About that Colo-rectal Screening...

 Heyyyyyy buddies.  This post contains a CW for body functions and descriptions you might giggle at if you're eight years old.  There may be some discussing body image/dysmorphia and some ageism.  Feel free to skip or scroll on past, as I won't be getting too grody here but it's hard not to discuss without some references to my bum bum.

A conversation the week beforehand with the clinic nurse regarding my pre-colorectal screening check in:

"Any other questions regarding your prep?"

"Nope, I mean it's funny that you spend your life being told to eat fresh fruits and veggies  high fiber food and whole wheat and this is all: .No No.  Eat ya white bread and organ meats nom nom!  And no corn or nuts, but desserts are just fine."

"Yeah.  Just foods that aren't high in fiber for the next few days.  Stay away from the peanut buster parfaits"

"I also appreciated the clarification that stool means *poop*...that one went over my head" (Laughs in sarcasm)

"We try and be thorough. Ok, be here by 7:55 for check-in and remember a driver to take you home and give them the time frames for post-procedure recovery"

"No problem.  Is it true you use air to help navigate the camera?  Any chance you can use helium?  I want my wife to be able to drag me out like a Macy's balloon"

(Much much laughter)  "That's a new one.  Don't forget you're prescription items can be picked up today at CVS after 1pm"

 

So about that colonoscopy...

So about that colonoscopy...

So the long and short is- I have lived this long knowing the benchmark age for getting colon cancer screenings is 50.  In the last decade or so, that age has been reevaluated and pushed back to between 40-50 for your first colonic peekaboo, and to clear the air (passing gas, if you will….ha HA!) I think (along with your annual wellness visits) you should absolutely make an appointment to get your backside peeped.  Unquestionably one of the more  treatable forms of cancer if detected early like breast, testicular, or skin cancer (Get your check ups for those, people.  And layer on the sunblock you nitwits still imagining you need that "first burn" of the Summer...I was that dude.  And I was d-u-m dumb AND used to fake bake like a rube.) In the unimaginably convoluted world of American health care if you are over forty and have access to a preventative screening get it on the schedule and stop worrying about it.  Which is what I am fixing to help with in this here article.

Like anything else it was out a procedure that was *out of my mental orbit* for as long as I remember . Something to see jokes about or in movies like “Fletch” (“Mooooooon River” Anyone ? Anyone?) I knew it was going to be coming someday and I knew I would be getting it.  But like learning I should have stopped pulling out my genitalia at the doctor  during my annual physicals with the expectant "Well?" face and pointing at my testes before learning they stop testicular examination at your physical after age 30-35?  I didn't clock that I'd have a zealous doctor ask me at my most recent visit if I wanted to schedule it, OR that I'd say "Sure, let's do it!", and then it would be...like...here. Already.

Since 2006 when an adventurous and curious S.O. wanted to dabble in vegetarian cooking and subsequently got me past my fear of tofu, I've been pretty successful in keeping my meat consumption fairly low in the intervening years.  Similarly I still maintain an active lifestyle, am regular, and figure if I had any initial concerns or trepidations my baseline self wouldn't have to worry too much.  In short, a confidence born from the seeds of calorie and fat gram counting dysmorphia stemming back to junior high COUPLED WITH a mostly meatless diet had me thinking my colon was PRISTINE..  

Still.

That's no guarantee.  The devil cancer that has took so much from so many (myself included) can manifest in terrifying and sneaky ways.  That guy with the pink solo cup up there that looks like it's permanently affixed to his face and always smells lightly of a bar was diagnosed (after it felt like a knife pressinfg on my tailbone for a few weeks back in 2008-9) with a "rectal abscess" on the top side of his butt crack that required removal.  Not to mention that NOW I HAVE a new found discovery of anxiety, a wife, child, and more recently a sexy mirror held up by my doctor that said "You have parts that are going to start giving way whether you like it or not..." So mortality is on my mind these days.

Well, that dumb-ass confidence was about as sturdy as the pale ice over a puddle begging a kid to stomp it.  

So how was it?

I should have mentioned this is a procedure that has been performed millions of times since screenings began in the 1960's and the NIH began trending them in 1987.  So there's a precedent and I shouldn’t be worried…And while I don't remember my folx ever having their own (Mom discussing her mammogram's and dad's subsequent heart trouble starting around 1989 were the only big recommended doctor visits I remember)- I'm also at the age where my friend group has started to get them and social media makes those getting their first an opportunity to share detailed experiences and providing their own assurances that it’s NBD. Which I personally won't give you.  Because I think I *also* have some other habits that I felt had me better prepared.  (Thanks, aforementioned dysmorphia and ADHD having me hyper-fixate on the instructions) and would like to share to hopefully give some comfort to the colonoscopy-hesitant.

 

The Prep

Is something that I think I (and most everyone) fixates on.  The starving, the laxatives, the potty time...(The funniest text being from a friend who asked "Are you power shitting water yet?"  That's kind of accurate) My wife was kind enough to stop at CVS to grab my prep prescription and the following conversation text was received:

"Hey.  Don't let me forget your prep stuff is in the back of the Kona.  It was hard to close because the stroller is in there so we need to get it out."

The hell?  Oh.  It's in a grocery bag and OH...the appropriately named "Golytely" is..in..a Windshield Washer Fluid bottle.  That's daunting.  

I've been personally practicing fasting (a dumb, overused term IMO) in that I'm trying to be more food mindful and considerate in my consumption.  I'm home full time, and since being in an office- setting you tend to become conditioned to 9-5 life with schedules breaks and a lunch period (TO EAT! QUICKLY) muscled in.  So I thought maybe while I’m home I’d try seeing if I'm eating for the sake of eating, boredom, stress, or if I actually do it when I'm hungry.  Turned out I don't eat a ton and am not super hungry when I'm actively thinking about not eating.  

So what’s the week like leading up?  It's basically eat what you want except healthy stuff and nuts.   The day/night before the procedure is what people get worked up over and honestly, it wasn't too big of a deal for me.  (Sorry.  I know it's a your-mileage-may-vary situation, but if you practice a little here and there and you work the day before?  You're distracted enough not to think about it. NOW A DISCLAIMER- if you have constipation or normally don’t go regularly or struggle- this - I have been informed by other friends- can be a little alarming and possibly uncomfortable. Like gassy, bloated, the actual act being a much more forceful experience than you’re accustomed to)  I already drink a ton of water and coffee during the day so I was at least somewhat full-feeling and didn't really have the crabbies.  By the time it was time to start the gallon jug (it tastes like..thick...really watered down yellow gatorade) I was in my comfy clothes and my wife was watching the kiddo.  

I did start to *notice* food later in the day .  My wife eating, the pizza I made for the kid. I even found myself muttering to the dog over his dinner bowl "Must be NICE little deadbeat...huh?  Eat and poop WHENEVER you feel like it?? Huh? HUH?"

A little more...embarrassing...area I think I was ready for...was the Golytely.  It is a lot.  And my appointment being the next morning, I had to drink the gallon before I could go to bed.  They give strict instructions I needed half starting at 6 and the 2nd half at 11pm.  (Jesus.)  To math map it out for you:

1 cup (8 oz) every fifteen minutes.  That comes out to dosing four times an hour for two hours.  Then two more (three hours) later.  Factor in there, it starts to work within 30 minutes to an hour (again, for me..  And I'm fairly regular) So MY main thing to complain about was how late I was going to be up having bowel clearing toilet sessions .  I went downstairs to start a movie around 830 and then another a little before 11pm.  You (can) more or less anticipate 1-2 potty visits per chug.  And whether you have a high or low "icky" meter, it's kind of interesting to see and feel that it's doing what it's supposed to do, which is make you have a clear pathway for the exam.  I fell asleep for about 10 minutes before my final dose, and after finishing it and having a few more visits to the potty, came upstairs to bed around 130 in the morning.  You also can't drink anything before the exam.  So I shotgunned some orange powerade and water...which made me have to pee like mad and sleep poorly.

Is it awful?  Well, if you saw the solo cup picture up there and can relate?  It's honestly no worse than the kind of potty you have after binge drinking.  Of which, unfortunately, I have some experience.  But at least because of a kid, I had baby wipes.  

The Examination

I got out the door to get the kid to day care early after a hot shower, a final evacuation, and a careful pick of more comfy clothes and a t-shirt with the Swayze-dog on it as well as cute undies.  We had some modest terror when we were stuck in traffic and I mean "watching the clock tick by and go past the check-in time and thinking I went through this whole ordeal to have them say 'Sorry, you need to re-schedule!"  But we got there, checked in, and it went pretty fast after that.  Some initial questions, some gowning, some silly ass jokes (You're welcome, Fairview.  No, the staff had NEVER seen the King of the Hill episode "Hank's Unmentionable Problem" or "Fletch"...) an introduction to the doctor (Who thought my idea to bring home a DVD or pictures to put on the fridge was funny...and having an "Only Fans" Page specifically for the procedure?  Not so funny.), and before I knew it I was wheeled into the cold room and hooked up to an O2 reader, BP Cuff, and sedative insert:

Now, this was the 2nd concern of mine.  The first was the deep-rooted nervousness about the level of invasivness of the process.  Would it hurt?  My anxiety was being kept in check by my talent for disassociating when I get in stressful situations, but my one grace was that I'd be knocked TF out.  But the last thing they said was that, wait for it, your mileage may vary.  Some people go to sleep and remember nothing.  Some people are capable of minor adjustments and response to commands.  Some people remain lucid and chatty and watch the process.  

Guess which I was?

Anyway, I'm told the sedative would cause some memory fug but I remember everything, from seeing a really fast close up of my un-gowned butt (It was like a Sam Raimi close up with a fish -eye lens) as the camera went in and not super flattering, I remember asking them to name my polyp "Marjorie T#ylor Gr#en" if they found it (they found one), to joking that it was like having the sewer line at my old house get the video treatment searching for roots.  There was some discomfort that literally came and went before I could mention anything, but that was like having a tummy cramp that subsided pretty fast.  Then it was back in the room.  Some goldfish crackers and chewable hospital ice (My favorite)...and that was it.

From beginning to end, it was about an hour and a half from the gown on, to getting my ride home.

Any questions?  They recommend avoiding the urge to go gorging on your favorite meal (I opted for Caribou and a chocolate croissant, and some previously-banned veggie burger for dinner.  And DQ.  And some cookies.  I have a sweet tooth.)  

I feel like most things I get worked up over before the thing, it's less of an issue once it's in the rearview.  And mostly because I'm a creature of habit (more so since the pandemic started three years ago and having a kid) so deviations tend to cause me stress.  I kind of wish the doctor had said "This is the sexiest fucking colon I have SEEN!" but my never ending search for validation that buoyed me most of my life is trying to be satisfied like I was after my last physical when the doctor just sorty of mumbled "Blood Pressure looks good" - except here it was just an automated email note reading:

"Otherwise normal looking colon in appearance.  No issues reported.  Biopsy results in a week"

 

 

48 is great, (aka "You've probably heard all this already")

"I don't want to make it sad" 

"Don't make it sad" 

"I know. I want a hook or something. Something to reward people. Especially if anyone clicks this after having read any of this for 17 years" 

"Talk about the kid" 

"I can"

 

 

 So this is for all my friends etc. who are at a certain age or level of experience to tell you about my being here.  And to admit that I've been engaging in some invisible mental fisticuffs regarding aging. Denial.  Arrested development.  "You aren't 18 anymore."  I loathe phrases like that.

 I turned 48 on Christmas as y'all may already know, and  2 days beforehand I had my annual wellness visit.  I wanted to talk about getting a vasectomy and some hip pain I'd been experiencing and attributed to 20 plus years in martial arts and being the kind of floppy flibbertigibbet onstage that tends to wreck himself for a laugh prior to any thought of checking myself.  I came away with an appointment for a colorectal screening, learning (to my delight) that the last 6 months of really, really trying with my food intake I shaved off 20 lbs and moreover my blood pressure was "good".   

I also got an X-ray that said I have signs of moderate arthritis in my left hip. 

Great.

My delusions of indestructibility had been given a cold splash.  Something that affected my mom her whole life, I learned that I have an infirmity that'll be with me forever. And I still have an almost-four year old to chase around. Now I KNOW it's not a terminal diagnosis.  It's not, you know...a rarity.  Mom blamed her arthritis and fibromyalgia on our clenching our buttcheeks when she spanked us.   I had just hoped to get some exercises and maybe see an ortho for some assisted stretches I could bring home that would provide relief from the occasional...pain.   Instead I experience an intense and vivid flashback from taking mom to a doctor and helping her get on a table with her bare buns in the air while she screamed getting a cortisone shot.

But...but...I wanted to take my wife to the 1st Ave danceteria for her birthday on 80's versus 90's night on her birthday.  Ive got theme parks to walk around!  Vacations that need a lot of steps to be walked!  I was gonna run a marathon!  Take up Jujitsu!  I'm "choreographing" and skipping around our basement while showtunes play while my kid copies me.  It's fun.  Until that one weird second I get a blast of pain around my hip flexor. 

Skipping.  In my basement.

 And so NOW I can't NOT think about it.  And feel it.  All the time.  When my kid wants me to swing her around or lift her up with my legs, when she wants to shuffle step side to side...Jesus, when I'm turning over in the middle of the night and a sharp feeling surrounds my hip and leg.

Ok.  Woe is me.  What is you point, Michael?  What story do you want to tell: Well...I want someone to say "it's gonna be okay".  (This, of course, is because of the list of restrictions that come with the preliminary diagnosis.) I've never really been bent out of shape about aging.  That my reward for whatever life I had lived wasn't the couch and a heart attack. I've just apparently been out of touch or in denial about what's been happening to me.   

I remember my first gray hairs- actually, the first white wiry eyebrow that jutted from the brown ones. I remember buying knee braces, the first time I was called in for "dad" auditions from my agents and getting paired with a strangers kids to score a gig selling couches.  When I went from having the sharpest eyes of anyone I knew before buying cheaters just to read the cooking instructions on a box. 

 

  I knew I was getting older, it just never occurred to me that it'd be a thing to slow me down.  I was doing all the things right...

"Mikey, Getting Older Sucks"- My dad, August 6th, 2009.  Around lunch time and a few hours before he passed away from a heart attack.

 

In 2016, I woke up early on my 42nd birthday in the cool basement guest room early Christmas morning while my wife bundled under the comforter she had pulled off me and the first, the VERY FIRST thought that popped into my mind was "I am one more year closer to dying".  Death had been on my mind in almost the entirety of 2016.  I had lost my mom earlier that year and buried she and dad at Ft. Snelling.  I'd managed to bury some very close relationships that became very toxic.  Visited Paris and schlepped from churches containing crypts with momento mori to momento mori for 8 days and started to wonder, really wonder:  What the fuck had I done?  Who was I?  And mostly "Jesus Baby.  This is the one day you've woken up your ENTIRE life and almost EVERY ONE is celebrating because TODAY is YOURRRRR BIRTHDAY!"  Suddenly and painfully time became an issue for me.

It makes sense, as it was also the first birthday without my dad AND mom.  The first I wouldn't be at a house other than my own or figuring out Christmas Eve at my in-laws before heading home the morning OF then back to my house for a nap and then Mikeymas.  No, I was going to have to figure out who I was on Christmas if I wasn't Mom Postle's best Christmas gift for 40 some years.  It was Christmas, but the birthday's I'd always looked forward to, without realizing it...were with my own family.

I have been so goddamn privileged, full of gratitude, and mostly happy in the intervening years since their passing- travel, new jobs, a baby, a new home, and my family's health have been a blessing, but I realized I had been seeking this sort of tacit "approval" from my family.  And of course I have communicated as much to my wife, but it feels like perspective has suddenly caught up with me all at once.  And worry.  Worry about my kid.  Money. The epic Fear of Missing Out and "Do I have friends any more?  Does anyone like me?  Why does everyone else look  like they're hanging out except me??"  (Y'all, it's real.  And the pandemic has only ratcheted those notions up to eleven.  3 years of pandemic has felt like 20.)  Anxiety and the shitty notions that other people can be just rotten to each other 24/7 and this constant thrum of advocacy of unfairness and injustice happening and has been happening on a steady uptick since people and family I KNOW support what we ALL HAD TO GO THROUGH between 2015 and NOW.

Looks like I picked the wrong time to quit drinking...

There've been other signs aging has sprung on me, but like a silly optimist I chose to interpret that my life and health will improve drastically with the necessary adjustments.    While I finally realized I was at the point that alcohol no longer served a purpose for me and recognizing that self-medicating was going to (be too expensive) keep me from being fully present for my kid- the tangible proof was the effect it had on my blood pressure and being able to finally-soberly- recognize how I was using alcohol to combat low-level anxiety and act as my full-time social lubricant.  (But mostly anxiety).  I started getting the perspective that maybe myself after a couple of cocktails wasn't someone even I'd want to hang out with at a party.  Ergo my self-worth tanked from being that of a younger version of myself- a 20-something who loved to go dancing, party, and had this bizarre confidence that likely read as toxic arrogance.  The privilege.   The nerve.  The wasted moments! Ah!  Me! No one wants to hang out with ME WHEN I'M SOBER!

Or something.

Our kid is amazing

For as much of a financial drain day care is with ONE child...having teachers recognize patterns of behavior to address and help develop and assist with growth is...different now than it was when I was a kid.  In our meetings with early childhood educational development specialists, I find myself in a pretty constant state of my own memory of development and upbringing to understand, justify, argue, that these things were all things I went through as well.  

"Your child can use help with these letters when speaking. Creating these opportunities will help them develop better social integration tools."  It goes on.  My mom used to joke that I was in a constant land of make-believe and (occasionally) scaring other kids when I was in day care.  "The doctors told me that you were rotten and a bad listener, but you'd grow out of it".  So when they say my kid is acting out scenes from a Disney or Nickelodeon cartoon she's got in that particular day's mental rotation, I can only compare it to the time I was in nursery school and kept ripping my clothes off and screaming at other kids because I thought I was the incredible Hulk.  And then I realize wow.  If these tools were around when I was a kid, how would I have been diagnosed?  How would my development been different?  And it actually helps me accept the help from the teachers and not feel "leave my kid alone she is FINE she is a KID and KID'S are KID'S..."

Then again, I used to say (and still hear) people say "let kids eat dirt and germs and blahhhh" in the same breath dumb shits try to spout Antiv@xx horseshit and I just think I was incredibly naive when I made those comments and those other people are still just sad and painfully misinformed.:

"Rocky!  Pat!...I mean, MIKEY!!!!"

 

I have managed, on several occasions, to call my dog my daughter's name, my wife's name, my daughter my dogs name, etc etc.  You get the jist.  Just like my dad went through every family name and their dog before finally getting to me.  As of this writing, I'm about a week out from my first colorectal screen.  Something I've joked about and has been joked about ("Fletch"?  Anyone?  Will I be too doped up to sing "Moon River"?) but is now recommended for the pre-fifty year old set.  It's here I'll brag a little by saying I'm pretty happy that I've managed to have a pretty vegetable heavy diet for the last fifteen years or more.  More happy I've been practice fasting and evening-fasting so I don't get bushwhacked when the pre-procedure restrictions start.  I need my glasses to read at night or my phone even...and I just scared my kid using the nose and ear hair trimmer when she heard the whining noise and saw daddy trying to exorcise Wilford Brimley's mustache from my earlobes and nostril.  I don't find any of this graceful.  I don't think I will ever be able to wrap my head around the notions of aging even as my body rebels.  

It's not the years, it's the mileage.  And even then things aren't that bad...

We rejoined a gym which has been a blessing- both to keep me from falling and injuring myself after making a point to get daily runs/jogs/walks in for my mental health the 2 plus pandemic years when I DIDN'T have a membership, but also this winter has been absolute shit for cold and snow.  And since my mobility is going to take a turn, I can still lift the bevvy of weights I don't have access to at home. 

 I've been married for 7 years after my wife and I have been together for 11.  My kid is great.  Curious, chatty, energetic, manic, emotional, irrational, independent, protective, and gives the best family hugs when asked.  We've had two cars in the shop.  My wife just opened her second show in a year (leaving me home to play solo permissive-dad...much Disney has been watched and sang along with) and even I'm considering getting back to audition in the next few weeks.  

After that, it's a vasectomy appointment.  Some ortho recommendations that we can hopefully have covered by our insurance.  And, as my wife is fond of doing...day dreaming of future trips together.  In short, I have no real complaints.  Except my hip.  And my shoulder.  Managed to fuck that one up straightaway going to my in-laws for a Vikings game and one-arm grabbing a grocery bag with treats that was a little too heavy.  Annoying.

TLDR

This year on Christmas day, I went for a bundled up two mile walk.  We'd had some heavy snow leading up to it and the sidewalks were janky and uneven so I just made it within a loop in my neighborhood.  To add an extra tenth of a mile, I looped through the Catholic Cemetery off 7th.  There was a plot that had a portable awning erected over it and front end digger off to the back of the cemetery, and (the above pictured) plot that had been recently covered.  It appeared there was to be a service today in the near-single digits, and I imagined the decision that family made to hold it in the dead of winter.  

"Memento Mori. The practice of memento mori– acting on the Latin phrase that translates to “remember we must die,” has the profound potential to wake us up and breathe more life into our lives."

There are people who won't be here next Christmas that should be.  There will be those who will be gone who's time has finally come.  I'll still be here, thinking about what I could've done betters, what better choices I could have made, and other useless hindsight reflections I try to shake loose on every walk or jog in order to clear my head for being present.  For my wife, and kid.  And ideally... as I shift closer to another landmark birthday- being present for me.

Home recap (Part four...This time with pictures, yo. )

So...In case you were curious, we bought a house.  Ours is still on the market, but it took us a long time and many offers before we found our place.  (Which only happened because the other offer made fell through and we got the call.  And we were *just* about to quit for a few weeks and focus on our own home.  Funny how that works)   The net we cast was to include Northeast, Golden Valley, St. Anthony, and eventually Columbia Heights and New Brighton.  (CH is going to mess things up for people when it locks the gentrifying post-collegiate set after the current home owners age themselves out.  We found some scorcher looking beauts in there for not much $$$)

 

NB has the schools we wanted (diverse) and is still close enough to our friend-family who still lives close by.  I'll miss having the coffee shop and bakery so close (and my co-op, and restaurants, etc) but we fell in love with this silly, mid-century home with butcher block countertops and spacious basement to let our kid roam and run.  So KEEP your OLD Brighton, suckers.

 

For you amusement, pics of the new digs at the bottom, and a pictorial history of my family homes.  The only set back so far was a dead ass bloated bunny in the back yard.  That's good luck, right?:

"Closingggg tiiiiime"-  When I closed on my NE home, it was a 4 hour process and my wrists hated me.  We were in and out of our title company in 30 minutes and they insisted on posing with these sign props.  Missus P and I thought "We said YES to the Address" was on brand, but went more traditional MN.  It is also our least favorite picture of the two of us.

"I need a picture in front of the SOLD signage.  I didn't get one here, and I won't miss my chance this time."/"Well, the seller's realtor is taking it out today."  I burned ass early this morning to take this, you're welcome New Brighton.

69th and Colorado in B.P.  Current Zillow image, but what I remember most was running into the old cornfield that butted up to our tree-lined back yard.  That, and we had one of the most Famous Tae Kwon Do teacher's in the nation that lived down the street.

This was my Childhood home in BP from 1980 until I moved out for good in 1997, then back home in 1999, the out for good until Mom and Dad left for their Plymouth townhome in 2005.  Not pictured is the barn that was in between our house and 2nd garage, which makes it seem more rustic/pastoral than it really was.  In that porch was the hot tub, which my mom and dad encouraged me to use if they were out of town and bring a date.  In my late father's own words:  "I'm okay if you wanna go in bare ass.  Your mom and I do all the time".  Hashtag scarred for life.

Never mind the child with the chicken on his head.  Behind me was my neighbors house.  I wouldn't find out until *years* later there was a fairly contentious relationship between my folks and them.  Why I share this is because between 1992 and 1996 I house sat for their snowbird butts while they left for their Hawaiian condo and I took care of their menagerie consisting of: 5 cats, 3 Greyhound rescues, an elderly Yorkie named Tahlulah, and a Gray Parrot that swore and faked the doorbell/telephone. 

 They had a water bed and one of those orthopedic bendy beds which were both less fun than you think you'd have as a young person.  They also had a room *full* of creepy dolls lining the wall. 

100% NOT how this So. Mpls/Harriet bungalow off of Aldrich looked when I rented it for a year.  It's a 4/4ba now, but it was a 1 story 2 BR/1 BA home when I was there.  Garish, and it's Zestimate is almost 900K.  Ok.

 

And here we have the family mansion from 2005 until 2021.  It's off market while we move, but if you have people interested in a charming 3 BR/1 BA NE home with built ins, significant upgrades and a tremendous yard. (With additional plumbed sewer basement which is DRY as a bone, thank you.)  Just check our listing on social media.  Picture 2 is my vicious attack Bean, keeping eyes on you.

 

 

 

Okay, Ramblers...let's get rambling.  Say hello to the new Ranch.  There are sour cherry and Zestar apple trees in front.  I'm floored.

 

 

 

Deck, or as they say in New Zealand "Dick", flops down onto a paved patio.

White picket fence?  Check.  Right now the stairs at the bottom are flanked with lillies and hostas and it's a Perennial Paradise.

 

 Never mind I don't want anything on the butcher block ever.  No scuffs or wine stains or I will scream.  

I promised my wife and family I had something in mind as a symbolic first decoration for the built in cabinetry.  I figured the sand-to-glass statue from our wedding ceremony was where this needed to live.

 

We brought my in-laws and my kid over for dinner and a walk-through after closing.  Izzy's in the 3-season leading out to the deck which had bespoke furnishing when we showed up.  It's...it's really lovely and has a great view of the pond out back.  Dead bunny not included.

 

Home sweet Home part 3...it's where you make it, after all.

 16 years.  1/3rd of my life.A 100 year old house has been my home. 

 

 I didn't think during all my past daydreaming that my first "adult" purchase would have caused this much stress, otherwise I would likely still be living half in a storage unit and/or in an apartment.  Or my first home would have been my late parents townhouse.  Hand me downs have been my life, as a 2nd child.

I'm reflective because of how much I've changed during this phase of my life.    After the first year of remodeling this home, my life upheaved and after a very plaintive "roommate wanted" ad on the local theater chat room I found myself with a roommate who turned into one of my dearest friends who was my mother's escort during my wedding.  

8 years later my wife moved in.  I've lost pets, seen relationships and friendships end and discovered and nutured others.   I've nursed recurring nightmares about this place, hangovers, had plumbing dissolve, roofs collapse, sewers back up, furnaces stall, gas lines replaced, a teeteriing and moldering rotted garage replaced, dead trees removed, bats, bees, and eventually a baby all happen in the span of 16 years.

And the two people that were proudest of me- my mom and dad? Are no longer with us.  I'm remembering Mom with her little dance she did in the dining room the day I was handed the keys.  Dad, beaming that his son got his first home with all the character and the big city lot (and the inexplicably fertile vegetable garden)...standing and giving me a hug while staring at my home with this strange reverie while saying he was proud of me.  He said that to me on his last day on earth.

  This blog started because of this place.  I no longer possess the energy to revisit the 700 posts.  Apparently I had a lot to say in 2006.  In 2017 I had nothing to say.  And based on how awful that year hi, it's probably for the best I didn't.

We love the beating heart and soul of this area.  This neighborhood.  The culture. The restaurants.  The Northeastness of it.  And if we could have the kind of home (and space) we think we  needed to raise Izzy we'd destroy this place and build and we'd stay forever.  

Except daddy is 46.  And I am pushing myself to be an energetic, dynamic, and positive force in my kids life.  And I just think I'd be aided with not having to traverse stairs to let out a dog or warm some milk when my kid is crying at 2am.  And basically not have to go upstairs to go potty or to bed or to watch TV.  Yes.  I'm complaining about stairs.  So after a lot of searching and offers in one of the craziest home sale markets since 2007, we found an incredibly lovely place in New Brighton not 10 minutes north of us.  I call it NE adjacent, since it's on the confluence of NE and St Anthony and Columbia Heights.  It's a cute rambler that's nothing like the family homes we had been looking at, and fits our needs and space to a T.

We closed on our new home together.  Another landmark in our lives together and the beginning of Phase four or something in my own.  As we frantically box and pack I've found room to admit to my wife that I don't think I've ever *not* worried about this place.  From my weird recurring nightmares about home invasion and floors collapsing and the house flooding to just general..."Now what's going to go wrong?"  You get used to that stress over time and stop thinking about it, but it's there.  Like thousands of weighted burrs picked up on clothing after walking through a field.  Our new house is half the age of our present house.  Has a finished basement to let my kid run and romp.  Has a large park and nature preserve nearby.  An upstairs and downstairs.  A deck and patio.  Tended perennials.  And on a quiet cul-de-sac.  No sidewalks.  No 100 ft footpath to my alley garage. Just us and the neighbors and an adjacent pond that fields ducks and heron.

I have a new neighborhood to get into my body and new neighbors to greet and say their names over and over in my head and write down so I don't forget and assign nicknames to that I'd never share. As I type this, my child is sleeping for the last night in her first bedroom.  After rocking her to sleep my wife reminded me of that.  And I found myself a bit overcome with emotion.

And yet people move all the time, you say.  

I say homes have life.  Urban city's have life.  They feel pain.  Joy.  They expand and breathe and exhale with the energy of the residents.  I have placed a considerable amount of my time and energy in this home.  Audubon.  Waite Park.  Windom Hill.  In NE, these are our neighborhoods and we've given them names.  And I will miss this part of my life as terribly as I won't miss the constant shoe-dropping worry.  

Now we just need someone to come in and love it as much as we did.

 

Home sweet home part 2

 If I may wrap this up...

Fillmore...Lincoln...Buchanan...Northeast is awash in streets named after US President's ending with (I think) McKinley right before you hit Stinson.  In 2004 standards it was a far drive for my partner, commute-wise, to head to their bread and butter gig... but my guts and my dad's voice and my heart was pressing unconventionally toward NE Minneapolis.  We'd bid on a few places and fell in love with 2 specifically- however fate was great and handed-us an inspector/appraiser that was honest and transparent and...weird....

  He was elderly and dotty, armed with a toolbelt and kit and telescoping ladder.  He was tanned and blinked a lot like a camera had just flashed, and made weird jokes and analogies about homes being like people.  He managed to talk us out of two offers because of damage he discovered while scampering up his telescoping ladder and explaining the cost analysis of rot and damage around windows you may not have seen..  It could have been a complete blast of bullshit, of course. My father would insist on being there for the inspections having been an inspector himself.  They'd chat amiably afterwards, for too long, while we all stood on a lawn watching them have their chinwag.

I liked them a lot.  He'd make a weird comment and blink, then say "I guess you could say I have a weird sense of humor...".  Occasionally he brought his niece/apprentice with.  SHE was pretty gorg and laughed at his weirdness, and would go up on roof tops that were too steep for him to navigate.  Her demeanor, I wouldn't realize until later, reminded me of the staff at the hospital that helped deliver my kid.  Hair up.  Tan from the elements.  Fantastic laugh. "All so pretty" as my wife remarked.

When my realtor and I made an appointment and eventually walked in to the (President) Taylor St property, there was a family of four living there- technically six (If you count the two pugs)- It was early September and it was an older house.  It ticked off a list of things we believed we wanted, in spite of having a strange pet smell about it and cracking in the walls and...filth.  The kitchen was old with a 50 year old antique stove, no dishwasher, rusty pipes and the bathroom (Last updated in 1979) tiny.  And maybe you *could* rough in a bath around that basement toilet on the floor, but does that really count as "two bathrooms?"

When the inspector came by, of  course he blinked a lot, scribbled a lot in our homeowners book, and chatted with me...he said: "Well, she's from 1918.  If *my* back looks this good when I'm 90?  Then I'd be happy to take up gymnastics.  But I have a weird sense of humor."

The roof was new.  Furnace.  Electric.  A/C.  Even the model-T garage with swing out counter-weight doors and leaning like a parallelogram was fine.  Offer made.  Offer accepted.  Neither of us made enough to support a zero-down loan, but we split it between a HELOC and 30 year.  My credit passed.  

We had a house.  *I* now had $180K of debt to my name.  I would raise this amount by $20K taking out a box store home-improvement line of credit.  And tens of thousands of dollars to maintain the place after that.  I didn't think this would be the one I share... but I have a very intense memory of my dad and I raking in the fall before I moved in...the silver maple in the back yard had dumped 45 bags worth of leaves and we were thigh deep trying to get them all in piles.  

"This is the best part, Mikey! Welcome to home ownership!"

It's a very warm Fall day....  I'm sitting on my back stoop off 46th and Lyndale.  It's November, and I had just spent 4 hours at the closing and my forearm was tired from signing so much.  I remember the former owners were only there to sign off and leave, and they chuckled in a formidably sinister way.  I was in debt with a mortgage and HELOC,  I was home from my 2nd job at the formal wear store and it was 9 o'clock at night and I was almost entirely through an entire magnum of Bella Sera Pinot Grigio and feeling the weight of the enormity of the debt pressing on my body.

 I was drunk.  I was unhappy.  I was hyperventilating and hearing the airport traffic. I was now a homeowner, for better or for worse.

 

Home sweet home part one

In Spring, 1980... I have a very specific and vivid memory of my experience moving into my childhood home

The house looks gigantic to my five year old eyes.  I'm running around the back into a second driveway leading to a 2 car garage.  (It has TWO driveways!)  There is a long row of lilac trees at the back border separating the yard from the other neighbors.  Between the back yard and garage is a gigantic BARN....gray and brown with a sliding front door.  It is the COOLEST THING EVER with an UPSTAIRS and you can hear the skittering of squirrels on the roof.  I want this home.  I want this to be our home.  Our old home off 69th and Colorado, just down the street from the Lee's and Gerulises backed up to an enormous cornfield that had recently been blocked off for a *development* and my parents didn't want us to have to walk across the busy four way intersection of 69th and Zane to go to school.  

My big-kid eyes make me feel my dad doesn't like it, but the storage alone had my mom's tail wagging.  (I didn't know that hoarding was a problem.  I just saw places to *play*) Our neighbors:  The Peterson's, Illgen's, and Johnson's all seem like nice people and it was a quiet cul-de-sac.  As a cop/HCSO deputy, the neighbors are welcoming.  I know Dad likes the energy and the idea of importance.  

I'm starting kindergarten in the Fall.  This is my childhood home in Brooklyn Park.

It's Christmas, 1994, and I am a newly minted 19 year old.  I normally live in a tiny sublet apartment in NE Minneapolis but I'm house and pet-sitting my neighbor's for the third year in a row in Brooklyn Park for the Winter.  Today, we're gathered at my Gramma Pat's in Robbinsdale for Christmas dinner and  I'm in their cool cold basement on a bed, the smell of turkey and cooking and menthol cigarettes wafting throughout the home and I'm daydreaming *hard* - I think about owning this house someday.  About using Killz to cover the smoke-smell, about replacing the curtain in front of the 2nd bathroom in the basement with a real door...I'm essentially using the logic of a child that sees a pile of cushions or boards laying around and I'm building a fort.  I'm thinking about hosting party's with alcohol and being able to fool around in privacy and my best friends being my roommates.  I talk to my dad privately after subsequent gatherings about the idea of my moving in after my grandparents moved on or go to assisted living.  I sell it to him by saying I'd carry on the tradition so we can all still gather around the holidays.  I know he thinks it's a good idea. My dad can't live without these kind of traditions.

Gramma passes in early Winter, 2001. My older sibling is gifted the house which they eventually sell  for a profit in 2005.  I never cop to this out loud.  I never argue.  Of course it goes to the older sibling.  

We never hold another family Easter, Thanksgiving, or Christmas with my extend family on my dad's side again.

In 1987 my dad explained to me the idea (in Robbinsdale) of the boomer homes that sprouted up on the Parkways between 1945-1950's.  He familiarizes me with the idea of land and property being "the only investment that consistently increases in value*."  In doing so, he plants the seed of home ownership being a "sure thing" and I have no reason not to believe him.  In fact, by Christmas 1994, I've got the "why pay rent when you should be paying a mortgage on an investment" threaded through my mind.

After high-school, I'd been either living at home, house-sitting, or living in that tiny NE Minneapolis sublet.  In the mid-90's, I had been spending my nights with my girlfriend in the room in a 4 BR Camden rambler shared by their weekend warrior roommates.  I pestered the owner about home ownership and all he would say was:  "Don't do it.".  My first full year as a student at the University of MN I was still committed to housesitting my Brooklyn Park Neighbors for the 5th year in a row, but as  student at the U it made no sense I lived so far away, so I made the move to Uptown (after my father insisted I pay an exorbitant fee to rent my own room.**)  Even then, I dreamed of owning my own home without having to bang on walls to quiet down my neighbors.

It's 1997 and I'm working at Target Financial Services off 394 and Penn. I'm a caretaker of a small building in Uptown off 33rd and Lyndale.  I love it. I pretend it's my home.  I vacuum, mow, shovel, wash windows.  I still find things to hate about it.  I hate being called by the management company.  I still daydream about a home.  I start a habit at work on Sunday's where I grab a free newspaper on my break.  I read the Variety (comics), theater employment (the 550's for auditions), and the real-estate section.  My dad has been talking about NE Minneapolis for years- how much he likes it, how it's old school.  He means white, without saying it.  Polish.  Czech.  He wants me to buy a fixer-upper.  We occasionally go on car rides together.  It doesn't matter that I have never re-wired a home or used a saw outside of a tree-saw.  He thinks I can buy a $40K property and turn it around in 6 months.  That the price will double based on my occupancy.  I buy the hype.  Why would I not believe him?

Our weekend IT help desk supervisor, Geno, sits next to me on break as usual.  He says he's a part-time realtor and asks me the usual questions like "where are you looking" ("Northeast is cool") and how much money I have ("None?  Well ,you might qualify for blah blah blah").  He then asks me: "Well, if you're planning on staying here for the next 5 years you should be good..."

5 years.  I'm 23 years old.  I don't know where I'll be in 5 weeks much less five years.  That question terrifies me.  The "What If's" crash on my head.  I don't know the ideas of privilege or how to even save for this.  I like going dancing on Friday and Saturday night's.  I have $343.00 in credit card debt.  Five years would be 2002.  Jesus.  That's a cold-hearted question, to me.

I wind up in NE Minneapolis for another year, after spending 3 months at age 25 living at my parents and feeling like a failure.  I wind up working in Western ND for the Summer of 2001 as a singing/dancing cowboy***.  I come home and my parents and the parents of my partner secure us an Uptown apartment next to Bde Mka Ska for $825 a month.  The world and the US goes tits up in September of that year.That's the absolute last time I would live in  an apartment after I turned in my keys in the late Summer of 2003 and moved to a rented house.  

 It's September, 2003 and mom and dad take a picture of us on the front stoop after a long day of moving.  We're paying $1,200 a month for a 2.5 room bungalow in the Lake Harriet neighborhood.  And after about  6 months and a wedding proposal, my partner and I decide we are wasting our money and should find a house if we're spending so much money.  I have 2 credit cards now.  I feel poor all the time in spite of working 2 jobs

The house right next to us opens up for a rehab sale.  It's a pig sty, but we're optimistic.  The realtor asks us what we do and we tell them we're actors and their demeanor cools.  "Maybe you should find a nice apartment or townhome?"  Fuck you.  We find an ambitious new realtor and spend the Spring 2004 looking in earnest.  We're shot down dozens of times.  I spend so much time on a mortgage calculator figuring out what we can afford with no down payment and come to a figure of $180K.  We take the Summer off.  After searching Hopkins, Saint Louis Park, South Minneapolis, and Golden Valley...I ask if we can start looking in Nordeast.  

Our realtor starts emailing us potential NE Minneapolis homes.

*I love my dad.  It took me a while to start finding flaws in his arguments, but there'd be none bigger than realizing my dad didn't understand real-estate in the contemporary sense.  Dad saw it as a post-depression/Eisenhower-era gratification investment.  It's here, when sifting through their investments I learned my father strayed away from anything that held a lot of risk and shoved it all into REIT's.   This, I'd like to say from my own simple experience, was just fucking dumb.

**I know my dad was doing it to keep me out of the home and foraging my own path.  I also know he would have likely kept my checks or paid me back with interest from an account as a "gift".  What I never understood is the cold-hearted way he (and my at-the-time GF's dad) thought, in 1995 dollars, charging $800 a month in rent was a reasonable ask.  I don't think any of us were even clearing $450 with working part time and being full-time students.  Shit, my rent at the sublet was less than half so I was paying $175 of the $375 total.   

***It's late-August 2001 and I'm working part-time at the local coffee shop in Western ND.  My co-worker is very pregnant and runs the shared shop space that sells pottery.  She lives in Eastern Montana, about 47 minutes due West on 94.  It's their second child.  We've a flirty, polite friendship that's grown over 14 hours a week for the last 3 months.  She asks about my new Minneapolis big-city place with my girlfriend.  She knows how relieved I am to have found someplace sight unseen.  She asks how much rent is.  

"$850 for a one-bedroom.  $825 if we choose to do a one-year lease"

(I hear coughing and choking)  "Are you okay?"

"Are you SERIOUS?  My MORTGATE isn't even $450 a month and we have a 4 bedroom HOUSE!"

Yeah...it's Eastern MT, but you get the idea.

 

26 Weeks

I'll be honest.  I've been noticeably decompressing.  I'm trying to sift around the mess of our nation the last four years and find an appropriate analogy that doesn't rocket into hyperbole or underscore what's already known.  Yeah, racism has been around.  Homophobia, Xenophobia, Islamaphobia.  It was just sort of neatly tucked away in a jumbled mess under the bed.  "All dressed up with a dirty neck", as Erma Bombeck would say.  The bed was pulled away from the wall and it was sort of kicked out like Legos and Jacks underfoot.  And instead of having a new opportunity to see these issues in the light, the intolerance and ability to celebrate and rejoice in it - no matter how small a portion of the population- was enough to spoil the entire batch.

4 years and I think I was just being hopeful and helpful.  I guess if I've grown in any respect, it's in how vocal I think I've become in person and on social media.  Again, it's not an activity I probably would have engaged in as much would my folks still be here, but 2016 was sort of that perfect storm of losing my family and the Trump administration showing up.  And we were all worried at how bad it would be.  And when it got bad (and worse) it became a struggle to not just try and open yourself to advocacy but see how those people in charge would just try and stop you from making the change.  In broad daylight.

Losing our role models along the way has been hard.  Seeing the distance between a progressive, hopeful nation with problems but struggling to help others understand sort of have the rope cut so that the powers that be could watch you at the bottom of the ravine while they held the rest of the rope at the top.  I guess it felt like we didn't just move backwards, but when we tried to grip the identity- to plant ourselves and say "YOU MOVE" all the cliches and linked arms failed to do a single thing.  Every Facebook memory of the last 4 years has contained a drop of the venom that stained our nation.  

I hated it.  I hated how hard I had to become to deal with people who were...not happy...but pleased.  Smug. Righteous?  I hated having to watch Republican lawmakers acting on their constituent's behalf sprint to make the kind of embarrassing legislation that may have made Reagan blush- all because they didn't know when their bubble of fortune was going to burst.  

As of today, after weeks of garbage litigation and bluster we're finally seeing the light in the form of Trump's half-ass go ahead to start the transition to our new leadership.  It's full of names- competent and educated names without secondary objective's meant to enrich themselves and the President.  It comes at a time when it feels like we're in the middle of the most unknown and frightening chapter in American history that doesn't revolve around a war.  

Because holy shit.  We need to get this pandemic under control.  And holy shit spending 4 years trying every form of pleading, cajoling, taking a kind an lighthearted approach to people to hopefully help them understand concepts of systemic racism is so much fucking harder when the Chief Executive makes his fan club feel super okay with it.

Here's a snap from 2016.  Back when the arguments got flipped back to "No, YOU'RE actually the racist for SAYING I'm racist and this WOULDN'T be a problem if you didn't go LOOKING for RACISM everywhere."

Yeah.  The conversations are going to be hard.  And gods know it won't be solved by the time this administration heads into another election year.

Eyes on the prize.  Fucks like the kid who killed 2 protestors are getting sprung by Mr. Silver Spoons and Mr. Pillowfuck who help crowdfund bail, while Black people are *still* incarcerated for slinging weed.  It's a problem of white supremacy that's not going anywhere, so it's best to start high and break it apart so shit doesn't keep raining down on you.  And oh look.  That's what America did.  

It'd have been nice if it didn't take the incompetent mishandling of the pandemic to get here.  It'd be nice if racist cops hadn't killed Breona Taylor.  Or George Floyd.  

A good article intercultural competence is right here. 

25 Weeks and?

 Sorry, followers.  I'm pretty fatigued and have been having some pretty intense internal conflict as to whether or not I should vacate social media permanently- wondering so much as to how much energy do I want to spend trying to export 12 years worth of pictures (or will I miss them?  So many have drunk mugging faces from me.) and how something that seemed so goddamn benign in 2008 turned into such a weird monster.

I can't attribute either of these since I'm paraphrasing them, but I read a quote that said "If you think about how quickly Facebook destroyed civilization since it's beginning just over a decade ago, it's really impressive." and the other was about how something designed with an algorithm designed to "connect you to people with the same interests".  Which made ME jump to "Oh sure.  'If you LIKE the confederate flag, then you'll LOVE!' dot dot dot."  Hell, it probably started with the "Dukes of Hazzard" fan page and figured out people who were spitting fire when the series was pulled due to glamourizing the symbol of a time in America when the Confederate States, like, wanted to own people as property.  

Which, weirdly, to me?  Seems really bad.  And the magic of social media starts assaulting you with page recommendations and next thing you know we're arguing whether vaccines are valid, organizing criminal activities against elected officials, and spending the last 4 years- whether you supported the asshole or not- swirling around soundbites screaming about how you CAN'T believe that asshole LIED again...with other people defending him.  (I'm in the former camp, btw.  And along with being able to socially interact with people while seeing their faces IRL without seeming weird, I have the hardest fucking time with coming to grips with people who- by crowing their support of him- kind of outed themselves as being tolerant of racism, homoph...you know what?  If you're a human being who gives a shit about other human beings, I'm just going to keep the faith and presume you're not.

And I guess that's where my naivety got the best of me and the damage was done.  I don't know if I'm worse off in knowing all of that, or if  being ignorant and playing along for the sake of family gatherings was living a life of even simple advocacy.  

Likelier still, Trump would never have become president without social media.  I'd die on that hill.  And that hill is going to still be around for the next few election cycles.  So do I even want to bother any more?

Maybe save the gram.  Or Twitter for an adrenaline shock of outrage.  See what other form of energy I can direct all of (gestures outward) this anxiety into.  Because it's been 25 weeks since George Floyd was murdered by members of the Minneapolis Police Department.  People are complaining about the crime.  The City Council said they'd fix everything and the police, but can barely pass a referendum to ask for more money for more cops.

And we're in Winter.  And in a pandemic.  And there are just so many things I'm saying now that *could* have been mitigated before any of them happened, and knowing why after the fact doesn't make me sleep any better.

So now what? Week 24

I've never been in the habit of gloating.  Something about the smug, self-righteous nature of it, adding insult to injury always felt super disrespectful to me.  

I'm also not alone in saying, again, that if you are a Republican or "right leaning" or whatever I honestly (at this point) don't care.  The elected individual in the Oval Office was unfit, unsuited and unqualified for the job.  At stake was a sense of decency and integrity.  While we get battered by a pandemic, calm and clear leadership *must* prevail.  The idea of political affiliation as a dogma is almost quaint.  

And still, as it was pointed out to me last Wednesday by a- wait- former high school classmate- it is *I* that is sowing division by lumping the supporters of the 45th President into a large group of *racist/xenophobic/islamaphobic phobby phobby oxen-frees*  

As it's been further pointed out, the THEY of the Republican/Right-Leaning are feeling ATTACKED and have ONLY felt like it's the LEFT who is acting awful and beligerant and well now THIS is why I NEVER Talk about POLITICS on FACEBOOK because it's like you get CANCELED and NO I DON'T do a TWITTER because THAT'S EVEN WORSE!

That's the biggest crock of horseshit I've heard in 4 years of reading daily horseshit from the Commander-In-Chief.  Since/If you're not listening, I hope you'll understand that I'm coming to you from a place of love.  In fucking fact, I don't know if it's just the fact that you're suddenly *feeling* the umbrage of Democrats and the voices of oppressed people and that's it's gotten somehow worse because, I don't know, asking nicely hasn't seemed to work all that well so there's been some shouting.

There's been some protesting.  There's been some dissent.  From day. One.

As the aforementioned high school chummy pointed out, playing Devil's Advocate (seriously.  That's SUPER fucking helpful and REALLY drives your point home) 78 million voters showed up for the guy, and am I *really* calling them all racist?

You. (Clap) fucking (clap) bet.

Here's the thing- and it's worth repeating every week so I hope you can take this to heart so I don't feel like a broken record.  Left.  Right.  Democrat.  Republican.  If you are white, you should kind of already know where this is going, if you're white then you're pretty much winning the lottery every day from a race standpoint.  And because racism- not patriotism or George Washington- slavery is the backbone of our nation and even stooped and bent it is still the pall that washes over us.  45 gave people, who tire of hearing about how bad white people are, a reason to stop having the conversation.  In fact, tried making it ok to consider a "Great America" as one that favors you in your whiteness.

Fuck, look, we benefit as a society from the oppression of people of color.  That they turn up in droves when the call to unite our country is made, and do so with grace and dignity and a love of the country is what really unites us.  You know what doesnt?   A chode for a president who fosters unease and fear because *that's how he learned what's successful*

And it isn't leadership.  It doesn't unify.  And that there are people in the nation that just don't care is heartbreaking.  That you are in love with your abuser and vote against decency and unity while crowing for it is...I mean, it's frustrating?  

But at least it won't be 4 more years of reading about a President who makes insane (Insane.  IN. FUCKING. SANE.) Proclamations via Twitter.  

Anyway,  SIDE note- I drank for the first time in many many many months on election night which was wasted since the winner wasn't announced.  I spent the next 4 days recovering (I'm old) and then partied it up after there could be no question as to our next president on Saturday night.  

You want to go on and say "Hey, can *I* say he's not MY president, then?"  Well yeah, that's your fucking right.  It makes you sound like a chode, since the reason people said it in the first place is because a Trump presidency wasn't just a step away from normalcy and decency, it was a weighted fucking dive.  And what will be in a few short years, looked back on as one of the darkest times in our nation's democracy.  Segregationists fought FOUGHT tooth and claw for their RIGHT as AMERICAN CITIZENS to keep schools separate.  We looked back in our civics classes and used those examples of changes that needed to happen.  That we stepped back into that era, when America wasn't so great, should be a cautionary tale.

78 million voters are okay with that.  Were okay with daily lies.  With racism.  So, I guess if you're married to the direction ("Right") maybe you should consider a divorce.  Being progressive is, at it's heart, about progress.  Not about giving flat earther's and anti-vaxxers a pulpit to well-actually the tits off the rest of us.

RIP George Floyd, 24 weeks on.  The world will have it's eyes on you.

Election Day Post- VOTE

 

 I'm pretty sure in these last few hours before the polls open I'm not going to change anyone's mind.  I want you all to vote- democrat, republican.  I mean it.  I LOVE voting  I LOVE the process, and while this whole election season has been stressful I LOVE how excited and involved democrats get about voting.   And none of this will matter after tomorrow night, anyway.  I might even have celebratory drink.  Lord knows, I'll need one either way.

 

 As it stands, I get a whopping 6 views from people who either forgot to subscribe, click the link on social media, or are (bless their kindness) genuinely okay with reading the grammatical nonsense a guy who throws words down without much time to proof read much less condense into a palatable and relatable article.  It's not my journal, y'all, but I have *things* that needs said.

And since a lead in photo increases my viewership by 2-5 peeps, and because it had to do with a LONG rant I had previously written for today comparing sports fans to party line voters that I chucked- I kept the picture of Case Keenum.* during his one-good-year here from an old stock photo.  If my lead in picture has to do with my family or (specifically) my daughter?  I'll get 20-25 people reading.  So let me thread carefully this since I have everyone here:

I have had one solid saving grace in my life that has been both a constant to me.  One that I cherish and would protect until I was unable to crawl and that is my family.  In 4 years, I have been married to my rock, and we have traveled and grew together with our experiences- and planned and fought and scraped and journaled and fooled around, and lost a baby, before bringing into the world our Izzy.  We've managed to fulfill ourselves theatrically here and there.  We've watched Rachel's family and even some of my own family grow and to me- these are the most precious and dear things in the last 4 years.

 That's where it stops.  Full stop.  End.  Doneski.  

Since 2016, my mom passed away.  I cut loose family that had proven untrustworthy and unapologetic in their graft which meant the loss of my being able to spend time with my niece and nephew.  Then through voter apathy, controlled fraud/racism/voter manipulation, and foreign influence we were presented with a toxic drunk driver to helm the ship.  Then I lost my beloved job of 5 years due (after being told- by said family- I spent my life with my hand out) to a massive restructure and was adrift while experiencing the aforementioned miscarriage.  Filtering through family records I made some discoveries about mom and dad that affected the lens with which i viewed them. From listening to friends experiences I discovered my own culpability regarding privilege and benefiting my entire life from systemic racism.  I stopped spending time with my best friend who grew bitter and toxic and was beyond kindness and reason.  Karate, a part of my soul and zen- closed it's doors.  I went to counseling, I had open and honest communications with my wife, I found my drinking and eating was stress-triggered, my blood pressure and cholesterol were dangerously high, I started feeling isolated and removed from pretty much everyone.  I reach out.  I'd talk.  And then? There'd be gaps of silence.  

Through my wife's pregnancy I was able to find new people and new work, before taking a brave leap and finding a newer job which- to be really real- wasn't what I was expecting and was incredibly challenging and defeating every.  Single.  Day.  I love my family.  We persevere.  We keep saying we are okay and we calm ourselves with gratitude.  We talk.  We press and head toward a new year.   More stress.  The baby is dangerously sick.  My wife and I both get dangerously sick.  As I struggle to walk up and down the stairs, I'm reminded that we are also talking about moving.  I worry.  I stress.  Money becomes more of an issue.  "If my family hadn't screwed us over..."/"We can't keep going back to that".  

Suddenly we're in a pandemic.  A slow creeping panic as we wonder if we're going to have jobs.  If we'll need to quit to take care of our kid full time.  My wife is navigating benefits and a workplace from home that is simultaneously addressing the needs of the staff in the time of COVID.  My job begins the cycle of "are you being productive at home?" which increases the need to PRODUCE and places new strict and stressful overbearing measures as I work at my dining room table- the top of which I haven't seen since last Winter.  

George Floyd is murdered by police 23 weeks ago at the start of Summer which casts a pall over the entire city.  Crime, *violent* crime increases in patches.  I feel most of my days are convincing people that there are legitimate and nuanced reasons for the increases and ("No, we're not moving out to the suburbs"/"Well I think you should.  It's really bad, Mike"/"Says who?"/"Says me"/"The only people who think the Twin Cities are no longer a vibrant and beautiful place to live are from Albertville and or are racist")  

There's still a pall. There's still death from pandemic flu.  I still haven't hugged anyone outside of my bubble in 8 months.  I have my wife, and her family, and this is our continued source of gratitude.  We could be alone.  Our kid could be 7 and missing their friends.

There were still pictures on social media of party after Halloween party.  Inside.  Bourbon street in New Orlean's was packed with revelers.  

And 4 years after the last election, there seems to be a person who's still on the ballot who- while not the cause of my unemployment (directly, but it's the 2nd sitting Republican president who's lorded over the nation while unemployment rates are skyrocketing) or personal medical travails (directly, but after four years of dealing with people who seem to think a lack of character, morals, integrity, and values much less a toddler's grasp of piloting the space shuttle when it comes to understanding their job.  Especially when part of your job is understanding how the country works and, well, you have people as resources who can answer questions you don't know pretty quickly)

He won in 2016.  He road the crest of Obama era job restructuring and maintained it without plunging us downward immediately.  While that was happening, he fostered a nation that shook free the cover from prejudice and racism which gave his followers *permission* to be racism.  *Permisssion* to hate and heckle.  What started in 2008 with Obama's election after 8 terrifying years beholden to a crumbling national infrastructure and economy brought on by a Republican backed Congress and terrorist act was beginning to finally place our country on firm footing.  

He ruined it.  He's ruined our country.  He's taken every opportunity to wake ME up with new lies every single day.  Every day.  And I'm so fucking tired of it.  When it comes to acknowledging racism, systemic or otherwise- to acknowledging a world that has mistreated and victimized BIMPOC citizens, women, Trans-individuals, people suffering mental illness...I have ENERGY to ADVOCATE for them.   I have STRENGTH to fight fascists and racists with my bare hands.  I have EYES to roll at people that hunker in their forest bunker because THAT is where they will STAY like that Japanese soldier on the island who didn't know WW2 was over.  

What I can't do is any of it when what was "good enough" for Republicans at their lowest and most contemptible allowed for them to sink lower and accept Donald Trump in a position of power.  It has taken away my ability to consider reasoning or reaching across an aisle.  It has robbed me of my grace and sympathy for their lack of growth and ability to flex with the changing times.  I cannot listen to my own family use racist language, share Infowars or Blaze videos or Fox News as gospel.  The din of Twitter is not something I can hide from as it provides me with the knowledge that These are Those In the World Who Have Forfeited Sense.

And these people will be running the world I am desperately trying to raise my kind to be a kind a decent person who will love her father. 

Here's the starting point.   Please vote:

 

 

 

 

 

(*It was, if I'm being honest, REALLY funny.  I think present day Viking fans with their perpetual annual loyalty is admirable.  Until MF'ers started going from their armchair knowledge to straight up toxic shittiness.  I was talking to friends about the waste of investment Kirk Cousins was, and how Keenum had a pretty good season here and made a point to say he enjoyed Minnesota and hoped he could grow with the team before BOOM the check book is out and we have a new expensive fucking quarterback who is useless as an asshole on my elbow.

I was "Well-Actually'd" by these bruhs telling me "Well and just HOW is Keenum doing NOW? " like they magically 8-Balled motherfuckers career trajectory after being honked from the Vikes after a successful season and STILL doesn't rationalize an overpriced useless QB when we STILL perpetually lose in our GORGEOUS NEW stadium and the fans STILL get rabid and are finally- after 50 years- maybe kind of seeing the cracks in their stupid fuck armchair arguments since the door slam is NO SUPERBOWLS EVER FOR THE VIKINGS...That and I mentioned we probably could have gotten Kaepernick for a STEAL if the Vikes would have been brave enough to take a risk at an in-prime solid QB with good leadership skills but NO he's got BAGGAGE and this is why they fucking fail.

My funny was that the Vikes leadership is fucking Borat, right?  And the conversation is "Ok.  How we make the Vikqueens wing this super bowel?"/"Well, we need 4 big guys who can stand there and keep other guys from tackling the quarterback.  It seems we never give the quarterback enough time to do anything.  Ever." /"Ok.  Maybe we spend MORE money on quarterback and get new uniforms? HIGH FIVE!"

Was my joke.  Which isn't a joke.  Move'em to Texas already.)