tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45786829967833218042024-02-07T07:41:34.326-05:00Wearing the Wig... Getting it Happen, Being it RightLowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-54480293367050285272019-10-11T15:33:00.001-04:002019-10-11T15:34:27.483-04:002018: The Wig that Was
Remember last year when I lambasted myself for doing this in April? Let’s
remember those halcyon days as we gather together here together in autumn. It’s
been a year, my god it’s been a year. I’m only now getting my head around a lot
of it. Let’s begin.
2018 Year in
Review
1. What did you do in 2018 that you'd never
done before?
Shot a gun, went to a baseball game, LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-11400149362738502952018-01-02T16:05:00.000-05:002018-06-14T16:22:24.363-04:00The Wig that Was: 2017 Year in Review
Oh my gosh, I’ve never been this late on one of these before. make no mistake, it may say January in the header, but I wrote this from a hotel bed in Lima, where I was for a work trip, and that that’s where I found a chunk of time -in April for heaven’s sakes- is a testament to where my head was at in 2017 (and has continued well into 2018). 2017 was a year filled with LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-24526153285194759722017-02-02T16:08:00.000-05:002017-02-02T16:09:48.106-05:002016: The Wig That Was
2016 was one of those strange years where I knew it was
going to be full from tip to tail in advance; it didn’t disappoint. Almost
every aspect of my life changed, and almost all for the better. That doesn’t
mean it was easy – god, no – but it was rewarding. And, like my friend Kait
asked for after 2008 brought her a marriage, a move, and a new job – I just
want a year where nothing changes. LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-67157052698799179102016-05-09T17:16:00.001-04:002016-05-09T17:16:05.045-04:00The grieving girl's guide to life: the girl plans a weddingThe little app on my phone tells me we have 12 days to go, which seems impossible. The big decisions, some exciting (food) some boring (polyester tablecloths) have already been made and we're now looking down the barrel of something that's actually happening and somehow involves doilies.
If we're being honest, 2016 hasn't been that crazy yet. We've been busy but there have been no LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-40438716181768353852016-03-16T00:58:00.001-04:002016-03-16T00:58:32.581-04:00The rich coastIm sitting here in a twin bed, in my "llamame" shirt (it has a llama on the phone. It's a spanish pun) thinking on the last few weeks. That twin bed, and me, are both currently situated in Costa Rica, where I've been on immersion Spanish training since the end of February. It's been one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my life and I'm still trying to process it all.
3 weeks LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-24765301419530612842016-02-16T22:16:00.001-05:002017-02-02T16:10:02.282-05:002015: The Wig That WasI debated whether to do the year end survey this year. It was too late, it was too boring a year, etc. etc. But this year's review ended up feeling more important than usual, if only because I've talked so little about this year, in person or online. Taking stock of one of the quietest years of my life makes sense to me, especially as I begin to embark on one of the loudest.
2015 Year in LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-77249690814605513022015-12-15T12:46:00.002-05:002015-12-15T12:47:01.542-05:00The Grieving Girl's Guide to LifeAbout 5 years ago, the guy I was replacing at work had a hell of a year. He had fallen in love the year before with a co-worker in his language classes and had just proposed to her. Shortly after the ring was on her finger, she became pregnant. They sold their condos, bought a big house in the country, bought a car, had a wedding, had a kid, then found out they were going to have to move to IndiaLowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-54221140093780548082015-12-02T23:25:00.001-05:002015-12-02T23:25:38.820-05:00One year.This blog has remained so quiet, not because I've had nothing to say, but rather because I've had too much. Every time I looked at an open page the weight of the white felt like a burden, so I quietly closed the window and moved on. But I wanted to mark today because, of course I do. I won't try to sum up how things have been, but suffice it to say, 2016 has the potential to be the weirdest year LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-2094073007494857252015-07-27T15:06:00.005-04:002015-07-27T15:06:59.247-04:0033.
I've got this thing for the number
15. It seems like big things, bad and good, happen for me on the 15th. I broke
up with my long-term boyfriend on a 15th (of February. I'm a jerk), I moved
into my first apartment on a 15th, passed the test that gave me my current
job on a 15th and my anniversary with TB is on the 15th.
I remember thinking to myself last year that 2015 was going to be LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-15735981023798473882015-06-01T12:21:00.005-04:002015-06-01T12:21:55.706-04:00Take me to Church"Being in my garden feels like church to me."
It's something she used to say, somehow making it sound both off-handed and reverent. As a child, I never really understood what she meant. Summer was full of so many wonderful things: swimming pools, garage sales, bike riding, popsicles - what was so great about standing in your own backyard, fingernails full of dirt, sweat pouring down your LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-5921247297401966562015-05-15T13:04:00.000-04:002015-05-15T13:04:22.881-04:00It's not the big things
"But it is not these big holidays that make his loss hard for me, it’s really not. He was good at big things but he was best at the small things, at making me feel seen and heard and understood, remembering all of the things that made me Nora and loving me in spite of and because of them."
- Find the rest of Nora's awesome words about her husband, Aaron, here
Nora gets it.
I LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-89446345060800072162015-05-05T12:33:00.002-04:002015-05-05T12:33:28.199-04:00Nothing SpecialWatching someone die isn't like the movies - add that to the long list of things that cinema romanticizes. Death can be ugly, thrashing, coughing, noisy. Death can be sudden, uneventful, unaccompanied by the flatlining of a machine and fists upon a chest begging the person to "live, Damnit!" My grandfather's was quiet. So quiet we weren't sure exactly when it happened. I count his death as 2:37 LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-21348136093244950182015-04-29T15:03:00.001-04:002015-04-29T15:03:35.849-04:00Here comes the sunI'm nursing a micro hangover today and, armed with my made-up science that vitamin D would help it, I chose to sit outside for lunch today. The sun hit the side of my face in a steady swath of light as a coworker and I gossiped, eyes rolling and tongues clucking like the 1940s hens we are. With temperatures in the high teens all this week, I think it's safe to say that winter's finally behind us LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-76308451815321800392015-03-31T13:44:00.001-04:002015-03-31T13:44:17.689-04:00Packing UpWeekends have become very important to me. I mean, let's face it, I can't remember a time in recent years when I wasn't "working for the weekend" but now they've become virtual life rafts, keeping me afloat after a week of obligations and deadlines have had me going under for the third time. Something something water metaphor.
So when it was "strongly suggested" by my uncle that we start usingLowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-32458570991101523392015-02-25T16:15:00.003-05:002015-02-25T16:16:16.128-05:00One Foot Back to Counter ItThere are things I say to my therapist, not because I necessarily believe them, but because I want to believe them. That if I say them out loud, allow them to resonate, to bounce off the walls of the small, warm converted 2-storey walk-up where she works, then they will magically turn themselves to truth.
One of those things is "grief is not linear."
In my logical brain, I know that. I knowLowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-81773422420517406532015-02-19T11:07:00.002-05:002015-02-19T11:07:42.343-05:00Neurologist and author Oliver Sacks is dying. His piece in the New York Times is beautiful and sad and true and haunting. I love it. This part resonated with me in particular:
"There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neuralLowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-55483799005806817692015-02-03T13:56:00.000-05:002015-02-03T13:56:07.263-05:00But he's a foolOne of the best presents I received this Christmas was a subscription to Netflix. As the cold and blustery winter months continue to batter us, we've been happily making our way through Archer, Portlandia, Arrested Development, one ill-conceived episode of Pretty Little Liars that has thrown off all my "recommended for you"s and a bunch of stand-up specials. Last night we decided to peruse the LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-64247157610465635942015-02-02T12:28:00.002-05:002015-02-02T12:29:04.675-05:00A Nice StartSomewhere in the sleepy moments between when TB got up to shower and I rolled over to watch the dog puke, she was there.
We were with my grandfather in his backyard, her standing and looking at me, and my grandfather in his favourite outdoor chair, playing with cats that wouldn't do as they were told. I told her about the arguments my sister and father had been going through, about my therapy,LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-86682442770612343852015-01-30T16:15:00.002-05:002015-01-30T16:15:34.049-05:00Tongue TiedI'm bad at telling people.
I haven't figured out how to phrase things in a way that minimizes shock, that leaves the listener intact and allows us to move forward to other, easier topics. So far I've been settling on some version of the following:
"Oh, yeah, well, so, my mom died, actually. Like, a month ago or so, and, so, yeah. Things are.. well, I'm surviving. But there's that. Just, you LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-29547763636847615832015-01-22T20:45:00.002-05:002015-01-22T20:45:36.136-05:00Taking Care of BusinessI remember, after 9/11, there was an awkwardness as all the comedy shows I adored started coming back. It's difficult to pick up where you left off when things are so obviously different. I particularly remember The Daily Show's return and Jon Stewart's self-effacing and excellent open monologue . Part of his opening kept rolling around in my head last Wednesday morning when, after 6 weeks off, ILowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-46344707057808651422015-01-11T23:25:00.001-05:002015-01-14T13:35:50.391-05:00Thank you for your generous donationAfter 6 weeks of basically living in my own filth, my sister and I decided to start attacking the pile of boxes, bags and laundry that I had dubbed "Fort Grief". Cans were recycled, clothing thrown into the washing machine and half-picked-at food scooped out of the pathway of an insistent pug.
Among the papers littering the living room was a piece of junk mail, stuffed fat with promises of "LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-44025968656652319692015-01-11T09:58:00.001-05:002015-01-11T09:58:37.928-05:00That's enoughI had a dream about her this morning. In the scant hour between when the dog woke me up with her morning freak out,  and when i acquiesced and actually opened my eyes, she was there.
There was a lot of noise at first. I was at TB's parents' house. His family had just seen guardians of the galaxy and were discussing whether or not it was racist*. The doorbell kept ringing but we ignored out, LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-54392943681561690462015-01-09T00:47:00.001-05:002015-01-09T00:47:22.615-05:00An AmendmentRe: My last entry, 2014's year-end summary
I was struggling with the question that asked you to name a lesson you'd learned this year. As so often happens, as soon as I pressed "publish", i found the perfect line:
I’ve learned, from Aaron and my father’s death and my mother’s graceful entrance into widowhood, that this is what being an adult is: doing everything before you are ready. LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-79898707885957099222015-01-08T23:11:00.001-05:002017-02-02T16:10:20.338-05:002014: The Wig That WasI've done one of these every year, since about 2002 and it felt wrong not to do it again this year, even though looking backwards is the last thing I want to do most days. I remember when we bought our house and when we got the dog, I had to stop myself from making every answer to these "I bought a house" or "we got a dog!". The same principle is going to apply here - my mom and grandfather died,LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578682996783321804.post-17681532052011752162015-01-04T17:31:00.002-05:002015-01-04T18:11:27.489-05:00Compounded6 days after I wrote that last entry, my grandfather, my mother's father, also passed away.
It was almost funny, walking back into the same funeral home almost exactly three weeks later, meeting with the bubbly and efficient Adrienne again, hearing her admonish us for not following her last instructions - "I don't want to see you back here for a long, long, time" - same room full of caskets, LowLevelRebelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750023528545097136noreply@blogger.com1