Random Thoughts

When I was 8 years old, I was playing hide ‘n’ seek in the backyard.  I was watching “Little House on the Prairie”.  I was trying to perfect my back handspring. What I was NOT doing (yet) was being a bad-ass feminist. And that is why I was so happy when I saw this post last month:  “Don’t forget to stop by and support this bake sale fundraiser held by two sweet and amazingly bad-ass 8-year old besties right here in Fairlington! Don’t live nearby, but still want to contribute? Feel free to Venmo some funds to @Shineca-Solomon for the cause! All proceeds will go to women's rights/protection groups in honor of the late and great RBG ( futureswithoutviolence.org and nwlc.org ). Both organizations have incredible track records and are rated 4 stars on charity navigator. There will be lots of fall flavors (pumpkin, pecan, apple, and real masala chai to drink!) and DOG TREATS!! They are a little over halfway to their goal of giving each organization $1,000! Please support these awe

A stranger rang the doorbell this afternoon. That in and of itself is not so rare.   We often have visitors on our front porch.   But this man rang the bell, and when David answered, they engaged in conversation. The man wondered if we might have a turkey for him.   You see, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and he and his wife did not have a turkey to cook. I was feeling overwhelmed with other “helping” tasks I was doing today, and I am embarrassed to admit that my first reaction to the request was, “What?   Someone is actually COMING TO THE HOUSE asking for a turkey?   Bizarre.”. But when David later re-told more of their conversation to me, I was proud . The man came to our house and asked because he knew he could .   He knew it would be a safe place, that he would not be looked down on, and that he might indeed find assistance.   He told David he remembers eating fresh peaches from our tree in summer.   He loves the signs of inclusiveness and kindness we put up.   And he has go

The thing about losing someone you love is, well, gosh there are so many things… One is – if it happened yesterday, or if it happened 15 years ago, it still feels like it was too soon. If it was sudden, or slow and expected, it still feels unfair. And if it was a parent, it is heart wrenching. Yes – the traditional “plan” is that the child outlives the parent.  That’s sort of the unwritten expectation.  And yes, reversing that order would likely be much more jarring and awful.  Even so, when it happens, especially if it is your last parent and you are left (an adult) “orphan”, you feel it with every ounce of your being. Which brings me to – today is Johnny Day.  It is the 2 nd anniversary of the death of my dad, John C. Thompson.  Those who were luckily enough to know him know that he was funny (laughed at his own jokes, sometimes so hard that it was difficult for him to get through the joke), liked to trick people (his poor friend Ed, how many times did he fall for that $10

Next month will be 20 years since we bought the Big Yellow House. 20 years! That seems so wild. David and I are what I refer to as “commitment-phobics” – neither of us is good at committing to things. For example, no tattoos. I don’t understand HOW people DECIDE what tattoo to get! It lasts FOR-EV-ER, people! And we lived together 12 years before finally getting married. Yeah, commitment is not our strong suit. So, to realize we have lived in this house in Arlington this long is bizarre.  Anyway, the reason I mention we are going on 2 decades in this house is because one of the FIRST THINGS the realtor said when we pulled up to it was that it definitely needed work on the curb appeal. I believe what ol’ Jim W. said was, “Well Dave and Sue, the FIRST thing you should do if you decide on this property is rip out this ugly old chain link fence and replace it with some BUSHES! That’ll spruce the place up”.  Yeah…  So now, 20 years and much rust later, we are getting a new fence

I don’t want to give the impression that I walk around everyday in a daze and feeling sad, but I don’t want to hide anything, either.   When people you love die, the grief goes on.   It is not something that fits neatly into a timetable.   The 3 days off work they give you for a funeral doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of the number of days, months, and years you will grieve. So, no, not all day every day. But yes, parts of most days.   Maybe the sadness is triggered by a memory.   A photo.   A scent.   A location.   Or maybe it is always there but only bubbles to the surface when triggered… Today was no different.   Started out fine (albeit sleepy and rushed).   Productive and stressful work.   Rushing about trying to complete a big project.   Working on not one but two computers trying to tie together all the loose ends before a big “production number” at 5:00 pm.   In the middle of the mess, my sister Sherry texts and tells me that the company turning our sister

One of my friends remarked to me today, “You love SO hard!”. That four word sentence encapsulates it – I love so hard .   And when a person LOVES hard, they GRIEVE hard.   They JOY hard.   They HAPPY hard.   And they CRY hard. I am thankful to feel as strongly as I feel.   But understanding that is who I am means having to make SPACE for myself.   Having to carve out time, sometimes physically on the calendar, to allow myself to feel. Today was one of those days. My sister Annette should have turned 59 years old today.   But brain cancer totally ripped her off and stole her from us last December.   Today was our first May 15 th without her.   My sister Sherry and I had planned to be together for this milestone but Covid 19 made that impossible.   So today, each in our own way, we celebrated the sister that we love, that we grieve for.   Today we celebrated ANNETTE DAY. My plan was to fill the day doing things she loved.   Things that would make me thi

I started a project the other day.   It’s something a kindergartner could easily do, yet it has taken me over a week already. I am gluing little glass “bead” token things around the rim of a table I got for free from a neighbor.   I am, as David says, “bedazzling a table”. Mind you, when I accepted this table, it was reportedly to display items on at the Kindness Yard Sale this summer.   Last year I didn’t have enough tables to put things on.   But even before we got the table home , my mind was envisioning a project.   One that I couldn’t admit out loud, because let’s be honest, I have a shit-ton of unfinished projects, and we do NOT need any more furniture for inside OR outside the house right now… But I got those little glass tokens out.   They are leftovers from when my sissies and I went crazy mosaic-ing stuff last year!   We all did a bowling ball and I also did a planter.   And these little leftover beads had been hoarded by me. So, I got them out.   And I got

Well, it’s rolled around again.   It’s THAT DAY, you know, the one where I remind you how lucky you are if your mom is still alive. Look – I do not want to make you feel guilty.   Seriously I don’t.   But if we are being honest here I will admit that you having a living mom makes me a bit (more than a bit…) jealous.   I know times are tough for everyone right now.   If your mom is in a nursing home you can’t get in to visit her.   If your mom lives in another state you can’t fly to see her.   Heck, even if your mom lives right across town you can’t give her a proper hug (at least you shouldn’t!).   It sucks. But do you know what sucks worse??   When your mom is dead.   When you know that there is no “end to the distance”.   When the only time you can see your mom is in dreams and that is very rare and when you wake-up she is still dead.   It is like social distancing forever.   How does that sound? My mom and her 3 daughters. It is really hard to believe only 2 peo

It is a dull, drizzly gray day out today.   I am tempted to crawl back into bed (which would be ridiculous, since I only got out of it at 2:15 pm….).   But instead I will think about YESTERDAY, a day that the sun shone and people reminded me that there is good in the world. For 4 or 5 weeks I have been writing a daily poll on a piece of bright paper and taping it to a corner across from our house.   The polls have asked “important” questions, such as, “Carrots:   Raw or Cooked?”; “Glitter:   Shiny, glorious goodness or The world’s most horrible craft supply?”; Elsa or Anna?”; and “New Olympic Event:   Eating the most marshmallows or Holding your breath the longest?”.     Normally by the next morning around 40 people have voted.   Every day I watch people come up to the corner, stop, read (and often smile) then vote as the poll instructs them to with a rock or stick.      The pile of rocks and sticks has grown since the polls started, and there are 2 r