Sunday

Ashes to ashes

I received my father’s ashes this weekend. I got about half of a sandwich bag full and also a necklace with a locket that you put a pinch of ashes in. It’s shaped like a heart, reads : Dad. Always in my heart.

My surprise news is that the oldest boy, his wife and my Grandson will be here this week to meet the newest member of the family. 

We will all be together on the 4th of July. The plan to memorialize my dad is to have everyone gather, tell a story about my dad, take a shot of Jameson’s ( my dad was Irish too.... oddly, that’s my bio last name as well) and pour one out for my dad. A good old fashioned Irish tribute. 

I’d been FaceTiming the grandkids, which I do nearly daily, when afterwards my husband pulled up a chair to face me. His face was solemn and he’d recently been exposed to Covid again so I thought he was going to tell me something bad. Then he took out a white box from behind his back and placed it in my lap. I was confused. I wondered if he’d gotten something for me. I looked at the box and on the side it read “ Memorial Jewellery” and

I sobbed. I don’t know what I’d expected the container to look like but it hadn’t even crossed my mind. 

It took me a long time to open it. I didn’t want to see my dad as ashes. That makes it real. It looks so similar to sand we’ve gathered from Hawaii, Jamaica, the Caymans, even Oregon. Yet, completely deferent.  My mind couldn’t, wouldn’t grasp it. 

Q&A next time

Me

Written on my phone. Read at your own risk.

Thursday 

The water is dark. I don’t know how to be happy. I know how to look happy. I know how to act happy. I know how happy people behave..... Or do I? Maybe those people are acting happy as well and the second they get home, as they remove their shoes, they take off the happy. It’s a mask, maybe, or a full on suit. It’s a laugh or a pat on the shoulder. It says “You’re killing me!” Or “You really said that? Braver man than I, that’s for sure!!” 

It’s exhausting. And people don’t know you, but they think they do, right? They think you’re funny and jovial and relatable. They think you’re smart, maybe, but they feel more intelligent than you because we let them think that. It’s easier. Less talking that way, unless they let it slip somehow, verbally, with their body language,  that the feel they’ve got you on the ropes, well, then it’s a quick condescending snap, barely noticeable, they think “What did he/she mean by that? Should I be upset?” And they’ll think about it for the rest of the day. Maybe ask their wife, who will tell them it’s fine. They took it the wrong way. But she didn’t see you steel your eyes, turn your shoulders forward, set your neck just so, the tone in your voice, before you, just as quickly, laugh it off.... But it was there.....

The people who are happy people like slapstick comedy. It doesn’t require keeping up or thinking. Just trip down the stair, stick your foot in a toy, fall down into the door just as someone is opening it and slide down the back. Ha ha. 

I wish that was me, on one hand, I’m glad it’s not on the other. I love a person who gets dark humor, sarcasm, who doesn’t care if it’s “too soon?”

There are things that make me happy. The birth of my grandson. Seeing my kids as parents. My YM who is as dry and deadpan as they come, so is the oldest boy. The youngest one is becoming that way as well. Snow, Christmas lights, Christmas songs, the coolish breeze on a summer night, the wind in my hair, a song that takes me to a different time or a smell that reminds me of something small that I still cherish.  Not long ago there was a smell in the breeze coming from the creek and the trees and it smelled like my hometown on a summer night. I closed my eyes and took it in. I was asked if I was ready to go.... No, not yet..... it smells like camping on our deck with Rob and  his brother and my brother and sleeping bags and.... mmmmmmmm, Happy in that moment. Mmmmmmmm.... I wanted to stand there for as long as the smell blew softly by my face, to be 15, in some of the hardest times of my life, but where I found happiness and to breathe the happiness into my lungs as long as I possibly could.....

Or jumping into a car with a vanilla scented car deodorizer, if I smell that vanilla smell I close my eyes. Feel my heart beat out of my chest, nowhere else in the whole entire world that I wanted to be. Red leather, the sound, the crinkle, the coldness on the back of my knees, shorts on, mmmmmmmmm

Little chunks of real happiness. 

Playing poker, the smell of Doug’s cigarette, me drinking a Fresca, sometimes I’ll get the far away whiff of that cigarette, just enough to yank me from where I am into a chair at a kitchen table, “what ya want to play, Trace?” “Doesn’t matter, I’ll kick your ass at anything you choose” his laughter “ Do you hear this shit?” He’d say to my husband and his girlfriend.  Happy.

A song.... 867-5309....

Hey, hey Micki! You’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Micki!

I reach down, between my legs, slide the seat back....

Don’t forget me when I’m gone. For heaven’s sake..

So many songs. I love that. The ability to feel what you felt one time during that song.... Happy.

When will the water get less deep? Less black?

I’m trying to hold on to something in the water. Just float. Tell. No one. Look happy. Wear the happy suit. 

Tracy

Just a Tuesday...

So much to say. My brain is in neutral though. I’ll be back very soon.

I have good news too!

Celebration

Miracles

I have a new grandson.

These have become the best days of my life.

Unconditional love for another human being that isn’t your own child, yet still the product of you.

His name is Lincoln Coo-per (last name)( I don’t want it searchable)

He weighed just a few ounces more than his mama did. 6lbs 8oz 19 inches tall. Full of round cheeks, hiccups and squeaks. I’m told he smells like heaven.

I hummed, breathed and said “ Relax your muscles, blow it away, great job” for 9 hours straight from 100 miles away. 

My dad got to meet him before we did so I know he’ll be a diehard Seahawks fan.

I am truly blessed in my life. All roads have lead me to here and I am overwhelmingly grateful for that.

Good night.

Gi-Gi

I’m writing....

I’ve started a blog but have been distracted by the most amazing thing....

My Om’s water broke yesterday morning. She’s been in labor for 12 hours and since she’s not allowed to have a doula in the room... we are FaceTiming on our IPads.

It’s so much different to watch your child go through birth than anyone else, even yourself. It’s amazing and awe inspiring.

The next time I post I should have a new grandson who will be leaving his conversation with my dad to land here with us.

Tracy

Friday

I’m in constant pain. The black water is deep.

Moving on.....

We got our new lease to sign... Three months early(?) but for some reason that made me very happy! We are looking at moving to a different unit in the building. There are pluses being in the back with the trees and creek and people watching but I want to maybe try the hustle and bustle side. We will see. I’m also not stoked about moving, even if it’s just down the hall! Man, I think we all still have PTSD from last year!

The grand baby is due any second now. A couple of false labor events and that’s fun on my end. Not so much hers.... But that’s probably true will most things “birth” related. I so wish I could be her Doula. I am so excited! ( since I started this she lost her mucus plug!)

I spoke to my doctor about surgery. It didn’t go that well. I could get into it and bore you to death but I’ll spare you. It’s just frustrating. He’s clearly afraid that he can be sued and spends the conversation distancing himself from me so much that by tomorrow it won’t have been him who performed the surgery... Never do that. All that says is.... “ I deserve to be sued”

It’s time for me to see another doctor. He’s offered a friend of his which is laughable. Why would I do that?? Sounds fishy, right?

I had someone from 23andme contact me. I will be telling you about it soon. It’s so oddly coincidental with my current life that it has to be true. It’s so unique and must be from my paternal side. First gen American from Manchester England and the county I’m from in Ireland. Potentially  my grandfather. Fits so many things. I think you’ll like it.


I’m gonna go now!

Cattails to you.

Tracy

Post coming today!!

I’ve just been..... Trying.

So,

So, it’s hot as fuck here. Guess what the good news is? 

1 I have officially started wearing cute dresses as a regular thing! They are much cooler than regular clothes and I like feeling girly.

2 my Embr works!! Walk into 95 degrees and don’t break a sweat. And do you know what that means? Exactly! I can wear mascara in the summer!!!

My Island isn’t following my dipshit governors advice on opening. They are allowing six people in a shop at one time, stand outside and wait otherwise ( and hell no. That’s what online shopping is for) restaurants are staying with low amounts of customers and mostly outside eating. Masks are a must. And I felt safe enough to go to my fave store which sells items that have been donated for charity and they have the best things!!!! The main donation center separates the extra good stuff for the boutique downstairs and they have so much fun, interesting, conversation starter pieces that I love. I bought my weird elf there last year. And a few other pieces. They sell Coach bags in perfect condition for $20.... $20? And vintage Bags for not much more. I’m on Bag restriction for awhile. I have too many and I barely use them anymore. 

Anyway!!! My point is!!! They always have great vintage dressers there and for a year I’ve gone in and longed to buy one but I have no place to put one..... until now. Rearranging things, giving my bookshelf to a resident. Everyone here gives their things away, never sell. I think that’s nice. So.... geez! I went to go get my hands on a dresser to put in the space, something comes in, something must leave, and..... There were none. They’d cleared everything out because we were surrounded by police in riot gear for a few days and they didn’t want to risk losing their goods. Understandable and a bummer.

There, if you made it through that, you get a gold star.

Then we went to Aldi’s and when I tell you that this was probably the worst Aldi’s in the world, I mean, the WORST! I’ve never seen a dysfunctional, dirty, nasty Aldi’s before. Yuck 

I shouldn’t have left the island, I guess. 

My grandson was FaceTiming me today and said “ Hi, G!”, he screamed it. His volume is 11. And my heart exploded. Then we had a conversation that went like this “ Beep. Beep. Meow. Bloop. Beep” and he kissed the phone.

It’s the best, purest love in the world. He wants a trash can. He loves trash cans, I can’t explain it, so I asked if I couldn’t just buy him his own trash can? Nope. He had his own but he chewed parts of it off. Oh. Uh, well, that’s something I’ve never said about a child before.... so, we decided on a kids broom. He untwists the broom part off the handle of theirs and hides it. I know. My family sounds like the Munsters.... I bought him a broom of his own. One blue broom anywhere. Apparently only girls sweep.

What are you guys up to? Tell me your new favorites! Did you watch the Jeffrey Epstein doc? God damn. It’s too bad that someone suicided him. He should’ve had to live with every little thing taken from him. He deserved to be broken. That smugness. Email and I’ll do some questions. My brain is in neutral. 

Goodnight luvs.

Tracy

I wish...

I wish that I had the ability to find the words to write something profound about everything that’s going on right now.

The only thing I can do is picture my own sons driving a car, walking down the street, maybe even using a fake $20 bill, I have experience in that area see, my husband once went to the bank, got a couple of hundred dollar bills and immediately went to a store to grab some things for a trip. The cashier kept the bill and called the police. The police asked him where he’d gotten the bill and he explained. The police called the bank. My husband was let go and asked to come back to the bank so they could “ make things right” they gave him a different $100 bill. That’s all and he went on his way with his neck still intact.

My om worked in a bank for years and saw lots of fake $20’s. They’d call the FBI, give the customer a replacement $20 and all was good.

I think of feeling fear every time my son left my home and what that would feel like. Last year at around midnight my son went for a walk around our Island and found a Corn Hole game that had been left by someone earlier. He started to play. Five employees of the British pub restaurant had closed for the evening and were sitting on the patio enjoying the summer night. One called out to my son “ hey, are you a resident here?” And my son told him that he is and asked if he should leave. The guy said “ No problem, Man, security will be around and they’ll just want to check your fob. Thought I’d give you a heads up” Ok, my son replied and around 2am the Island security did drive by the little park area. My son was playing his music and sitting by the creek. The security had his window rolled down and waved at my son who waved back. The Island is surrounded by shops. Many are more exclusive in nature and here was a kid with a head full of crazy curls, shorts, t-shirt and slides. Nothing different than other kids wear except it was late at night. He came in sometime later and said that he’d been worried that security would think he was up to no good. I off handedly cracked “ Naw, you’re white” 

Imagine that. How embarrassing to take that for granted. He could have been stopped and shown his fob which is the ONLY way to get in here and that would have seemed reasonable to me.... But he wasn’t.

The next day we were at the British place and that guy, a server, stopped by, he said “I told the security that you were out there playing Corn Hole before I left and told him that you live here.”  We thanked him.

Thanked him for what though? Telling the cop that my kid couldn’t be up to no good because he lives in an exclusive Island community that you can’t enter unless you have the fob. White kids don’t vandalize?  He got a free pass from even being asked “what’s up?” 

The server was black. I suppose that was his instinct to tell security. He knew it would be different if it were him and that my son would get a pass.

I thought the last couple of days if I do or think things that are inherently racist. Do I hold my bag tighter when I pass a black man or teen? Feel uncomfortable in the elevator? Distrust them without any justification? Ever? Have I ever said “ I would never date a black guy” and.... oh, God, had my friend tell the man who would go on to be the VP of one of the world’s largest companies, that I don’t date black guys..... How Embarrassing. How must he have felt? 

Do I take my white girl pass and never think about it?

I think we need to hear what’s being said. I think we need to empathize with parents who are afraid for their sons. Men who are afraid that their car is too nice or that if they’re  driving in their neighborhood or birdwatching at the park that they could be killed.... Simply because when they are looked at, what is seen first is the color of their skin.

Tracy