contents of the brain

Ten days of prep; eleven days before we get on the plane.  Going back to Hanoi, Vietnam. Soon.

I’ve made a long list a few weeks ago—finding, buying, arranging for, packing, and some home tasks because I love coming home to a cleaner house than I usually live in. I always do this. Tasks that are too arduous and not at all important fall to the wayside, but a few non-essential tasks get done along with the travel tasks. The big one this time is going through clothes—Julia’s and mine—and culling what we do not use. I haven’t done this with Julia since we moved into this apartment. She was resistant, but she seems to be happier in the morning picking out what she will wear for the day. I parted with just a few old things and a few things that either don’t fit anymore or that I haven’t really liked for a few years but hated to get rid of because they were perfectly wearable. Someone else will benefit and enjoy—at least that is what I tell Julia.

I am on the part of the list that is starting to be about packing. I’ve decided to take very few clothes—4 days’ worth (except for underwear) to be exact—and to plan to buy there.  We did that anyway last time, so might as well travel with loose bags going.  Julia is on board, and it will be interesting to see if she can buy clothes there and wear them. It will be harder for her than for me. If it is too hard, we’ll just be washing those four changes every four days.

I am not taking jeans, which is a first for me.  I live in jeans and usually travel in them even when I don’t use them when I arrive somewhere, but Vietnam is in the 80’s and 90’s right now, and when we come back in June, we’ll be close to that here.  I keep saying all that to myself to convince myself to do as I’ve planned.  Funny, how compulsive or obsessive I can be! It does help me understand Julia just a bit when I dig down into my own muck. 

One of my plans for this trip was to find ways for Julia to be a bit away from Ed and me. I have been looking for a companion or somewhere like a day program setting where she might spend a few days or a day a week. Although pursuing this pretty strenuously, I may have completely failed.  I was very excited to connect with one center that seems to be centered on training young adults on the spectrum for work by running a café, bookstore, and media center (not sure of this last one). I was corresponding with someone who is or was a director, and he invited Julia to visit and possibly take part. Then, last week, I received an email from him that is confusing, so I don’t know if any of that will happen. Julia is excited about some independence, and I still hold out hope I can find something.

My task list divided into daily tasks was created by AI.  ChatGPT, to be exact. I’ve been playing around with AI and was feeling overwhelmed when I needed to make the list. And AI did a decent job of a list. I’ve been modifying it as I go along. Today, with the big event of the day cancelled, I can do a few things on the list that I thought I would abandon—some gardening and clean-up of a file drawer—as well as reconnoitering the contents of the green toiletries bag that usually has everything from bandaids to nail clippers to antibiotic ointment. My pharmacy in a bag. Ed always says that I can get all of it there, which is true. Absolutely. But when someone needs to get rid of a headache, it is so nice to have it instantly instead of finding a pharmacy and trying to explain my needs to someone with limited English, and me with less than limited Vietnamese. 

And the cancelling of the day’s event, a brunch, also gives me the breathing room to sit down and write. Something that I have been neglecting. I started and did not complete a post about my quick trip to Virginia to my brother-in-law’s funeral. I will finish and post, not today.

There you have it, the contents of my brain this morning.

(I seem to have lost the “continue reading” sign, so for now, this will be all on the front page. Damn!)

morning after

Veterans’ Day: The end of World War I, called the Great War before the next war. This national holiday sees the fewest people off from work—that is the way that we count holidays, right?  I have an oral surgeon appointment this morning, Ed has a doctor’s appointment, Julia’s day center is open, I don’t have my HILR class, Julia has no rowing, and parking is free in Boston today. If there was ever a time to observe and ponder the end of a “great war,” it is today. My very deep hope is that we are not headed straight into another war that the Washington fascists are putting into place. 

Generally, I don’t agree with the most progressive of conservatives, but I would never agree to silence them forever, to ensure that a Republican politician never wins again. I thought that was part of the rules we play by. And yet, that is what this administration is saying—they are going to fix it so no Democrat can ever win again. This is not inference or subtext or even something overheard at a secret meeting. They say it loud and clear for every one of their minions to hear. And they are knee-deep in a dozen conflicts that they are making up as they go along—Orwell had nothing on these guys, these white guys and their lifted and painted white ladies.

Today was a quiet morning.  Perhaps that is why I can give over a few brain cells to a political rant. It is the calm after the storm.

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consequences

New Year’s Eve has always been a veguely uncomfortable holiday for me. I’ve never been to Times Square to watch the ball fall, I don’t favor loud parties, rarely have I gone out for diner and dancing. We never built any traditions for the evening which didn’t bother me at all until I was alone.

I think I was happiest when I was working in restaurants or when David and I (and one or the other of the girls) went to movies and maybe somewhat of a quick dinner out. The turning of the century was a good NYE—a bunch of friends gathered at David’s father’s house in Jersey. We were living in Indy then and we still had NYC friends, some with small children. We cooked a nice dinner—I don’t remember what. Wine and maybe champagne. We sat in the kind of dining room that I knew growing up and ate on Dad’s good china, lifting his best wine glasses. One friend didn’t accompany his family because he was a computer guy and needed to guard his hard and soft ware if the worst case of Y2K predictions came to pass. Another friend announced that she was adopting a baby from Vietnam—the baby who now has one year old twins of her own. 

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counting joy

The blur of the busy, the full plate, and the inability to see what is missing or left out or left behind until I trip over the very necessity that I proclaim I steadfastly chase and hold onto dearly . . . 

Joy.

In the darkness that I allowed to blossom last week, I saw the glories of fall—the orange and gold leaves of the massive tree I can see from my kitchen window!  I have observed this tree washing dishes and cooking and watering plants and wondering how I am going to close my two kitchen windows tight. The tree is a few doors down the block in another backyard.  Green all summer, it has slowly been turning into a mighty blaze of autumn color. Last Monday, it was glorious as if lit from deep within, as if ablaze of yellows and oranges. I was almost unable to take in so much color. As the week moved forward and the wind picked up, topmost leaves fell in a rain of gold. By Wednesday, some of the orange was fading into brown and some of the brown joined the rain. By Friday, the gold had almost vanished and the tree top was almost bare, and the weekend saw more of the same.  Today, much more than half the tree is all branches, a skeleton of its summer self.

The noticing filled me with something that I had lost to exhaustion and frustration.

I can admit to missing the necessity of raking leaves.  I know I used to complain when my Madison gardens were filled over and over with the leaves of big trees for what felt like months.  And I miss the Julia as a little girl who raked and jumped in piles and enjoyed it all. Now, I look in yards full of leaves with a bit of longing, but not enough longing to volunteer to help rake.  Maybe some year soon?

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finding her feet

573DDFF9-13E7-4F93-A7A9-3FDC17E9DA0CSunday, second day of the Framingham PopCult Anime Con.

Spiky green hair or extraordinarily long pink hair, intricate foam weapons, knee high boots with lifts, tails and long gray gloves, short skirted Japanese school girl uniforms, maids and sword carrying warriors stalk the hotel halls. There are a few other functions going on in the hotel. Did the family reunion in the Concord Room know they would be running into imaginary adventurers?

Julia’s passion for My Hero Academia is completely in line with the many, many con attendees who are dressed as Hero characters or sporting identifiable tee shirts. Lots of bought costumes and some more original hand made ones are on display. A beautiful looking Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle won best costume of the con.  The character, Howl, is male; I am not sure of the con’s Howl. The gender of many bewigged attendees is a complete mystery and after awhile I stop guessing. So many of the anime characters could be either or both depending on the adventure, the plot line, or the preference of the composer. Boys in skirts and make up; girls as male warrior characters. Julia has gone from rigid identifications of gender when she entered high school to the ability to accept the fluidity of this gathering.  She declares that she wants to cross-dress but either I don’t understand exactly what she means or she doesn’t understand the concept.  She still wants to wear dresses and skirts all the time.  Now, how is that cross dressing? Continue reading