As a rule, I never post anything even remotely political in any of my antisocial media accounts. Here is where I break the rules.

I was born and brewed in Wisconsin, as far from the south as you can get without being Canadian. I hold no allegiance to the stars and bars, unless you consider that my high school mascot was the Rebel. A little cartoon general, sometimes depicted with a confederate flag.

That being said, I’m in somewhat of a conundrum over the issue of the confederate flag.  On one hand, I have no problem with it.  It is a part of the history of our great country,  a nightmare of a history, but a significant part. And like the confederate uniforms one finds in museums everywhere, it needs to be remembered. Those who choose to fly it in their private homes, display it on their vehicles, and/or  tattoo it on their bodies will not offend me.  Nor should it offend anyone else.  After all, I fly a jolly roger under my stars and stripes and pirates can be seriously offensive.  I should know – I married one!

But on the other hand I believe it shouldn’t be flown next to our stars and stripes over a government building.  I mean, it’s not nearly as offensive as perhaps the swastika flying over a German government house but it is certainly not right.  This symbol of a part of the country that tried desperately to secede from the union and failed has no place in our government.  And – here is where I’m gonna offend a whole slew of people – to me, this is NOT a part of your “heritage”.  In my mind, if you really want to have a symbol of that period of time, try a white surrender flag.  Face it.  You lost.

Let the slamming commence but be warned – I rarely check the comments….

“Waking up on Christmas morning, hours before the winter sun’s ignited” These lyrics are running a loop through my (very addled) brain right now. But not for the reasons you may think.

I’m awake, at 3am, because I’ve run out of distractions. The tree is lit, the house cleaned, the presents wrapped and the house is quiet. And now I have nothing but time to face the one thing I’ve dreaded my whole adult life. You see, on December 14th I lost my daddy. For over a week, I’ve been “fine”. I’ve managed to squeeze out a few tears – mostly at inappropriate times. But I’m beating myself up over the fact that I haven’t “grieved”.

I have memories (most from the eye-rolling stage, which, I believe, is the next stage after pupa).  But I also have questions, like was he proud of me? Or was I just a series of disappointments… I imagine our respective recollections of my life might be very different. Not being a parent myself, I find it hard to see myself through his eyes.

I also have an abundance of guilt. I live in another state, far from my parents. The last time I saw my dad was two years ago, and that will eat at me ’til my last breath. That’s certainly not the last time we spoke, as a matter of fact, he called me after his second round in the hospital. And if you knew him even the teensiest bit, a call from Dad was A BIG DEAL. Then there is the guilt for my family. My sister, for having to be the “strong” one. My brother, the sensitive one, bravely soldiering on. My mom, who I take after more than either of us will admit to. And I can’t be there for any of them, nor can they be here for me.

I’ve been VERY private about my grief. I’m the type of person who says I’m “fine”, gives a smile, and crawls away to cry in private. And here I am, in the most un-private venue, finding my voice. I want nothing. No condolences, no pitying glances, no hugs. And here is where I can find that. An anonymous person. Most of you reading don’t know me. Those that do will understand.  And here is where I can bare my soul, becoming a snot-fueled, blithering mess. And you’ll have to excuse any typos/grammatical errors, as I can barely see right now.

These are the words I’ve needed to say in order to begin healing. I’ve avoided any holiday get-togethers because I couldn’t give a heartfelt Christmas wish. But I’m beginning to see that wishes for the season don’t have anything to do with my particular circumstances. It’s not all about me. I’ve spent so much energy avoiding eye contact that I’ve missed what the season is really all about. Flaws and all, perfect strangers can wish you well. And friends will understand.

And now, after getting that all out, I can finally say – without reservation – that I wish you all a most peaceful Christmas.

Let’s just get this out there – I don’t work. At a job. That keeps me away from home. That’s not to say I don’t keep busy. But being home and having the attention span of a gnat’s ass, I don’t always hear the constant drone of the television. Today I did.

I heard an interview with a guest who was on a show (which shall remain nameless) who was out there, pushing for more stringent laws on gun control. This is not the issue, as I am about as political as a slug. What got me was the comment “As moms, we feel MORE than most that things have gotten out of control”. That got me to thinking.

I’m not a mom. Not in any sense of the word. Unless you count Dora…. But since when did having feelings/thoughts/ideas become the eminent domain of those who give birth? Really? MORE? She actually had the audacity to say “I never realized how strongly I felt until I had my son. That put it all in perspective”.

So. If one hasn’t created a tiny human, we have no perspective? I know, I know……that’s not what she meant to convey. But as a woman, I took that as a barb. It’s what women do. We are constantly on the lookout for threats, perceived or not. It was the emphasis on the word “more” that got my (obviously unnatural) blood boiling.

Okay, here’s the snarky, sarcastic me: Just because I haven’t squirted out a tiny, wrinkled, leaking bundle of joy – doesn’t mean my principles, morals and values are any less than yours. It just means I prefer my clothing without poop/vomit stains. And I have a weak stomach when it comes to dirty diapers.

I’m not asking for a debate. I just want all of us “NON-MOMS” to have our say. A moment in the sun, as it were. And we can all use a little more sun.

I’ve been asked A LOT for this recipe so I’m just going to put it out there.

Ingredients
1 can unsweetened coconut milk
1 tsp. Thai green curry paste
1 stalk fresh lemon grass, bruised
4 lime leaves, finely sliced
1 large green mango, cut into 1″ chunks
1 lb. crab meat
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
2 Tbsp. fish sauce (nam pla)
1 Tbsp. rice vinegar
1/4 cup parsley, coarsely chopped.

Method

1. Place the coconut milk, curry paste, lemon grass and lime leaves in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

2. Add the mango and simmer for 3 minutes. Add the crab meat, sugar and fish sauce and simmer an additional 3 minutes. Stir in the vinegar and cilantro.
Serve over rice or quinoa. Serves 4.

I believe I need to give credit for this. This recipe is adapted from The Great Lobster and Crab Cookbook, by Whitecap.

I firmly believe there is a direct connection between hot flashes and spontaneous human combustion. One night, my darling husband, Steve, will wake to find he is sharing his bed with a leg. Just a leg. That’s all that will be left of me.

Twenty years ago I was in complete control of my body. It did what I told it to do. If I wanted to sit, I sat. If I wanted to stand, I stood.  If I wanted to walk, I tripped.  (Okay, so I wasn’t in complete control). Nowadays, however, my body tells ME what to do. Like I’ve been abducted by alien puppeteers.

Twenty years ago if I hit my shin on the table, it bruised and then healed. Now, I can skip that pesky smacking of the shin and lovely greenish-purple bruise will still magically appear. JUST BY THINKING ABOUT IT!

Twenty years ago if I was cold, I put on a sweater and was instantly warmer. And, in reverse, if I was warm, I could stick a leg out from under the blankets and be instantly cooler. At this stage of the game, cooling off is considerably more difficult. It may even be easier to rebuild the polar ice caps than to ease the incessant burn of my “power surges”. Last night I tried to origami myself into the freezer. I suppose it would have been easier if we had a chest-type freezer – but no…..we have a side-by-side! On the up side, I could cool one whole half of me at a time.

Thinking back, I would never have guessed the first part of me to rebel would be my uterus. I mean, really, it’s not like I abused it.My first guess would have been my liver, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

So for the time being, I will suffer (loudly) through these horrid bouts of heat. I will change soggy pillow cases at 3:00am. I will be grateful that it’s winter. And if I do happen to spontaneously combust, I will have to teach myself to type with the toes of my one remaining leg.