My mom was the nicest person I ever knew.

After she died, I learned from my therapist about the enneagram and am convinced that Mom was a Helper (Type Two — The Enneagram Institute) like I am.  She used to go to multiple stores to find things I added to the grocery list.  She listened tirelessly to my stories.  She really, really cared about people and almost never asked to put herself first.  Like me, she didn’t know many strangers and did a lot of things by herself because she wasn’t going to miss something she wanted to do just because nobody else would do it with her.  And then, like me, there would come times when all of her selfless sacrifice felt oh so unappreciated and unnoticed, and she would break.  When Helpers are healthy, we help and we need nothing in return.  Maybe we would like to be thanked.  Too much helping without any recognition is a bit grating.  And when we are unhealthy, we sulk.  We resent.  We become martyrs.  “Nobody loves me, nobody cares, all I do is for nothing, nobody would miss me if I wasn’t here, but on the other hand nobody could do this without me . . .”

I had a boss call me a martyr once.  He wasn’t being insightful, or kind.  It was a criticism, an insult.  I deleted his contact information this week – not because of that comment – but because our relationship is only supported by me.  I don’t even know if you call that a relationship.  I think you call it memories one person is hanging onto.  I still know his contact information by heart after working for him for 12 years, but not having it saved it will remind me when I try to text him that there is a reason he isn’t in my phone anymore. 

I wish I could share insights with Mom as I discover ways we are similar.  She used to get her feelings hurt and cry and it made me so sad, but sometimes I also thought she was overreacting and I didn’t know how to help.  I just knew she was legitimately sad.  Sometimes we would have wonderful talks where I really understood her, even when I was young.  I would like to tell her so many things I think I understand now.  The other day I was reorganizing her and Dad’s house in my mind – how it could function better for them if they were still there.  So pointless, as we sold it 8 years ago and they are both dead, but I remember that space so clearly. 

Mom died when I was 37.  I’d only been married three years and was starting to learn firsthand about marital relationships, and I could empathize and understand my mom in ways I never had before.  I think I have gained insight about her and myself that would help her and make her feel less alone in ways she may have before.  But I also think when we lose someone, we see more of them in ourselves because we can’t see them anymore.  I see more of Dad in myself now than I did when he was alive . . . or, I see him differently in myself.  I have a kinder view of him.  We can never be combative anymore.  I’m glad most of our head-butting faded in his later years, anyway.

This week was rough.  April 26^th was 10 years since Mom died, and I thought about it all day.  I also had a busy week at work and a few medical things going on that mostly just annoyed me, possibly more than they would on a different week.  I decided to change dermatologists because the last few office visits have made me want to quit going back.  This time, I had to pay more than $200 at the front desk before I was even seen and was told it’s because I have a high-deductible plan.  Then I got to see the doctor, and thus started the barrage of questions/comments I could barely answer before the next one started.

“Oh, I see you have makeup on.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.”

“Do you wear it for work?”

“Yes.”

“If you refuse to take it off, we’ll have to have you come back for a separate face exam.” 

Um, file that away under things that is not going to happen.  Lady, I’ve been coming to you for YEARS.  When have I ever refused to remove my makeup? 

“Usually I make a note on my calendar not to put on makeup for these appointments.  I just forgot.  I’m not refusing to remove it.”

“OK, thanks.  Here, wipe it off with your left hand while I examine your right hand/arm.  You have on toenail polish.  Do your naked toenails look like these photos [of skin cancer]?  I see you have some color.”

“Oh, yeah, I got burned in Mexico in the shade.”

“You wore sunscreen?  You know, the spray isn’t as good as the other kind.”

“You know, seeing as how I got burned in the shade, I don’t think sunscreen was my problem.  Just a gift my Dad gave me, the ability to get burned through things.”

“You should look into sun-resistant clothing.”  She told me a brand, but I don’t remember it, because what I was hearing is that she sees sun-worshippers all the time and isn’t interested in our bullshit stories about why we have color.  But my story was true!  I spent my entire last day of vacation ALONE in a shade bed (my friends weren’t that interested in avoiding the sun) and woke up to pain on my legs because apparently the material of the shade bed wasn’t sun-proof.  This was the most painful sunburn I ever remember, and I will worry about it until I am so close to death from some other means that I don’t have to worry about skin cancer as a potential cause.  I showed everyone at work my legs, and I think all of them hated me for it.  I made a deliberate effort on vacation to find shade, as I usually do, given that shade is where I don’t get burned (and it’s cooler there).  Apparently Mexico has very strong sun that burns through fabric. 

So, I didn’t care for that encounter with my doctor and decided not to schedule again.  I decided to find another doctor.  This woman wants me in the office 3x a year, which I cannot afford, so we’d settled on 2 and more recently I thought I should go down to one since I’d never actually had skin cancer.  I’m just fair-skinned and have a lot of spots.

And then, on the day Mom died (10 years ago), she left me 2 urgent, annoyed messages, wanting to discuss my biopsy results.  The attorneys I support have let me know my cell phone goes straight to voice mail most times they call me in the office.  The doctor said she would call me the next day at 7am.  I had my phone in my pocket and when she called almost an hour later than she told me she would, I still missed it. 

Here’s what I know: I’ve had countless skin biopsies and when they are nothing of concern, you get a message saying so.  “Hey there, your biopsy just showed a precancerous mole, keep up with the sunscreen, bye!”  At my office visit, I pointed out a pink spot on my left arm (not one of the sunburn sites from Mexico) and my dermatologist said right away, “How astute.  I think that’s basal cell carcinoma. Has it been bleeding?” 

“Um, no. I would have been in here a lot sooner if I had a bleeding spot.”

I called her office back after the third missed call and said, “Look.  My cell phone doesn’t work in my office.  I’m getting ready for court and my phone is in my pocket and I STILL missed the call.  Here is my direct line.  Tell her to leave me a detailed message, even if she has to tell me I have cancer.  No more of these, “PLEASE ANSWER WHEN I CALL” messages.

She called my cell phone again.  It worked.  She said, “Oh, did you get my messages?”  Oh, and it was basal cell carcinoma on my arm.  So, now I join the rest of the Lynn family in having some kind of cancer.  I’m not super worried, but, damn.  What a week for that, and so much for me not actually having skin cancer.  I’ll go to a skin cancer surgeon and hopefully that’ll be the end of it.  The sun can’t hurt a Leo!  Come on.

In other news, I also have uterine fibroids and I need an MRI and an embolization.  I didn’t really understand how an MRI works, although I’ve had one before.  I made the mistake of trying to schedule it while I was at work, and I’d like to send the poor girl who went through that with me a basket of her favorite things.  She explored different locations and times (because I have to fast) and then the surprise news that I must remove all metal from my body, which I rejected because I have some cartilage earrings that I never plan to remove, and she said very timidly, “Well, then, they won’t do it.”  She gave up on me then.  I told her I would talk to my doctor. 

My gynecologist (we’ve been together since around 2005 and I trust him 100%) said, basically, go to the consult and ask your Qs, but an MRI is probably what has to happen, which is why he told me to get one.  I’ve already had 2 ultrasounds.  Once I calmed down, I thought how silly it would be to deter what my beloved medical provider thinks should happen over some silly jewelry that, honestly, causes me minor pain on a regular basis.  Today I had the consult and – heads up – CMC Main has changed a lot.  It’s being demolished and rebuilt in parts.  I missed the parking deck (which is in a super obvious and convenient location on the right of the entrance street) and went to where I remembered parking before, which is now a building with an arm at the parking lot that required a human to let me in.  I went inside and the man at the desk told me not convincingly that radiology was on the 2^nd floor.  I went to the 2^nd floor and the receptionist there was texting and either didn’t know I arrived or didn’t care.  I said, “Hey.  Is this radiology?”  She looked at my paperwork and said, “Oh, no.  You need to go to the main building.”  Curse words!!!  I walked . . . quickly . . . and it’s very humid today since we’ve had a LOT of rain.  Then I found out CMC Main has a security guard when you enter.  Once I could figure out which line to go through next, I talked to yet another person who confidently directed me to the elevator that would take me to radiology on the 4^th floor.  Everyone there was fantastic, so much so that I decided for sure to let go of my cartilage earrings (I’ll get them back in after my ears get some rest and a good scrubbing I can’t do with them in) and proceed with the MRI and the embolization, although it seems kind of creepy once they explained how it works, and I also didn’t know I would need recovery time and a driver on the day of the procedure. 

So . . . that has been my week.  If anyone wants to come entertain me during my not-yet-scheduled recovery period and put my earrings back in, I’ll consider it.

The title is not a quote. I’m particularly bad at titles.

I was recently made aware of something said about me in kindness and love (as well as a little bit of concern) over the summer.  Four months had passed since the comment was made, and I suspect I had never been told about it because nobody wanted me to go down the rabbit hole where I quickly descended.  There are some things people can say about me that I shrug off, and there are others that “hit a nerve,” as we say, for any number of reasons.  Was it something I already thought about myself, so it hurt that someone else thought it, too (remember the list Ross made about Rachel on Friends?)?  Was it so foreign from who I think I am that it left me questioning who I actually am?  Well, there’s only one way to find out, and that is to spend a lot of time festering on what happened, what was said, and what I think/know about myself. 

• Is what was said about me how I want to be perceived?  No
• Is what was said about me an accurate perception? It was at that moment
• Based on the foregoing, do I have changes to make?  I think yes – And that’s not a solid “yes” only because of some ongoing reflecting.

The short point to all of this is that I realized I’m pretty sure of who I am at this point in life. Whether it be that I am a narcissist or just trying to understand what makes me tick, I tend to do a lot of self-analysis. I think I always have. Having minored in psychology (the major didn’t work out, damn statistics!), I remain fascinated also by the workings of other people and how we react, interact, harm and help each other.

I believe the comment was made out of legitimate concern for me and was kept from me out of kindness, and also because nobody likes to be criticized and therefore most people don’t like to criticize. And as much as I didn’t like hearing it, I appreciate that someone cared enough to say it.

And I am grateful that when I felt forced to think about what was said, I settled on these positive outlooks as opposed to self-loathing and contempt for the observer. I’ve spent plenty of time self-loathing and then learning to like myself.  There is always room for improvement, but I am also careful to be sure the improvement comes from my own desires, not from anyone else trying to create a version of me they would prefer.  I’ve had no shortage of people suggest I do things differently, be it my physical appearance or choices I make, how I communicate, or if I even communicate at all. How I respond to those prompts defines me.  (Come on. You aren’t going to stop me from communicating.)  I have a strong identity and I’m fairly contrarian by nature, so my response to most things involves some evaluation if not an outright challenge.

If we don’t know who we are, we let other people tell us who we are. We settle for jobs and relationships that are not good for us and miss out on better opportunities, better connections, more rewarding relationships because we are “stuck” somewhere else.  We make decisions we think we have no choice but to make because we believe what we are told about ourselves.  We suffer unjust abuse and criticisms because we have no defense.  (Read that last sentence carefully, because not all criticisms are unjust, and sometimes there is no defense.)

I work in an industry where people who promised forever to each other sometimes treat each other horribly as they break that promise.  They find ways to use everything against each other, including bad habits they once indulged in together and personality differences they used to overlook or let balance each other out.  In my career, so many things become evidence sprung to gain an advantage, to annihilate, to hurt – and that has also become the world. Everyone lives in a glass house and the stones keep getting thrown.  At any given moment, what we say, write, or do could be recorded whether we know it or not – and it will be used against us when it will be advantageous to someone else.  What a terrifying way to live.  That is partially why I don’t blog as much as I used to.  My journal seems a safer forum.  It neither validates me nor accuses me of a variety of slights.  But it does help me process my thoughts and my feelings and decide how I feel and what I think. 

“A loud voice cannot compete with a clear voice, even if it’s a whisper,” said Barry Neil Kaufman.  It’s easy to forget that in a world of noise (social media, social influence, and onslaughts of “news,” most of which is opinion pretending to be news).  If you don’t know what you think when it is calm, it will be much more difficult to remain even keeled in a storm.  Discover who you are, be certain about who you are, and then – one of my new favorite mantras: “Darling, just fucking own it.” (I can’t even attribute that to anyone. It’s everywhere!)

Not one of us is perfect.  That isn’t a cop-out; it’s undeniable fact.  We are all compilations of the good and bad things we have done, of the good and bad things that have happened to us, of the lessons we have learned and the ones we are still learning, of the mistakes we have made and are still making, of the fantastic things we have done and have yet to do. 

Know who you are before someone tells you what you can and cannot do. Know your limits and know your capabilities.  Know who you are so when someone only wants to focus on your past, you have an eye on your present and your future.  Know who you are so when you hear something you don’t like, you can objectively evaluate that criticism.  Know it so when you receive a compliment, you don’t become an egomaniac, but can still accept and believe the nice things said about you.  Know it because you are worth knowing, and because this world never stops trying to tell us who we are (or should be), and few of us actually know our own selves when left standing alone with nobody else.

Every year, my husband and I debate how to approach this day. We don’t want to be silent about one of the most significant days of our lives, nor do we think social media will benefit greatly from the addition of our recollections of where we were when we experienced it. But we remember, and we want to share, because “never forget” meant something twenty years ago and it means something to us now. It is important that we remember that people loathe America so much that 09/11 happened. It is important that we remember security lapses that allowed 09/11 to happen.

The first photo I am sharing here is before the second plane hit the second tower. I was at work on this day in 2001, and my office manager was listening to the radio when the planes hit. The first plane hit, and I thought the pilot had really f*cked up. My brain couldn’t comprehend an act like that being intentional – until the second plane hit. At that moment, I knew something was even more wrong. And my office manager turned off the radio soon thereafter, finding it to be distracting. That woman was always a little screwy with priorities.

At that moment, I guess we all knew something was wrong. See these people running in the next photo? That was New York. My father-in-law was somewhere in Manhattan, near the towers, but I didn’t know him then. He’d been in Vietnam and I don’t think it took a full minute after plane 1 hit the first tower for him to revert to his USMC training and let people know they were in harm’s way. I didn’t know my husband who was a reporter in Charlotte then, wondering all day if his father was OK. I was sitting in a small office in Asheville, North Carolina, thinking that I got up and went to work and a plane didn’t fly into my building. I knew where everyone who mattered to me was. And I called my parents when I got home that night, because I could.

It was and is a very sad day for America, but I don’t think the sadness was limited to us. Other people felt and shared our grief. Muslims who would not have attacked us that way felt betrayed and scared for how they would be perceived. For a brief period, America united and I don’t remember hearing about Ds or Rs. We had all endured a common tragedy, we saw more significant battles to fight, and some people couldn’t keep up with the number of funerals happening in their circles.

Pete did a memorial show yesterday (https://omny.fm/shows/the-pete-kaliner-show/the-pete-kaliner-show-on-wbt-09-10-2021-hour-3). He always does a good job with that. Today, we will be with friends and family, and I’m sure we will discuss today’s events 20 years ago. I hope you will, also – whether you lived it or not – because those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.

I wrote out the guest list – which, of course, was long and included far too many people to ever fit in our house – but Pete and I finally got a house again, and I wanted people to see it.  I wanted so many people near and far to come see where the home we finally built together after years of living apart for work and then living in apartments until we finally accomplished this goal.  If you don’t know, just owning real estate in Asheville is quite a feat, and for me, it’s a goal that went back to 2005 if not earlier.  Pete and I owned a house in Charlotte – 2 individually and then one together, but we sold our last home in 2017 when home ownership got to be too much while living in two cities.  Our sales price was $236K and the new owners just sold it again for $335K, which is the result of a crazy real estate market + a coat of indoor paint.  The yard is a disaster. 

Our Arden (south of Asheville) home was a build-to-suit, so we spent months monitoring its progress, from dirt lot to foundation to sticks to drywall to beautiful house, planning how we’d transition from apartment to house.  We gave our 60-day notice to vacate and found someone to take over our apartment lease.  I got “NEW HOME” address label stickers and dreamed of returning to covered garage parking and having my own home office space since our shared apartment office space had become somewhat dominated by Mr. WFH Podcaster (understandable).  We closed on July 6^th (closing date #4) and then, just days after closing, Pete got a job offer in another city – a city we both come from and almost didn’t hesitate to return to.

Almost.

We’ve put down a lot of roots in Asheville.  WWNC was Pete’s 2^nd talk show host gig, and it was so much better to him than the first one.  It lasted longer, and he got sponsors.  And when that job ended and another radio opportunity didn’t pan out, Pete started a podcast.  That Pete was good at the podcast was no surprise, but the amount of support he got was overwhelming and touching.  When you’re facing unemployment and then self-employment, you don’t forget the people who help you keep your home and keep you fed.  We didn’t and don’t want to let any of those folks down.  We didn’t and don’t want to leave friends we have here.  Oh, and I have a job, too, with some clients I help a great deal and regret I won’t see them through to the end. 

But Pete’s opportunity in Charlotte is inarguably good.  I never listened to Rush Limbaugh unless he was wrapping up before Pete came on the air, but I understand what an honor it is to fill that time slot.  I know that people are watching who goes into that time slot.  I know that a door closed before that kept Pete available to have this time slot, and he’s going to knock it out of the park, as he always does, as he already is.  I listened to him fill in 12-3 and heard WBT announce that he was the first live host at that time in 30 years.  He was worth the wait – and the job is worth the move.

And, yes, we have to move.  Pete cannot do his job remotely.  It’s a valid question having come through COVID and Pete having been filling in remotely, but that isn’t the job he was offered, and it would lack authenticity, just as if he tried to be an Asheville host from elsewhere.  The job is in Charlotte and the job is in person.  He could go back and forth – but we did that for about 7 years, and we aren’t doing it again. 

We’ll be back to see those of you we’ll be missing in Asheville.  We look forward to finally being able to travel to see friends and family in other states, which was a real challenge for my self-employed spouse who obsessively monitored downloads every day he took off.  I know some of you are “gaining” us, some of you are “losing” us, and some of you will notice no real difference at all.  Having been between Asheville and Charlotte to some extent since 2000, I say that if you miss us, ask to see us.  Listen to Pete.  Write to me.  I am a rock star at keeping in touch and managing the social calendar.  Just don’t question our decision – because it is our decision, and it’s hard enough without hearing disapproval from those we love.

If this blog feels weak, that’s because I’m a little weak.  I’m between jobs, between homes, between cities (again).  There remain a lot of unknowns, there remains a lot of change, and I’m still living around boxes and about to start packing boxes again.

Stay tuned for the unpacked-in-the-next-house-celebrating-our-one-year-in-Charlotte-anniversary blog.  I’m holding out for that one.

My plans for the holiday weekend were to move into our new home. The first closing date we were given was June 29th. Then the 30th. Then July 2nd. Now, Tuesday. We communicated everything we knew to the builder’s agents, the closing attorney’s agent, the lender’s agents, and the realtor’s team, including that we had set up utilities and homeowner’s insurance starting with closing date #1, changed it all to closing date #2, hired movers for yesterday and had family coming to help move yesterday, had appliances to be delivered yesterday, TV and internet being transferred yesterday, all of our mail forwarded to a locked mailbox we cannot access until we get keys for the home we’re trying to buy . . . (I’m happy to report that since Hallmark refuses to update my last name since I remarried double-digit years ago, that mail resisted being forwarded and I got it here at the apartment).

You know who cares about all of the work we did to move in this weekend as scheduled? Pete and me. That’s it. Well, also our family who was coming up and our friends who are pretty excited about having the most awesome neighbors ever. None of our planning and inconveniences make a damn bit of difference to a lot of things we’ve learned about buying new construction, some of which I will share here because I have little else to do this weekend and also, I’d like to inform people about things we’ve learned that I wish we’d been told as we went through this process so we’d have known that basically, the lender sets the closing date, at least in this purchase. No wonder people are so excited about cash offers. I thought they were just excited to meet folks with a lot of money and not have to work about prequalification and credit reports and such.

The paperwork we got with the June 29th closing date was from a builder’s rep who has been fantastic, and the paperwork says, “This document serves as notice to the Home Buyer(s) that closing for the home you are purchasing is planned for June 29, 2021. The closing administrator from our attorney’s office will contact you to confirm the exact time . . . This closing notification is subject to unforeseen circumstances that may delay this date.” This was May 14th, and yes, I noticed that ” unforeseen circumstances may delay this date,” but (1) we’ve bought and sold a few homes since 2005 and the ONLY time a closing date ever got delayed for us was in 2008, when everything in real estate went to shit.

We emailed all those folks I mentioned above to let them know we had a closing date. At some point, we responsibly set up utilities and homeowner’s insurance, as we always do when purchasing a home, so we can take a hot shower when we move in, among other things. I understand now that buying a new-construction home is different, because nobody is moving out of that house on the day we move in and making sure to disconnect utilities simultaneously. So I probably didn’t need to bother setting up utilities that we’re now paying for and not using. But I’d rather have them ready than move in and find out we don’t have water. And I try to keep that in mind when, for example, we were out there last night, and every single light was on, inside and out, in the home we don’t own and cannot enter anymore where we pay the electric bill since 06/30g. The fans are even running on the front and back porches. Go on over and cool off . . . on us. I’m not calling to reschedule the utilities again for a closing that I’m not sure will ever happen.

I know it sounds petty to complain about these little costs when we’re talking about (so far) a delay of only a week. I feel very much like Steve Martin’s character in Father of the Bride, ripping open packages of hot dog buns because the stress and costs just got to be too much as they piled up. But the people who initially said, “Oh, just don’t reschedule the utilities again from Wednesday to Friday,” – and now closing is NEXT WEEK, I remind you – are not the people who have to pay the mortgage and the closing costs and the movers and buy boxes (even though we stockpiled every box we found for almost a year) and packing supplies and who bought snacks and paper products for the movers and family to come this past Friday/Saturday who did not come because there was no move. I am always about to cry and/or yell lately. I’m a good time.

Weeks after May 14th, we became informed about a lot of stuff the lender cannot accomplish until certain things are accomplished by the builder. Apparently, the appraisal the lender needs cannot happen until there is a Certificate of Occupancy, and electricity has to be turned on for that to happen, I think. Our impression was that everyone was rushing to make these things happen for what had become a Friday, July 2nd, closing. That would still work for us with everything we had arranged.

There was some mention of a re-appraisal, and I kept asking how much money to bring to closing (because that kind of money is a big deal for us), and then, on Thursday, I got a Closing Disclosure document. It resembles a settlement statement and it told me how much money to bring to closing and I thought, this must be it! We’re on our way now! And then we were told that this document must arrive 3 days before closing, so . . . now we could not close for THREE MORE DAYS. Although I have asked, nobody has told me why we were repeatedly given closing dates that could not possibly happen since we did not have this document. I think everyone involved – except Pete and me – should have known about this law that we’re told cannot be waived. I think they did know, but nobody thought to tell us, and nobody wants to raise their hand and say, “Oh, yeah, I knew that,” when we are livid and disappointed because once again, everything is getting moved and now it’s the worst of the delays because it goes to the following week and we have to move the movers and the family and the appliances and the TV/internet installation and . . .

So, here we are, a three-day weekend that was to be spent with family and friends in our new home, and instead it’s just looking at boxes in our new apartment. I’d go to the gym for lack of anything else to do and to blow off some steam, but my workout clothes and shoes are missing (in a box somewhere). Pete is working hard, as usual, since he agreed to fill in two days next week on the radio not knowing he’d also have a closing next week, and appliance delivery, and be preparing for a move, all while still doing his regular podcast job. My boss is out, which is lucky for me since I’ll work only part of some days next week IF we actually get to buy the house. It’s also lucky for Boss since I have been completely inconsolable and insufferable as our dream has become so difficult to achieve. I’ve had trouble sleeping, and my finger has begun peeling and cracking again.

I don’t know that we could have asked better questions, because we did not know the things we did not know. We have never bought a house that wasn’t an existing home. It would have been very good of the people who knew better to tell us, “Understand that until you get the Closing Disclosure, you will not under any circumstances close until three days past that date.” When I kept asking how much to bring to closing, that would have been a good time for the lender to say, “I’d love to tell you, but the builder doesn’t have electricity or a C.O. yet, and until we have those things, I can’t get an appraisal, and without an appraisal, we don’t move forward, and beyond that, let me tell you about the limits of the Closing Disclosure, which is where you’ll find out how much money to bring to closing . . .”

I pride myself on communicating. This blog is in part a representation of that and in part it’s my therapy and in part it’s me reaching out when I need to share (which I guess is also therapeutic) as opposed to the private therapeutic writing I do in my journal. (My soon-to-be-neighbor friend gave me a new journal because I’ve had so much to write about that I’m almost out of pages and I packed away my blank journals.)

Now, being proud of communicating doesn’t mean it’s done well, but I try. This process has given me further insight and empathy into my relationship with clients who sometimes have court delays they don’t understand, which we cannot predict or prevent; it’s led me to look into things clients don’t know and whether I am clear enough with making sure they know them. One that keeps coming to mind is that in North Carolina, you must be physically separated for 1 year + 1 day before you file for divorce, and you must file for divorce. One party has to actually take action to get divorced. I’ve had clients come to us years after separation, sometimes with a new wedding date scheduled to someone else, who just found out when they went to get a marriage license, for example, that they never divorced the prior spouse. So I always try to explain that very clearly and mark our calendar for the 1-year date of separation anniversary to contact the client again and ask, “Do you want to get divorced?” I hope this experience will lead the folks involved with our purchase to recognize ways they can communicate better . . . but given the questions I’m still not getting answers to, I’m not incredibly optimistic.

Meanwhile, the moving team has thus far been great when we had to reschedule them on short notice, and we look forward to meeting them Saturday. Moving Company – Trinity Moving (trinitymovers.org)

On the other hand, if you ever have to reschedule a delivery with Lowe’s, just go to the store. I have spent 2+ hours of my life (yes, I counted the minutes – then hours – on hold) and even when I finally reached a great human in Lenoir, NC, on one call, I got automated texts, emails, and calls indicating he never rescheduled the delivery. Ah, Lowe’s. Dad and I are very disappointed in you.

We went to our new neighborhood last night (hence, the photo) for a cookout at our friends’ house, which was almost as fun as if we’d gotten to just walk down the street to attend, and we got invited to beautiful Madison County tonight for another. People have been very kind to us this weekend in light of everything that did not happen as planned. We had invitations from Oakboro, ATL, and Rock Hill. We appreciate all of you and look forward to traveling again when we have more than the same week’s worth of clothes available to keep rewashing.

I hope to write next from our new home. If not, I might write to you from jail, because come Saturday, we’re moving to that neighborhood one way or another. Do any locksmiths read this blog?

Happy Independence Day, also. It’s a beautiful day today, I saw some beautiful fireworks last night, I hope all of your animals are safe and not terrified by what sounds like a rocket attack to them, and I hope we all have a happy and safe weekend.

This will be a rather unimpressive woe-is-me blog, but despite feeling kind of lousy all day and thinking I might fall asleep before sundown, I found myself lying in bed with my mind too active and thought I would do some share-writing versus journaling. I should take some melatonin.

I sneezed all day; it isn’t the vaccine (yet) making me feel lousy, it’s just the weather. And my noisy head could be any number of things.

Mom’s 8th death anniversary is Monday. EIGHT YEARS. I still drive her car, and her #1 Hockey Fan/God Bless America pins that she taped together and hung from the rearview mirror with a wooden Christian fish symbol (I think I had one of those Christian fish, too) fell down this week. I kept them, but won’t hang them back up in the car. Those were Mom’s and I will let them go and I will move forward, a little. Better for them to release on their own than for me to take them down when that car dies and I have to trade it. What a torrential downpour of tears that will be.

Although Jenny had to remind me that we are in the period of April when Mom was dying, I think I always know it subconsciously when this time of year rolls around. April 15th is the last day (in 2013) when I saw her alive and “well.” It also would have been Ditto’s birthday, but we euthanized him just weeks prior this year, and wow, do we miss him. We expect to see him constantly and everywhere in this apartment. I just left Pete in bed and closed the door and looked for Ditto to push or pull it back open. That was a “fun” game we played when I stayed up late.

I’m struggling at work. I’m constantly displeased and frustrated. I see so much room for improvement and so little desire to change. I feel that I am quite good at what I have been doing for over 20 years, and yet I am not given the tools or support to do it as well as I could. I could go on, but everyone’s tired of hearing it and sometimes, I’m tired of saying it. Pete says, “They hear you; they just don’t agree with you.” Well, I’ve been there before.

The weekend we lost Ditto, I also lost a friend – because the friend sent me an unsolicited picture of his genitals. I’ve debated writing publicly about this and been advised against it and thought I wouldn’t, but there isn’t much I don’t share from my own experiences. I want people to know IT IS NOT OK TO DO THAT, but the people who need to hear that, I suspect, won’t actually learn from hearing those words, not from me or anyone else. Because the response I got when I said it was unacceptable and should never happen again was, “Oh, I’m just kidding; oh, it’s just me; oh, I don’t give a damn.” There may have been a “sorry” thrown in for good measure once it was clear things had gone awry. I made it 45 years before I was assaulted in this way, and now I realize how disgusting it is to have someone force their genitals visually on someone else – especially someone who trusts them. I keep wondering why it happened to me, and I think the answer is that I was just a girl on the other end of a text message conversation with a guy who decided to send a dick pic. I’ve researched why it happens, and it seems to be (1) to get a similar photo back and/or (2) to lead to sexual activity. Well, neither of those things happened. What happened is that I told my husband, I blocked contact, and we lost a friend – because, to make matters worse in some ways, my husband and I both knew the a**hole who thought he could fool around with me and betray my husband.

I seem to be losing a lot of friends, and/or have lost a lot of friends, and/or my friendships are changing in the recent past/immediate present. I know this happens, but for me, who is part The Loyalist (Type Six — The Enneagram Institute), ending relationships (including quitting jobs) IS HARD. I’m trying to heed the signs when a relationship needs a breather or is done (am I doing all the contacting? do I actually not enjoy the person?), but it feels like such a loss – until I spend time with people who remind me how much better and easier relationships can be. People move in and out of each other’s lives. It just happens. Sometimes we stay, sometimes we come and go, and sometimes we just go. I think I will adopt the Marie Kondo philosophy when it comes to relationships: do they bring me joy?

So, a lot has happened since I last posted. I’ve done a lot of journaling. I’ve done a lot of crying. I’ve done a lot more studying my enneagram and talking to friends and family, and I hope to be able to see my therapist in the near future, because I need even more insight and support – which, naturally, is why I am writing here as opposed to my “Why am I so freaking freaked out right now?” journal. That book is a great listener, but it doesn’t respond so much.

Holy cow, I’m burning up. This might be the vaccine. Pete is going to be so happy when I turn the ceiling fan on. Good night, all. Thanks for listening.

I got my first dose yesterday of the Moderna COVID vaccine. I wanted the single-shot Johnson & Johnson vaccine, because I was nervous about getting vaccinated at all, but the first place to offer me a spot in line offered me the two-dose Moderna vaccine, and I accepted. I considered not getting vaccinated at all. We are a year or more into the pandemic and I have either successfully avoided it while going to work in person, going to the courthouse, going to the post office, going to the grocery store, dining out, getting takeout, and seeing people – or I’ve had COVID and never known it. While doing all of the things I mentioned, I’ve also stayed home more, worn masks, washed my hands (even enjoyed a nice salt scrub something-or-other at a bathroom in Florida), and made more of an effort to keep a safe distance from folks in public. But I am not the person who has done all of the right things for the last year. I am just a person.

I have no strong opinion on the vaccine(s). I watched as my social media feeds became more about who was getting the vaccine than who had gotten COVID, and that seemed like a positive trend. At the time I got my first shot yesterday, 4 people in my office of 8 people had been vaccinated at least with their first dose (I make 5). What that said to me is, “I don’t need to get a vaccine. Everyone around me will soon have gotten it. Vaccinated people = safe people.” That isn’t the attitude I have about any of the other vaccines in my record, but this is a new virus and we’re still figuring it out, including whether vaccinated people spread COVID (which seems absurd to me, because I thought the whole point of a vaccine was to prevent the vaccinated from getting the virus, but I ain’t a doctor or a scientist). But people who have gotten the vaccine and not died or had bad reactions to it (which I think is damn near everyone) are very positive about the vaccine, and at least one person in my office who received it has asked me several times when I’m getting my shot. She actually connected me with the pharmacy that got me an appointment. Given my personal experience with either avoiding COVID or being asymptomatic, I didn’t feel a strong urge to get vaccinated. I am not high risk by way of comorbidities except that I’m a bit fatter than I’d like to be. I’m only in my 40s. I’d rather everyone else who wants it and needs it more than me get it first. I have at least one friend itching to get it who can’t because her job hasn’t been deemed essential, and mine is just close enough to the court system to qualify. I think she’ll get her chance soon, because it seems like the phases are opening up rapidly.

I also wasn’t anxious to get the vaccine because I was anxious about getting the vaccine. It’s new. It’s unknown. A small number of people have died from it (I found one article from January that said 55 people in the US had died from COVID vaccines and then another article in March saying one more, plus I heard of a girl recently, so, let’s say 57 and understand that this number is going to be a bit off because VAERS is too complicated for me to search), but it’s scary to voluntarily inject something into my body that could kill me to prevent catching the virus that so far hasn’t killed me or even made me sick. (In case you’re wondering, I know COVID is a bigger problem than just how it affects me. I wrote about that some time ago: Please hug me – Christy Said It.Com.)

But I fully supported every friend and family member who got vaccinated. I was genuinely happy and hopeful for them. I expected nothing bad to happen to them (and nothing has). I had to carry that positivity through for myself. Also, I participated in a drug trial for a migraine medicine that I think I now use. It’s great! And after several years, it finally led to a generic that costs me hundreds of dollars less for a mere 8 pills. I’ve been a guinea pig before. This is how we learn – but yes, it’s risky, and it’s uncertain. Everyone who has lived this pandemic is participating in scientific trials one way or another. Herd immunity, vaccines, COVID survival immunity, death, mental trauma, on and on the list goes.

I write this blog because this pandemic has revealed such varying responses amongst all of us who are experiencing it. A mask is either a life-saver or a political tool. If you don’t wear it, you must care for no one. It couldn’t be that you are medically excused or have been vaccinated. (And for what it’s worth, although I think my vaccine should = setting my masks on fire and hugging strangers, the scientists haven’t caught up to me yet, and I guess I’ll hold onto them just like I keep wearing high heels and uncomfortable underwear – which is a different blog for a different time.)

A vaccine can’t just be hope and scientific exploration as we try to end a pandemic I think it’s safe to say nobody wants (but some will disagree with me even on that) – I have had conversations with people who explained the evilest of intentions for the vaccine while not pausing to consider that I had loved ones who had received it. I got my shot, in part, to put an end to that nonsense – not that it will. I have encountered a sad lot of conspiracy theories recently and my only conclusion is that reality is too much for some folks to accept.

I’ll be in touch again after dose #2 – unless, of course, I die. But, should that happen, my Will is done and I will have contributed to science one way or another. Some days, death would be better than reading COVID memes and other posts about who’s smarter than whom in a pandemic where even the people with science and medical degrees are still figuring it out. (In other words: we’re all still figuring it out. When you think you’re the smartest person in the room . . . keep thinking.)

I used to have a postcard that said, “I have AIDS. Please hug me. I can’t make you sick.” This is what it looked like: https://www.zazzle.com/i_have_aids_please_hug_me_hiv_aids_posters-228770239096166330 It struck me how lonely it must be for someone suffering from an illness that caused people to avoid them, to not want to touch them, to not want to show them physical affection for fear of catching what they had. I’ve been thinking about that epidemic again recently because of the novel coronavirus, which comes with its own fear, ignorance, and hope. You’ll find no answers here about what works, but a few gripes about what doesn’t, so I apologize in advance, as I know it’s best not to offer criticism without a solution.
It’s a largely invisible virus. I could write that I’ve never had it, but that might not be true. I might just not know I’ve had it. Isn’t that fun? It’s made us afraid of literally everyone. It’s made us fear ourselves. My husband and I didn’t go see his parents over the summer because they are over 70 and therefore high-risk . . . and also, they live in New York, which presents its own visiting challenges. But now we’re at a point where they are having trouble coming to us and we have trouble getting to them and we wonder – we really contemplate – if we’ll see this important family of ours again before they die. That is not to be underestimated, and I know we aren’t alone.
I have a friend whose father was in a facility for dementia. Isolation (because COVID spreads like wildfire in nursing homes and the like and visitors are kept out) + confusion caused him to deteriorate rapidly. He asked his family what he did wrong because they didn’t visit him anymore. I almost cry every time I remember that question. I know this is not an isolated incident. I’ve heard of people visiting through windows, through Zoom/Skype/what-have-you, and not at all. The facility kept my friend’s father safe from COVID and he died of loneliness.
The introverts seem to be thriving from the lack of social interaction. The extroverts (one of them is writing this post) are deteriorating. The negative social impact of COVID gets so little attention because me longing for hugs is so much less important than whether my touch might lead to someone literally dying. I get it. Probably every person who’s died by suicide since COVID got it, too. They saw the reality of no end in sight to a virus we can’t control. I don’t know why they decided to die – loneliness, job loss, addiction, fear, death of someone close to them, all of those things and more? People will keep trying, arguing, blaming, and maybe this vaccine will work better than the flu vaccine. Someone told me he knows someone who already got a vaccine shot. Maybe we’re close. Maybe I’ll get used to seeing half of most people’s faces and not touching anyone except the one person I live with (some people don’t even have that) and being called a selfish killer if I want to indulge in the life I used to know once in a while. The difference between COVID and the postcard I referenced at the beginning of this blog is that you don’t catch HIV or AIDS from hugging someone and you might catch COVID from being within 6’ of someone, much less hugging them.
Another difference is that when HIV and AIDS happened, society as we knew it wasn’t threatened. Businesses weren’t closed or asked to reduce their capacity to keep others away from people who might have this unknown virus and not even know it yet while exposure and transmission were figured out. Alcohol sales weren’t stopped because people might get drunk and forget to have safe sex. I think dealing with a global pandemic is difficult enough without also adjusting to the destruction of normalcy and worrying about whether we will lose our jobs and be able to find cleaning supplies and toilet paper on top of it. I think there are so many branches of worry from COVID that we can barely comprehend, process, and tolerate them all. Or, maybe that’s just me.
I gave a friend a birthday card this month that said something like, “Doctors say if we stop drinking and smoking and eat right, we’ll live longer. In fact, it might feel like forever.” Get it? Time flies when you’re having fun. The moments crawl by when you’re not. We make our choices. We assess our risks. The problem with COVID, again, is that I assess that in November of the year in which we discovered COVID, I have either dodged it for months or am asymptomatic. Lucky me! But it isn’t fair for me to decide I can expose others because I’m unaffected, since some of those people could die or live with post-effects of COVID. Also not fair is eliminating key portions of the life I have built and loved, and eliminating some people’s livelihoods, in an attempt to prevent the spread of a virus that I’m fairly certain cannot be contained.
So, what’s the solution? To voluntarily isolate everyone who doesn’t want to be exposed? How do they generate income? Do we have enough people who are willing to be exposed to continue to work and deliver supplies?
I haven’t missed a day of work due to coronavirus. I go to the grocery store because if I don’t, someone has to bring me groceries. Some stores make me bag my own groceries (because I still use my own bags – a pandemic is no time to forget about the environment, people!) and some have one-way aisles, and some don’t. I’ll discuss inconsistency later.
I go to restaurants because I very much want those businesses to survive (and I (used to) enjoy dining out). I wear masks and judge people who wear them incorrectly even while questioning if they are the great solution they’re promoted to be. I wash my hands. I use hand sanitizer. I get my temperature taken and answer COVID Qs. I try to avoid strangers and I shop online more than I used to because that seems like a better idea for everyone except the person who has to bring me things.
Inconsistent policies don’t work – people see double standards and nonsense and quit listening, especially if they are looking for an excuse not to comply – and a lot of people are.
Yesterday’s Executive Order in NC said that people must wear Face Coverings while exercising if they are outdoors and within 6′ of someone who does not reside in the exercising person’s household or indoors and not within their own home, but professional or collegiate athletes are exempt from this requirement until they are not strenuously exercising or when they are recovering from recent exercise. I’m not in great shape. Working out is challenging enough for me these days without trying to breathe hard through a mask. Wearing a mask just to run errands seems to make me extra dehydrated. Why can’t I have the strenuous exercise exemption? Is it because my exercise doesn’t lead to any financial gain?
Also in NC, ABC (liquor) stores were labeled “essential” from day one, but bars – not breweries, not wineries, not restaurants – just “bars” – have really fought to reopen, and now businesses cannot serve alcohol after something like 11pm. I also saw that Pennsylvania is banning alcohol sales tomorrow as some kind of Thanksgiving deterrent.
Across the world, international and domestic travel has been uninterrupted to my knowledge (save for some select US cities/states that I believe prevented access for a bit). How do you demonstrate to people that a global pandemic is severe and serious and must be contained by them staying home while allowing them to get on a plane and go . . . anywhere?
Back to the birthday card I gave my friend: there is no joy for me in living to be 100 and spending the next decades socially distant from everyone I love, unable to form any new, meaningful relationships, watching businesses close, nowhere to go but home and work (where I now also must wear a mask if I exit my private office, since the vast amount of hours I spend here still doesn’t count as living with these folks). The masks are the least of it, to me, because so many people have been wearing them since the beginning nearly incessantly at their jobs. Heroes don’t wear capes anymore: they wear masks.
Perhaps my frustration comes from the solutions being offered creating a world I don’t want to live in.
I am not suicidal, so don’t get the wrong idea by this post. I’m lonely, I’m angry, I’m frustrated, and I’m looking for a great solution where apparently none can be found.
And when I look for solutions . . . when I look for peace . . . when I look for change . . . when I have few options . . . I write . . .

The enneagram (https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-descriptions) is a fascinating insight into yourself.  My top 3 enneagram types are helper, loyalist, and peacemaker.  I think all three of them factor into why it bothers me so much that for the last approximately four years, I have watched friends call other friends racists and accuse them of violence against LGBTQ folk, among other things, because they voted for Trump for President of the United States.  I am done arguing the merits of these positions.  I am done arguing about a president I did not vote for.  I have never encouraged anyone to like him, or to vote for him, or to hate him with the blind rage that has led so many people to forget various good qualities in the people they know who voted for him. There are a myriad of reasons why people make the choices they do in the voting booth, and the tough pill to swallow is that it is the right of each person to vote for whomever they chose for whatever reason they deem worthy, just as much as it is the right of each person not to vote at all. We may disagree with the choice not to vote or the selection on the ballot, but it’s not our business. That’s how it works.

People have shown that they are willing to terminate relationships that were once deep and enduring – relationships that have lasted decades and beyond – for someone who won’t even be in office as long as those relationships they just killed.  Whatever DJT actually does will fade with time or be undone by the next president. If he had actually built the wall (Have you noticed? He didn’t.), the next president could just tear it down. Not to mention the modest understanding I have of government being that we have three branches run by lots more people than just the one president, which is a fantastic way to ensure that even if he is the reincarnation of Hitler, he isn’t likely to get away with much without the cooperation of a lot of other people – those people being everyone else in government who has to agree to whatever he wants to do. I haven’t noticed a lot of agreement in government on . . . anything. Ever. In my life. No matter who was President.

I don’t understand how we’re at a point where I am not going to tell people who I vote for anymore. Not because I think I might vote for Trump and endure every bit of venom I’ve seen directed at so many people I love since 2016-ish.  Not because a friend left the table when we disagreed about my vote for governor.  But because those examples and others have shown me that there is rarely understanding anymore, and that other people mistakenly think it is their prerogative to tell other people that they voted wrong.  It’s too much of a risk to figure out whether I’m talking to someone who says, “Hey, free country, we have four political parties and half of them might win – your vote is as worthy is as mine,” or whether I’m talking to someone who might say, “Your vote tells me what a hater you are. Don’t even bother explaining.  Just unfriend me.”

How did we get here?  How have we elected a Black President and legalized gay marriage and learned to understand and become considerate of pronouns and fluid genders only to be shut-upped and ostracized because we voted for someone else?  I understand that electing Barack Obama didn’t end racism, and gay marriage is still not as secure as it needs to be, and there is a whole lot of work to be done on the gender stuff.  But there is also a whole lot of work to be done on tolerance, and seeking to understand, and remembering who people are and not exiling them from our lives over A TEMPORARY ELECTION. AN ELECTION THAT HAPPENS EVERY FOUR YEARS.  I understand the power of the presidency.  And the vice presidency.  And the senate.  And the governor.  And on and on and on.  But the power that concerns me most these days is the destructive judgment in personal relationships, leading friends and family to personally attack each other for making a different choice.  That is a divisive, cruel, door-slamming power. It is irreparably harming relationships.

Earlier this year, cops marched with BLM protesters (https://people.com/crime/police-join-protesters-marches-across-country/).  That is finding a common goal amidst a huge chasm. It was beautiful, powerful, and healing.  Calling your friends and family violent, ignorant bigots over a guy who will be out of office no later than 01/01/2025 is not.  And it very well might push those friends and family farther to the right when dialogue and a sincere attempt to understand could have brought them closer to the middle ground.

The president will never be as powerful as the love and hate we feel for each other down here in the real world.  The president is an office. He will do his time and move on. What will be left for us?

Going back to the days of Ross Perot, I don’t remember being very excited about a candidate I voted for, other than the local elections once I became an adult and personally knew some of the candidates. It generally seems to me that somewhere in the course of a politician’s career, the higher you go, eventually you will find disappointment and dishonesty, even if his or her intentions are initially very good. (Was I the only one not surprised when, “Read my lips: no news taxes?” turned out to be a false promise? Oh, did a politician have an extramarital affair again? Oh, is an important bill being used as a political pawn, or did they insert some language into it that is completely irrelevant to the bill?) Local elections and small government are not exempt from disappointment and dishonesty, but I can’t think of a District Court judge I’ve voted for that I considered a “politician” in the same way that I do as people move higher up in the political world. Some of them did a good job and some of them didn’t, and that’s one beauty of the power of our democracy: if I had to wait years to get an Order back from a judge; if a judge made a ruling that contained findings that were not in evidence; if a judge showed up to court late and left early and sometimes dozed off on the bench during a hearing, then blamed us for not finishing on time . . . I am not going to vote for that judge to come back.

But I digress.

Never have I considered a candidate flawless, or heroic, or demonic, and never have I seen relationships challenged and harmed the way they have been since 2016.

I have written this blog in my head so many times, and sometimes even started writing it here, and always deleted it because I know where it will end. I’ve seen it play out all over social media and sometimes even in person. The only right answer is to abhor Donald Trump, and everyone who does not also abhor him. People are attacking people they have known their entire lives because of hatred for a virtual stranger who became President of the United States for a maximum of eight years. I am not going to argue opinions or facts about Donald Trump here because I have concluded over the last four-ish years that they truly don’t matter. I did not vote for him, but that isn’t enough, and if presented with something I can actually prove based on a video or transcript to be factually inaccurate, the response I usually get is only a new argument, not an admission that the first accusation was incorrect. This is dangerous. It isn’t objective. It is not the intelligence I have known in my real-life friends for years and decades.

And then there are the personal attacks. All it takes is a retweet of a news article or a sharing of an opinion and hurtful personal attacks are made. Have people in my life always felt this way about me and were just waiting for an opportunity to let me know? What is it about Donald Trump that has driven so many people to new expressions of anger and hatred?

I don’t belong to any political party and I don’t expect that I ever will. Every election season, I can muster up something resembling hope through the primary, and then I see who’s left as candidates and I’m back to picking out the best of generally undesirable-to-me options. I guess it would be a wonderful feeling to be truly excited about a candidate, and in that regard, I can understand the disappointment when Hillary lost.

I vote for people – not just the candidates, but those of us down here who need to believe they might do something for us. I vote for ideas. I vote for what has been done and what is promised to be done. My research for the upcoming election is 84 pages. I take every candidate seriously, even the unopposed ones. Just because you’re unopposed and are going to win doesn’t mean I will vote for you. And in 11 days when early voting begins, there remain some candidates I am not excited about, some candidates I am uncertain about. But my perspective in this election has been changed by a lot of bullying. A lot of attacks. Insistence that the current president has “forfeited his right to lead” and telling me therefore how I should vote, which was somewhat interesting because leaving the ballot blank was an option encouraged by this person, when I have been told by others that not voting against Donald Trump wasn’t good enough.

One of my favorite quotes has always been, “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” This is likely why I tend not to unfollow people on Facebook and I also don’t hate people who post things that make me cringe. I like to know where people stand. I like to know how people think. I remember it.

So, how to end this blog? There are no minds that will change. There is division and, for me, sadness. Stress. Loss. The helper/loyalist/peacemaker (that’s me) cannot heal the rifts in so many relationships. Cannot bring clarity to either side that lacks it. I just watch, and learn, and wait. In 11 days, early voting begins, and this year, I will likely remember why the ballot booth is private.