animal shelter director takes office and seems to be doing a good job. Animal adoptions are steady. Pets are well taken care of. It looks like the shelter is an awesome example of a community resource. BUT long-time employees and volunteers are leaving at a much higher percentage than normal, most citing "culture" or "hostile work environment" as the reason. The applications for pet adoptions from black applicants are accepted at a lower rate than white applicants despite the application numbers being similar in terms of volume. While it's concerning, you don't think about the possibility of it being related to racism. Someone would have told you if the director was racist. You would have heard that before the election. It's probably just the newness of this person in the position, you think. It can't be racism. You move on with your day and forget about the election of the animal shelter director. 

A few years pass and we're at the next election cycle. The animal shelter director is now running for school board. Again, you vote for this person because they did a good job as director and you heard they wanted to improve class size and look at funding some after school programs focused on engineering. Those are good things, right? They win again, and now the school board is voting on a measure to omit black history curriculum from all schools. Guess who proposed that measure? That's right, the former animal shelter director. Debate gets heated, and the animal shelter director/now school board member uses a derogatory word to describe a black member of the board arguing against the measure and makes other racist comments. You're horrified - you didn't realize you voted for a racist. No one told you this person is racist. 

I get that this is an oversimplification of a very complex problem, but it illustrates my point. If you don't do the work to know who you're voting for, you've allowed someone to voice your opinion for you. You might not be a racist, but you voted for one whether you knew it or not. Not only did they do something racist in your name since you voted for them, you also allowed the system to continue to work in the way it has for centuries. When we don't exercise our right to vote or we don't educate ourselves about what/who we're voting for or we don't fight to make voting equitable for all citizens, we're allowing those in power to take more power from us. They're our elected officials...they work for us, not the other way around. I started working on political campaigns when I was 17, before I could vote. Those early campaigns taught me this. They taught me the true power of the people and why it matters that I exercise my right to vote.

Yes, I'm a white woman who grew up in the suburbs. I have a college degree. My parents aren't divorced. I'm in good health. My privilege is a big, flashing neon sign. I can't change those things about myself, but I can continue to educate myself and use the things that afford me privilege to change the way things are for the better. I can stand up for people who need it, AND I can stand up to people who are racist. I can spend money supporting black-owned businesses. I can donate to organizations that help drive these changes forward. I can boycott organizations and companies that don't or who actively promote racist beliefs (#notmycaptain for those of you from New Orleans). I can march and protest. I can vote. 

And so can you. 

So on this day, the start of my 41st year on Earth, in the middle of the weirdest timeline of my life, I ask you to do one thing: 

VOTE! 

If you're feeling excited and motivated today and want to take my birthday request a step further, here are a few more things you can do/read/learn:

• Take actions to bring Breonna Taylor's killers to justice. Taylor's killers have not been arrested, and it was reported yesterday that the police report regarding her murder was virtually blank. Really? 
• Side note: today is also Cate Young's birthday. She's the woman behind the action website. Happy Birthday, Cate!
• Donate! There are so many great organizations out there who need help right now. Here are a few to get you started:
• Black Visions Collective
• Black Lives Matter
• The Trevor Project - it's also Pride Month. The Trevor Project focuses on mental health support for LGBTQ youth. Check out their resources on helping Black LGBTQ youth. 
• Take a look at this article for a longer list of organizations, bail funds, and victim memorial funds you can support.
• Learn about racism from Elmo's Dad - if it takes a puppet to teach you why racism is wrong, then it takes a puppet.
• Join the NAACP. 
• Let Lizzo remind you that it's not black people's jobs to teach anyone about racism. Seriously, it's not. Do the work.  
• Follow some new voices on social media.
• Support black-owned businesses. Here's a list of Etsy shops and an article highlighting 75 businesses from Forbes. You can use Google to find more. 

Next week: Transient Suburbia returns! We'll pick up with chapters 14 and 15.

It's oh so quiet...

When I moved back to New Orleans in November 2005, it was a very different place than the one I evacuated in August. A lot of things were missing, and I mean this in every way possible. Basic services were hit or miss, depending on where you lived, or nonexistent in some places. Bodies were still being discovered, thousands of people couldn't return home or had no home to return to. Trash collection and mail service weren't necessarily priorities. Working at Loyola made some things easier; we were preparing for students to come back in January and needed to be ready. But off campus everything was harder to do and more frustrating than it should be.

It's interesting what you notice in the absence of most things. For me, one of the most noticeable was the deafening silence of no streetcar. I lived about five blocks off of St. Charles Avenue, which is still close enough to hear the streetcar and avenue traffic. There was nothing. New Orleans was silent, something I never thought possible. I missed the noise. It wasn't, at least to me, a disruptive noise, but lulling. I always felt right with the world when I could hear the streetcar ding along and the traffic move around St. Charles. It was soothing. It was home.

I don't share this to be morbid or stir up any difficult feelings for those who were there before, during, and after. I recently finished Sarah M. Broom's beautifully tragic memoir The Yellow House. I highly recommend the book if you haven't already read it. I wasn't prepared for the feelings I had reading Broom's story. It made me think about how I define home and the things that create a sense of place, like the sound of a streetcar, and what happens when that thing is gone. I finished the book in my yet to be completely unpacked condo in almost deafening silence.

Unlike the lack I felt when there was no streetcar noise, I find myself reveling in the quiet of my neighborhood. In my new place, I'm probably the same distance I was from the streetcar line to the main road, and yet I hear nothing. No traffic noises, no trucks (except the garbage truck), no buses, no dudes speeding down the highway at 2 am for no apparent reason (or maybe they have a very specific reason, but I don't need to know it). I've slept better sine moving in than I have in my last two apartments. It could be the exhaustion of moving, but I don't think so. I occasionally hear my upstairs neighbor moving around, and sometimes the dog next store barks. But that's it. I've moved onto a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood tucked behind a major highway, and I don't know what to do with myself.

When I was house hunting, I remember thinking how funny it was that some listings would talk at length about the quiet. In my head I was thinking, "shouldn't they be trying to sell my on their poor choice in carpeting rather than the silence?" I recall one that said something like "you won't even know you have neighbors!" There were lots of exclamation marks in that statement. It seemed so odd and completely opposite of the idea of community. I get it, no one wants to live below a person who clomps around all the time or throws loud parties (I'm looking at you old upstairs neighbors), but this seemed so extreme. I want to know my neighbors. I don't want to know what they're having for dinner or if someone forgot to pick up milk from the store, but I want to know they exist and maybe meet their dogs. Friendships form because of physical proximity, familiarity, and similarity. Being friends, or at least friendly, with my neighbors feels like a thing I should do.

And I have met some of my neighbors. Before I officially moved in I met Mr. B and Jessie's mom (Jessie is a dog). Mr. B reminds me of older men of a certain age in New Orleans who call everybody "baby" and are the biggest gossips, but also super nice and helpful. Both he and Jessie's mom live in the building next door and have lived here over 15 years. In my building, I've met Ginger's dad (another dog), across the hall guy who has the same ceramic Christmas tree as my parents (he told them as they all walked up the stairs together), upstairs neighbor who gets up at 4:30 am, and other upstairs neighbor who was legit eating Trader Joe's ice cream out of the carton for lunch while carrying on a conversation with Ginger's dad (she may be my new lunch hero). Everyone has been very welcoming and excited that I'm living in their community. But they're all insanely quiet. Even the dogs.

I'm hyper aware of my own volume; does the lady who lives below me think I have a tiny horse when Keely gallops through the house? Is my music too loud? Did everyone hate it when I scraped ice off my car on Wednesday (it sounded like I was killing something it was so quiet)? Can they all hear me watching Daria and are silently judging me?

Moving is a process. Settling in takes a long time, between routine changes, new arrangements, and getting everything "right." I never thought one of the things I'd have to get used to was quiet. I'm not complaining, but this is currently the most unexpected aspect of my move.

My 40th Year on Earth: That's a bit of alright*

When I sat down at the start of the year to decide on what I wanted to accomplish during my 40th year on Earth, I didn't originally plan to enter a baking contest. This idea came up after a discussion with my friend, Anita, and some quick research to see what my options would be to compete. It's a great idea; I've been baking since I was 10 years old, supervised by both of my parents at first, and love baking things. In my late 20s, I started branching out from classics to making marshmallows and an Italian orange cake that takes three days to make. I like complex recipes as much as simple ones, and I love finding recipes with a history. I've written 23 posts about baking, including short stories, recipe shares, and observational posts.

Baking is therapeutic and delicious. I've said it before, there's something so soothing about watching ingredients come together. It's a little bit of magic in the kitchen (but also lots of science). If you bake, you know what I mean. To me, it doesn't matter if you make something from a box mix or from scratch, baking is baking. I know there are people out there who will disagree, but I'm not interested in their opinions. I started with box mixes, and eventually graduated to from scratch recipes. My family has a lot of family recipes, and both of my parents helped me be the baker I am today. Many recipes evoke memories from my childhood or remind me of the person who originally made them. Since I started baking for friends and co-workers, I often associate recipes with them too. I've also used baking as therapy, immersing myself in the process to work through a rough day or a problem. It's calming for me. The fact that I can then give what I make to others and brighten their day makes it even more powerful.

People have always told me I'm a great baker, that I should open a bakery. This is flattering, but also intimidating. Could I really do that for real one day? Are they just being nice? Has the sugar gone to their heads? To test this theory, I signed up for two categories in the Arlington County Fair competitive events. Arlington County allows residents from two cities to participate since we don't have our own fair (thanks, Arlington). I entered a bar cookie and a holiday cookie. I made test batches like I was practicing for the GBBO, and I took a few days off of work for the event. I downloaded my entry forms and read all the rules. And then I baked some more. I was ready to enter my bars and cookies.

The Arlington County Fair started in 1977 and is the largest free county fair in Virginia and one of the largest free events on the East Coast. In the last few years, over 80,000 people have visited the fair each year. Events include rides, concerts, food, pig racing (although not in 2019), and the competitive events. The competitive events include seven departments and four divisions. The departments include the baking categories as well as honey/beewax and food preservation, various arts and crafts, and multiple categories for fruits, nuts, plants, and vegetables. The divisions are separated into adults, teens, youths, and children (6 and under). I had no idea what to expect at the events; my experience with county fairs is limited to Celebrate Fairfax (nee the Fairfax County Fair) and the movie Butter, which stars Jennifer Garner as a butter carver (worth a watch if you can find it). What would the world of competitive county fair events be like?

The answer is: I have no idea. I arrived on Thursday morning (via Uber because there is no parking at the fair) to enter my baked goods, and I was one of maybe five people in line. All but me and one other guy were kids. I got my entry number, had help attaching the judging form and my recipe cards to the paper plates, and then my entries were whisked away by volunteers to be placed for judging. And that was it. I took my claim tickets and baking sheet and went on my way. There wasn't anywhere to hang out and watch other entries come in, and no one was allowed behind the tables until after judging. As I waited for my Uber home, I saw a few other people go in with entries. One was a lady entering tomatoes and the other was a guy bringing in some plants. I didn't get to talk to either of them, so I don't if this was their first year entering or if there's some secret world of Arlington County Fair Competitive Events competitors. In my mind, there's a very competitive group who enter every year, including a lady named Myrna who enters her amazing chocolate chip cookies and wins every year. There's Doris, a gardening genius, and Inez, the eccentric beeswax lady. I want them to adopt me and teach me the county fair competitive events secrets.

This is what I thought about as I waited to find out the results. I made up an entire world of competitive events contestants and fair intrigue and probably some "small town" drama (gossiping, sassy discussions about entries, a lot of "bless her heart"). I blame Christopher Guest and every novelist who's ever written a book about a small town with a fair or contest. Arlington isn't Mayberry or some other fictional small town, but you know what I mean. I imagined Best in Show, but for bakers and gardeners.

I entered two recipes: PB&J bars (bar cookie section) and Hot Chocolate Cookies (holiday cookies). These are two of my favorite recipes. They include ingredients I love: peanut butter, chocolate, and marshmallow fluff. I made my own fluff, and the batch I made for the fair was probably the best batch of fluff I've ever made. It was amazing, if I do say so myself. All entries have to be submitted on a paper plate.

Through a scheduling mistake on my part, I didn't get to go to the awards ceremony on Saturday night (I bought concert tickets not realizing the awards ceremony was going to be on Saturday night). I visited the fair Sunday afternoon instead. After wandering around the games and rides area and enjoying some ice cream, I made my way (along with Anita and her mom) to the indoor exhibits to check on my entries.

The results? Two class awards for second and third premium! The Hot Chocolate Cookies received the second premium, which doesn't surprise me at all. They were delicious. The judges liked the presentation of these cookies too. They are pretty adorable. The PB&J bars received third premium; I received a comment that the PB&J bars were a little dry. I sort of expected the feedback. The bars are dense, and the amount of jelly impacts how dry the cookie part will be. I used more jelly than I normally do, but it still wasn't enough. I was hoping that because I made them the night before it would be okay. Oh well, they still tasted good enough to receive a ribbon and that's a bit of alright if you ask me.

I'm pleased with my first attempt at competitive baking. I had fun participating and going through the process of what to make. I'm already thinking about what to enter next year; maybe a cake, maybe a different bar cookie, maybe another holiday cookie. The possibilities are endless. I have a whole year to plan. My experience has also inspired a new short story idea, which I'm working on now. I hope to share it in the next few weeks here on the Island.

If anyone is interested in being a baked goods taster, please let me know. I'll need plenty of volunteers!

*From an episode of GBBO. Mary Berry said it to a contestant.

My 40th Year on Earth: The Plunge

A few weeks ago, I shared my plans to boldly enter my 40th year on Earth. I define "boldness" in this statement as those things that make me move outside of the comfort zone I've created for myself in my little life with my enormous cat. (I get it, Dr. Vet, he's fat. You try getting a shelter cat to love you without the aid of shrimp flavored snacks.) I've identified twelve things I plan to this year that range on a scale of terrifying to fun stuff that I've always wanted to do, but don't ever plan to do so I'm doing them. It's a great list. I encourage everyone to do something similar this year. I'll be your list cheerleader if you need one.

I listen to the JSS Morning Show on 98 Rock, a rock station out of Baltimore. The show is the right balance of comedy, news, music, sports, and weirdness to get my day going. Since my commute is much longer now, I get to listen from the six am hour sports through just after the seven am news, depending on traffic. Usually in December, the guys start talking about the upcoming Polar Bear Plunge event they're part of in Maryland. When they started talking about it this past December, I knew I was planning my list, but hadn't quite figured out what all the events/things were going to be. The guys talked about their experience at past plunges, and it clicked in my head. I should find a plunge event near me. It combines my love of participating in random things and giving back to my community/being a good citizen. It just so happens a new plunge event would be taking place this year in the Mosaic District in Fairfax, sponsored by Plunge Virginia. I had found my event.

Plunge Virginia sponsors multiple events in January and February to support Special Olympics Virginia. Money raised at the events helps the organization provide training and other support throughout the year, and helps support sending athletes to the World Games (this year in Abu Dhabi). Virginia has seven athletes going to the World Games this year. I've donated to Special Olympics before, but never done any fundraising for the group. I know a few people who work or volunteer for the organization, too.

The Mosaic event was sponsored by the Fairfax County Police Department, and has the distinction of being Plunge Virginia's first pool plunge. I'm glad I picked a pool plunge for my first event; I'm not sure I would have actually gone through with running in and out of open water. This was the perfect event for me because it was small enough that it didn't take forever to actually jump into the water, but there were enough other people plunging that I wasn't singled out in any way. Eighty people took part in the event, mostly from the Fairfax County Police and a few of the other sponsoring groups.

The pool was set up near some shops on the far end of Mosaic. It was one of those temporary above ground pools, smaller than the ones I remember from childhood, but big enough for an adult to jump into. I'm on the short side so the water came just to my waist as I was getting out of the pool. For the much taller people who jumped, it was barely at mid-thigh. County Fire and Rescue crews were on hand, including divers, who were in the water as we jumped. It was comforting to have them there. I jumped in the first group of 10-15 people; I made sure I was as close to the front of the line as I could be. The random DJ from a station I don't listened to called my name and I jumped in. It was cold, but not so cold that I couldn't get myself together to get out of the pool. I found Anita and Scott who had my towel and dry clothes, and raced over to the changing tent. By the time I jumped, got out, and changed, the event was over and the costume contest winners were being announced.

I'm the kind of person who enjoys roller coasters, but also says something like "this was a very poor life choice" right before the first drop. I feel the exact same way about doing the Polar Bear Plunge. The idea of it is appealing; it's for a good cause, it's over in about a minute, people are there to cheer me on. But like the roller coaster, I had a moment went I said to myself, right before I walked up the stairs, "this is a horrible idea, you shouldn't do this." But I did it, and I'd do it again. It was invigorating and fun, and helps a great organization. I plan to do it again next year, and maybe get a team together so it's not me plunging by myself. It's more fun if others make terrible/wonderful life choices with me!

Thanks to everyone who donated to my fundraising goal; I hit my $500 goal the day of the plunge. If you're interested in donating to Special Olympics Virginia, you can donate on my page or the main Special Olympics VA page. A special thanks to Scott and Anita, my photographers, cheerleaders, and towel/clothes holders - you're the best!

Next month: It's February, so it's the return of "Stuff I Love" month! This month we'll explore axe-throwing, being in a Mardi Gras parade, more on glitter, and the parts of Valentine's Day I can truly support (hint: it involves chocolate). We also get to celebrate the 400th Island post! It's going to be a great month!

Photos by me and Anita
Video by Scott

Stuff I Love: Wine & Crafts

A few weeks back, I took a Gallup Strengths coaching workshop for work. I use the assessment in one of the programs I manage at work and took the workshop to help deepen my knowledge of strengths-based development so I can expand what we're doing with the assessment in the programs. One of the activities we did was an exercise focused on what we value and how those values are evident in our top strengths. The top value for me? Creativity. I worked with my partner to discuss creativity in my work and personal life and it was the sort of satisfying conversation that always seems to happen at these types of workshops. I always get all excited about the way I'm going to bring the knowledge back, both professionally and personally. Then go back to my life and forget everything and question my life choices and ennui settles in and I'm like, "What happened?"

Thankfully, that didn't happen this time. I haven't completely figured out what I want to do with the assessment in my programs, but I haven't lost that feeling I got when talking with my coaching practice partner about creativity. If anything, I've spent more time thinking about this since the workshop thinking about creativity and bringing that more into my life than I've thought of anything else. Creativity is a skill and a talent. It's focused on using imagination to create and solve things. People often mistake creativity for artistic talent; the two aren't the same. You can be creative and not artistic and you can be artistic and not be creative. Artists who are also creative are probably better artists, but the two are not synonymous. Creativity is about problem solving and thinking differently about the way things are done. It can manifest in art and crafts, but it doesn't have to.

I have some artistic talent; I can sew, embroider, write, and paint. Remember that time I made a Lego purse? I'm not a great painter and never will be, but I enjoy the process and the feeling of painting. I enjoy embroidery more, so I tend to stick with it when I want to have both a creative and artistic outlet. There's something truly magical about bringing a new project into the world. I'm mostly self-taught when it comes to embroidery and I'm constantly impressed by what I'm able to create with a few stitches and some fun patterns. Since the Women's March last year, there's been a flood of feminist embroidery and cross-stitch patterns on the market. There's something very therapeutic about stabbing fabric over and over again and have it become a "Nasty Woman" wall hanging or a "Girl Power" patch. It's also a nice connection back to our feminist and suffragist foremothers, who used crafts, sewing and needlework in particular, to hand make signs and sashes in the early suffrage and equality movements.

Back in the spring, when I was laid off and felt terrible about life, my friends did an excellent job of helping me stay positive and focused on doing fun things so I wouldn't drown in the pool of horrible that a job search often becomes. One April afternoon, Emily came over to watch movies and hang out. She brought a crochet project she was working on with her (she was making me a Franken-blanket, her specialty). I had a cross-stitch project I was working on. We sat on my couch, drank wine, and watched the mini-series version of IT and sewed and crocheted the afternoon away. Anita came by later in the afternoon, bringing her own cross-stitch project with her. As we all sat and worked and talked, we decided to start a monthly crafting/project day. Wine and Crafts Day was born. We've met once a month since September. Hosting duties rotate among the group and we've added a few additional people into the mix. There's no requirement of having to know how to do any type of craft or art project; we've all informally agreed to teach people new skills if they want to learn.

My first Zakka embroidery project.

It's been a great way for me to bring my friend groups together and be around a group of women who laugh and create and have fun. It's nice to not have an agenda; so much of all of our lives are based on agendas and to-do lists and calendars. I'm a planner, but even I can't deal with being scheduled to death. I know scheduling is a necessary thing, but I have a dream of one day not living by my calendar. We even got Anita hooked on Stranger Things and Chief Hopper; she was not disappointed.

In addition to being able to focus on various embroidery projects, I've also rediscovered my love of hosting gatherings. I don't know when I stopped having dinner parties, but I'd forgotten how much fun it is to plan the food and set everything up in a welcoming way. This isn't nearly as involved as a dinner party, but it's nice to have an excuse to try out fondue recipes (happening today) or bake a new recipe or roll out an old favorite. I spend a lot of time by myself, which is both good for me (and my introverted nature), but also something I need to occasionally remember not to do. There is such as thing as spending too much time alone. I don't spend time during our monthly gatherings writing, but I know that each one has helped me get back into my novel and given me the much needed kick in the pants to finish it and put it out in the world. Soon, friends, soon.

It's almost time for the group to gather and get started on our projects and eat some fondue. I'm not sure the cheese fondue is going to be good, but there's always chocolate fondue to save the day!

Today's project - another Zakka project. This one is going to be framed and hung in my living room.

Coming in March: It's Women's History Month! Whatever will we talk about for an entire month dedicated to women and their achievements? Check it out all month long!

Be Alright

I keep all of my concert tickets in a Sex Pistols lunch box. My friend, Mary, bought it for me years ago when she worked at the Experience Music Project in Seattle. I thought it was a smart place to store my concert tickets. I'm missing a few from my earliest concerts but I have the ones that matter most: my first concert (New Kids on the Block), the first Lilith Fair, and the first show I went to as a teenager that involved one of my friends driving us rather than our parents (R.E.M at Nisson Pavilion). Tori, Patti, the White Stripes, Nick Cave, Run-DMC, Metallica - they're all here in this box. I like to flip through the tickets every now and then and relive a little bit of the magic of each show. I can usually remember who I went with (my brother on many, many occasions) and if the opening act was any good (if it was Whirlwind Heat, the answer is an emphatic "hell no"). I don't obsessively write down set lists so I can't recall all of the songs for each show but I'm sure somewhere out there on the interwebs, someone has done this for me. I could look but I'm good for now.

My first concert was a New Kids on the Block show at the Superdome in 1990. I was eleven years old and my dad went with me. Two years later we had relocated to Northern Virginia and my dad, not learning his lesson the first time, took me to see Def Leppard at the USAir Arena (remember that place?). It would be years before my dad and I would go to a concert together again (Santana and Rod Stewart at the Verizon Center for his 66th birthday). I assume it took him that long to get over the agony of listening to preteen girls scream and sing along with NKOTB. I'm surprised his ears didn't bleed that day. My dad is a great dad.

In 1990, the New Kids on the Block were my favorite band. I think I had a NKOTB themed birthday party the year before; the tickets were definitely a birthday present but I don't think the themed party was the same year. Each ticket cost $20 for seats in the 600 level of the Superdome. I don't think you can buy a bottle of water for $20 at a concert today. Jonathan was my favorite member of the band followed closely by Jordan and Donnie. I thought Joey was annoying and Danny was an afterthought. I knew all the words and the choreography and was probably wearing at least two items of NKOTB clothing at the show. I may also have been wearing my Debbie Gibson hat because I was freaking fearless when it came to fashion back then.

I don't remember the order of the songs they played or what "witty" banter happened but I remember being in love with being at a concert. I've been to a lot of concerts and shows since NKOTB and while they're each special in their own way, none of them will ever be my first concert. First concerts are the only truly pure experience that exist (probably). It was exciting and overwhelming and frenetic. Every teen girl there was so excited to see the band and sing along (and scream a lot). I'm sure I made my dad buy me a t-shirt (which I no longer have and did not need). I know I stayed up way past my bedtime and was exhausted the next day but it was summer so it didn't really matter. I couldn't wait to go to the next concert (I believe it was Huey Lewis & the News with my brother in Detroit). That first show hooked me in and I've never looked back. I have not gone to see NKOTB again even though they've done reunion tours over the years. My dad won't go with me again (yes, I've asked) so what's the point really? I don't think it would be as much fun to see the band today; it would be fun but a more adult, alcohol influenced kind of way rather than the pure fun of going to my first concert.

Going to see live music is one of my favorite things to do. I love going to any type of venue and I'll go see bands or musicians I don't know just to go. The show might not be great but I always enjoy the experience of being surrounded by other music fans enjoying themselves. That's the beauty of concerts; you get to hang out with a few hundred or thousand (or ten) music fans. A concert is a little community of souls, coming together over their shared love of what this person or group has created. How beautiful is that? I happen to like a lot of bands who appeal to multi-generational audiences so the crowd is always fascinating to be part of. My favorite example of this was the Green Day show at the 9:30 Club last October; it's shows like that one that make me happy to be a rock fan.

As I've been reading about the bombing at the Ariana Grande show in Manchester, I can't help but think about all those kids going to see their favorite singer live, possibly for the first time. I know the excitement they must have felt in the lead up to the concert, thinking about what to wear (is it a high ponytail or cat ears kind of night?) and planning with their friends, taking selfies throughout and singing along to each song. To have such a horrible tragedy take place at the end of what was a magical night for those who attended is heartbreaking. The loss of so many young lives is devastating.

For the most part, people have been responding to this tragedy in the way you would hope people would respond to tragedy, with respect and remorse and most importantly, sentiments of community and coming together. However, there are some notable exceptions including journalists who have made disdainful remarks about Grande's music as they cover the bombing. It makes me angry how some have felt the need to cover this story in a way that dismisses the things teen girls like as if it somehow makes them less important and this bombing less of a serious threat. Emma Gray wrote a great piece on this exact topic for Huffington Post; if anything, the fact that a concert audience made up almost entirely of young women, their mothers, and LGBTQ youth was targeted should tell you a lot about the world we live in and what hate looks like.

My hope is that these fans don't stop going to concerts. I want every single one of them to go to another show and another one after that and keep going. I want them to keep being part of the amazing community that is a live music audience. I don't want any of them to ever lose that feeling or be fearful enjoying what they love. I want them all to feel the magic that happens when the lights go down and there's that one second before the show begins where the entire audience takes in a collective breath before losing it when their musical idols walk onstage. That is magic.

I don't know many of Ariana Grande's songs but one of my friends posted this video on Facebook the morning after the bombing; it's fitting in a lot of ways.

Next week: A discussion of my summer music list, "Brandy", and why I need to borrow someone's convertible for a day or two. If you haven't seen the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie, take the time to do so before next week; there will be some discussion of the movie although I will try to refrain from spoilers as much as possible.