Gobble Squared, Part II

Well....depending on whom you ask, that went much better or much, much worse than anticipated.

The wife will NOT be pleased I am writing this blog, but I am gonna do it, anyway. That's how I roll. She's such a private person. She often exclaims, "is NOTHING sacred?" I often try to honor her privacy, but this is too much. Besides, I know she is not alone. I write this for all the people who were up in the night, filled with angst, sadness and pain. I write this for all of you. I wish no one needed this blog but I know you are out there. I give you a virtual hug.

I knew there would be no changing of minds on this supposed day of thanks. Prior to entering the house, I prayed that mouths would be too full to have much time to spit out utter, uneducated nonsense. I had much to say to them but they are not ready or willing to hear it, so why bother raising my blood pressure? Besides, I knew if I started, I would not stop. That would not be fair to the wife, so I didn't start. The venom would have shot out of me like there was no tomorrow. That would've made me no better than them.

No sense in getting too riled up when the audience is speaking French and I'm speaking Chinese.

Thanksgiving 2016: A meal stuffed with hateful, ignorant rhetoric, blatant racism and enough white privilege to choke a Mayflower full of pilgrims. Nothing like a little, "Oh, but I have all kinds of friends!" followed by "please pass the gravy."

I was fortunate enough to be seated at the kiddie table. No joke. There I was with six children, seated in the dining room, away from the adult table in the kitchen. The kids thought I was funny. I thought they were funny. We talked about poop and Santa. I pretended I was drinking poop-flavored beer--out of a glass that was empty, which they found all the more funny.  It was delightful. The wife eventually found her way to the kiddie table and joined us for the relief. Ah,  the joy of being four years old and not wanting to eat the weird purple fluff substance.

It got loud at the adult table. I was able to ignore it. The wife was not. At one point, a sister-in-law poked her head into the dining room and exclaimed, "Do not go in there!" (I knew I liked her.) Like I was gonna go in there.

I would rather stick a drumstick up my ass than go in there. The ignorance spewing forth in that room would have left me scarred for life. I'm no fool. Kiddie table for me.

The wife tried several times to get her family to stop talking politics, but she was VERY unsuccessful.  Each time she tried, she was ignored. At one point, I stood up from across the room and loudly suggested she leave the room. I might have yelled, "WALK AWAY."

Okay, so I did indeed yell, "WALK AWAY." I figured she would benefit from some direct interference, seeing as she was frozen.

Personally, I'm glad I didn't yell something worse. I found it to be a major triumph.


I honestly wasn't bothered by the stupidity because I had truly embraced it before arriving. I had not a shred of doubt that the idiocy would be glaring. Besides, I've been on the fringe since day one. It's easy for me.

It was not easy for the wife.

Thankfully, they did not do the three-hour sob fest so at least we were spared that blessed event. I might have announced I was now Muslim had we had to do that activity. I might have said lots of things I could never take back. I might have walked out. I might have not walked out when I should have walked out. I might have told them what I actually thought about their lack of support, their duplicitous behavior, their glaringly obvious racism, their supposed Christianity....

...The Jesus I know is not the Jesus they profess. Oh, how I am glad I didn't get started on that.

Duty to warn: If one more person says that "they" didn't act that way when Obama was elected, I am going to open a can of whoop-ass like no other. Ugh.

Yes, this did come up at the dinner table, but I wasn't close enough to take action and was able to laugh. Actually, I laughed out loud. Loudly. It snuck out of me, kind of like a fart you didn't see coming. I knew it was of no use to say anything about that birth certificate nonsense, the "coming to take your guns" battle cries, the fear that "now all those people will want rights."

I want to be a better person than that.


Today, the wife looks like she got hit by a truck. To her, I say: you are more than enough.
You are an amazing human being.
You do matter.
You are just as important.
You are equal.
You are not crazy.

I post this little diddy just for her.

We cannot change them. After all, you can lead a horse to water... we can give them facts. We can voice our opinion, but we must know they may not accept it or consider it or even listen to it.

Instead of beating our head on a wall, I suggest we do things that can change the world, that show love and compassion, that help others. We can and will made ourselves heard. We will love each other and seek the light when it is very dark.

We will choose to write a different narrative. 

Like I said, I thought it went a lot better than anticipated... but, that does not mean I'm looking forward to Christmas Eve, the next gathering. I'm not sure I can behave at two events in a row, just a month apart. Perhaps reflective distance and a bit of time passed will have helped.

Perhaps not. We have options. No decision needs to be made today.

A nap and chocolate and supportive friends and Kleenex and the deactivation of social media are needed today. Hugs. Lots of hugs. But, no decisions.

Perhaps a little Elf on a Shelf action will serve as a good distraction. This year's elf might end up being very political. I see a "nasty" elf in the coming days. Or, maybe a nasty hombre.

I may be able to control my mouth but I cannot control the elf. Oh, how I am going to love this elf.

To the wife's family, to those who hate, to those who deny the truth;

to those who are scared, to those who seek peace, to those who work for the truth:

We are all in this together.

And, to those who are feeling defeated: we are with you. We love you. We embrace you. You are not alone. You are more than enough. We are in this together with you. The elf is with you.

Stand back. The elf is on a mission.
*************************************************

Gobble Squared

The day has come....

It's the morn of Thanksgiving. The wife has an entire field of sweet potatoes in the oven, the Christmas music is playing and strong political rantings have slowed a wee bit on social media, replaced by suggestions of how to survive the holiday without your family imploding.

It is the calm before the storm.

The weather is appropriate for the time of year: cold but not frigid, cloudy but not precipitating.  I pray this is indicative of what will brew at the dinner table...appropriate, not too cold, not icy.

A perfect distraction showed up yesterday morning: This year's representative of the Evil Elves arrived in the Addiverse, this time donned in red (as opposed to last year's green). I fear what plans he has for us this year....

I have asked him NOT to show up at the dinner table today but he could not make me any guarantees. At least he's not wearing an "I'm with Her" t-shirt...yet. If he shows up at that dinner table in a nasty outfit or yells out anything about all the hombres at the table, all bets are off.

It's a great and a lousy time of year to be gluten free vegetarian. Great because there are so many side dishes that rise to the level of being a main course. Lousy because gluten seems to find its way into some of those most tasty products. Let's not even talk about pie. Damn pie crusts. No one is making gluten free pie crust where I am going. I'll have to settle for whipped cream on a spoon.... not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

Mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli-something-something, the wife's sweet potatoes remain excellent options. It's a carbo nightmare of which I gladly embrace. Stuffing, green bean casserole and biscuits, step back from thee. I thought about bringing along my own gluten-free bread products but thought that a bit much. After all, I'll have enough carbs without it.

My list of things of which to be grateful is long, as it always tends to be. I speak not of these things when the wife's family begins their three hour sob fest. I stick to smile, nodding and dissociating. I pray to the gods above that this year's gratitude event is canceled, lest someone start professing their love for a certain man of which should not be discussed in mixed company.

I am loved. I have family. I have friends. I am safe and warm. I am employed. I am healthy. I have abundance. I am afforded things of which might be taken for granted and of which too many people do not have--such as clean air and clean water and white privilege.

I have chocolate. I am bed-bug free. I am a Cubs fan.

I have an elf.

If things go south today during dinner or the sob fest, I'll go "Live" on Facebook, so keep your social media close.  I'm charging my phone. I'm cleaning the camera lens. I'll have the app open, just in case. I wouldn't want you to miss a single minute of any melee that might ensue.

Actually, I don't think anything is going to happen today with the in-laws. I think it will be much the same, only with a few more eggshells of which to tip toe around. I anticipate everyone being on their best bipartisan behavior.

I wish you the warmest of Holiday blessings. May the stuffing be plentiful. May the gravy be lump free. May access to pumpkin/pecan/apple pie be unlimited. May your dinner mates be well behaved. May your elf remain silently on the shelf.

Gobble gobble, indeed.

Sheltering Mr. Cat

As the things continue to get whiter and darker at the same time, Life goes on in the Addiverse. Thankfully, my job continues to keep me entertained to no end.

Case in point: Last week, I had a young man with schizophrenia request me to come see what he "does" as a volunteer at a local shelter. As he speaks about the cats at the place of which he volunteers non-stop (it is his one true pleasure in life), I could not turn down such a genuine request. 

Please note: I am EXTREMELY allergic to cats. We're talking hives and swollen eyes and itching and eventual difficulty breathing. Oh, I can deal with one cat at a time, but only when armed with allergy medication AND an immediate washing of the hand if said hand actually touched the cat. Two cats I can take if I have allergy medication AND I don't touch either of the cats AND I change my clothes after being in a house with two cats. More than two cats: count me out. I will sit on the front stoop and wait for the party to end.

If you think I am kidding about that last sentence, I am not. One time, during a party at a friend's house, I actually had to sit outside on the front stoop while the party raged on inside. The hostess owned 6+ cats. I was wheezing within minutes of being in that house. I watched the festivities through the picture window.

To be clear, I really like cats but I can't have a cat. I am way too allergic. (That and the fact that the wife is most definitely a cat fan. Now, now--don't be hating on the wife. She is just not a cat person. After all, she doesn't let me walk on the counters. You think she's gonna let a cat walk on the counters?)

Back to the cat-loving client. I explained to him numerous times that I couldn't come visit due to my severe allergy. He was not going to take "no" for my answer. I'm telling ya, that guy wore me down. No matter what I said, he had an answer. He promised me I wouldn't have to touch any of the cats and that he would only expect me to stay a few minutes. I knew he was lying (to himself--I saw right through it). I knew I wouldn't be able to get out of there in a few minutes, but, he wore me down.....

....I went to the shelter and hoped for the best.

I had no idea how many cats (or volunteers) there would be. There were cats and volunteers everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I teetered on anaphylactic shock just waling in the door. (From the cats, not the volunteers.) The cats looked mighty happy and relaxed, almost as if they were looking over their kingdom and reigning over their minions--er, I mean volunteers.

Mr. Cat, as I shall call him, was very excited to see me and immediately started dragging me around to meet the cats. Every.Single.Cat. Not just the cat, mind you. He read every cage door tag aloud to me. He made sure I knew the cat's name. He talked about their demeanor. I knew I could live through up to 30 minutes of being in the building, so I decided to do my best and enjoy his oozing of pride.

[Because Mr. Cat has schizophrenia, he has what is known as a very flat affect--that is, he shows little emotion and has a very monotonous tone when speaking. I tell you this only so you can envision the interaction in a more realistic manner.  No smile, no warmth to the voice. Very matter of fact and direct. Envision this.]

It's when he opened each and every cage that I knew I was in trouble. Not only did he open each cage, he demanded--in his flat, loud, no-nonsense voice--I pet the cat.

Mr. Cat [points to open cage of first cat]: Aren't you going to pet the cat?

Me [shaking head no]: You know I'm allergic to cats.

Mr. Cat [with an unusual amount of emotion, most definitely aimed at me]: You mean you are not going to pet this cat?

Me: No, I really can't pet that cat. I'm really allergic.

Mr. Cat [louder, firmer]: You are not even going to touch it on the back? You have to pet this cat.

Me: Seriously, I can't pet the cat. I honestly can't.

Guess who petted the cat?

I have to say, the cats were very happy to have affection pointed their way. Lots of purring, lots of rubbing faces on my arm...one cat was even licking me. Of course, each cat needed attention, per his explanation. Thus, I petted every cat. One hand only. No holding the cat. Just petting its head or back.

Mr. Cat: Do you want to hold this cat?

Me [in a hopefully stern but compassionate voice]: No, I don't want to hold the cat.

Mr. Cat: C'mon. Just hold the cat.

Me [backing away slowly]: I can't hold the cat.

Mr. Cat: At least pet the cat.

Me [not a fool]: No, I'm not petting that cat. You'll just hand it to me.

Mr. Cat smiled. It was then I realized his day had been made.  Mr. Cat was very much enjoying my visit.

I did not have to hold the cat. I had to do something MUCH worse: I had to go meet the dogs.

Mr. Cat knew Freckles and Lucy. He is always talking about Freckles and Lucy being in heaven. He wanted me to see the dogs so I might miss Freckles and Lucy less. That was a kind and loving act on his part. For me, it was torture.

Mr. Cat: Do you want to see the dogs?

Me: No, no I really don't want to see the dogs.

Mr. Cat: C'mon, come see the dogs. They're really nice. Look, there is one like Freckles and Lucy.

Me: No, no, no! Do not make me look at the dogs. I can't look at the dogs!

Guess who looked at the dogs?

It was awful. I am still having flashbacks. I don't go to shelters for a reason. I'll give money but I'm not going in the door.

First up: a tiny little shih tzu-ish mutt, super old, mostly deaf and decidedly limited in sight. The guessed age was between 10 and 13. There was no way that dog was less than 13. I know an old dog when I see one, having just survived the passing of a crusty old dog. I was heart broken that the dog was there and it gave a little howl suggesting he knew of my ability to spoil older dogs. Now praying for more cats, ready to kiss cats on the head and rub them all over my arms and face in order to escape this torture, I turned to leave. That's when Mr. Cat shoved me toward the next cage, housing a sausage of a three year old dog, own surrender due to owner health issues. She gave me a pitiful take me home look. Oh, how I wanted to take that dog home....

I am going to send Mr. Cat my therapy bill.

Please know that the dogs were very well cared for, with volunteers loving each of them--sitting with them, talking to them, petting them, feeding them, playing with them. If you had to be a dog at a shelter, I'd pick this place. Lots of food, lots of love, lots of very clean cages. Still, I can't bear it. I tried everything but knocking Mr. Cat on his ass to get out of that room.

Suffice it to say, I left without a dog. Just scars. No dogs. By the end of the tour, I was ready to go home, roll into a little fetal ball and call it a day.

Mr. Cat thanked me for coming to see his cats. He asked me if I wanted to take a cat home.  He even offered advice about what cat I should choose. For once during this whole ordeal, I stood firm. I did NOT come home with a cat. I returned to my office with hives on my forearms and very itchy eyes but nothing more.

As I was leaving, Mr. Cat promised me we can look at photos of cats on the shelter's webpage when he next comes to see me in my office. Although I adore Mr. Cat and honor his dedication to the cats of which he serves....

....I think my computer shall be broken that day.

No, I KNOW it will be very "broken" and nowhere to be found. It'll be in the trunk of my car, avoiding cats and dogs, hidden right next to my supply of Benadryl. The computer and I will be avoiding photos and stories of the animals like there is no tomorrow.

hell. Who am I kidding? I'll look at the web page when he next visits. Pray that crusty teacup elder of a dog is gone by the time he makes me look at that website.
*******************************************************************

Counted my chickens.....

Well, THIS is gonna be A LOT harder than originally anticipated.

I talked a good game last blog entry, didn't I? I meant every word of it....yet....

So.Much.Harder.

"You're just sore losers."

"Whiny bitches didn't get their way."

"This is what you get when everyone gets a trophy." (That was a weird one.)

"You're not going to lose anything."

"Losers protesting because they didn't get their way. Poor babies. We didn't protest when No-bama took the presidency."

"Get over it. Move on."

Those are just a few of the nicer comments. I choose not to think of or repeat the hateful, repulsive ones.

And, the safety pins--even the safety pins are causing havoc. I thought it a fine gesture, a sign of solidarity for those scared. Well, there has been a whole lot of hate over those things, too. I won't dignify the things I have read or have heard. Yes, heard. Not everything comes from the media.

Maybe we need a open-carry safety pin law.

It's easy enough to sign off of social media. It's easy enough to listen to recorded music than the radio. Saying something on paper is a whole lot easier than seeing people face to face. I forgot about the reality of the holidays. I got a taste of that this weekend, when we went to one of the least diverse places on the planet with the most amount of conservatives in one square block. I did a lot of bobbing, weaving, ducking, and general moving around. I was exhausted by the end of the two hour event. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to be seen as a sore loser. I didn't want to argue about my rights or discrimination or anything. I was there for a party, to celebrate something of which was not tied in any capacity to the election. (Well, unless the Donald paid for the party. Then, I can understand.)

I don't know what is true and what is not anymore. I don't know if the news on "this" side is truer than the news on "that" side. I don't know if there are hate crimes going on or if, as the Tea Team says, the 'libtards' are purposefully doing these things or making false accusations to rile up the remainder of the 'libtards.' (God, I hate that word.) I don't know if there really are white folk marching in the street, ripping religious head garb off of those non-Christian terrorist types on the bus. I don't know if there are haters really painting swastika on walls or worse. I don't know if little children are taunting and threatening each other in grade school. I assume these things are true. I imagine it easily these things are true. I believe these things are true. But, I don't know if what I believe is true because there is so misinformation.

I don't even know what is true about the guy who's gonna be seated in the oval office:The Donald is for gay rights. Here's a photo of him holding a gay pride flag.

The Donald's VP is one of the most, and I mean most, anti-gay men on the planet. He funded conversion therapy, defunded AIDS-related initiatives and thinks condoms are the work of the devil. Which Donald is true? The guy wearing the gay flag or the guy who picked a homophobic running mate?

The Donald is thinking about having a gay man on his team. He is all about the gays. He loves the gays. Nothing is going to happen to the gays. He has gay friends. He has black friends. He loves his black friends. They love him.

The Donald is thinking of having Sarah Palin--a woman!--on his team. You betcha! He is inclusive. He loves women. No one loves women more than the Donald.

I've even heard that the Donald is actually a Democrat who is playing the other side for the fool and that it's going to be totally different than it looks like at this moment once he actually takes the presidency. Well, THAT would be interesting!

I could counter the nonsense and ridiculous comments by asking you. the non-libtard, to say aloud eight times (one for each year): OBAMA IS COMING TO GET YOUR GUNS!

Were you sore losers when you said that? Were you extremists? Were you scared? Were you protesting your president? Did you "just get over it?"

Gee, you still have your guns. So, what are you? What was that? Why was that okay but my fear is not?


That, in a very weird way, gives me hope. You still have your guns. I'll still have my rights. Win-win!

 So, this is much harder than I anticipated.

I only have a few days to figure out Thanksgiving, the holiday of which I think will be most problematic. There is definite concern that things will turn religious, political and dark. We will be in the home of someone who was disrespectful to our current president, someone who has 100% drunk the tea. Someone who has voiced he doesn't care if gays lose their rights because of the bigger picture. Someone who has facts only from one source. Someone who repeats things but has done no research. Someone who is afraid that blacks want the same rights as him. Someone who believes that hateful rhetoric toward the Muslim community.

It is much, much easier said than done to just not go to event. I don't want to send that message. That can't end well in the big picture. I'm just adding fuel to the fire by not going. But, I also don't know how to sit there quietly and behave while my blood pressure cooks to a whole new level. It's not my house, so it's not my place to argue.

Sigh. Maybe I'll smile and nod, all while wearing a gay pride button on one side and a safety pin on the other. I'll be a sore loser libtard but I'll be happier than I would have been. Oh, if only I were a drinking kind of woman.

Counted my chickens. Not even hatched. Damn chickens, way too early. Dang, I need a stronger mantra. Yup. A new mantra: They still have their guns. I'll still have my rights.

I need a reliable news source. A vat of chocolate. A new set of chickens.

Maybe I don't have chickens. Maybe I have ducks....

Maybe I have squirrels.

Raving Squirrels. They may be loser squirrels, whiny squirrels, black squirrels but whatever they are, they are most certainly not in a row. 

No more counting chickens.
I'm having squirrels from here on out.
Safety-pin wearing squirrels.
Dancing with the gays at a rave squirrels.
Rabid, angry, raving squirrels.
You have been warned.

*************************************************************************

Ice Cream, Friendship and Bubbles of Love

I dedicate this entry to incredibly supportive friends & family of whom I can never thank enough. You are the rock stars of the Addiverse.

I've gone back and forth about this blog entry...

It would be super weird if I didn't write about the election. I mean, it's a pretty big deal and you know I'm all full of opinions and fervor when it comes to this kind of thing. Not spewing my feelings, profound thoughts and withholding general nondescript babbling might make you worry that I'm drunk in a corner or I've gone completely off the grid (and/or off the cliff).

Since you already can guess my reaction to the election, what more can I add to the conversation? (You might be a wee bit surprised about my political stance--I am a very bipartisan voter. Many a Republican should thank me.) You know what I'm chewing on in my busy little brain, so is writing about the election worthy of the electricity it takes to zap it across the world?

In a weird, happy and probably very healthy way, I don't want to write about the election. It is what it is. Oh, I suppose I can embrace it, ignore it, fret over it, celebrate it, scream about it but it still is what it is. What more can I add to the conversation? So, why write about it? Wouldn't you like to hear more about the World Series? Poop? The status of my still-not-replaced air bag in my Honda? Maybe some funny memes about Cheetos....

Let's face it....there is no way I can keep myself from writing something. The turning point? Reading the stuff about all the hate crimes which have transpired  in the last 24 hours. Pushed me right off the "won't write about it" ledge.
Not all the way off the ledge. I'm dangling. Just like participles in my blog entries. Dangling but hanging on.

So I don't lose my grip, let the words written here proclaim my willingness to do the very best to surround all the hate in a bubble of love.

Know that I will work to see the good in all people, just as I hope they will see the good in me. 

This is a tall order. After all, I've had some things happen in my life that make it hard not to get scared or riled up or distracted by what just transpired on a national level. I don't want to dwell on the past but every once in awhile, it whispers in me ear. I am deeply troubled by the hateful rhetoric and the immediate visceral, physical, hateful reactions being seen around our country.

It makes the whispering just that much louder.

But, that whispering doesn't have to lead to hatred. After all, if I'm in hatred, I am very much part of the issue. Instead of being hatred, I need to be love. I can hear those whispers and think, "not today, history. Not today."

I'm not over it. I'm certainly not done with it. I'm still angry about it. But, I can work with it. Let's just say I have a lot of work to do and a whole lot of brownies in a mug to eat. I can still hear that whispering and still feel that fear but it's a whole lot less painful when surrounded by the love of friends, family and self.

For the time being, I'll stick to the Weather Channel and NFL football. I'll enjoy the company and comfort of dear friends. I'll not peer into the future and worry about things of which may or may not transpire. I'll eat chocolate and ice cream and make gluten free dessert products in a mug. I'll scream the Serenity Prayer as often as needed. I'll talk about Carrie Underwood's legs. (How the hell does she walk around the stage in those high heels?) I'll order a gluten free pizza and eat the whole thing in one sitting. I'll feel what I feel in a most authentic manner, all while holding that mug cake in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

I shall sprinkle myself with friendship, gratitude and humor. I will spend time with those people who can have a laugh and a cry in one conversation. I will be strong and loving at the same time. I'll do my best to focus on the good in those who oppose that in which I believe. It's gonna take a lot of ice cream, friendship and hugging. I won't believe what the whispers have to say. I will stand up for what I believe but I don't have to let it engulf my very being. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disgusted about this or that. It would be a lie if I said I wasn't incredulous. But, I can work with that.....

...and, I can work with this. I'll post one meme about the election. Just one. I can't help myself. I behaved all the way to the end of this post. That's gotta count for something. Hope you've seen this movie because this meme says it all....

heh heh.

Two in Five Million

Friday, November 4, 2016. It's 9 AM. I am sitting at my desk--yes, the same desk I had fallen off the day before. A peer is in my office, working diligently.

Enter the maintenance man. 

He takes a gander at the two of us and asks, "Why aren't you two at the parade?" He jokes about how he thought we'd be there, that of everyone he thought for sure we'd be meandering the city with our kind. (The Cubs World series parade. People, KEEP UP!)

Exit the maintenance man.

My peer, whom I shall refer to as Clark Sheffield, looks at me. I look at Clark. I ask aloud, "Why AREN'T we at the parade?" Clark shrugs and indicates he doesn't know. We both WANT to be there. We both NEED to be there. But, we aren't there. He points out that he has a court appointment at 10 AM, so he really can't go. I concur.

Then, his dang phone rings... the court appointment has been cancelled.

I declare this a sign from God. 

I ask him if he wants to go. We stare at each other, big smiles painted all over our faces. He pulls out his cell phone and checks out the Metra train schedule. He announces, "If I drive 85 MPH, we can catch the 10:20 AM train."

I have no idea if he was kidding or not about the 85 MHP part, but I know I didn't care. All I have to do is (1) figure out if I can be back by 5 PM and (2) find someone to cover my one appointment for the day. I get a co-worker to agree--rather quickly. (She started to hem and haw and ask questions...I educated her that it was a YES or NO question and that the answer had to be NOW.) As for the 5 PM bit, it looked plausible, as long as we were able to catch a train allowing for that needed arrival time.

The next thing I know, we are in his car, screaming down the freeway. 

We aren't in our Cubs gear because we hadn't planned on going to the Cubs Parade. He's not wearing walking shoes and I'm wearing shorts despite it being 50 degrees. We don't have information. We don't have a plan. But, we have faith and a World Series win. That is enough.

Side note: Smart phones make things easy. It's like cheating. We had access to train schedules, parade schedules, street maps, etc. I say we didn't have a plan but really--does one NEED a plan when technology is along for the ride?

It is important to note that we both took the time to seek input from our spouses BEFORE leaving the parking lot. My wife thinks this is the greatest idea I've ever had (seriously--she was all giddy about this), while his wife wasn't completely sold on the idea. I think it was more about her wanting to come along more than him actually going to the parade with me.

We made the train, with minutes to spare. I purchased the tickets while he parked the car. It was an easy enough ride to downtown Chicago, with almost all the commuters blanketed in blue.

Once there, we quickly surmised that we would need swimming skills to navigate the sea of humanity in front of us. There was no questioning where to go--all you had to do was get into the stream and go with the flow. Our goal was to see the parade. Bonus points if we got to Grant Park to hear the rally and speeches.

The traffic downtown was more ridiculous than usual but everyone was honking and cheering and waving. The beeping was in good cheer, not in hateful anger. I found it quite surreal. Cars stuck in traffic with happy passengers. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it.

My photos do not do justice to the event.

I have never seen so many people in one place at one time. I've been to sporting events with 80,000 people and this was nothing like that. This was a whole new beast. Thankfully, everyone was happy and laughing and singing and celebrating. Even the cops were laughing and high-fiving people. There wasn't an angry bone in that entire entity.

Of course, it might have been all the pot smoking that made people so happy. I'm not sure. All I know is that I was VERY surprised by all the pot smoking. Right out in the open, not a care in the world. What were the police gonna do--arrest someone for smoking a joint while dealing with a five million person crowd? Not a top priority.

Clark and I did indeed see the parade--and the World Series trophy--but we were not able to swim our way to Grant Park. We tried but the crowd went one way while we tried to go the other. Let it be know that it is impossible to go against a crowd this size. (I now also understand how someone could be stampeded or trampled. I always thought that sounded ridiculous. Now I know. Even a friendly crowd could easily trample someone.) We were lucky enough to see the parade. With this, we swam our way back to the train station, traversing the bottles and cans and garbage and people.

I cannot express to you what it feels like to see people as far as you can see. I mean for as far as the eye can see. Just people. People wearing blue baseball caps. People smiling and joking and having a great time. People celebrating something fun, something historic, something almost unreal.

For one moment in time, there was nothing but elation and celebration. There was no election. There was no strife. There was no hatred, arguing, name-calling.  What a profound relief to be immersed in such frivolity. Baseball may only be an event of which has nothing to do with my real life but this sure was a nice by-product of a non-entity.

Being that I am twenty years older than Clark, I'm not sure he had the same reaction as me. But, I can tell you that he seemed to be having a pretty good time, soaking it all in.

It took us an hour to walk a mile. That's how many people were in the streets. I wasn't sure we were going to make our train but we squeaked in before the Metra rolled away from Union Station.

Yes, I made it home by 5 PM. 

Clark and I are now part of history. It is estimated that five million people were in attendance and that this was the largest gathering of people in America....EVER. It's been deemed the seventh largest gathering of people in the history of the WORLD. I daresay that data sounds correct. That city was packed with people.

We were two in five million. Not everyone can say that. (Well, technically, four million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight people can say that, but who's counting?)

Clark and I will always be bonded together by these few hours in time and space. 

I believe this to be a once in a lifetime thing and so I am just that much more grateful to have attended the parade. But, Clark? Clark is young. Clark sees this as the start of something, not a one time thing. He can see more victories in the future. I can tell there are more parades in his future. I will wish him and his wife a good time. I'll wave to them from the train station. I think one five million person gathering is enough for me.

Unless....that dang maintenance man asks me why I'm not there.....

...all bets are off if the maintenance man arrives.....
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Desking the "W"

I fell off my desk today.

Yes, I was standing on my desk at work. You may be wondering WHY I was standing on my desk at work. Or, perhaps you question nothing that goes on in the Addiverse, as nothing is too weird, too bizarre, too unusual, too....well, not too thought out.

In celebration of the Cubs winning the World Series, I decided to make a great big blue "W" out of poster board and hang it in my window at work. Now, this is against all the workly rules, but I like to live on the edge. (We're not even supposed to use scotch tape to hang anything anywhere, so putting a scotch-taped sign in my window is dangerous on many accounts.) Hey, I'm the only one on the lower level with a window, so I say why not fly the "W?" My window is technically at ground level, so you would think flying the "W" would be easy... but, when standing in my office, the window is near the ceiling.

Hence, I was standing on my desk.

Now, it might have been that I was so tired from last night's ball game that I had a momentary lapse of balance... or, more likely judgment. Or, perhaps I usually demonstrate momentary lapses of balance or judgment. Whatever the case, I took a wrong step and a-tumbling I went.

No worries. The giant bruise on my shin will eventually fade. Nothing is broken. My glasses are bent and my keys fell behind my desk (of which is not movable, making that an interesting problem), but otherwise, I am no worse for the wear.

All this because of the Cubs winning the World Series.

I did not enjoy Game 7. I was a ball of angst. Some people hoot and holler and high five. I sit on the couch, frozen in anxiety, wearing headphones, watching music videos on my tablet, internalizing all the feelings that go with an event like this. The more stressed I become, the less I have to say; in fact, I was totally silent for the majority of the event...

...except, it seems that at one point I was growling. I had head phones in, volume up to eardrum-crushing levels. I had no idea I was doing this. The wife wondered what I was doing. I didn't know what she was talking about. "Why are you growling?" she asked. I turned off the volume and realized that I was indeed growling from the bottom of my throat. Huh.

The lead slipped away. The score was tied. Things were crumbling.  My heart was pounding in my ears. I could no longer watch the game. I stood up and exclaimed,

"I CANNOT DO THIS!"

I got up and left the room.

The wife does not understand my way of watching sports. She hoots and hollers and high fives. It is the one time she externalizes and the one time I am internalize things. I am a novel concept in her sporting world. She does not understand my superstitions, my silence, why I am wearing headphones, my why I cannot "do" this. As she pondered my way of being, she made the mistake of all mistakes. As I was walking away, muttering of how I could not take any more, she said that no matter the outcome, team is very young and....

"....there's always next year."

ARE YOU FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME?

YOU.DO.NOT.SAY.THAT.TO.A.CUBS FAN! That's all we've said for the past 108 years. We've lived for that "next year" for all those next years. Well, there is no next year. There is HERE AND NOW.

HERE. NOW. GAME SEVEN. NOT. NEXT. YEAR!

I was so distraught at this point that I went upstairs to bed. Now, I didn't go to bed to sleep. I went there to be far away from the TV and so I could lay down and let the blood flow back through my body (instead of pooling in my brain). I went there to lower my blood pressure. I went there to get a grip and to block out any thoughts of a potential loss.

It is then I learn: OH MY GOD, NOW THEY ARE IN EXTRA INNINGS. Nope, nope, nope. Can't do this. If I were a drinker, I would have been so drunk by this point I would not have been able to walk for a week. I would be drinking out of the bottle. Not the first bottle. Probably out of the third bottle.

The wife came to bed when the rain delay came to town. I was still drowning in my angst, more silent than ever. I muttered something and laid there, stewing. I wanted to throw up. I said that we'd know the outcome if we heard fireworks. That probably sounds like a weird thing to say but it's true. A World Series championship would certainly result in neighborhood celebratory fireworks.

The relief I felt when I heard those fireworks was beyond compare. 

I know this is a game of which has no bearing on my "real" life. I usually make fun of people who are so serious about a team, about a game. I usually can't wrap my head around the zeal, the inconceivable passion for a sporting event. But, there I was, allowing a game rule my life, my very being. How I didn't implode, I do not know.

Today, I am very tired. I struggled to stay awake during a most boring training. It was difficult, to say the least. My saving grace was that everyone else was just as tired. Some people didn't have voices, as they had spent the night screaming at the television. My voice was just fine. I had knots in my back and shoulder blades and neck, I had a headache to beat the band, I had eyeballs that felt like they were on fire, but my voice was perfectly nasal as usual. Of course, I have a bruise on my shin and a sore arm and a set of lost keys, but I have a voice.

I'm here to say that the blue "W" is proudly waving in my window. It is illegally scotch-taped to the window (take that, powers that be!) and it is staying in that window for as long as I deem appropriate or, until they write me up for using scotch tape. 

I proudly embrace that big ol' bruise on my leg, my crooked glasses, my sore muscles, my weary bones. I fully embrace my illegal scotch tape. I gladly embrace my guttural growling. I accept my internalized ball of distress-ness. I own all of my weird superstitions. I admit that I fell off my desk. Most importantly, I embrace the fact that the Cubs won the World Series last night. THAT is something of which I thank the baby Jesus, of which I celebrate in my own quiet way.

For once, this was not "there is always next year." This is this year, THE year. Cub fans, alive and dead, near and far, young and old: that poster board "W" in my window is for all of us. Every.Single.One.of.Us. I'm waving the "W" with you, for you, in honor of you.

We look good in Cubbie Blue.

If I can survive this, I can survive the nonsense of the upcoming presidential election. If the Cubs can win the world series, a woman can become the president. A woman who, by the way, was raised in Cubs territory. No kidding. She's from Park Ridge, a decidedly very Cubbie Blue place to be. This makes me very happy.

I will be pretty quiet on election night. My goal is to not get caught growling and to keep the faith through the duration. I will go to bed when things get too tense. I will wear headphones and watch music videos.  If the Cubs can do it, we can do it. One week, people. One more week.

May the force, Harry Carey and Ernie Banks be with all of us.
************************************************
P.S. Cleveland, you are a class act. Seriously. Thank you.