Sand boxes and geek flags

Clearly blog posts are like anything else in life. They can't all be winners. And I have to fight the urge to delete, re-edit and what have you and just let it be.

Shoveling sand in the box. Sitting and putting words down, no matter how much I roll my eyes later, is still shoveling sand in the box.

This may explain quite a bit.

So whether it's truly vacant crap or something with honest potential, I'm trying to consider it all sand and temper the judgey voice in my head. While I'm still turning to blog posts on a regular basis, I've started diving back in to what I want to be working on. And aside from the agony and anxiety that goes into anything, it feels so good.

Patience, grasshopper, patience.

Switching gears, it's been a Netflix-heavy past week and a half. Have you seen what the television lineup is right now? Political pandering and slinging mud isn't my thing. So this election year I'm relieved to have streaming series to skirt the majority of the rabid attacks.

I have been casually making my way through Orange is the New Black. My husband started watching it just as I was beginning season 2 and a competition was born. I love my husband. And I enjoy watching shows and movies with him. What I don't like is when he's watched something first. Because, bless his heart, he's the king of spoilers.

He's not trying to be a festering carbuncle. (Sorry, honey!) He just wants to know what I'll think about a scene or a line and gets carried away. It's adorable. Really. In his own way. But it does make me want to put a few seasons between us as a buffer. I learned that after he passed me by while watching Kimmy Schmidt. It took me forever to get around to the second season, and by the time I did my husband had rounded second base and was halfway through the season I hadn't started yet.

So when he started OITNB this week, I decided to make some serious effort (Such a first world problem, Holy Pokéballs!) to get a season (or two) between us. Which is good (aside from watching much of anything rotting your brain) because I'm twitchy to get in deeper with Stranger Things. Which I cannot do until I'm done with OITNB for twitchy-itchy brain reasons. Ugh! Dear everyone making compelling shows, I hate the time suck but the entertainment value! Ugh, again. (P.S. Stranger Things is darkly delicious - what I've seen of it.)

Moving on...

I feel safe in saying that throughout my life I've carried both the nerd and geek flags. I haven't been a rabid fangirl (A relatively new term for my lifetime) since boy bands, immortal Scottish men, Mr. Medicine Woman, Seaquest and the like were riding high. And by riding high, I mean causing my laser focus to twitch (which may be a post for another time). I get a kick out of my own niece's fangirling as she's become an encyclopedia on a plethora of fandoms.

I am an equal fan of Star Wars and Star Trek. *Pauses to allow the internet to put itself back together again.* I grew up in a time when you had to wait *gasp* until Star Wars aired on tv to see it again. We didn't own a VCR until the end of the 80's. The struggle isn't waiting for your video to finish buffering from on-demand. The struggle was hoping your local video store wasn't out of both rental units AND the movie you wanted to see.

I've lived in a world before AND after Blockbuster. 

Also? Cassette decks. The meme both worked for my point and annoyed me. Now I'm distracted thinking about how much more difficult cassette tapes were to transport around than compact discs. See? Old AND cranky. Now get off my lawn!

Anyway...

Unlike the potential wait (and weekend usurping glory of a back-to-back movie marathon) of watching Star Wars, Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG, thank you very much) was a regularly airing series when I was growing up. And I loved it. Science fiction. Travel. Riker. Empathetic and smart female. (Who had a thing with Riker.) A female doctor. The brilliant glory that is Jean Luc Picard. People of just about any and all backgrounds having adventures for my weekly entertainment satisfaction. Yes, please.

Now, could I tell you the kind of details that hardcore fans can? Absolutely not. And I know this because I have friends who are hardcore fans. The kind of guys (yes, mostly guys) who worked hard to get me interested in engineering, ship schematics and introduced me to some of the backbone of intensive science fiction writing. And yes, all most of them own Star Trek uniforms. And yes, I mean that as uniformS, plural.

I have watched all the series, some better than others, up to the first season of Enterprise. (If that means absolutely nothing to you, don't worry about it.) I have not watched the original collection of movies. I don't know, maybe Shatner doesn't do it for me on the big screen, maybe I can only picture Ricardo Montalbán in Fantasy Island, maybe my Saturday nights were too full with Dr Quinn, SNL and cookies and cream ice cream. Who can say?

When the reboots started a few years ago, I was intrigued. Casting seemed sound & I was well versed with Mr. Abrams' work to date. I feel this is where I need to point out a simple fact. My husband? Doesn't particularly give two shits about Star Trek. He's got nothing against it necessarily, but the overall franchise doesn't do anything for him either. At least not anymore. I feel like he may have led me to believe he liked Voyager or Deep Space Nine when we were dating, but was ultimately ambivalent once we were married. A classic complaint in marriage, no? "He used to talk sci-fi with me, then once we were married, it's all action movies and rom-coms." You get it, I just know it.

So while my husband is a movie fan, he wasn't compelled to see the new Star Trek. So I picked up a copy once it came out on video (ahem, dvd), put it on the shelf and forgot to watch it. Second movie came out, I figured it would show up on cable, forgot about it. I really am a lackluster fandom supporter. Third time, however, was the charm. This weekend I finally watched Star Trek, lamenting the loss of Leonard Nimoy once more.

I enjoyed it. Good, not great. Pleasing to look at (the cast is obscenely photogenic). ST #2 is cued up for me to watch next. I go into it realizing if you're trying to make a movie that's accessible to a broader audience, some of the more delicate points are lost. But at least now I feel like I don't have this particular fangirl secret hanging over my head anymore.

The aging journey

I bought my first pair of reading glasses today.

As an intensely myopic glasses-wearer since before the age of 10, I hadn't really expected to ever make use of them. I was thrilled when I was able to get contacts as a teenager, the answer to so many glasses-wearer problems. You know, and vanity. If you have ever worn glasses and are of a certain age, you may be familiar with the thick, oddly-hued plastic frames common for what felt like decades. I took a flying leap at the chance to swap out for wire frames and then contacts from the word go.

I am so nearsighted that new eye doctors over the years do a doubletake when they check my prescription. I'm also so nearsighted that they have to check and see if contacts even come in my prescription because they aren't used to ordering them at that strength. I get the occasional hint that I'm on the edge of what contacts can do and may have to switch to hard lenses or opt out of contacts all together.

My husband thinks I'm a mole person. He's farsighted and has a completely different perspective in terms of vision. Farsighted. I guess that's the universe's way of balancing out my own eyesight. Should we ever magically be able to have children, I expect them to be practically blind or to have normal eyes. There can be no in between. Because, well, it sounds funny.

I love having contacts. I take them for granted until I can't wear them. First world problem, to be sure.

I've noticed as I've aged, my near vision isn't as clear with my contacts as my glasses. Everything else, from finding sunglasses (transitioning lenses don't provide nearly enough protection for my light sensitive mole eyes), showering, leaving air conditioning in the summer, watching something while laying down is easier with my contacts. This one thing has become pesky.

The eye doctors' suggested fix is to prescribe bifocal contacts. One eye would be for near vision, the other eye would be for far. Um, what? I've never taken to the idea and to be honest none of my eye doctors seem real thrilled when they explain it.

After my last major switch from exclusively wearing glasses for almost a year because of an eye injury back to contacts, the near vision had become a blurry, squinty issue. And while I can change the font size on say my computer or phone, printed material like books or package directions are what they are.

So here I sit trying out reading glasses for the first time. They make a difference, but we'll have to see how things are when they're used for different lengths of time. And I have to remember not to look up before I take them off. 'Cause, whoa! It's trippy. And nausea inducing.

I read last night that around the age of 40 is when there can be a change in vision requiring the use of reading glasses. I guess I just like to be a little ahead of the the curve here.

Or maybe OITNB has a subliminal sponsorship with a reading glasses company. You never know.

Win, lose or catch 'em all

I'm tired.

This is the third time I've started a post that way this week. Fingers crossed, the third time will take.

Mom's had a difficult week. She came unglued a few hours after reading a chapter in her light-hearted cozy Christmas mystery novel I found for her at the library, convinced I was trying to hide snakes in her bed and sticks in her meatloaf. None of those things happened in the book, for the record. As I refer to it, she adds 2 to purple and gets fish. Her brain leaps around and makes connections fueled  by paranoia. I got her calmed down, quicker than I expected that night, but it was the second night in the week she had a complete meltdown. I got her settled in bed for the night, triple checked with her for snakes, and offered to put something on the television in her room to watch to help occupy her brain.

If a mild mannered mystery about a Christmas pageant in a small town triggers her, then just imagine how long it took me to find something relatively safe for her to watch. No cartoons or anything magical or out of reality. Nothing sad or religious. Absolutely nothing with the slightest hint of suspense or violence. Nothing with story lines that involve any kind of spying/covert ops/secret societies/conspiracy theories/etc. The list goes on. She specifically asked for nothing that involved the holidays because it would make her think about the book.

I settled on the PG-rated large, ethnic marriage movie. God bless Nia Vardalos. She'll never know how her movie, beloved by so many (even my cranky older folks), soothed the paranoid twitch in my mom that night. Well, after over an hour of me talking her through it and then the just-in-case medicine prescribed by her doctor. Still, it kept her mind occupied.

It's starting to look like this less stable, more easily upset version of my mother may be here to stay. Her doctor and I are both kind of leaning that way.

I'm not entirely sure if I should tackle what happened at the end of the week with her, under the banner of TMI. So much TMI. Sufficed to say, if you know someone with an issue with constipation, Aldi's brand prune juice works as well as the prescription strength stuff gastroenterologists give patients to clean out their systems before a colonoscopy. Also, adult diapers are not leakproof in that department. Oh, and my parents need a new bathmat. And the funny videos of the dads' retching while changing a baby's diaper? My dad makes that noise now. And I almost peed my pants laughing when he did. The man who changed our cloth diapers and cleaned them, overcome by the whole thing.

You have got to laugh. You have to. Crying doesn't make the mopping go any faster.

And then there's this pokémon thing. This fricking pokémon thing. Want to play with friends? I can't connect. Want to go for a walk? I can't login. In the middle of restocking game supplies (for free)? Server takes a dive. And then I noticed a friend of mine who is also testing out the game was able to catch something not long after I got booted from the server for several hours. I did a little digging. Okay, googling. And I discovered users who registered the way I did, creating a trainer account and NOT using their Google credentials, are having a much more difficult time with their game access taking a dive.

As I bitched to my husband after being locked out of my account this afternoon (again), he suggested I create a separate Google account for gaming credentials. Separate password, blah blah blah, so that if hackers did go after accounts or personal info, there's nothing of importance there. Well shit. Where was that suggestion a week ago? With a literal middle finger at the "sorry, we're working on restoring your access as soon as we can" message on the trainer account webpage, I set up a gaming email, loaded up the app and was creating an avatar in the blink of an eye. Son of a pus-filled shrew, not the slightest hesitation or issue. And of course, all the freaking critters I collected over the last week and the eggs incubating are stuck in my original account if I can ever get in it again. I had even hatched a ghost pokémon and caught almost all of my favorites. But this new account? I started off with a Pikachu. Which might make up for all the aggravation. Because, I mean, come on. It's Pikachu.

Poké Update

We're a little over halfway through the month and firmly over halfway through the year. Whew! I'd ask where the time has gone but grief and stupor are obvious.

The stress is getting to everyone. Death in the family here, terminal illness there, public shock when you wake up. A friend's husband recently had a stroke. I'm talking, someone I've known since high school. When did I get to be the age where this kind of thing starts happening? Luckily, her husband is on the road to recovery. But we could all use a little stress relief. And release. 

So I'm not part of the ranks rolling their eyes at the Pokémon Go explosion. I was a teenager when the cartoon first aired, so I have a basic handle on some of the little critters and the idea behind catching & battling. Very basic, but enough. And ignoring the screams of big brother using it to track us (because if you think 'big brother' waited until just now with this particular game to keep tabs, well, go ahead and try your hand at foil hats - we're way beyond that now and I've got other worries I'd rather focus on), I decided to try it out. 

Anything to have a topic for a blog post. Which really means anything to write a blog post to avoid staring at a screen trying to make a scene work. It is what it is, folks. 

I downloaded the game and in my one concession to privacy, I created an account and skipped registering with my Google. Just because I'm not too concerned doesn't mean I didn't do a little light research. I was too impatient to attempt to score Mr/s. Pika Pika right away and settled on one of the three offerings for newbies. I expected to be busy testing it out because we were headed to Disney Springs later in the weekend.

Massive Fail.

That day the game servers were taken down by a denial of service attack - so hackers. After watching Ghostbusters from the comfort of reclining chairs with servers refilling drinks, we did a quick exploration of the new Coke store and left. No strange and potentially rare pokémon for me. My Charmander was all alone in the world.

I was ready to uninstall the game (in a hissyfit of rage), but decided to wait and give it a fair shake. I didn't expect much given I live in a fairly rural area. People I know are complaining (some bitterly - those would be the younger ones) about the lack of pokémon living in the 'burbs or further out. Apparently, Pokémon Go is a city dweller's game. 

Yesterday my hubby and I ventured out into our neighborhood on unrelated business. Just before we headed home, I tried out the app. It logged in right away and a pokémon bird I was familiar with from the original cartoon series appeared before me. Nifty. I kept the app open on the way home and scored three more creatures, one of them I knew. Nice. Still no Mr/s. Pika Pika. (If you don't hear "peeka peeka" in a shrill yet adorable battle cry when you read that, the reference makes no sense.)

Pika?

This morning I opened the app when I stopped at the library. My local library is (apparently) a pokéstop, basically a goodie reload station. My dad rolled his eyes. Or he would have if they weren't freshly dilated from a surgical follow-up. I scored a couple more pokémon. The screen was lit up in total contrast to the random lone blip I'd see from my house. I also discovered that the entrance to my neighborhood is another pokéstop, though I hope that doesn't become a traffic issue if a passenger screams out to stop to grab a few new pokéballs (how you 'catch' the digital critters). I don't really know if you have to stop when you have the app open while driving because, well, safety. And I don't have a passenger to check for me. Yet. I should probably check with my niblings about this.

My dad, his voice full of disdain, asked me what the point was of the whole thing. Yeah, he remembered the cartoon and the card game from when I was younger. (Not that I played, but I'm sure he rolled his eyes as it swept the country at the time.) I explained it's a chance to live out, so to speak, what the idea behind the whole thing was without having to imagine as much. With the bonus of exercise and helping people socialize. "Ah," he said. That made a little more sense, but it's very evident my not joining in or participating gene is firmly from him. As is my "I'm curious anyway but don't want to let on" gene. I've got his number. He's not that mysterious. 

At a lack of anything more to do with the game in the meantime (all 3 levels along that I am) I put out some incense, of which you start the game with 2. I'm sure there is more for purchase or perhaps at some pokéstops. The virtual incense is supposed to lure wild pokémon to your location for 30 minutes. I had seen people complain about this not working well either, but I snagged at least 3 little critters from the comfort of my home. 

There is a bit of finesse/coordination involved in the catching. You've got to 'throw' a pokéball to catch the beasts, aiming to release when a green circle is at just the right spot. And for every one you catch you accrue points. More for a type you didn't have before, less for one you've already caught before. And you can trade those in within the game for bits and baubles to use, so far for me just treats to help other pokémon improve.

At some point you can battle others at a gym. I'll be honest. I'm not really interested. But I can understand why plenty of people would be. There are also eggs to be found and incubated to hatch. I got my first (and only so far) this morning.

This afternoon as I stopped at the pharmacy for the bazillionith time this month, I whipped out my phone before I got out of my vehicle. The game seemed oddly empty and then the app stopped working. I haven't been able to login since. So out of 3 or 4 times going into town/civilization, only 1 time has the app worked.

So to all my friends who lament about not being able to get the app on their phone, to those struggling to find more than a caterpillar-thingie (I said I had some basic info, I never said I was well-versed.) in their neighborhood: you really aren't that far off from the rest of us. And by the rest of us, I mean the ones who won't spend any money in-game and live out in the boonies. Of the 10 or so I've caught in the last 24 hours, 5 have been the same bird.

There are plenty of strategy sites popping up with the best ways to level up, so on and so forth. I'm not invested enough during my give-it-a-week trial period to read any of them.

So is it worth it? Clearly, the answer varies. Expectations vs your frequent locations vs game server consistency.

Ghostbusters 2016

There may be very little in the way of actual spoilers here. I'm no critic. I don't know how to write a review. I do thoroughly enjoy picking apart every detail about a movie I've watched. What I thought worked. Where the gaping plot holes were. Various instances of 'what were they thinking'. What should have been different. *cough* Okay, so I can be critical.

This movie opens with a cute setup for our intro to ghosts in this new Ghostbusters universe. Scientific women, slapstick and slime follows. Excessive slime for some. (Unless you're well versed with the slime river from Ghostbusters 2.) And yes, Thor in glasses. This time around the Janine-esque character gets a slightly bigger part to play. All in good time. It's worth the wait. Especially during the credits.

I'll admit, I had a hard time with expectations and comparisons to the earlier movies I love so much. About halfway through I couldn't take the bipolar excitement/enjoyment to cranky that's-not-the-way-it-should-be's and back again anymore. I had a quick, internal snap out of it moment. This is a separate movie, doing it's own thing with plenty of hat tippage to the previous incarnations. It's a fun ride if you allow it. And our theater with movie goers ranging from kid to senior citizen applauded when it was over. So if comedy and paranormal are up your alley, give it a fair chance.

When I saw the most recent Star Wars movie, I had a moment where tears came to my eyes. It wasn't a death scene. It wasn't a scene where characters are reunited. It was when a girl used the force. I had no idea seeing that image for the first time would fill my chest with emotion. I wasn't sure what to expect with another return to a franchise from my childhood. Oddly enough, these two franchises were my first two theater experiences, so it's kind of appropriate for me that these updates and returns happened in the order and proximity they did.

I didn't have a single tear well up this time. I did have some moments of silent 'girl power' pride (also some snorty-nerd girl giggles that are less than flattering to reveal). An all female ghostbusting team? Why the fuck not? I'm not shocked people in 2016 have a problem with a female cast for this movie. I'm a woman who grew up with a dawning awareness that there are both men and women who have a real problem with women. And to those hiding behind the banner of what would the original team think, I offer the following:

• With the exception of Rick Moranis (who essentially dropped out of Hollywood to raise his children) the gang is all there. Cameo, upon cameo, upon well placed cameo. The late, beloved Harold Ramis was even represented if you pay close attention. His son has a small part as well.
• Check the production credits. If no names ring any bells, zip your lips.
• Passing the Ghostbuster's Torch (Ramis's daughter tackles the subject)

Any experienced Marvel moviegoer knows to stay until the credits are done for extra scenes. Plan on staying at the end for some visual goodies. Our final cameo comes just before the credits roll, one I was hoping for the whole time. Instead of the boring traditional plain end credits, you get a little unexpected entertainment as you wait for the scene to set up a potential next movie.

All in all? I'd go see it in the theater again. It does exactly what I think a movie like this sets out to do. There is humor. There are moments of decent suspense (as this is not a straight up horror flick, that's fair). Cast chemistry is solid. The cameos made me happy. All the little nods did. It kept me engaged. It's fun, slime-filled escapism.

You know, if you like that kind of thing.

Potpourri for 200

Answer: List of random topics compiled together for lack of a unifying topic.
Question: What is today's blog post?

I'll kick things off with the fact that I should really be in bed right now. Which is fairly accurate for most of the times I write blog posts. This week I have had a gnarly case of insomnia. Up at the butt crack of dawn and not so much as a yawn come 3 AM. Towards the end of the week I started gaining ground on this, but my hubby and I were out l-a-t-e Friday night and I was exhausted tonight after an errand-filled Saturday so I passed out for an unexpected nap. And woke up at bedtime. Shit.

Being unable to function tired aside, in my defense not long after I fell asleep, girl dog freaked out from some serious thunder and uncharacteristically jumped up to snuggle in beside me. I defy you not to get all next level comfortable when a hound dog gets cuddly-needy.

This is becoming a new issue around my house. The divine Miss M, she was a touch skittish during thunderstorms or fireworks the first year after we adopted her. Her anxiety seemed to disappear with the batting of her diva-level lashes, and she slept through anything except the opening of a bag with food in it. With our elder statesman gone now, she has become downright terrified during intense storms and the recent Independence Day fireworks. She is an exceptionally elfin and docile sphinx of a thing who has not so much as growled or snapped and is mainly a danger to lizard tails, frogs and squirrels. Tonight, she tried to knock my bedroom door down to get to me. My hubby, in the midst of a work project (thus why the door was closed) had to let her in since between my $10 headphones and coma-like slumber I was oblivious to her distress. I woke up to a furry, four-legged growth with space heating capabilities attached to my side. Bless her sweet, twitchy heart. As soon as the storm was over & I was awake, she was out the door and stretched out in her regal pose on the couch.

Up next in my random assortment of topics is what I'm most excited about for this weekend.

Sunday  morning, we're off to see the new Ghostbusters. I am super excited. Love, love, love me some Ghostbusters. (Yes, even the second one. Get over it.) The original Ghostbusters is one of the first movies I remember going to the theater to see. The only memory I have of the experience was the librarian scene and I F-R-E-A-K-E-D out. Covered my face in terror, turned to my parents for comfort, scared poopless. To this day, despite having seen so many ghost movies and shows, that scene makes me squirm in anticipation at the memory of 4 year old me being properly spooked. I'm so ready. Also, if I'm being completely honest, Thor in nerd glasses? Hubba, hubba.

And finally, I loaded up on the bandwagon and just downloaded Pokemon Go.

As I mentioned when I discussed Camp NaNoWriMo a few posts ago, I'm not really the kind of person who joins in and does things. At least not without a lot of dragging my heels and making the whole thing awkward. I tend to avoid books and movies that 'everyone' tells you that you 'have to' read/watch. I'm usually let down. But in the interest of exploration (and since I can easily delete the app in a week after not catching a single thing) I got the app, created a poke-account and away we go.

Caregivers Anonymous

A few weeks ago I vented wrote a post about being a stay-at-home caregiver that I ended up scrapping. It was defensive and overall negative in tone and in the end not what I wanted to send out into the world.

People are judgmental. It feels hardwired into our society, a kind of self-soothing defense mechanism for some. When you are, by all appearances, a fully functioning adult living in the modern world, if you are not fitting into a particular idea - be it size, race, religion, gender, employment, sexual orientation, child-bearing status, etc - people let you know. And if you hit several boxes that go against perceived 'norms', hang on for dear life.

Last week, when things felt a little meltdown-y in my personal space, I was at the pharmacy for what felt like hours trying to getting something straightened out about a prescription. The pharmacy team at my pharmacy are my own personal angels and go above and beyond to help out when doctor's offices, insurance companies and suppliers are an issue. (That being said, it can be discouraging to have spent so much time at a pharmacy that you get to know each other well. Also? I just spend way too much time there. It's exhausting.) While waiting for the problematic prescription to finally be filled, one of the staff asked me if I was off work that day. Remembering my caregiver post-that-wasn't, I paused and said this is my job. I got a puzzled look from everyone behind the counter and instantly a defensive smirk twisted my lips. I explained I don't work outside of the house (and fought the urge to say 'anymore', as though to somehow prove my worth) and that I take care of my older folks.

In response, a deflated expression and a neutral, "That's a full time job."

You have no idea. Literally, no idea. These people who fill my mom's multitude of anti-psychotics... they don't know that today I talked my mom out of suggesting to my dad that he should divorce her because she's got too many problems and he should be able to lead a happier life. They don't know what it takes to get her to bathe, eat properly, just live. They don't know that she went so far out into the galaxy two nights ago and was so hysterical, new medicine be damned, that I wasn't sure I'd be able to calm her down.

I have found that the majority of people who don't have to hide some level of distaste at my answer are the ones who have had to or currently provide care for someone. I wonder too, if some of the responses are because my taking care of my parents brings up an uncomfortable topic. Parents aging. Parents being sick. Parents dying. Death in general.

Tomorrow, I will take my dad in for the first of two surgeries. He's all but climbing the walls with anxiety. And I may have to order a tranq gun from a zoo if my mom worries about it much more. My dad doesn't like to include himself in my 'caregiving' umbrella, and he can think that all he likes, but I know better. I re-wrote his pre-op instructions so he could follow what he had to do the past few days easier. He still skipped around the page and took medications out of order or missed something. He gets aggravated that I checked, but I caught and corrected the issue. His idea of making dinner if I'm not around is to cook meat. No vegetables. No sides. Just meat. The man who gave me hell for wasting electricity by watching music videos instead of listening to the radio now leaves the television and lights on in every room he's goes through during the day.

The funny thing is, if I had been able to have children, a lot of the looks and comments I get about being a caregiver would be replaced in the working mom/stay-at-home mom wars. When I tell certain women that I have news or something in my life has changed, I'm asked one of two questions. Did I get a job (finally)? or Am I having a baby (also, finally)?

So how do you define yourself when society dictates that you must have value by virtue of your career or your family? How do you ignore the scoffs and derision from the people judging you? Even your own family perhaps. How do you stifle anger or hurt when 'friends' or relatives make comments about all the free time you must have?

By owning who you are. By accepting you're doing what needs to be done. By not seeking validation & accepting none is needed. By realizing that every person has their own issues and you don't need to be sucked into their negativity. It's as simple and as difficult as that. It's a process, as everything else in life is.

In the grand scheme of what's going on in the world, this is not something that keeps me up at night. It's like a gnat, irritating and in your face at times, but temporary. Then again, if you can work on that inner peace I keep seeing lovely brochures for, maybe you can send out more peace and love in the world.

Growing Pains

In the grand scheme of life, I don't have any answers. I don't know how you stop violence. I don't know how you put an end to corruption. I don't understand people who are threatened by someone different than them having equal rights. I cannot comprehend the pervasive ignorance that seems ready to rip apart our society.

What strikes me at the moment, aside from the breathtaking ignorance regarding so many issues and just general day to day humanity, is the way some people point to each and every upheaval as proof the end times are upon us. Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, famine, strife, you name it, it's a sign the end is nigh.

Surely in the history of the world, these things have never, ever occurred before. It's got to be a sign of something... more.

When I was a kid, I had a big hang up on death. An elementary school student with panic attacks about the End. I didn't even know anyone who died until I was about 12 years old, and it was a great aunt I'd met maybe twice. But I would silently freak out in science class whenever any topic strayed into the idea of large scale, cosmic disaster. It seemed at least once a year some cult or religion (but mostly cults) were predicting the Big End. It terrified me. The designated day would come and go and I'd slowly relax until the next headline about a close call with an asteroid, a massive volcanic eruption, nuclear weapons, civil war in foreign countries, killer bees, ozone depletion, or wackjob predicting a great spaceship was coming to save the true believers. Y2K. 9/11. Mayan calendar. I got older, predictions and disasters kept coming.

At every turn, inevitably people commented on the surety that The End was a sneeze away. And if you're a history buff at all like me, you'll realize that's the way it's been for all of recorded human history. Thunder once meant the gods were angry.

I'm one of those weird people who doesn't believe science and faith have to be mutually exclusive. There is a clear, rational scientific reason for thunder. And the rain that hopefully coincides with it is so needed in my area most people I know cheer on the sound and hope it's building to a decent storm.

My point is there has been mass genocide throughout history. Forgetful and willfully ignorant, it repeats. Women, men, color, religion, sexual orientation, political leaning, location, star-bellied or none upon thars, there's a mass casualty situation for just about anyone. There has been mass destruction and loss of life from volcanoes, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, fires, droughts, etc since the dawn of life. In the United States, as I expect in many other countries, there are building codes and public safety systems in place to help prevent the kind of loss of life that has happened before. Natural disasters are not a modern experience.

NOAA's historic hurricane landfall map - 150 years worth

For every disease we seem to get a handle on, something newer, scarier and more deadly seems to appear. I remember the rampant and aggressive ignorance surrounding the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. How horrifying was Ebola when you first heard about it? Today's disease du jour is Zika. In WWII, aside from STDs, there were still fully operational tuberculosis sanitariums. I had a relative die in one. Smallpox, measles, cholera, bubonic plague, malaria, even the flu wiped out scores of people.

Man, is this a lighthearted romp of a post or what?

As far as the faith side of things, I want to believe that humanity has come so far. I know we have so much more to go. I have a hard time accepting, at least from other perfectly imperfect humans, that The End is upon us. Fear, panic, a need to reconcile atrocities committed by one another is what I think fuels these predictions.

Life has this way of moving on.

The painful lurches in our society at the moment? That's progress trying to claw its way out. Growth hurts. I really, deeply, sincerely wish it didn't have to. I would love for hateful people to wake up one morning with widespread epiphanies causing people to be kind to one another, accepting, tolerant, respectful. So that's what I see going on (hopefully). Not a sure sign of The End (knock on wood), but the signs that growth is coming.

What's a few cards between friends?

6 months ago, I posted my first 'paranormal' themed blog post. Not that the weird and unexplained is ever far from my mind, but I'm a little surprised it's taken me so long to find the subject... well.. topical again. In that previous blog post, Its beginning to look a lot like orbs, a group of friends and I ventured out into the crisp Florida winter's night (on a random night when sweatshirts were indeed required) to a small community known for Spritiualism and psychic/mediums.

Scary movies and the odd suggestion of doing something different (spooky different) finally gave way to a friend giving me a tarot card reading tonight. In a well lit, national brand coffee shop. Because, well, why not?

Now, a few things to begin with. I believe in the possibility of just about anything, but I'm skeptical to my core. There are charlatans at every corner, people who believe they can do things they can't, and the odd person who has really, strangely accurate gut instincts. And let's not even dive into the philosophical debate of free will versus fate. (I mean, we could. I love that kind of stuff. But, you know, not the point here.) So for my thinking, having tarot cards read or a psychic reading or what have you varies from wildly entertaining to ho-hum. The point being, I don't live and plan based on the few random times I've experienced these things. I know some people do, and I mean no offense. For me, to date, I've not been bowled over by these particular experiences. But I'm open to the idea that I may cross paths with someone who is able to convince me of their authenticity.

This tarot experience evolved from our first outing to the Spiritualist tour. After a few people mentioned they hadn't had a psychic reading before or were interested in having their cards read, our friend C.Robin (Name changed to reflect, you know, privacy or something & not what they call him at the coffee shop) casually let us know he was well versed and willing to do a reading.

Here's the first thing I learned. You've got to make the request. After the offer was made, I waited and waited for the reading opportunity to present itself. No dice. I slid it into conversation on occasion. Interest was there, but again, no dice. I began to think maybe it was an offer politely made but not meant. About a month ago, give or take my inability to keep track of time, in conversation C.Robin mentioned that he couldn't just present the cards. We needed to ask, to have a question in mind. Oh. Ohhhhh. I had no idea there were rules when instigating metaphysical shenanigans between friends. See? You learn something new everyday.

As a kid, I didn't stay up late at sleep overs trying to call forth the spirits of serial killers specializing in pre-adolescent girls in a bathroom mirror. Or any spirits, for that matter. I asked for a ouija board on birthday and Christmas lists for years - to no avail. My interest in the weird and otherworldly seemed not to be shared with my friends, except for a friend of mine at about 10 or 11 who implored me to read a book his church produced on the evils of ouija boards. I lost the book at a scouting sleep over, which upset me more because I kinda liked this boy and not because I found the book riveting. Outside of reading my copy of Scary Stories or picking up the newest children's ghost book at the library, I didn't have much in the way of practical knowledge. Though I kind of doubt if I had played Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board it would have helped much now.

The second thing I was told is I had to have a specific question. Well hell's bells. My questions have questions. What is the meaning of life (42, duh), can humans achieve world peace, do I really have a shot winning the Publisher's Clearing house sweepstakes?  (Does that even still exist?) Am I taking this less seriously than I should? I feel like it, and yet, the whole thing left me a little giddy. So many books and movies and shows make use of the idea of tarot cards and divination. And here I am finally having my cards read by someone without a financial stake in how I'll take the session.

Have I mentioned I'm cynical? Most of my psychic readings end up with the person asking me for advice. WTF?! And yet, I'm entertained and curious enough to be willing to go once in a great while.

So the cards were put in order while I gleefully looked on. Like a kid at Christmas if I'm being honest. C.Robin proceeded to guide me through the process, card info, who could touch cards when, how things could be interpreted. All the things you could use to get someone to relax and then engage in casual conversation to glean info for a reading. As a starting place to help interpret the cards or to collect info to determine what the person is looking for. Depending on how you view it. And my friend? Oh he's good. If you don't have info on how charlatans work, if you don't find it fascinating how magicians do slight of hand or misdirection, if you are all in on the moment, it's a heck of show. I was entertained.

I'm sure the baristas were as well. Possibly a customer or two on the way to the restrooms. One thing I wasn't sure: is there coffee drinking etiquette when your cards are being read? I didn't think to ask before we got started, but I kept reaching for my cup and stopping short. Mostly, I didn't want to transfer condensation from my cup to the cards and ruin them. But, on the chance any of my energy or life is tied to these cards, I didn't want any problems. Like a coffee bean monster materializing or something.

What was my question and what came of my reading? First, I'm happy to report that no one came up to us and threw any religious symbols in our faces during the reading. Some of the people around here, you just never know. And my question? Well, for the purpose of this first tarot reading, I went a little obvious (at least I think so) and asked about writing/publication in my (more broadly my writing friends') future. My reasoning is this: while my friend has no financial stake in my reading, he does know things about me which might potentially lend itself to direct his interpretation of cards. Also? I have so many questions, but very few things I don't believe are flexible in their outcome so not a whole lot stuck out as something to ask.

As far as the reading, I felt like we should have been in Vegas in the middle of roulette and black jack tables. I jokingly referred to feeling like he should ask me to follow the card like in 3 card monte. He was being a showman and could probably make decent money at a fair or for a Halloween party hosting a tarot card reading table. Something to think about for a little extra holiday money, eh?

I shuffled my cards and was immediately reminded of my total lack of finesse at shuffling ordinary playing cards. I set them down after a few fumbled attempts.

"You done?"

"Yep."

"What makes you think you've shuffled the cards enough?" I watched C.Robin, a smile splitting my face, thoroughly enjoying the whole thing.

"'Cause it felt like it." I laughed. The more accurate answer? Because I felt like a dork if I shuffled those cards much longer. It felt like they needed a lot more shuffling. Performance anxiety.

The starter package, as I'll refer to the beginning of the reading, was heavy on the sword imagery.

Oh dear. Chaos. Upheaval. Not necessarily regarding my question, just about my life in general. I laughed, as I did most of the reading. Tell me something I don't know. Perhaps more to the point, tell me something YOU don't know. It's easy to see how quickly someone who wants to believe can be sucked in. Most of my cards were facing away from me, showing I didn't shuffle enough something being inverted or turned on its or my head. Family, something that impacts my family from long ago coming to the surface. C.Robin pointed out I had a tell there. And I knew it. It didn't happen instantly, maybe 30 seconds into his explanation of the card he was pointing to. My brain sorted through what could apply to this and *ding* we have a winner.

As C.Robin and I kvetch about our families regularly, sharing war stories if you will, it isn't at all shocking for him to get a hit by relating my cards to family. We had literally just talked about them by text an hour or two earlier. And there are few things that I discuss with as much openness as my family. It is, generally speaking, a sweet spot if you're going to read me. That's probably true with most people. I find most of my friends become animated at the mention of the weird thing their parents just did or their pain in the ass sibling. It's easy to get a reaction to work with and go from their. It's also just a universal concern. Family, strife, concern, love, old wounds.

Moving on to our lightning round, the cards that were specifically drawn to answer my posed question. Kind of less swords, but then a dead end. Family pulls at my endeavor and that's not going to change. I need to put myself first for a while. I write to escape, probably because of my family. And if I continue on with the way I'm doing things now, the dead end is the answer to my question. The writing career is not going anywhere in terms of making money. So sayeth the cards. C.Robin ended with things are able to be changed, nothing's set in stone, etc and so forth. But did I want to draw a final card? In all honesty, he started to explain that I may not want to because it's a 50/50 chance... and my brain was already manically chanting "Do it! Do it!" so I may have ignored a helpful warning. Or a recipe for spaghetti bolognese. I'll never know because I went for what was behind door number 2.

*Gong*

And that card, ladies and gentlemen, was heartbreak. I almost fell off the chair laughing. I know I clapped.

I was thoroughly entertained. And I deeply appreciate C.Robin taking the time out from his evening of writing to indulge a near life-long curiosity of mine. I suspect we have more notes to compare about our personal interests and experiences in this stuff. I need to buy him a cookie or coffee. And one of these days we need to keep the laptops safely stowed away in our bags and in the bone-melting light of day, compare those potentially strange notes. Like ghost hunts, dreams as omens, the unexplainable, the charlatans who make for good tv watching, things that made our hair stand on edge. You know, the basics.

I do see a practical kind of use for tarot cards, outside of general interest. In my bare bones skim of tarot info once I got home, I came across a mention of tarot cards being used along with meditation. C.Robin mentioned them being useful for personal reflection in that manner as well. A kind of focal point, if you will, for figuring out what's on your mind and puzzling through it. And anything that helps you figure out something for yourself gets a thumbs up from me.

Maybe at some point I'll do a little more research and even (finally) invest in my own deck. Until now, and my on-going shuffling issue aside, I've long considered tarot cards something I wouldn't necessarily be able to figure out on my own. And this first reading, much of what C.Robin explained to me is lost to the ages. Queen of Swords, Page of Wands (I think), a card with a burial chamber and a bunch of cards with swords everywhere. Then again, considering my extensive interests and hobbies and the information overload, maybe I'll stick to less detailed forms of meditation and personal insight.

Also, there would be much shuffling.

Special thanks again to C.Robin for the entertaining conversation and showing off his tarot skills.