Caterwauling

Well, June. But who’s counting, really?

I heard that my middle school history/government teacher died last week.

I wonder how 40 of us sat in this brilliant man’s classroom and yet only half of us know how to vote against fascism.

RIP, JS. Thank you for the knowledge and understanding. God, to sit in a study hall with you today and talk about this ridiculousness, I’d give anything.

Speaking of giving anything, I’m still not talking about June but I think a whole lot about it.

God has probably had enough of me asking why he only takes the good ones.

He needs to stop sending me reasons to keep making this inquiry.

Another piece of my heart died.

Yet another colleague who worked hard and left under duress.

The stress that damn near killed my friend then, finally did now.

This one, I loved a whole lot. A WHOLE LOT.

Made everything beautiful and bright. Big laugh, big heart, and big snark for those who richly deserved it.

I have a lot of things to say to God tonight.

To S., I say:

I hope you gave God holy hell for this one. I know you will never rest. How could you, with so much left undone and so much love and care left to give?

Thank you for being so good to me in what was also your time of need. I pray for your well-earned peace.

Cheers to a life well- lived.

Cara mia, ti amo.

Rather than talk about the incel insurgency that sought to destroy the U.S. Capitol (and select other capitols across the country) and democracy itself, I will remember 1/6/21 as the best day for Democrats since the 2018 midterms.

Joe Biden’s win was recognized and certified.

Georgians elected two of our own to the US Senate.

I don’t care that many people don’t find a single one of them inspiring. Look at what they have achieved. Think of what they will achieve for us.

Every government has corruption. I look forward to there being a whole lot less.

Even tech grew a set. Pence unfollowed trump on Twitter, then trump got thrown in Twitmo first for 12 hours and now for two weeks. Even Zombie Zuck arose from his crypto chamber to follow suit.

It only took four years. But then again, so did everything good that we’ve waited for.

The fact that a bunch of gullible people did the bidding for a defeated demagogue didn’t change any of that.

There is no room for hate in The People’s House. Or in mine. (There is only room for laughter. And there is plenty of that.)

And seriously, dude in the Chewbacca speedo, there’s no room for you there, either. Save it for when Pittsburgh can host the Furries conventions again.

All the memes going into 2021 encouraged us to enter quietly. Don’t touch anything. Maybe it won’t see us here.

Well, that lasted three days.

I dreamed that I saw my old UWD boss. There’s no love lost there on either side. I was in a European airport, dancing around (because hello, travel!) and also the floor squares lit up. It was snowing outside and I was able to step out and see amazing water views and aurora borealis skies.

Anyway the boss gave me 100 euros and said let’s move on. I took the money and he was gone.

I woke up to learn that one of our colleagues from those days died.

This person was more than a colleague, although we did work at two different jobs together. I knew their family. Parents, siblings, and one of their now two kids.

I have to say, that family makes beautiful babies. That’s what happens when beautiful people get together with other beautiful people. And kind, too. Everyone was so kind.

I got to thinking about the last time I saw them. The boss had just quit and we were all banished to the hinterlands. They lasted a month in the new arrangement.

JB turned me on to a breakfast place that would become my all-time favorite. I only took certain people there. And I would tell them about my friend who introduced me to it.

I think about how shoddily we were treated then. It worked out for me — I outlasted everyone and would still be there if not to get away from pesky spirits that refuse to cross over.

But it wasn’t easy. Nothing good ever is.

In any event, I used to speak of the talent we lost in not making certain people happy enough to stay.

Today I speak of the time that was wasted of them suffering and feeling bad, when they would only have four more years to live.

May the road rise to meet you, JB. Give S. a big hug for me. Because she will definitely have one waiting for you.

I heard an interview with the wife of a celebrity I’ve followed for a few decades.

Never thought much about her other than that she hit the jackpot. Plain Jane type even in her youth, but having a good guy and wealth definitely suits her.

Heard her voice and thought, yep, just as plain as her look. Lucky her to land this guy.

And I thought about his career. He’s done some pretty epic shit. Wrote some of the world’s most enduring songs about love and heartbreak and struggle in his younger days. Then there was the decade or so of watered-down love songs that were nice but lacked the fire of the early days.

I got to thinking, what if he had picked someone who sparked that passion? What albums would he have written with that twin flame fire lit under him?

I see a lot of that these days. People who could have been great if not for the rope they tied around themselves in the name of safety, financial or otherwise.

No one will ever be able to say that about me. If I was there, it wasn’t because I needed to be.

I’m not knocking the celebrity marriage. They should be celebrated. They’ve done a lot of good for this world with their wealth and kind hearts.

But I won’t lie. I wonder about the artistry that was great but could have been legendary.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe what is still unwritten, and may very well always be … wasn’t his story to tell.

Cheers to good enough, amirite?

My bestie (a thousand miles away) sent Christmas breakfast to mom and me from a local establishment. That was a sweet surprise, and the right way to start off Christmas.

I got to talking with her about my last decade or so of Christmases.

I wasn’t at home on Christmas Day for most of them. Spent a few in Vegas. Then spent a bunch in Philadelphia. Those were my favorites. I’d stay with a friend, and we’d day-trip to NYC to have lunch with Uncle Bobby and then night-trip to have dinner with her family at the best Italian restaurant under the sun. We hit the Christmas markets in both cities, and it was the best.

That friendship fell by the wayside and I spent those next Christmases locally, outside the home.

What strikes me most is how I was part of two or three families, but not. And how different my own is. I like everyone in the room. Always did, though. At least here, that will never change.

Our tradition in my home has been to celebrate Christmas after the actual day. So it was strange to be home this time. But pandemic or not, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Just like my family always did a #happydance to see me, I do one because I still have my Mom with me. My good friends down here weren’t so lucky, and we all feel that unimaginable void today.

I don’t know what Christmas future holds, but I do know that it’s time to prepare the now-traditional 12/26 lasagna!

Growing up, we had a full house at all times.

At our peak, we had my great-grandmother Anastasia, grandmother Rose, grandfather Calvin, mom Robin, cousin Carole and Carole’s daughter Robyn. And me, of course.

Always loved that Carole named Robyn after Robin. I have an older cousin Dawn Lorraine. (They always called her by both names.) Although my name came from being born at, wait for it, sunrise.

In any event, the size of said house was… small. A tiny two-bedroom townhouse. An upgrade from the upstairs/downstairs situation in Johnstown with Aunt Lenna and cousin Cora Jean (Carole’s sister) upstairs and my family (pre-me) downstairs. But, full of love either way.

Fast-forward many years that included Carole and Robyn moving out of state, Mom and me moving out and then back in, and losing my beloved Anna Banana and eventually Rosie Girl, we still were short of bedrooms. But as a teen, I finally finally got my own.

I moved out at 18 not because I wanted to leave my family, but because I knew Mom would get my room.

I did return that summer, and we had so much fun. But I determined that I’d never displace her again. And I didn’t.

She and my grandfather moved to a pretty house at the end of 2005. Three bedrooms. And a marvelous downstairs with a fireplace.

I came home that Christmas to a room of my own.

It was the best gift I ever received.

Grampy died a year later, at the hands of cruel “doctors” at the VA. I spent a lot of time in that room. We didn’t have internet and I mostly only stayed weekends — bookended by four-hour drives each way.

But still. Knowing that Mom would always have a place for me still fills my heart with joy to this day.

That bed was horrible; she had a friend help her buy it online. But I never complained.

We never had a dime to spare. So that they went without food and other necessities for me to have a mattress and adorable mint-green and pink sheets and a matching lamp and table from Target was a Big Deal.

By the next Christmas, I’d upgraded my own apartment so Mom could move in with me.

She brought those bedroom items with her, and not much else.

I still have them. Still uncomfortable as shit.

But, it’s the last thing I have from the best family ever.

I will always love that I had them to go back to. That the happy dances happened when I arrived, not when I left.

This Christmas is more comfortable and I am glad for that. Especially during a year that has been hard for just about everyone else who supports democracy and common decency. But nothing will beat 2005.

I finally got to check out a local holiday light display.

Someone went a couple years ago told me they went and it wasn’t impressive.

I realize now that nothing can be enjoyable with a snarling marmot in the passenger side.

I thought it was cute. Even the part when the marmot realized I was in their backyard again.

This number has been following me all day.

Dawned on me at some point that it is a birthday I haven’t celebrated in years.

Looked up the address where I spent a lot of those birthdays. Sure enough, 712.

It’s an angel number. Isn’t everything, though? Be positive and open to receiving knowledge.

Otherwwise, it doesn’t mean anything.

Most things don’t have to mean anything. And they actually don’t mean anything.

Yet we all feel compelled to assign meaning, to justify things that happened or growing pains we endured.

A mutual friend reaches out to me every couple of years to see if I’ve heard from him. No one has. I’m the likeliest one, they seem to believe.

Most of them don’t seem to know the door is only open only wide enough for a foot to get through. On either side.

Happy birthday into the void.