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Sunday, September 27, 2026

Last year of the teens

Dear G,

Yesterday you turned 19. We celebrated with dinner at Oriental House and treats from a local panaderia. 

So many things have changed from a year ago. 

At that time, you were working a co-op job so arriving for classes at 7:30 and cutting out at 11:30 to either work or come home and work on your extra classes to graduate in December. You were applying to college. You were very done with high school.

You learned a lot from working for a full year, about how businesses run, about workplace drama and employment aggravations, about the type of job you would want to do over the long-term (not something where you sweat). 

Since you weren't in school during the spring, you participated in "Mom's Life Skills Semester" whereby you learned how to cook and be a sous chef, cutting vegetables and helping prep meals. You learned how to do your own laundry and clean the bathroom. 

What a difference a year makes; what a difference some six weeks make. 

You have adjusted pretty well to college, although the engineering math class has proved a pain in the butt for you, for me, for dad, for anyone who has to listen to you complain about it. And it has been the cause of your first clarifying moment of young adulthood: finding out what you thought you might want to do is, in fact, not what you want to do. 

Now your dad didn't experience that feeling much until much later, after he had completed his degrees when he was unhappy in his job and wondered what might have been. Maybe he should have gone to medical school? 

I, on the other hand, never really landed on whatever it was I was definitely going to do. I only declared a major during second semester junior year because they school made me. I decided based on what I had enough credits for, which were classes I just enjoyed taking and did well in: english and economics. Even now in my 50s, I don't do any one thing but dabble in things I like that give me flexibility. 

So in addition to just learning how to do college, you're learning about how you prefer to learn. You're learning that you don't like a super fast pace. You're learning that it is ok to have one maybe sorta idea of what you might be interested in and then deciding that path isn't right. 

You've been learning how to handle your own medical appointments and prescription refills. How to take your car for oil changes. How to manage your own checking account. 

Because of your sensititives, I worried about how you would adjust to preschool. And then I worried about how you would adjust to elementary school, and then middle school, and then high school. But you've done fine every time. So I decided not to worry about college. 

And you've proven that I don't have to worry.

You are bright and inquisitive. You are responsible and risk-averse. If someone shows you how to do something, you pick it up quickly. And if you need help, you know that you can come to me and dad (or your big sis, who is proving invaluable because of her experience at the same college), and we will try to steer you in the best direction. 

But most importantly, you are learning that you can adapt. You don't like change and never have, but in the past year instead saying something like "I don't like it" when something changes, you say "I don't like it, but I will adjust." 

And if there is ever a mindset to carry through the peaks that feel too high to climb and valleys that feel too low to survive, that is it. 

Your dad and I are both so proud of the man you are becoming, but we have always loved the essence of you that remains the same since you were a child.

Forever,

Mom

Friday, February 13, 2026

A wonderful, awesome, empowering, very good day

This kind of day is altogether different from a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

And, truth be told, I don't often get them. Between perimenopause and mood disorder, I feel like most days I'm at 40% "meh" and 60% "fuck this."  

For 4.5 years, I've been at a local high school working with credit recovery students and most of the time, I feel like I'm sticking bandaids on carotid hemorrhages. Foster situations, sky-high absentee rates, high-as-a-kite glazed eyes, lack of motivation, non-native English speaking students who are trying to get through chemistry, reading and math levels lower than what I probably scored in third grade--it's not a place where students feel like masters of their destinies. 

At worst, it gives rings of hell. At best, purgatory. 

Yet I like being there because I do form relationships with students, which is vastly different from a normal substitute teacher situation. Some kids I have shephered since freshman year. One boy stops to chat--he is now a senior---and it will be good to see him cross the finish line in a few months. 

And it is only two days a week so I have breathing room in between. 

Still, many days feel Sisyphean. 

But not Thursday of this week. 

Because on Thursday, two sisters---one of whom never shows and the other who has been sleeping in credit recovery class---showed up after I called and left a message with their mom about not wanting them to fall behind. And both girls were ready to talk to me and ask for help. 

And on Thursday, a teacher I spoke to before school asked if I worked with C, and when I said yes, we came up with a plan for me to help C finish some work so she could pass English from last semester. In class, C did the work eagerly, and it felt like VICTORY. 

Then D, who is real hit or miss on feeling motivated, said, after I told him I would work with him on makeup English work for the aforementioned teacher if he wanted to, "I've got my English work" as I started to walk away. So he knocked out that assignment. 

And W, a mid-year graduate whose completion was delayed because he was shot, worked with me all day to wrap up his stuff so that he can get his diploma. 

Thursday felt like 100% springtime ephemerals blooming, limoncello on Capri, and the perfect light nap on my favorite couch all rolled into one. 

Saturday, January 24, 2026

Horrified, yet oddly consoled

It is a wave that girds you now,

And its movement, swirling forward and up, then down,

Stirs the back of the throat, 

The excess saliva, the churn of the stomach. 


That is a normal sensation, a normal reaction

To what you witness.

Toting their weapons, the unidentifiables, no badges, no identification. 

The ones who seem to take glee in horror. 

To brandish your papers doesn't matter to them. 

They are convinced of their righteousness.

....

You feel that movement again, don't you?

You feel it now in the -3 degrees of Minneapolis, 

But it has moved before.

In January 1839 when biting cold lashed at legs and arms, armed guards

setting the pace to Oklahoma. 


That movement surged in warmer months, too. 

1921 in Logan County.

A struggle for work, for safety, for dignity, for something other than scrip.

And again in 1791 in Washington County.

In 1831 in Southhampton County.

In 1960 in Sharpville. 

In 1982 in Lubin.

In 2019 in Santiago.

In 1989 in Dongcheng.

And through all of time. 

Mostly unrecorded,

But witnessed by others on the wave,

Who were also sickened to the core. 

.... 

An antidote?

Oh no, I'm sorry; none exists. 

You must witness these things in 

The timeline on which your life rests.