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An ode to my parents

My parents gave me a zillion things—physically, literally, and otherwise. But one thing that they gave me that I’ve long-valued but never expressed my gratitude for is the absence of a religion to belong to.

My mom was raised Catholic and my dad Episcopalian, but as far as I can tell—absent my baptism and godparents—there was never a thought about indoctrinating me or establishing me in a creed. In fact, I remember in elementary school, I once forced my folks to take me to church because I felt so left out of the religious world. My piano teacher abruptly stopped my lesson one day when I told her that we celebrated Christmas but didn’t go to church. For a brief time, I thought something was wrong with me. After all, my mom’s older brother and his family went to church. And my mom’s younger sister and her family sent their daughter to Catholic school. But not us. Although my mom said she’d wanted to be a nun for a time, we didn’t spend our valuable weekend time in a place of worship.

But I was encouraged to take the Bible as literature in high school, learn about Jesus as a historical figure, study religion and its effect on civilizations, and fall in love with Renaissance art. But I was not ever schooled to be a follower of a religion.

And while I sometimes find myself jealous (I know, so awful) of folks who feel faith in a way I never will or for whom religion is a source of comfort, I’m grateful for my parents’ gift. To be truly devoid of religion—I’m not Christian, I’m not Jewish, I’m not Muslim, I’m not mormon, etc.—is a gift. Even though it’s confusing to people sometimes (there’s this assumption that I’m Christian), but I’ll take it. While I don’t always love her, her non-religion is part of me and I’m proud of that. It was by my parents’ design and I’m grateful to them for that decision.

Now, lest there be no confusion, I’m not an atheist—I’m not! How could I be so bold?!—but like in nearly everything, I’m learning, growing, and messing up. I just think I was given a religiously blank slate on which I could write my own story. And I think that’s a magnificent gift.


Oozing talent

I find it annoying that the following folks bleed talent:

justin theroux

rose byrne

I know there are a million more, and I will add them. This is just my start.

UPDATE: I probably won’t add any more.

January 20, 2021

Is here. Thank heavens. And Stacey Abrams.

Ode to the day in bed

For a few (read: many) years now, I’ve been a fan girl of a day alone in bed. With newspapers, crosswords, trashy tv, coffee, napping, vodka tonics. To reset. To quiet. To ignore. To just be.

But I know that it’s hard to justify, to find, to obtain time to take.

There are competing interests on all of us. There are a zillion things to do and accomplish, friends to see, family to meet up with, kids to entertain, plans to plan, rooms to clean, work to be finished.

And I also know that being able to choose to take a time out is a privilege. (Though it should be a human right.) Having time—without its accompanying privileges of money, shelter, food, love, friendship, safety, etc.—is entirely different than being able to choose to take time. I hope you know I know that, and that I’d never suggest otherwise.

That said, I was recently trying to justify and understand my own version of a time out, which involves checking out on how I’m going to do this and that around the house, teach Bear to portage a canoe (kidding, sorta), and get dressed. Instead it involves devices, mega glasses of coffee, water, Coke Zero, and vodka sodas. It’s crossword puzzles, serious news, real housewives, and apartment therapy. And I crave hours of this time.

So I was wondering whether, and to what extent, anyone was willing to admit to not only wanting it, but taking it, in our crazy, oddly ambitious world.*

Now, I did my search just on the eve of quarantine, to try to write a well-supported thesis for my need to isolate after week after week in a toxic office space.

But four months into quarantining with my favorite people on the planet, I find my need for a day in bed takes on an added purpose. I need alone time from my own people. Each to our corners! as Aaron said today. It’s not a small house, but it doesn’t have wings, and it’s old; we hear every footstep one another makes. It’s so noisy, and I’ve realized my HSP issues are awful around noise.

I guess I’ve realized that I don’t need a day per week in bed (though my goodness, I’d take it). But I need one more often than I don’t. So, if you’re like me, this article might be of interest.

*I have a post I want to do about this. So I’m putting a pin in here. Hope you’ll excuse me.


Testing for M-Bear’s site

How on Earth do I add tags?! I cannot remember.

My Mollybear started a new blog,, and she asked me how to add tags. Well, heck if I can remember!

Aha! There it is.


June 2023

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