Category: life

Thanksgiving, My ABC’s of Gratitude

On Thanksgiving, I’m reminded to give my gratitude practice the effort it deserves. Here are some things for which I’m grateful, in alphabetical order.

Abundance in many areas of my life — food, love, and more.

Books! A foundational building block of my life and career.

Coworkers. I work with the best people. They are caring, talented, and fun.

Dishwasher. One thing I do not miss from my youth were the nights it was my turn to wash the dishes by hand. For a family of eight. I love having a dishwasher.

Exercise. I’m grateful that I’m still able to move my body pretty well.

Family. Obvious, but also true. I feel especially grateful that my two kids (in their twenties) have grown up to be people who care and do good in the world.

Graduation. I was able to hang in there for so many years fulfilling my educational odyssey, and finally saw it through to completion.

House. For all its quirks and frustrations, I love my 120ish-year-old house. It is one of a kind, with lots of character.

Ice cream. Enough said.

Jean jacket. Unfortunately, I don’t have a photo to share, and I don’t have it with me right now. But I found the most amazing jean jacket at a thrift store about six years ago. People compliment me every time I wear it. Best $10 I ever spent.

Kettle. There’s something deeply comforting about putting a kettle on the stove to make my tea as opposed to the efficiency of the microwave.

Labor unions. My own workplace union has improved my life immensely. And goodness knows we need some way of leveling the playing field. Solidarity forever!

Monarch butterflies. They are beautiful and important pollinators. I’ve started seeing them in my yard again the past few years since I got some milkweed established.

Nightlights. For those midnight bathroom trips.

Ordinary days. May we still have some ordinary days in which the curse of living in interesting times is held at bay, and we can experience the miracle of the everyday.

Paint. For the color it brings to the world and being an easy way to freshen up a room.

Quicksand, lack of in my life. From the tv cartoons and shows I watched growing up, I thought patches of deathly quicksand would pose a major problem in my life. But so far, I’ve had zero encounters.

Rainbows. Every sighting is magical.

Soil. Good dirt grows good food.

Thrift stores. I love a bargain and sustainability.

Umbrellas. I walk a lot, even in wet weather. It’s nice to get to and from work without getting soaked when it rains.

Videos. Funny and/or cute animal videos, especially. They are my salvation when I need an escape from stress.

Woods to walk through. I’m fortunate to have a few options for this not too far from my home.

X – I’m thankful for having mellowed enough to allow myself a pass sometimes without fretting about it.

You. Yes, you who are reading this.

Ziplines. So much fun! I’ve only been on two, but they were wonderful adventures.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

On Today’s Bike Ride: Alt Universe Edition

Black bicycle with blue basket leaning on wooden bridge rail.
Freida looking out over Perche Creek

This week is feeling particularly alternative universe to me, of the dystopian variety in many ways. How could we have time looped back four years and be reliving the nightmare?

On top of that, I received a text alert this morning as I was leaving my house for work telling me not to show up because there was a fire at the building. WHAT? Fortunately, it was small and quickly extinguished. Unfortunately, it was in one of the air handlers of our HVAC system, so that distributed the smoke pretty well throughout the structure, requiring some mitigation.

Bright side – it was a gorgeous fall day with temperatures in the upper 50s. My favorite weather. Might as well take advantage of the surprise day off to get Freida out of the shed and hit the trail, away from news and worries and automotive traffic…

Sign on trailside reads "Caution, construction ahead, trucks may be present, please use caution on trail, please slow down"
A truck was present, driving down the trail.

Okay, trucks on the trail today. I understand it’s for good reason, just unusual.

Still had a pretty good ride and enjoyed the views.

Creek with trees lining both sides. Blue sky.
Wooden bridge over creek, connecting to trail.
Field bordered by trees in the distance.
Bench seen from top with little plaque reading "The Schmidt Family: Ronnie, Karen, Kelli, Ryan, and Robby."
Thank you, the Schmidt family, for this comfy bench!

Things seemed comfortingly normal and natural until I checked for the temperature on my phone screen and saw some news headlines:

News headlines. 1. "This black hole just did something theoretically impossible." 2. "Residents warned after 43 monkeys escape research facility."

Uh, yeah, we’ve slipped into an alternate universe.

~~

What if We Used to Be the Same Person?

It’s possible that atoms in my body right now used to be part of Isaac Newton or Sappho or Judas.

Hubble Traces a Galaxyu2019s Outer Reaches by NASA Goddard Photo and Video is licensed under CC-BY 2.0

What if we used to be the same person, you and I? Or will be the same person in the future? Or both — were and will be? These are the kinds of thoughts that can take over my brain in the middle of the night.

Several years ago, I read Bill Bryson’s popular science book A Short History of Nearly Everything. One point stuck with me, and I ponder it often, sometimes even in broad daylight. Since matter is never destroyed, only transformed, that means all of the atoms that make up our bodies used to form the essence of other things. Or people. 

This insight rated an out-loud “wow!” when I read it. Some of my current substance could formerly have belonged to other people. It’s possible that atoms in my body right now used to be part of Isaac Newton or Sappho or Judas. I never believed in reincarnation as I understood it (or possibly misunderstood it.) But now I might? In a way.

I was already stunned enough knowing that the elements of us used to reside in stars — the hydrogen and carbon, oxygen and nitrogen, sent on their voyages billions of years ago. Those particles have been cycling and recycling through time, and now they’re us. Here we are, repurposed star matter.

I was sleepless the other night and musing on all of this existential stuff once again. Somehow, as many times as I’ve thought about the wonder of it all, and what it means on a spiritual level, my brain had never taken the next step. Until now. 

If some of the atoms that make up my body used to belong to someone else, and some of the atoms that make up your body, dear reader, used to belong to someone else, isn’t it possible we both have previously owned atoms from the same source? What if we used to be the same person? What if we both were Sappho or Newton? 

Even if we never were together in the same incarnation in the past, we could be in the future. We could be on a journey toward becoming one new person together a few hundred or thousand years from now.

When I gave birth to my first child, I looked at my husband differently. The two of us have had our relationship ups and downs over the years. Yet once we’d created a human life together, I felt we were forever bonded. Even if we eventually separated and never saw each other again, we would be together, still, in this new person. 

Now I see this could be true of myself and any other human. Everyone who ever lived is possibly a forebear, even those who “died childless.” Every human yet to come is a possible descendant, of a sort. Here we all are, trading our component members back and forth like baseball teams, forming and re-forming into a multitude of configurations. 

Since making this mental leap, my new middle-of-the-night ruminations center around what it means, or should mean, for how I judge others. I was raised in the Christian faith and am well aware of Jesus’ teachings on the topic. “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”  These words seem a lot more literal to me now.

Many faiths have similar tenets, of course. When asked how we should treat others, the Hindu sage, Ramana Maharshi answered: There are no others.

There are no others. We’re one with the stars. We’re one with each other. I’ve only recently become aware of this on the atomic level.

~~

On Today’s Walk: More Like a Rabbit Than a Squirrel

Brown cottontail rabbit holding very still in a yard.

I took a short walk around the neighborhood this morning before it got too hot. A number of rabbits were out tending to breakfast, as were many squirrels. Neither animal wants a human to get too close, but they behave in very different ways.

Rabbits tend to freeze in place. Squirrels, on the other hand, turn into frenzied random gymnastics generators in their efforts to escape. Maybe if I run this way! No, wait, turn around! Climb that! No wait, jump to the other thing. Don’t we all know people who act like one or the other?

I’m a rabbit. I can see the thought bubble above this bunny’s head: If I hold completely still and blend into the background maybe the human won’t see me and will leave me alone.

I feel you, little critter. I have been known to do the same thing. “She’s a shy one,” my mother would explain, as I once again hid behind her legs when and adult tried to interact. I don’t dislike other people, just feel overwhelmed by personal interactions sometimes. I guess I need to keep in mind that when people are acting out–like a squirrel–they might have the same feeling but express it differently.

Anyway, it was a pleasant and quiet outing with no human interaction on my part.

~~

Hello Again / 32-year Dream Fulfilled

32 years ago, I was floundering for a career/life path. After a great deal of self-assessment, I came to an important insight. The public library helped raise me.

Sorry I was gone from blogging for so long. I was busy building a better working world and chasing my dreams. My workplace unionized in May, 2022. Bargaining of our first contract began in October of that year and didn’t conclude until 14 months later, this past December.

Almost to my own surprise, I ended up on the bargaining team. When you’re negotiating a first contract from scratch, that’s the equivalent of working a second job. And I already had a second job! In addition to the at-the-table negotiations, several hours every week were devoted to research and meetings and collaboration on the crafting of articles. All of this part was done outside of paid work time.

But I’m happy to report that our collective bargaining agreement, which took effect January 1, has made life a bunch better in many ways — money, safety, and fairness, among them. For the first time in decades, I’m earning a living wage. I have even been able to quit the side hustle I was working to make ends meet. Wowza! I went from the equivalent of three jobs to one.

But the dream I referenced in my heading isn’t about becoming a union thug. (Ha, ha. I’m one of the least intimidating people you’ll ever meet.) This achievement is a whole other thing, and I’ll drop a hint with some photos.

Stack of ten library and information science textbooks on a table.
A representative sample of some of the textbooks I read.
Several textbooks lying flat on a table, all related to library and information science
Yes, the book in the left corner is relevant to library work – very. much so.
Several books lying flat on a table, some of them opened with highlighted text visible but not readable.
I burned through a few highlighters.

Those who have been following me for a while might remember this post from late 2019, in which I shared details of my long journey finishing up my bachelor’s studies through self-directed learning. In one paragraph, I shared my ultimate goal:

“When my youngest was in kindergarten, I got a shelving job at the public library. Things were falling into place. This was the first step toward my new career. I would have an advantage when I got to library school, after finishing my four-year degree.“

Of course, it didn’t quite work out like that, and I had to create my own unique educational path. Once I finished my undergrad at “Nomadic Noesis University,” I had a new plan. I’d promised to help my oldest kid with his move from the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest, scheduled for the end of March, 2020. I began studying for the GRE, with the idea I would take the test after fulfilling those obligations to Firstborn. I knew it was a longish shot, but I hoped if I managed a stellar GRE score, I could present that along with my bachelor’s transcript when applying to library school and maybe have at least a prayer of a chance for admittance.

I sincerely apologize to the world’s population for jinxing everything and causing a global pandemic with my “plans.” GRE testing sites became an un-thing pretty quickly. Due to my age, my window for action had shrunk significantly. I realized my dream was over. Or was it?

Hadn’t I just finished homeschooling myself through the final part of an undergrad by finding online syllabi? After a brief period of moping, I put on my big girl britches and decided to do the same for my MLIS.

Here I am, four and 1/2 years on from my last graduation to announce that I did it. I am finished. 32 years ago, I was floundering for a career/life path. After a great deal of self-assessment, I came to an important insight. The public library helped raise me. It was my safe space where I learned essential lessons about the world. I am deeply in love with literature and equally so research. I believe in empowering people and leveling the playing field. What better fits these core principles than library work? I knew my calling.

I followed a long, uphill, circuitous path to get here, but I made it. I lack the symbols — the institution-bestowed degree and the official job title of “librarian.” But I have the real things – the librarian education and the librarian work as an outreach associate (official job title.) I’m even earning a living wage doing it.

Living the dream over here!

~~

A Little Christmas Cactus Obsession and a Poem

Last spring, a friend who was paring down her possessions for a cross-country move gifted me a Christmas cactus, the first one I’ve ever owned. I keep it on the corner of the desk where I do my writing. Eight days ago, I noticed the first flower buds sprouting — twenty-one of them. Maybe it’s a Thanksgiving cactus after all. I’m a little obsessed with the plant.

Part of a Christmas cactus, with several pink blower buds.

In fact, I wrote a poem for it. It’s still a little rough, but I’m sharing it anyway.

First Flower Buds on My Christmas Cactus

Twenty-one sudden blushing pointed buds
Twenty-one pieces of evidence
That I, erstwhile perpetrator
Of negligent planticide,
Have been successfully reformed
I myself have blossomed into a being
Capable of nurturing
A living thing incapable 
Of speaking its needs
As a toddler or a cat would do
Twenty-one velvet spear tips of validation
Twenty-one prizes to reward
My diligence and faith,
Twenty-one shots of dopamine to my brain
Payoff for my daily ritual of care,
Of arranging the curtains for optimal sun,
Of speaking aloud, Good morning
Christmas Cactus, a greeting unreturned 
Until now

Here are a couple of photos to track its progress, one taken four days after I noticed this first buds and one from this morning. The lighting was a little different.

Christmas cactus with many pink flowers starting to open
Christmas cactus with many open pink and white flowers

You go, little desk plant! Live your best life!

~~

Let us Now Celebrate: a Poem for Labor Day

Photo by Chevanon Photography on Pexels.com

I wrote this poem a while back, and I wasn’t necessarily thinking of Labor Day. But this weekend seems like an appropriate time to share.

Let Us Now Celebrate

Let us now celebrate those missed 
In the recording of history
The nameless and unremembered
The one who walked in the rain
To a factory job that paid for shelter 
From the rain for their family
The one who brought joy to the immediate crowd
With jokes and laughter, but did it while
Shucking corn, and not near a microphone
Those fallen to disease or war before
They were old enough to fight
The songwriter who composed melodies
To sing the children to sleep
The one who could have gone far in life
If not for so much close at hand
To get done first
The washers of dishes and clothes
Cleaners of floors and furniture
Whose work came undone as soon as done
Leaving nothing to sign a name to

~~

Neighborhood Walks Through the Looking Glass

Vacant lot with orange mesh fencing
There used to be a fairy tale looking stone cottage here.

As a frequent and avid walker who has lived in the same spot for nineteen years, I possess a deep familiarity with the landscape and character of my neighborhood. There are constant changes, of course, as seasons and residents move on to be replaced by others. But some alterations are more jarring than others. A couple of differences in the past few weeks have given me a through the looking glass feeling.

I’m fortunate to be within walking distance of my job, so my most frequent route takes me from my house to work and back. Those handful of blocks contain the sights I see on a near-daily basis. One house I pass was bought a few years ago by a couple with two very young children and an obvious appreciation for outdoors play. It always gives me a smile to see what they’re up to and maybe exchange a few words. This past winter was pretty brutal and lasted longer than usual, so I didn’t see the residents out at all for several months. Then one day in May as I headed up the block toward their place, I heard kids laughing and saw the parents out with them, drawing on their driveway with chalk. I approached with swelling heart, ready to wave and say a cheery hello. But wait!

When I arrived at the yard something was off. It was inhabited by the wrong family. All different people. Same general ages and complexions, but four completely different people. When did that happen? I go by the house nearly every single day, remember? I’d never seen a for sale sign, no moving trucks, no hint of disruption in the fabric of my reality. Had I gone through a portal to a parallel universe? I was shook.

Second shocking change: the house of my daydreams is gone. Poof! This one is (or was) not on my work-and-back path. It’s several blocks from my home, but still on a street where I walk frequently, in part because I enjoy looking at the stone cottage that appeared to be out of a fairy tale, the kind of place they put on jigsaw puzzles. I loved to imagine living in it some day, maybe in retirement, spending my days tending flowers in its yard. My step gained an extra spring when I turned the corner leading to my intended future enchanting stone home.

It’s amazing how quickly an entire house can be gone with hardly a trace. Breathtaking really. I ambled along anticipating my moment of housing zen, only to be caught up short by orange fencing and a demolition order. Sob. What does my dream future hold now?

Dare I venture out today? I suppose I will. I’m bracing myself. Perhaps I’ll find the portal that will bring me back to my dependable, known universe. I can hope.

~~

Two Accomplishments: Union! and The Count of Monte Cristo

Star Trek DS9 characters
Quark’s workers unionize on Star Trek, Deep Space 9

I see I haven’t checked in here for a while. I’ve been a little busy helping to organize a union and reading The Count of Monte Cristo, both of which turned out to be huge time commitments. The two efforts came to fruition within a couple of days of each other. Saturday I finished Alexandre Dumas’ 117-chapter epic tale, and on Monday the state of Missouri announced the results of our union election, which we won with 65% yes votes.

Both efforts held surprises for me. Union organizing — gaining big new insights into people I thought I knew. I saw aspects and layers previously hidden to me, most of them good and inspiring, with a small handful of disappointments. The number of hours spent looking at spreadsheets was not something I had anticipated. And I didn’t do nearly as much of the work as some of my colleagues, bless them. Count of Monte Cristo — a lot more drug use than I expected. The psychedelic 1970s had nothing on the 1800s, it seems. There were some truly trippy scenes. Ease up on the hashish, there. Also, a young, early nineteenth century female character who wished to avoid marriage and live independently.

Of course, I was also working both of my paying jobs during this time. So all of this labor movement activity and classics reading led to late nights, with Zoom meetings followed by just another chapter or two. I honestly don’t know how anyone ever runs for office. The stress of campaign-type activities nearly did this introvert in. Often, after yet another meeting, followed by phone calls (shudder) I’d promised to make, or an elaborately-arranged meeting with someone who wanted to sign a union card without being seen to do so, I found myself with an actual need to lose myself in the drama and tension of a fictional character’s story. It was somehow cathartic to transfer the intensity of my feelings into the life and perils and plots of Edmond Dantes, wrongly imprisoned, losing everyone and everything he loved, seeking revenge but unexpectedly finding his heart warring with itself in his resolve.

I’m a different person than I was at the beginning of 2022. This has been the year I determined to pursue some long overdue goals – getting a seat at the table in my workplace and finally pulling The Count from it’s decades-long spot on my to-be-read list. I’m a union woman now, and someone who can speak with knowledge about a Dumas classic.

We’ve won our election, but there’s still organizing to do around electing officers, contract negotiations, etc. And there are enough literary gaps in my world to spend a lifetime filling them. But I might take a breath or two and enjoy some lighter pursuits before plunging myself into the next intense adventure.