Random Thoughts

And then sometimes, the magical veneer gets scratched a little bit… Look, I KNOW that life isn’t supposed to happen the way it does at our house.    Like, I realize it is some kind of magical fluke that the kind of thing that happened yesterday doesn’t happen all the time.   The fact that our house is located on a super busy corner with tons of car and foot traffic 24 hours a day and that we can keep ANYTHING safe that is visible on our front porch is technically something that should not be possible.   It should all get taken, right?   Even the actual TREE – bright, lovely, lights shining 24 hours a day – how does the TREE itself not get stolen? And hey, I get it.   There is also a fine line here at the Big Yellow House.   So much is given away here – food, warm clothing, umbrellas in the rain, other items if come ask for something and we happen to have it.   So if, hypothetically, you “take something” from our home without asking, is it stealing??   Or is it “just” taking wh

This is the story of my friend, Heather. It is also the story of my NOT friend, Jason. If you are offended by the use of foul language, specially the f-bomb, this is not the story for you and you should stop reading now.     OK, it is just us foul mouth f-bomb droppers left, right? FUUUUUCK!! My friend Heather, a true sweetheart, messaged me this morning saying she had a massage appointment with “her guy” at “her place”.   And OFFERING me said appointment.   Like, free.   As a gift.   “All you would need to do is tip!” she proclaimed.   Only, she sent the offer in the morning.   And, having just gone through a particularly stressful and busy holiday season, I slept until around 12:30 pm.   When I finally opened my phone to see what had happened in the world while I drooled on my pillow, the group conversation where the massage had been offered was full of, “SUSAN BETTER WAKE UP SOON!   She is gonna miss out on this amazing offer!”.   I replied “YES P

Here’s the thing about privilege – it can be used in a positive way. Privilege has always been around.  Some people have forever had privilege.  We didn’t have a name for it when I was growing up, but it was there.  Those of us who had our own bedrooms as a kid – privilege.  Families who got to go out to eat at restaurants instead of eating tv dinners night after night – privilege.  Students who had their choice of university regardless of the cost – privilege. And I think I have understood the concept of it for quite a while, before I had a label for it, but called it “ luck ”.   Like, “We are so lucky that we get to travel a lot”.   Or “It sure is lucky we have a hybrid car because gas is so expensive!”.   But now I understand that those things often don’t happen because of luck.   They happen because of privilege – something I have through no work of my own, but society has “gifted” me.   So, whenever I can, I try to use my privilege in a positive way.   Like today.    

We all have events that change our lives, events that are earthshattering enough that they change how our internal calendars work.   You know, the events that are etched in our minds and we count years as “pre-the event” and “post-the event”.   The first major one in my internal calendar is the day my mom died.   Mary Day. October 20, 2002. 20 years ago today.   We got the news that she was dying on another day that changed my internal calendar, and the internal calendars of most Americans old enough to have been alive then – September 11, 2001. So, one year, one month, and a few days after that dreadful diagnosis, she was gone. Some days it is hard to imagine that it has been 20 years without her.   And other days it feels like an eternity since she was here. So much has happened since she died – family weddings, births, illnesses, divorces, a global pandemic, family members purchasing new homes, and deaths.   Deaths of her daughter (my sister) and her husban

I don’t think of myself as “old”. But what IS old?   I mean, when does old start?   Does it creep up slowly?   Is it an overnight thing – where you go to bed one night middle aged and wake up the next morning old?   I don’t believe that old is tied to a number, an age.   I have known people who were in their 30s that felt “old”.   I had a beautiful interaction this weekend that made me realize, in the eyes of the world around me, I am indeed “old”, no matter how I feel or look in my own eyes when I look in the mirror.   And while at first that was a bit jarring to me, as I pondered it I thought back to all of the “old” women in my life, and I smiled.   I have become Mrs. Binder. Mr. and Mrs. Binder were our next-door neighbors growing up in Omaha, Nebraska.   I lived in the same house from the time I was born until I left for college, and Mr. and Mrs. Binder were a constant.   When I look back now, I realize that we didn’t have much interaction with them really, but f