Caterwauling

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 could retype my last five journals if you want some sort of spell, mantra or profundity to help you deal with stress, pain, and frustrating people and situations.

Instead, because I know my audience loves my memes, I’ll give you a more serious one that speaks to me.

Mom and I have always looked at good-looking men with admiration. And then we looked over at … whatever they were with … and said, “SHE got a man?!”

Like, why does someone like that attract someone like this.

And it hit me awhile back that the hot mess feels they deserve that hot guy. So they got him.

What they do to keep him, ain’t none of my business. I’ve known and dated a lot of guys who had no idea how awesome they were.

Maybe they really weren’t that great, or else I’d be with them. That’s the going theory because I got nuttin else.

However, to put the “me” in meme because it’s all about meeeeeee (my blog, my money, my rules) …

You can’t manifest what you don’t feel you are worthy of.

Those hairy-toed bitches got it right. So why the hell can’t the rest of us?

We’re all waiting to be thin enough, happy enough, solvent enough, etc. — ready for that soulmate to see how awesome we are and sweep us off our feet.

Here’s the thing.

I meet people when I am least expecting it. When I am in pigtails waiting in line for my first coffee of the day. (Oh, The Before Times, how I miss you so.)

Of course, I exert some sort of effort. Always clean. Always happy. Always coordinated. Maybe light on the mascara and perfume, but it is nice to feel good. People pick up on the vibe.

I think in my case it’s that I never set my intention on meeting anyone. Let alone someone good.

In my tarot studies, I find EVERY girl asks me when she will meet someone.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how ANY of this works.

I can’t give you a date, in any sense of the word.

What I can do is tell you what you might want to think about doing to welcome more love into your life. Beyond scrubbing your butt and shutting your cakehole once in a while.

I’d say don’t be a Cunt Bag. But that seems to work for some folx.

If ever I do want to manifest someone again, I’m going to ask what I need to do to invite a soul connection into my life.

If I had to rely on intuition alone, I’ll attract another Twin Flame situation before something real. Damn supernovas — I can’t quit you!

But I control my destiny. I know more this time. I know I am worthy of getting at least as much as I’ve given.

In any event, manifestation comes from the fusion of the conscious and subconscious minds.

We kick our own psychic asses when we want something consciously but don’t feel deserving of it beneath the surface.

TL;DR: I deserve to receive $420,000 cash, no loans/payback/taxes needed, that comes to me in a way that supports my highest good and that of those around me. So it is, and so it shall be.

It is said that we are the average of the five people with whom we spend the most time. So, surround ourselves wisely.

In The Days of Old, that would have been Mom, my boss, and My Boys^TM.

I don’t call the new guys My Boys. I like them just fine. I like them even more when someone from The Days of Old texts about one of the boys. We joke that I dropped them off at foster care to let someone else raise them.

For a while there, one did inspire me to be healthier, more social, more open, more free, more vocal, more me. I needed that. I took that with me when I left.

Who inspires me now? Someone else I hired, believe it or not. Has so many interests. Has boundaries. Is so smart. You don’t know how amazing they are till you take the time to get to know them, like I had the pleasure of doing.

I’ve had ordinary people put me down because I don’t care for small talk. But that’s the thing. I want to hear about big dreams and big loves and big achievements.

I want to make more deeply intoxicating soul connections. Feel the heat from unexpected sparks of light and life.

I want to know what is possible, when we dare.

Show me your extraordinary, and I’ll show you mine.

I had that once. I’ll have it again. Bigger and better this time.

With that, maybe I’m my own biggest inspiration.

Hard to write when you have a souper-slooth reading and providing a blow-by-blow to literally no one.

But then you realize you have a fan club, and it’s easy to shine on.

Day 1 of the 30-day writing challenge is to list 10 things I love.

Just 10?

1.a. My sweet ballerina Bella who does backflips when she sees me.

1.b. My little stinkerbell Cocoa who waddles to me as fast as her short little legs will take her.

Funny, neither even cares that much about the food I bring. They just want scritches and human touch.

1.c. My Shawnee, who only wants food. And all of it. But that’s OK. He’s not used to a loving touch and he doesn’t know how to react.

1.d. Then there’s Kadie and Morris who are mean to everybody but each other. But oh, how they purr and dance and rub against each other and share food!

1.e. Bernie and the two other gray-and-black tabbies. I’ve had to train each where to sit so I can feed them without all the others eating their foodz.

1.f. Kenya, tiny little Kenya, who will ignore your big duckie ass if you try to push him out of his bowl. He’s got the tiniest balls I’ve ever seen, and yet the biggest metaphorical ones.

1.g. Cal, Magic, Baby Magic and all the others who stop by for a bite but for some reason freak out when I try to GIVE them one.

Funny enough, they all have food they love and food they hate. So now I bring five or six different flavors a night. And if you’re a wuss (BERNIE) and let some other cat get your bowl, you’re stuck with what is left or nothing at all.

2. My momma. Need I write more? Best cook. Best friend. Best any label I can conjure up.

3. My old job. The owner not only treated me like a daughter, but calls me one. I will always wonder “what if” I stayed. But being the prodigal daughter, I have a home should I ever wish to go back.

And that is what gives me wings to enjoy …

4. My new job. Honest to god, we are doing such cool things. It’s hard not being everyone’s boss and go-to psychic healer, nurse, guru, teacher, and library of fun facts and figures anymore. But I’ll get there.

We are doing something super cool this week, and I’ve been doing something else super cool for the last three weeks. Something my old boss wishes he’d done with me.

That’s validating. And it’s nice to have friends who are family-like.

5. My sister. Not by blood. But still. State lines and craziness separate us. Her daughter is a perfect mix of the two of us, oddly enough. Who needs men, really?

6. My supernatural studies. Tarot, intuition, crystals, oils, spells, candles, herbs, intentions and books. My coven. The sun. The moon. The long line of witches I’ve descended from. This all keeps me centered and grounded.

7. My apartment. Lots of good memories and meals fill these walls. Not the most ideal place to work, with too much light at the south end and none at the north, where I spend all my time. But I have four walls and the bills are paid in full.

8. My car. It wasn’t the one I would have chosen for myself, so it took me a while to consider it “mine.” But it’s taken me wonderful places, and a lot of them. Thousands of podcast hours and conversations are in the fabric. It’s the one thing in this world that’s mine, all mine. Well, except for the part the bank still owns. But I hack away at that debt like I should have done with my student loans.

9. My spirit. I always see the good in people, to the point of missing a lot of the rest. I smile with my whole soul. I love with my whole heart. I work with all my passion. And I play like I’ll never have the chance again. When I say my nightly prayers, I acknowledge that I might not wake up, but I sure hope that I do because there’s more life to live and I can’t wait to greet it.

10. My mind. I can usually get out of any jam. I can dazzle just about anyone with my memory, my stories, my ability to think five steps ahead. My favorite is when people think I missed something or didn’t anticipate it or, gasp, I didn’t see it in the cards. Sure, I move so fast I miss things. But sometimes I see the oncoming freight train and run right at it anyway. Do it for the story, I say. And boy, do I have those.

11. My body. I’m healthy and strong and flexible and resilient. It gets me where I’m going, and it has all the memory of where we’ve been.

Ok so more than 10. Not a bad problem to have.

With quarantine, most people won’t get to spend Mother’s Day with their mom.

Some people I know are probably thanking their lucky stars. They probably don’t even want to bang out an obligatory Zoom call.

That’s not the kind of people in my circle.

My friends are wishing they could hug their moms. Here or in heaven.

I am so lucky that not only do I get to spend mom’s day with my mom, but that’s how I get to spend every day.

There was some time early on when I had enough with all the togetherness. When I lost my patience all too easily, not knowing she was hiding a lot of illnesses under her sweet demeanor.

Today I don’t take her for granted.

I buy her whatever she wants (mostly decorations. And flip-flops. And flip-flop decorations). Take her everywhere with me. Run every errand to make sure she’s not in a store with these Cootie people. Feed every animal under the sun with her and indulge her special recipe bird seed that requires four different stores to concoct.

I always fear that we won’t have infinite chances for do-overs. So I want to do anything, everything I can for her, whenever I can.

So I asked what I could do for her this Mother’s Day.

She said she wanted a sparkling bathroom. That’s it.

So that’s what I did. Left her a Mother’s Day card in there — I really am not a card person but I know it’s important to her — and she cried with joy over the room and the words.

I’ve always gotten along well with other people’ moms. More so than the people I went over to the house to visit.

There are a lot of cool moms out there. But never once in my life did I ever say, I wish my mom was like this or that one.

I was always happiest with the one I picked.

Still true.

It’s been a weird half-year, after a half-great, half-awful 2019. Mom is the reason I am still here, still sane, still smiling, still thriving. I owe her more than ever right now, not that she would ever think that.

I hope I get more chances to be good to her. A lot more.

When I say my prayers at night, she’s always at the top of the list. I thank the heavens that I’ve had her this long. I ask for her health to be better. I wish to be able to give her an even better life.

You know what she prays? She thanks me for giving her better than she ever thought she would deserve.

She’s sleeping right now in her clean room right now. And I’m hoping that, no matter how cruel the world is to me like it has been to her, that I follow in her footsteps and never lose my softness or sweetness.

That will really be my biggest and best tribute to her.

That and feeding every animal who will sit still that I ever come across.

I guess my own Mother’s Day gift is becoming my mom. And I am quite OK with that.

Only Shawnee, Kadie, Morris, Magic, Bernie and two new gray tabbies came out last night.

But it’s good, I hope. I think they might have gotten fed before I got there.

Sheila appears to be back. I saw four white bowls and a lid from a can of kitty food. Was never so happy to pick up trash in my life.

I think about trying to meet her. To thank her.

But that’s the thing about kind people. There’s more stress than joy in people knowing. Hoomins ruin everything.

So, I’m praying for blessings for her three times bigger than she could ever imagine. I sure hope she dreams big.

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels

The dizzy dancing way you feel

As every fairy tale comes real

I’ve looked at love that way.

So many things I would have done

But clouds got in my way

I had a troll who liked to shit on any post about my grandfather.

Then I got a troll who liked to shit on posts about my friend who passed too soon.

I will never understand hating someone so much that you mess with their dead. Like they can’t talk to YOUR dead. And do.

I didn’t deserve this special girl. So glad we got the magic moments in time that we did. Well, maybe I did deserve her. To make up for all the rest.

Her heart gave out. Too full of love, I like to think.

Why sweet people leave us and meanie cottontrinis get to stay will never cease to break me.

If I could have one superpower, it would be reallocating that particular distribution of dumb luck.

Down to my last roll. Can anyone spare a square?

Fished Bella out of the dumpster/shredder/trash compactor thingy again late last night. Forget coronavirus. For as filthy as I am after these adventures when I get in the car at night, I will be lucky if I don’t invent a new strain called cAronavirus.

*Ba dum bum tss*

I figured out that’s why she has a wound that keeps reopening. But she is super good about sitting still and letting me clean it.

My backseat is looking like a pet hotel/hospital. Not quite what I envisioned when I bought this car.

And I certainly didn’t envision having to forage for supplies. Seriously. Stores get trucks in every day but if you aren’t there during senior hour, you ain’t gettin’ dick.

Sorta jealous of all these folks who are doing not a goddamn thing right now. Like self-isolation is an extended spring break or something.

I’m not trying new recipes or playing all that much online. Not going out so what is left to post about?

I still try to pull a tarot card a day. Got the Sun today and put a piece of citrine out to attract more positive outcomes.

Had a dream this morning after a shit sleep. Saw him in a mullet, my favorite shirt and his stupid sweatshirt, but otherwise he was still him. We had a good moment and went our separate ways.

I wanted to go after him, with him. But I didn’t look back.

So I don’t know if he looked back. He’d be an idiot not to.

It’s nice to be at a place of peace with everything.

I took a photo, on all the days I knew I would want to remember.

Not of the person or the activity. Something from the place.

A sign. A flower on the table. The view. Maybe a selfie with a smile I couldn’t have gotten any other way.

I knew they would all just be memories someday.

All I have is the time stamp.

And yet another puzzle piece hidden in my pocket.

I got the better end of the deal.