The Labyrinth

I had wanted comfort for so long, I thought I found it

Most people think the beginning is fun but to me it is a labyrinth 

Scary, unfamiliar, and full of pitfalls to navigate 

I’m always too much or not enough, unlovable in any state

But I stood with arms outstretched 

And for a moment, you were there

Eyes befitting of a deep soul

Calm when I was scared, steady when I was unsure 

I wanted a gentle love

But love never wants to be gentle with me

You learn to navigate by touch in the dark

Maybe thats why it was so easy to feel when you pulled away 

Those eyes could see everything except the good in me

It is hard to let go, even harder to beg

We were supposed to bask in each other’s warmth, not burn each other down 

That door takes two people to open

Two people who had both been alone too long

Too much and not enough 

Half Love

The bread crumbs

The precious scraps

The meager subsistence

I have always had to make do with less

A lifetime of half love has left me hungry

The one who makes me laugh gives himself so easily to others

I am the healthy choice for a man who built his life on impulses

No wonder I must look so unappealing

The one who brought me consistency also brought me fear

He felt familiar, and that is what made him dangerous

Reminding me of all the demons I had already slain

I am no longer interested in trying to walk through closed doors or old graveyards.

Some days I am reminded of the endless love I have just under the surface

What a joy to be fully unleashed

I had to let go of “someday”, it was too much weight to carry

I’ve learned to refuse scraps

There is no amount of bread crumbs that will lead me where I want to be

Stuffies

I realized one day that after years of adulting I had somehow ended up with having two stuffed animals on my bed. I used to carry around stuffed toys all the time when I was a kid. One particular favorite, a little green bear I called Tiger, was a constant companion for over four years. She had been washed a thousand times and had all the battles scars that proved she was well loved. I still have her, but somewhere along the way in an attempt to get closer to maturity I moved my stuffed animals out of sight. 

Despite my best efforts at adulthood and after all this time, they found their way back. 

The Hello Kitty was from Build-A-Bear probably around 2004-2006. My early college years. I always had a soft spot for Hello Kitty and at the time I was dating a guy who never lost his love of toys. He took me to Build-A-Bear and I had a fun time watching her get filled with fluff and picking out her little dress. 

I must have moved seven or eight times after that. She got put in a box and was shuffled from place to place. I almost forgot I had her. Then Covid hit.

At that point I’d already been living alone for a while but for the better part of two years I was almost completely isolated. I was still able to call my friends and visit family from time to time, but what I craved was to be comforted. I went through the box that had all my stuffed animals and I found her again. Not being from my childhood she was still in good shape. I know it was silly, but it made me feel a little better. To hold on to some small comfort from my childhood.

The bear wearing a pig costume I purchased recently as a whim from T.J. Maxx. So silly and absurdly cute, I just couldn’t resist. 

And there they were basking in the sun. Fluffy reminders of what I used to love so much as a child. 

That hazy place between maturity and rediscovery.

The Loyal Little Dog

A few days ago I went over to a friends house to discuss some upcoming plans. As the conversation went on he told me that he agreed with my position on something we had spoken about earlier. He initially wanted to do something reckless and I advised against it. He has a tendency to make bold decisions and I was surprised he agreed with me. 

“Are you familiar with the tarot deck?” He asked.

“Somewhat”

“So, traditionally on The Fool card there is a man ready to walk over the edge of a cliff and there is a dog who is trying to warn him. I’m the fool and you are the little dog” he said with a laugh.

I knew what he meant but as soon as he said it I could feel my heart sink. The mood shifted and I avoided eye contact. Struggling to gather my thoughts. He could tell something was wrong.

Years ago I had an ex who would whistle at me like a dog when he wanted my attention. Thoughtless, detached, and superior - he wanted my obedience.

During my time with DRIP I had done so many different things over the years but whenever someone was tasked with describing what I did, it was typically reduced to “oh, she is so loyal”. I knew it was a compliment but it always stung a little. My greatest attribute was always seen as my ability to stay the longest. 

Once I had gathered my thoughts, I told my friend how I felt and he apologized. I knew it was not his intention to upset me. 

Truth be told, another recent event was weighing heavy on my mind. Over the past several months I had become good friends with a coworker. Although we had never met in person we formed a close bond due to the many challenges we had to face. We were both new to the company and had gone through three managers within months. 

One Friday he spontaneously asked if I wanted to meet up after work for dinner. I was excited to finally met him in person so I agreed. Shortly before I was going to head out he canceled abruptly. He said he just wasn’t feeling like driving.

I get it. I was a whim. He made plans when he was bored and now he wasn’t bored anymore. I shouldn’t have let it get to me but it did. It wasn’t just him but a long list of guys over the years who treated me like I was disposable. I don’t know what it is about me that makes me everyone’s favorite second choice.

But now here I was at another friends house, and he put into words so succinctly what I had felt for so long. I was the loyal little dog. Ever present, kind-hearted, and willing to stick it out to the end. Given scrapes of affection. But not an equal. 

In many ways my loyalty is above reproach, but it was the same loyalty that made me cling to bad relationships and one sided situations. I often realized far too late that I was the only one giving. 

Maybe I am creating insults where none exist, a lot of these people had no intention of hurting me. But I yearn to be admired for more than my loyalty and my ability to stay. 

The Rock and The Waves

Standing defiant against a tide I cannot change, I remember what it was like to be strong and mighty.

I remember what it was like to be whole.

Was I meant to stand firm? 

Was I meant to be crushed to sand all along? 

Am I supposed to be destroyed?  

Am I supposed to be broken and scattered? 

Maybe one day I’ll be whole again in a different way. 

The Gun Debate

The Uvalde school shooting occurred on May 24th, mere days after the Buffalo shooting. This shooting was made even more tragic and sickening by the woefully ineffective police response. They arrived before the shooter got into the building, did nothing to stop him, waited for almost an hour, and handcuffed desperate parents trying to get to their children. I can not get over the cowardice and cruelty. No doubt, more lives could have been saved with better response. 

I lost a friend in the Pulse shooting in 2016. The attack started around 2:00am and didn’t end until after 5:00am. There was a long standoff between the shooter and the police. I don’t know if my friend died instantly or if he could have been saved if the police had put a stop to it sooner. 

Seeing the parents beg the police to intervene at Uvalde was devastating. Reliving the emotions from losing my friend in the Pulse shooting was heartbreaking. The inevitable gun debate that always comes up is infuriating. 

Shortly after the Pulse shooting, I was working a shift at the bank. Two men in their mid to late 30’s walked up to the counter. One had the silhouette of a rifle on his dark green shirt. The both walked up to the counter loudly laughing and proclaiming, completely unprompted, that no one was going to take their guns away. They were lost in their own conversation and didn’t even acknowledge that I greeted them. 

They had no idea that I had lost a friend. I had to stand there politely while they continued boasting about their guns. Not a single mention of those who passed or what a tragedy it was. Just their precious guns. I’ve never wanted to jump over a counter so bad in all my life. I had to wait until they left before I was able to excuse myself and cry on the bathroom floor. 

So far, I am the only one in my family who was personally effected by a mass shooting. I hope it stays that way.

I grew up in a family where many people own guns. I never felt safer because it. 

Maybe it was because many of the people I grew up around that already made me feel uneasy turned out to be the ones who got really into guns. Only a few I would describe as truly responsible. 

I held them, I’ve fired them, they’re just not for me. 

I’ve had to explain this every time the gun debate comes up. I, like the vast majority of Americans, want stricter gun laws and a ban on assault rifles. But what about all those good guns with guns? My question is, how would you even know what a good guy with a gun looked like? 

I get deeply uncomfortable anytime I see someone with an open carry gun strapped to their body. How tense do they have to be to feel like they need it? How well do they know how to use it? What if they are having a bad day? If this turns into a shooting how far do I think I’ll be able to run? With all the mass shootings, what are my chances this is truly a good guy? Anytime I see someone with an open carry I move as far away from them as possible. It’s just unnerving.

They don’t want to live in fear but they seem to walk around like everyone is their enemy. I’ll get them before they get me. They are so terrified someone is going to take their guns. I can tell you from experience, going to the funeral of someone taken too soon is far worse. I still hope they never know what that feels like. Or what it feels like to have “good guys with guns” mock your grief. 

I feel like I’ve spent a lot of time, especially over the past few years, doing my best to remain soft and not go numb. For my friend, who deserved so much better, and for those not giving up on a better future. 

The Rapier Champion of Castlemere

I started fencing back at the beginning of 2018. I loved it but basically felt like I had fumbled along with it for two years when the pandemic hit. Everything was put on hold and all practices and events were canceled. In early 2021 the practices started back up again. Sergio, who I had met a few times at events in 2019, had moved to Orlando from Miami during the pandemic and was now coming to our local practices. I had always been drawn to his big personality and sense of humor; and once we began practicing together we became fast friends. 

It was a little rough getting back into the swing of things after such a long break. Everyone felt rusty. Some practices went well and I was thrilled I had remembered so much. Other practices were difficult and I would try to work through tears of frustration. Overall, it just felt good to be back. Master Robert, a renowned rapier fighter and 30 year member of the SCA, had started coming to a few of the practices and pulled me aside one day. He’d seen at several events and practices over the past few years and wanted to know what my goals and ambitions were going forward. He told me to take time to think it over and he’d follow up with me at the next practice. 

I spent the next few days mulling over my answer and dreading telling him what it was. Robert had been in the SCA for years and was incredibly skilled. He had perfected his craft, won numerous awards, and achieved the level of Master of Defense (MOD) - the highest rank among rapier fighters. He was a bit of a legend within the SCA. 

I, on the other hand, struggled with it since I started. I had made progress but didn’t consider myself to be all that good. I had no grand ambition to get awards or titles. I didn’t have any desire to reach a particular status. I just wanted to get better and have fun. Now I had to tell that to a master fighter who had been doing this most of his life. I felt like he wouldn’t take me seriously anymore. 

The day came and he pulled me aside at practice. Sergio was standing with us as I gave my sorry little speech. I knew Sergio was trying to become a MOD and now I felt like he wouldn’t take me seriously either. I was still honest and let them know how I felt. I just wanted to continue learning. They listened, respected my answer, and I continued to show up at practice. 

A few months later it started to rain in the middle of practice and Sergio and I ended up in his car to wait it out. He asked me if I was anyone's cadet (formal student). He was a little surprised when I told him I wasn’t. I explained that I had worked with Tim and Jake a lot before the pandemic but was afraid to ask. Tim and Jake are both wonderful teachers but they had other cadets and busy family lives. Typically it was the cadet who would ask to become the formal student, but I never felt it would have been appropriate given my skill level and everyone's schedules. 

Sergio surprised me and asked if I would be his cadet. He said he had given it a lot of thought, he had seen me at every practice and even remembered the time I got so frustrated that I cried. He said I was dedicated and that was the type of student he wanted to work with. I was floored, he had heard what I had said to Robert all those months ago and still wanted me to be his cadet. He said I could take time and think it over, but I answered him “ yes” right there and without hesitation. 

Sergio already had two cadets. Franco who still lived in Miami and Javier who also moved to Orlando a few years ago. Javier had been friends with Sergio since they were thirteen and had been coming to practice for the past few months. Keith T. was made a cadet after me and he was a great rapier fighter from Melbourne. Aside from Franco (who lived so far away), we were quite the little group. Everyone had a great sense of humor and enjoyed working together. 

Our group at the Starhaven (Melbourne area) practice. Left to right: Javier, Keith T., and myself.
In front: Sergio. Photo by unknown.

Not long after I became Sergio’s cadet there had been a misunderstanding about his roles within the SCA. He was frustrated and I reached out to talk with him about it. I understood where he was coming from and told him that he’d always have my support. He told me that I was the only reason he hadn’t given up doing rapier. I was so touched by that.

For the most part it was usually Sergio and I who would carpool to events. The rides were full of wacky stories, laughter, and singing along with the music. We balanced each other well. I always made sure we had snacks and that he gets enough water. He bought a folding chair and I painted it with his badge. He loves to show it off at events. He knew I wanted to learn how to sew so he let me borrow his sewing machine and helped me learn how to use it. He also started teaching me some melee tactics (group combat as opposed to the typical one on one style of most rapier fighting). 

The before and after pictures of the chair I painted with Sergio’s badge. 

Myself posing with the first dress I made. 

We attended an event near Tampa in January of 2022 where Sergio had officially given me my red scarf to show that I was his cadet. We had both fought in the rapier competition that day but Sergio emerged as the winner and became the Rapier Champion of Wyvernwoode (Tampa area). 

Sergio and I after he gave me my red scarf at the Wyvernwoode event. Photo by Daryle Pompeo.

On March 26th we had planned to go to another event near Jacksonville. Sergio had a change of plans and was not able to go. He still encouraged me and Javier to go so we rode up together. Javier didn’t want to compete that day, so of the two of us it was only going to be me entering the tournament. The plan was to fight and then leave to head back to Orlando in the early evening. 

The event was for the Investiture of the new Barons Toramasa (T.S.) and Aki (Elizabeth), and the winner of the tournament would hold the title of the Champion of Castlemere (Jacksonville area) for a year. I entered the competition along with six other fighters and it was double elimination, meaning once you had lost two flights you were out. The winner of the championship would be chosen by the barons which meant that they had the option to choose any fighter they saw fit based on whether or not they had the ability to be at future events and their chivalry and prowess. 

All the fencers in the field discussing the rules of the tournament. From left to right: Master Robert, Stephen, Marc, myself, Keith H., Ryan, and Luke. Photo by Libby Bair Brooks. 

Myself fighting against Luke. Photo by Libby Bair Brooks.

I had fought in a few tournaments before and I was usually out in the first two rounds, but this time I had won my first three fights. I was called up for my fourth fight against Zhao Fong (Keith H.), who is one of the best fencers in our area and certainly the most skilled fighter in the tournament. Myself and Zhao Fong (Keith H.) stood in the center of the field with Master Robert who was marshaling the fights. Robert started going over the rules for the final round when I stopped him. 

“Wait, wait, wait…is this the final round?” 

Robert and Zhao Fong (Keith H.) both looked at me and replied “Yes” 

“....I made it to the final round with Zhao Fong?” my disbelief was becoming evident. 

They both confirmed and I grabbed Zhao Fong's arm in excitement. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND; I HAVE NEVER MADE IT TO FINALS BEFORE!!!” 

He smiled and they both encouraged me to take a quick break to gather myself before the fight. I ran up to Javier who had been watching my gear and cheering me on throughout the tournament. I explained to him what was happening and went back out to fight. Both Zhao Fong and myself had been undefeated up to that point and since it was double elimination we had to fight until one of us had lost two rounds. He beat me clean and easy twice in a row and we both went to stand before the baron and baroness. 

Even though I lost the fight I was thrilled. I had never won three rounds, let alone made it to the final round against such a renowned fighter. As far as I was concerned it was already a phenomenal day. Zhao Fong was announced as the winner, but to my complete shock I was chosen as the Rapier Champion of Castlemere. Tears started streaming down my face. They presented me with the champion's sword and I was overwhelmed with everyone congratulating me. 

The Barons Toramasa (T.S.) and Aki (Elizabeth), myself, and Queen Elena (Danielle). Photo by Christi Hobbs.

Myself with Zhao Fong (Keith H.). Photo by Christi Hobbs.

I was also approached by Kassidy, the daughter of an SCA member who had recently started coming back to the events. She had watched the fighting and was so inspired because I had been the only female fencer in the competition that day. I had always looked up to others within the fencing community and didn’t really know how to respond. Phil, one of the fighters in the competition, heard me wavering and jumped in. He encouraged me to be more confident and really take it to heart that I had inspired someone. He lovingly helped me explain some of the basics to Kassidy. 

Christi was there to take photos and sent them to Sergio letting him know that I was chosen as the champion. Javier was excited and thankfully he was okay with us staying later for court since now I got to process in with the baron and baroness. I was given my Award of Arms that day (an award that allows you the ability to carry weapons in the presence of nobility). The award also allows you to wear a thin circlet made of metal to indicate your status. Everything had been so spontaneous that there was none available on hand but Christi placed hers on my head during the ceremony. 

Photo by Libby Bair Brooks.

Receiving my circlet and awards before the court. All of the award scrolls are hand painted by skilled artists in the SCA and they are made to resemble illuminated manuscripts. They are presented in plastic sleeves to preserve their beauty until they can be framed.

Photo by Libby Bair Brooks.

After the ceremony Javier and I were both invited to the feast. We got to sit at the table with the nobility and since the event was for the Barons Toramasa and Aki (whose SCA personas are Japanese); we got treated to a four course Japanese style meal. I have to say, I have always been blown away by the cooks at any SCA event. They always create the most beautiful and delicious meals with incredible attention to detail and historical accuracy. 

Once the meal was over Javier and I helped clean up and we were on our way back to Orlando. I was still coming to grips with all of the amazing things that had happened that day. The next day I went over to Sergio’s apartment. He made his Cuban coffee and I went over all the details of the event. 

A few days later Tim, the first person I had trained with in the SCA, reached out and sent me a lovely message to congratulate me. I am still blown away by all the generosity and kindness from everyone I have met in the SCA. I still have the gorget, hood, and gloves from Tim, fencing mask from Davius, and sword and dagger from Christian. All given to me by people who wanted to see me succeed when I felt like I was fumbling. 

Continuing to train with Sergio helps me bridge the gap between the fighting and the arts. He is a jack of all trades and seems to know how to do a little bit of everything. And my cadet brother, Javier, cheering me on all day. All the encouragement and kind words just fill my heart with joy. I truly never thought I would get this far. 

Myself and Sergio, the Rapier Champion of Castlemere and the Rapier Champion of Wyvernwoode. Photo by JP Holcomb.

Survival Mode

I was on vacation helping my parents clean out the garage in early 2020 when I found out that everything was getting shut down due to COVID-19. I would be working from home and had no idea when I’d be back in the office. My manager had a feeling that was going to happen so she made sure I had taken my laptop with me. It still felt surreal. 

I’d always worked from the office but I was lucky that I’d be able to continue working from home. I’d never have been able to do that at any of my previous jobs. I was able to get everything set up at my kitchen table and carry on. 

In many ways I was incredibly lucky. I was safe at home, continuously working, and had limited physical contact with others. But the pandemic takes its toll on us all. The isolation hit first. I’ve always been an ambivert; someone equal parts introvert and extrovert. I would normally get my extrovert fix buy being social at work and then coming home to recharge in the evening. But without being able to see my coworkers and having all my friends quarantining, I was completely alone all the time. I don’t think anyone thought this would drag on as long as it has. 

I missed swing dancing and fencing. I missed hanging out with my friends, playing with their kids, and physical affection. I missed seeing expressions on people’s faces. I missed not having to put on a mask every time I had to go to the grocery store. I missed having other places to go to. I lived alone for years before the pandemic and once I was cut off from friends and coworkers I realized how truly isolated I was. 

I talked on the phone all day to clients and internal associates but it was extremely demanding. We had gotten overwhelmed with additional clients in 2019 due to a sloppy merger. We were still dealing with that mess when COVID-19 hit in 2020. Everything continued to spiral out of control. We weren’t staffed properly for the merger and no one was prepared for COVID-19. My 30 cases turned into 170. Everyones case load ballooned and the backlog was immense. And of course, clients still wanted everything yesterday. At first there was no overtime, then unlimited overtime. Unfortunately, it didn’t make a difference. No matter how much overtime you put in you could never get caught up. 

I still tried. I threw myself into the work because there was literally nothing else I could do. If I couldn’t leave my house at least I could get paid overtime. I’d get angry calls all day and still bust my ass trying to help people late into the night. At the beginning of 2021 a few of us got transferred to a new team with a far less supportive manager. Predictably, things got worse still. Several of us had to attend a training class for how to handle escalations because our new manager had made it clear she was unwilling to assist her team. I hated the sound of the phone ringing, dreaded checking my email, and now I had no one to turn to for help. I was getting chronic headaches and eyes were starting to twitch. I took a leave of absence and went to a counselor. 

I was prescribed an anti anxiety medication. My counselor and I both agreed that it was only something I needed temporarily until I could find a better job. But more importantly my counselor was someone I could actually have a productive conversation with. He helped me see that like so many others I was still learning how to navigate thru the pandemic. But I was giving too much to a job that was no longer a good fit. I was pushing myself so hard with the overtime I had no time for myself. Literally every waking moment of my day was being of service to others. In the beginning I loved the job because I could proactively help people, but the ongoing backlog made that impossible. He told me to make time for things that made me happy. 

I got completely absorbed into coloring books. I would just blast music and color for hours. It was like meditation the way it cleared my head. It made me feel like a kid again. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of joy. Fencing also started again around that time. I got to reconnect with people I hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity. Slowly but surely I started to feel like myself again. I got vaccinated as soon as I could. I wanted to travel again too. 

Those precious few weeks on a leave of absence did wonders for me. I’d been so wrapped up in the news and my job, always isolated and giving of myself. I hadn’t realized how little I was doing for my own well-being. My counselor also helped me to realize I needed to set better boundaries at work like limiting the amount of overtime I put in. 

I came back to work hoping the situation would be better but it wasn’t. During my nine week absence the backlog was still raging on. More and more people were quitting. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. Most of my cases had been closed but there was a handful no one had even bothered to look at. Lots of angry client emails. I was better about managing my time and not getting so overwhelmed but it wasn’t long before I was back to over a hundred cases. 

I took more time off in July to visit Jordan in Texas. That had also been monumental for my emotional well being. I had missed him so much. I was having a difficult time with work and he was going through a painful divorce. We were both trying to center ourselves and found so much stability in each other. Seeing Jordan helped me reconnect to parts of myself I had forgotten about and help steel my resolve to go forward. 

Shortly after my trip to Texas we began our return to the office. It was only two days a week and only half the office at any given time. I had been looking forward to it since I missed my coworkers and this felt like a return to normalcy. While it did feel good to see some familiar faces it also felt unexpectedly demoralizing. Only half the office was allowed at a time and so many people had quit over the past year and a half. There were so many empty desks. My favorite coworker had left without a word six months before we were allowed to return to the office. Before I went on my vacation to help my parents clean out the garage we had said our goodbyes assuming we’d see each other when I returned in a week. That was the last time I’d see him in person.

We’d still message each other thru the office chat while working from home. We’d make jokes, and vent to each other. Talking to him was often the only part of my day that felt normal, until one day when he was no longer showing up on the office chat. I found out through another coworker that he left to work at a different company. Now I get to walk past his empty desk every day. 

Two weeks after returning to the office I found out another coworker who I worked with all the time had passed away suddenly from COVID-19. I was heartbroken. She was always the one I’d reach out to when I needed help. Always friendly and down to earth. She was only a few years older than me and we actually shared the same birthday. The first day back in the office she was one of the familiar faces I was so happy to see. She had stopped by my desk waving and smiling. I wanted to give her a big hug but I was on a call with a client. I assumed I’d get to catch up with her later but that would be the last time I’d see her. 

I found out later that she was hospitalized a few days after we returned from the office. Her husband had caught COVID-19 and recovered, but she had begun experiencing breathing problems. She was admitted to the hospital where she seemed to be doing ok. There was even talk of when she would be released to go home. Unfortunately, her condition deteriorated rapidly and she passed just days before her birthday. 

Her death was extremely upsetting but was made worse by the fact that no one really talked about. No managers mentioned it, no one asked if we were ok. Just carry on in this sea of empty desks. 

It was around this time that a friend reached out to see if I would rescue a stray cat that was hanging around her office. At first I said no, but it didn’t take long for her to wear me down. I was still adjusting to having three cats when I found out she was pregnant. I had to use a different vet than my regular one because my regular vet was closed on Saturdays and that was the only day I could pick her up. The new vet had assured me she was not pregnant even though I kept asking. I’ve owned many cats over the years and was suspicious that I had miraculously picked up a female of breeding age who was not pregnant. I’d even called back and raised concerns about her swollen belly but they dismissed it. It wasn’t until I had taken her back to be fixed, after they pumped her full of anesthesia, that one of the vet techs decided to do an X-ray. 

They called me fifteen minutes after I dropped her off to tell me the news. Stunned, I turned around to come get her. The vets office also decided to surprise me with an enormous bill that included the X-ray they decided to do without discussing with me. The tech tried to explain the situation while she loaded the drowsy cat back into my car. I was furious. I would never have made her go through any of this if I had known; if they had done their job correctly in the first place. She ended up having the kittens that same day. I felt guilty that she may have delivered early from the unnecessary stress. 

In a matter of hours I had gone from three cats to six cats. I was nervous that she may not know what to do since she was so young herself and this was most likely her first litter. But thankfully she was full of good instincts and was a caring and attentive mother. 

I still felt like a mess. I was overwhelmed at my job and had been unsuccessful at finding better work for months. I was trying to make more time for myself but had suddenly ended up taking on more responsibility. I had some time off around my birthday to visit family but I had to cancel to monitor the newborn kittens. 

After coming off my recent trip to Texas it felt somewhat comforting to continue my mothering streak in some way. The last kitten I had raised was when I first got Kobi back in 2014. And they also reminded me of when I hand raised Jet as a kitten right after moving to Orlando. With all the empty desks and angry customers at work it felt good to have an overflowing home. 

As much as I loved them I knew I would not be able to keep them. I cuddled them and played with them as much as I could. I wanted to make them comfortable with human contact so their transitions to new homes would be as easy as possible. I knew Jade would stay with me. Rescued strays need more understanding as they may never get fully accustomed to human contact. Luckily the kittens all found wonderful homes with friends I had made within the SCA. 

And the job situation improved in the strangest way possible. At first I found work in a bank through a friend. It was a relief to be in a more peaceful situation but I was only there for three weeks before a better offer came through. I am now able to full work from home again. It was an unusual transition in a strange and emotional year. Things are slowly feeling more stable but I am still not sure what normal is anymore. 

Both of my grandfathers lived through the Great Depression. I often wonder how COVID-19 will shape our generation. How will we wear our battle scars? I know I was luckier than most, but it has taken a toll on us all. And we’re all still navigating through this mess. 

Jordan, Stephanie, and The Time In Texas

I started babysitting for Jordan and Stephanie around the time I was 15 years old. Jordan was 7 and Stephanie was 5. My youngest sister and Stephanie were friends in their kindergarten class, so as the responsible big sister I was a natural fit for babysitting.

The normal routine was for their mom to pick me up after high school and I would hang out with them a few nights a week. We’d play games, watch T.V., and walk to the corner 7-Eleven for snacks. Stephanie was always centered and wise beyond her years. She loved to write and I remembered being so impressed with her style. She was creating stories where the princess saves the day long before it was cool. Nevertheless, she loved make-up and all things girly. Always equally comfortable being feminine but strong. When she got a little older she was telling me about a boy she had a crush on at school. He wasn’t treating her very well and I thought I was going to have to swoop in with some sage advice. Very matter-of-factly she announced that she was just going to stop talking to him and focus on things that made her happy. She always had quite a remarkable head on her shoulders. 

Jordan was just as smart but struggled a bit with his emotions. Their parents had already been divorced by the time I started babysitting them and his father had moved to Texas. He was the only boy in the house and didn’t have a consistent male figure around. He loved to skateboard and watch wrestling; the normal boy stuff that his mother wasn’t sure how to relate to. One day I had come over right after he had gotten into a fight with his mom. She left to go out and he went to his room in anger. I gave him a few minutes to cool down before I knocked on the door. I asked what was wrong and he said when gets mad he just goes to his room to calm down.

“What do you do when you’re mad?” I asked

He shrugged and said he mostly just plays with his toys for a while.

“When I get mad I usually listen to rock music. It makes me feel better. Next time I come over I’ll bring you some music”

I started buying the edited versions of my favorite rock CDs for him to listen to. He loved it, even more than I thought he would. My friends in high school were always shocked that I had the edited versions of songs, especially since they knew how much I swore every day. I would proudly tell them that I was buying them to give to the kid I babysat which always resulted in confused looks and raised eyebrows. After a while Jordan started a habit of banging on any hard surface with pens and pencils. I think a lot of people would have brushed it off as obnoxious or nervous energy, but it was sharp and rhythmic. He was a drummer in the making. 

I kept nudging his mom to get him a drum set. At first she was hesitant, as I think most parents would be. She was concerned about the noise and that it might only be a phase. But she gave in and he got a starter drum set. He is still a professional drummer to this day and Stephanie is professional writer and published author. I have always been so immensely proud that they stuck with what they loved as children. 

I babysit them all through high school and it was the high point of the day. Most kids were excited to get out of school to party but I was going babysitting. It was exactly where I wanted to be. I’d have Stephanie do my make-up and then we’d watch wrestling with Jordan. There was a time when I knew every pro wrestler's name and signature move. I always burned the microwave popcorn because I could never figure out the microwave settings. They would get extra packs of Pokemon cards just so they could trade me for the better cards they were looking for. Jordan tried his best to teach me how to skateboard but I never got the hang of it. Stephanie started to have crushes on her favorite wrestlers. Jordan would come play Barbies with me and Stephanie. There was always music playing and spastic dance parties. We were fueled on pizza and gas station candy. 

Myself and my middle sister Jenny babysat for them for years. Jenny put it best when she said all her favorite babysitters were the ones who played with us, and she wanted to make sure Jordan and Stephanie had that feeling too. We probably babysat them longer than was actually necessary, but after a certain point it was more like hanging out with friends. They both had a phenomenal sense of humor and I loved just talking with them. I always felt like I was somewhere between a mother figure and big sister. I watched them grow up and was lucky enough to remain close to them over the years. I was at both of their high school graduations sobbing tears of pride and admiration. They both told me that I raised them and that has always been the greatest compliment I have ever received. 

Babysitting them kept me connected to my inner child and made me feel like I would be a good mother one day. 

Time passes like it does and we all carved out our own paths in life. I moved to Orlando to go to college, Stephanie traveled to Europe several times for death metal concerts, and Jordan went on tour with a few bands. I got to see Stephanie a few times when I would be in St. Pete visiting family. I got to buy a signed copy of her first book directly from her. One of Jordan’s tours stopped in Orlando and I was so proud to see him on stage playing. 

Jordan eventually got married, moved to Texas, and had a son. I hadn’t seen him in person in a few years but I liked just about every post he made on Facebook. His life seemed so perfect and I thought “who’d want to hear from your old babysitter when you’re out living the dream?”. But it was actually Jordan who reached out to me via Facebook messenger in May 2021. He sent me a music video for one of our favorite musicians and we got to talking. He mentioned that he was going through a divorce. 

I was shocked. He’d only been married for three years and everything seemed so perfect. We started calling each other again to catch up. I had randomly asked off work for a few days in July with no idea what I was going to do. Now I knew; I made plans to visit Jordan and his son in Texas. It was a short and mostly spontaneous trip but ending up being one of the most meaningful things I had experienced in a long time. 

When I got to his house he swung the door open and wrapped his arms around me. His son was shy, curious, and playful. I spent the majority of the first two days in their daily routine and that was exactly where I wanted to be. We went out to eat, played with toys, ran some errands, and took walks around the neighborhood. When Sterling was asleep Jordan and I got into deep discussions. 

About the divorce and how it affected him. How he was going to a therapist and doing everything in his power to put his son first. How his own parents divorce affected his childhood. The way he was struggling with depression and trying to do things differently. Those were long and heartbreaking conversations.

I was flooded with emotion. I have always been proud of him, even more so now. He was full of love for his son and had grown into a caring and devoted father. But he suffered through so much and it killed me. When I had started babysitting for him and his sister I knew that his parents were divorced but I didn’t realize just how bad it was. They would have preferred to stay with their father but due to custody issues they remained with their mother. She had taken care of them but was not particularly motherly. They had infrequent contact with their father that improved when they had gotten older, but he had passed away from cancer a few years ago. 

Jordan fell deeply in love with his wife, but she fell in love with another man. Her family took her side and his family was largely unsupportive. He was alone and doing everything he could to make sure his son didn’t go through what he had been put through. I knew that a lot of his life had been difficult, and hearing him relay these stories as an adult was heartbreaking. 

When he was in middle school he had gotten beat up by high schoolers. He was out with his friends and some older teenagers thought the boys had thrown something at their car. Jordan looked like the oldest kid in the group so the teens had singled him out. His mother called the house later that evening to tell me what happened and I drove right over. He was laying in his bed, covered in band-aids and bruises with a broken nose. 

He was in pain but he was going to be fine. I was angry and burst into tears. 

Infuriated, I said “if only I had been there I would have kicked their asses!”

Jordan was slightly confused and replied “ But Missy, you always said not to go looking for a fight.” 

“It’s different when you’re fighting for someone that you love.” 

It felt the same all these years later. Helpless and wanting so badly to fight for him.

In addition to having similar personalities, Jordan and I had a lot of parallels in our lives. We had both gotten our noses broken, worked for Starbucks, met our most recent significant other while working at Starbucks, and had creative jobs with long hours in our twenties (I worked doing production at DRIP and he was on tour with his band). 

Sitting in his home in Texas we talked long into the night. He talked about how difficult it was to have his relationship fall apart. How he tried to save it and she still blamed him for everything. She got to move on with her life and he was left to pick up the pieces. His relationship struggles had been so similar to my own that I felt guilt. If I had talked to him more over the years and told him about what I went through I might have spared him from some of this grief. 

On the flip side of the coin I have never been married, I have never been divorced, and I have never had a child. There were so many things he was dealing with that I had not experienced. 

In those difficult conversations I realized that Jordan and his sister Stephanie were the closest thing I had to children. I had often thought while babysitting them that if I ever have kids of my own that were as wonderful as they were I would consider myself lucky. I went on to watch my friends have families of their own while I never did. I often felt like motherhood was something that I was built for but had to let it go to waste. A powerful gift I was given with no tangible way to express it. 

Jordan and Stephanie had told me that I had raised them and that was always the best compliment I had ever received. Hearing Jordan say it again, as an adult, after everything he’d been through, held even deeper meaning. 

I hadn’t fully realized the impact my sister Jenny and I had on them growing up. How we had filled in gaps in their family. All the playing, talking, and just taking an interest in them as kids. They had come from a difficult situation and both grown into intelligent and loving adults. Looking back it made me realize that in some way I had been a parent. As young as I was; I had made a positive and lasting impact on two people. 

At one point while Jordan was giving his son a bath I started cleaning his fridge. He came down stairs and caught me towards the end of my little project. 

“What are you doing?”

“Listen, my mom always does stuff like this for me and this is one of the ways I can help you out. Just let me be your mom for the weekend.” 

On my last night visiting Jordan he had to drop off his son at his ex’s house. When he came to pick me up at the hotel he was in tears. He wasn’t used to being apart from his son. We hugged each other in the hotel parking lot. 

We spent the last night of my visit in Downtown Austin. We went out to eat and got ice cream. Walked around and saw some live music. All the while talking about songs we hadn’t heard in ages and all the fun memories we had from years ago. He mentioned how it had been forever since he had seen a live show. We talked about ways to make his Sundays more enjoyable after he dropped his son off. He said spending the weekend with me made him feel like himself for the first time in a long time. 

The next morning he picked me up at the crack of dawn to take me to the airport. When we got to the airport he got out of the car to give me a hug and I grabbed both sides of his face with my hands. I told him that I was proud of him. For continuing to fight, for going to counseling, for putting his son first. None of it was easy but it was the right thing to do. We both cried through our goodbyes. 

It was monumental to connect with him again in Texas. To meet his son and see the father he had become. To know that I had a positive impact on him. To see him fighting through a difficult situation and remain a loving person. 

For as much as I influenced Jordan and Stephanie they were equally influential on my life. They kept me silly, lighthearted, and connected to my childhood. They helped me see that my gifts were not wasted at all.

Grandma’s Recipes (2020)

Back in March I helped my parents clean out the garage. We ended up finding a small metal tin full of recipe cards. They belonged to my paternal grandmother Marie, who passed away when my father was only 12 years old. It came with us from Wisconsin in the mid nineties when we cleaned out my grandfather’s house and sat in the garage for 25 years. It looked like it had barely been touched since the 1950’s. It was still organized in alphabetical order and most cards were in her handwriting. 

I took photographs of a few of the recipes and I decided to make her macaroni and cheese with chocolate cake over the Christmas holiday. 

The cake recipes were separate from the frosting recipes so I just guessed at which two may go well together. The frosting came out runny mostly due to my cooking it on a high temp too long (I tried to compensate with a dusting of sprinkles). But it had a pretty color and it tasted good. 

Overall, it turned out well and my father said “it brought back a lot of memories”. 

What Changed

I come from a politically divided family. It’s just about split down the middle between liberals and conservatives, it always has been. I used to think it made me more tolerant. I was always around people who disagreed with me. I had to love them anyway.  

I had the luxury of largely avoiding the subject in my youth, but things slowly began to change in high school. My friend Chris started the Gay Straight Alliance. I supported the cause along with several other friends, but there was pushback. Chris surely took the brunt of it, and I greatly admired his bravery because he felt he could not come out to his father at the time. I was touched that he wanted to help others even though he struggled with support in his own personal life. 

My senior year was also when 9/11 occurred. I remembered the mix of panic, horror and confusion that overcame many Americans. There hadn’t been a foreign attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor, and think it shattered the safe little bubble so many of us thought we were in. And a lot of what should have been unity got turned into mistrust and hatred towards Muslim communities. I saw the ugly side of patriotism. 

I grew up thinking wars and the civil rights issues were behind us. But I saw first hand that wasn’t the case. I was proud when Obama was elected because I felt like we were moving in the right direction again. 

And then experienced the profound backslide with Trump. 

My father, ever the skeptical realist, has a favorite quote when it comes to politics: “What changes?”. It’s something that he likes to say to remind you that little about your personal life is effected from administration to administration. And honestly, most of the time he is right. But he said it to me again a while ago and I’ve been thinking. A lot has changed.

I remember going to bed early on the election night in 2016, assuming that the only obvious outcome was that Hilary Clinton would win. I voted for her although I wasn’t thrilled with my choices. I thought a Trump presidency was absurd. I remember waking up to the news in disbelief, but more than that I remember two of my LGBTQ friends heartbreaking post on Facebook about how vulnerable they felt. It was the start of that painful realization from high school creeping back in again. 

Over the past four years I’ve watched his unbridled misogyny and ignorance everyday. The disregard for those most in need, the brutal mistreatment of immigrants, the stripping away of healthcare and protections for the LGBTQ community, the insane Muslim ban and continued disregard for the Black Lives Matter movement. My friends. He was deliberately hurting those I cared for. It made me furious. 

I donated to the American Civil Liberties Union. I wrote every goddamn representative I have multiple times. I consumed information about the racial inequalities rampant in my country. Things I am embarrassed to admit I did not know. Things I was never taught in school. 

I cried a lot. Cried for the suffering I was ignorant of and had gone on for so long. I cried over the resurgence of white supremacy. Cried over leaders who did nothing. Trapped in my home due to the gross mishandling of the pandemic with horrific police brutality breaking out all over the country. 

The lack of comfort has been one of the most obvious and persistent things I’ve had to adapt to. Not being able to visit or hug friends has been tremendously difficult. Often in the past four years I’ve found I’ve relied heavily on the affection from the children of my best friends. I miss them terribly. Even the simple reassurance of meeting up with the fencers at Gators or the carefree nights of Swing Dancing. I miss the comforts of my favorite activities and my favorite people. I miss the things that made me feel whole. 

The divide within my family seems to have only grow wider. The conservatives have dug their heels in and committed fully to racism and bullying. I’ve had so many difficult conversations but my compassion is treated as weakness and my education is viewed as a bias. I’m not ever going to let anyone make me feel bad for protecting my friends and equal rights. I keep having to remind them that we too are recent immigrants to America. 

The death of Ruth Badger Ginsburg was particularly heartbreaking. She was a fighter to the end and she lead a truly remarkable life. She made it possible to have a job without being discriminated on the basis of gender, to have a bank account without a male co-signer, and to have a mortgage without a man. All things that have had a monumental impact on me. I am grateful I have control over my own path. It is astonishing to think how different my life could have been. This is why it is so important to fight for equality.

So many mourned her not just for her legacy but what horrors could occur in her absence. That burden should have never been placed on her but it was. So many people shouldn’t fear for their rights because she was the only one who would have protected them. We should never be at a point where we are removing peoples rights. That is the sign of a country in decline. 

I missed how happy my friends were when they felt protected. I miss having the Post Office run smoothly, I miss when this country was proud to be a melting pot. I miss having leaders who believe in science. I miss having the freedom to travel. I miss being able to hold my loved ones. I miss sleeping peacefully.

A lot had changed.

I’m burned out and exhausted from fighting for every little thing. From fighting my own family. From trying to be strong all the time. I want so badly for us to come out of this better than what we were. Please keep fighting.