Tag: things we never talk about

The Sunday Review: Rosie the Riveter Edition

On By BekkiIn The Weekly Review1 Comment

Hello, lovelies.

It was a rough winter; I didn’t realize how much of a hermit I’d turned into until the weather got nice and I started spending most of my day outside again. I’m going to try to make the weekly roundup a thing again, although I’ve said that before! Let me know in the comments or with the like button if you’re enjoying these, as that’s prime motivation to keep it happening.

1. Flight of whimsy. I bought a plane ticket to go to Hong Kong in September. By myself. For a week. This terrifies me, because it’s adventurous, impractical, and falls solidly in the “things I don’t do” category.

2. #metoo Amanda Palmer and Jasmine Power dropped a new song, Mr. Weinstein Will See You Now. It didn’t hit me nearly as hard as I thought it would, and I’m ok with that.

3. Black is the new green. After six months of feeling guilty every time I put vegetable peels and leftover food in the trash, I bought a compost tumbler. The last one took me six weeks to put together, this one took three hours. Now on my wishlist for the holidays: a proper cordless drill.

Picture of half-built compost tumbler.

4. Not a box. Z has been asking me to take her rock climbing for months. I got the gear during the big REI sale, then went to the gym and took the “intro class” so I could belay her. When I took her a few days later, she went straight for the bouldering section and proceeded to climb up and down the “ladder” for an hour. It felt eerily like spending lots of money on a birthday gift that your child ignores in favor of the box.

5. One of the trees in the back turned out to be a plum tree, and they are thisclose to ripe. Who’s got plum recipes?

Photo of almost ripe plums.

Links and Things

This article solidifies my cynicism around donating money to political campaigns: What Happened to Jill Stein’s Recount Millions. As someone who donated a measly $5, I’d like an answer.

I learned to take photos on my dad’s old Canon, which just sold its last film camera. I still miss the magic of immersing the photo paper in the developer and watching the picture appear (less so wrangling the film into the spool in the dark).

A tongue-in-cheek and a more useful guide to indoor plants.

I did what everyone’s saying you should do and read (ok, skimmed) the most recent “we’ve updated our privacy policy” email I received and what do you know, it had two helpful links for opting out of online ads.

November 3, 2015

On By BekkiIn Pinned PostsLeave a comment

I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to think.
I am shattered. Heartbroken.
All the cliches are true. Every. Single. One.

***

Ben was easier to process. I knew the names of his demons. I knew where they hid. It didn’t hurt any less (do you hear me, Ben, you motherfucker? Do you know that I still miss you every day you’re not here?), but it didn’t send me reeling.

This? All I have are questions. I think:
If he could do this, who’s next? Who else do I know who is holding such unspeakable grief inside?
Was it money? Sex? Drugs? Something that can move the needle to explicable?

***

I’ve been fairly useless for the past three days. I take my girl to playgroup and to school and to eat Chinese food, and I think:

What’s wrong with our culture? What did we do to make him feel so alone? Why do we place the trappings of success above our own well-being?
Was this a wake up call? A warning? To who?

***

On Monday, NPR ran a bit about a health care plan aiming for a zero suicide rate. They screen for depression, are proactive about treatment. I think:

Would this have helped?
Would this net even have caught him?

***

I still believe, passionately, in the right to suicide. Deciding not to live is the ultimate act of self determination. Who am I to make that decision for someone else?

And yet. I think:

If there had been someone to listen, would he still have thought this the only option?
If we talked about this, if we made space for depression and anger and fear of failure (or of success or of life itself), would he still have jumped?

***

We cannot help but continue on. The hole doesn’t always close, but the edges smooth.

***

I unpacked some boxes yesterday, trying to regain some sense of order. Of control. I think:

If you’re reading this, I love you. I care about you. I would miss you.
If you need a hand to hold, you’ve got mine.