"My birthday should never be remembered..."

These were the words my grandfather spoke on 9/11/01.  I had called him from my home in Lowell, Massachusetts, making sure he was doing ok.  I had wrapped two packages for him the night before, and decorated the wrapping paper.  My twin kidlets, just a year old, loved visiting him to look for "monkeys under the bed."  This was a game we had.  At Grampy's house we had a small container of stuffed animals, and somehow Kidlets A and B thought there were monkeys under the bed.  This may root back to the story of "The Monkey in Berlin" from when my grandfather was stationed at Checkpoint Charlie after World War II, but that's for another time.

Here is a photo of Carroll Sr. and I from my wedding.  The quality is off, as it's a photo of a photo.  However, I was brought to tears as I noticed the "Photo Orb" next to me to the right. Yeah, I'm an X-Files sucker for the phenomenal.  I would love to think that orb appeared there, being my grandmother, Rita, to tell me everything will be ok with chemo on Thursday.  That she is here.  But do I even need to ask? Both she and my Grandfather Berg, and my Grandfather and Grandmother Morris, as well as everyone else in my DNA chain, are there.  They are the reason I jump in the car and drive to the 802, bake for hours at 3am on a weekday and enjoy it, stand in front of youngsters and inspire.  THIS is my DNA.  I was born to be, well, a sweet badass.  Heck, my grandmother's maiden name was Sweet!

Every 9/11 I think of my grandfather and the sadness he had in his voice when I told him I still wanted to stop by with his birthday gift, and to see the kidlets.  Yes, his words were, "My birthday should never be remembered on such a horrific day for our country."  Carroll Sr. was a veteran.  His history included multiple hardships that many today could probably not endure.  And no, I am not making him up to be a saint, because few of us are.  But his love for the United States and the freedoms we have here have made me remember to be thankful for all that I have.  A simple kid from Reading, Massachusetts, who went on to have his word displayed in the Air and Space Museum.  Whenever I go there and point it out to people I get so excited!  I hope I'm well enough to do it this year with my 8th graders, because they are awesome students.  My shoes are ready! 

If there is one thing my Grandfather Berg taught me (and he taught me so much!), it's never be a checkbox.  Keep learning.  Don't fit the mold that people want to put you in.  Break that box!  I hope I have done him proud!  Happiest of birthdays, Grampy.  The kidlets and I love you!

Love to all!
xoxo MausiGal

Ever Clear

I am home from the 802. For those of you not familiar with the terminology, that would be Vermont.  The 802.  The area code for the entire state.  This would be the place where I find my happiness, my recharge, and peace each summer.

Make a wish with each sunset!

This year, I'll admit, I missed my doggies, Saul and Seal, while I was up at the lake.  Yup, I've turned into one of those dog people.  Each dog I saw I greeted with the "doggie" voice, similar to the "teacher voice" but a bit more syrupy.  I gave those puppies hugs, belly rubs, and lots of scratches.  In reality they were meant for Saul and Seal.  My guys were so happy to see me home!  Right now they are sitting at my feet.  The windows are open as we await for the heat and humidity to set in before I (reluctantly) turn on the air conditioner.  A berry pie is in the oven.  I am at home.

On Saturday night CodeBoy took me to see Everclear at the Tupelo Music Hall in Derry, and that was just amazing. I've been following the band for over twenty years, and their lyrics have always seemed to echo what was going on in my life.  We got to meet the band after, and Art, the lead singer, was laughing at the fact that my new Volvo 240 '90 car originated in Santa Monica.  Their songs? Volvo Driving Soccer Mom.  Santa Monica.  Their drummer? A Berkeley grad that was so into talking about Kidlet A and his music career. 

"Promises mean everything when you're little and the world is so big."
I cried when Art sang this.  No words. 

"I think I'm going to need
A little time to myself
Don't fall down now
You will never get up
Don't fall down now..."
Years.  Years of this...

"You are neurotic and depressed
That doesn't mean that you are sad!"
WORD!

I drove back home alone - about three and a half hours.  I so find my soul when I drive.  The Volvo.  Music.  And now I'm back into photography, and took some great photos that meant a lot to me and my past and memories.  Stories I've been told of my family.

Open roads - fast or slow?

The above photo shows one of the roads I take out on the way home.  When I was younger I loved hitting that open space at top speed.  This trip? For some reason I liked driving it slow (unless there was a Vermonter behind me!).  I liked taking in the scene, the smells, the wind with the windows open.  I remembered the year my Sheltie, Hermes, barked at cows on the side of the road.  When I was a child, the turn down this road meant we were almost at my grandfather's cottage and vacation was about to begin.  On one of my drives I saw a ten year old girl looking out the car window, taking the same turn I had many a time.  I immediately thought of myself.  The thoughts running through my head of what I would read with my grandmother, the letters I would write, and the talks we would have.

Long Point, Lake Champlain, means a lot to members of my family.  Each one of us has a different idea - whether that be fishing, boating, grilling, you name it.  I appreciate that everyone has their own thing.  My years were spent reading with my grandmother on the porch of Fair View Cottage, overlooking the lake.  We would talk and talk.  I would read, and also play her my Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac music as I went through a big phase with them!  I would write to my pen pals and friends back home.  When others went fishing, my dad and I would also hang out on the porch and read and talk. 

More photos with stories from my drive out...

Tionde.  Keeping time...or not.

Where supposedly at one time, the best night crawlers were!

Someone recently said to me that they didn't think I could ever move to Vermont because I was too rooted in Clemsville.  They don't get me.  The 802 has been in my soul since I was born.  It's not a matter of here or there. I do not go to Vermont to be a tourist.  There's a reason why I talk to everyone I meet up there.  When I'm in Vermont I feel at peace.  Could I go to Costa Rica, or Puerto Rico, or back to Ecuador? Probably.  But I chose to spend my time at Lake Champlain each year for a reason. 

Peace.  Serenity.

Memories of receiving postcards from her grandfather of cows and goings on at Long Point.

Talks with her grandparents on the porch about where I may be in the future.  Dreams. Goals.

Writing my first book overlooking the lake - by hand with a fountain pen.

Seeing my son sit on the deck and playing guitar - and finding his own center.

Seeing my son happy year round in the 802 and loving all that the state has to offer.

This.  This is me.  No apologies.

xoxo Mausigal

Malignant Malificent

Well, well, well.  I don't even know if I'm using the terminology right. So kill me - before the cancer does!

I was diagnosed this morning with invasive lobular carcinoma.  OK.  Like I said before - got this.  I use humor at all turns.  When I joked with the nurse this morning she wasn't too receptive.  Why?  I can imagine most people receive calls like this and break down.  Me?

Nurse: Are you in your car?

Me: (If I was in my Volvo I wouldn't pick up) Nope. Sitting at my really messy kitchen table, ready for anything! Bring it on!

Nurse: Well...

They wanted me to come in to speak with them, and I get that.  A face to face approach is always best. But for me? Just give me what I need to know. I may be a Spanish teacher, but the science from my bro comes through - DATA DATA DATA. 

I have a follow-up appointment with a surgeon. An MRI.  Lord Nermal is waiting for his first hospital visit! 

Kidlet B is really worried if he goes into surgery with me that they'll cut off his middle finger.  No way! That's a Nermal Human Rights Violation!

You know what? it's all in how you look at things...

About thirty minutes after I received this diagnosis I was in Market Basket in Chelmsford.  I was laughing about gawd knows what.  A woman came down the aisle and said to me, "Your laughter! It's the best I've heard in so long. It can only make me smile!" We had the best conversation next to the Cheese Doodles.  Will she ever know how much her one freakin' comment changed me world?

Probably not.

Go forward.  Be that person that changes someone's life.  And you never know it.  Okay?  Because that's what matters.

Life is rough with its ups and downs.  We need hugs.  We need sitting down at picnics. At beaches.  At coffee shops. CONNECT! My word for #2020. Please. Please connect with one another.  You all are amazing people and I love you all!

Boobie Ravioli

Challenges are what you make them.  Some are challenged by too many people in line at the gas station.  Others are challenged by the death of a loved one.

Life, as all four of my grandparents who lived through the Great Depression, insisted that it was what you made it.

Yesterday I went in for a second mammogram.  The first? "Oh, there's some sort of mass there."  I hear mass and I think high school physics.  Or math.  What ever happened to cyst? Or bump? I guess "mass" is more official and acceptable on insurance forms.  In I go, getting mammo #2.  I even had a pager like at Chili's to call me in!

The mass? Oh yeah.  Not a fluke.  On to an ultrasound.  Why do I cry there?  Nineteen years ago I lay on a table, looking at two heartbeats with an ultrasound.  Now?  Just a "mass" in my boobie.  I reveal this to the ever-so-sweet technician.

"But your heart is there!  Remember that!" she reminds me.  I guess I forgot. There are always the kidlets.  Kidlet A.  Kidlet B.  Nineteen years ago I saw an image on an ultrasound, and my world, it seems, began. 

In comes the doctor.  He explains to me I'll need a biopsy.  Cool.  Doctor Dude is very professional, but at the same time laid back enough to make me feel comfortable and able to laugh.

"You're ok with this? You're not upset?  Do you want to talk?" he probes.

I honestly don't. I have no reaction at all.  I am not lying.  Why?

"I have a niece who is a poster child for Children's Hospital.  She's one of my idols. And so is her twin brother for all the support he gives her. And her parents.  A biopsy? Nothin'.  I got this!" is my response.

I don't tell him the whole story.  That I am surrounded by people who love me, and for that I am so damn lucky.  I dont' want to reveal personal information about why I admire the people that I do.  Open-heart surgeries.  Multiple sclerosis.  Depression.  Leukemia.  Alzeheimer's.  The people who care for these people. And the people who care for me. 

I had the biopsy.  The compared the injections of the titanium pieces as a pen click, but then Doctor Dude confessed, "It's more like a staple gun." I don't know why I thought that was awesome.  The nurse did tell me I will **not** go off in airport security, which completely bummed me out. I so want to go off in airport security, going to Washington, DC, with a group of eighth graders to I can shout out, "It's OK! Profe Morris has TITANIUM BOOBS!" 

I was given what I now call the "Boobie Ravioli" to chill the area. See below:

Of course I have compared it to a roll of washi tape so you can see how big it is.  'Cause washi tape is life, ya know?  I put it in the freezer after about forty minutes to re-freeze.  I warned the Kidlets to not put it in a drink. I warned Boyfriend Boy to not put that nor my Boobie in a drink. Haha.  I am so funny.  Kidlet B said he'd add it to his collection.  Um, this disturbed me a bit, but we'll discuss that later.  Is he really collecting Boobie Ravioli? How?!?

I had an awesome afternoon with DiverseScience, laughing over chocolate-peanut-butter-espresso shakes.  Then Boyfriend Boy even agreed to hug me sideways.  And Ex-Husband and I had an amazing discussion about not only my condition, the Kidlets, but his own mom, who is struggling with a severe injury.  Good thoughts to her, please. 

My mom.  My dad.  Wearing his Nermal pin and snacking on M&M's as we discussed war books.  Normalcy.  The support.  I accidentally texted my mom to say the "mass" was 7cm.  Oops. Good thing I didn't major in physics.  She freaked! It is only 7mm.  I am blessed to have such an attentive, caring family.

Awhile ago I saw the strips and left-over blood (or whatever the term is called!) and was taken aback, and I'll admit I lied down for a bit with Nermal and Seal...

Every adult needs a stuffed animal.  Just sayin'.  And a pet? One that sleeps under the covers like a human?

We all need someone.  Something.  If I didn't mention you here, please know that I do APPRECIATE YOU!  I am so lucky to have so many of you in my life.  Hot dang - YES! 

Always remember that, "YOU GOT THIS!"  Health, emotions, wealth, everything.  Bring It ON!

With love,
MausiGal

Tear In My Heart

Wow.  No posts since February?  What's up with that?

I'll tell you what's up with that.

Who am I?

What do I stand for?

Is it a political party? A union?  An organization?

None of the above.

It's flowers from a friend you just met, who also loves vintage books, maps, and postcards.  Laughing with friends over a broken blender and other things.  Laughing so hard you thing you need to pee. That laughter. When was the last time you had it?  Can't remember? You need it. You need it now.  

I like to think I support people, in so many ways.  But what disturbs me?  Traditional ways bring on entitlement.  Yes.  You may look at me, the white girl driving the Volvo.  But when I speak Spanish, or a vernacular not my own?  I try.  I may have grown up in the 'burbs of Boston, but don't always judge a book by it's cover.  Just sayin'.  I have been blessed that so many people out in the neighborhoods embrace me and speak to me in Spanish.  So awesome.  A shoutout to the Savers in Framingham who asked if my family was from Argentina!  

More to come. So many thoughts...

Friday's Fragments - #1

So, I've decided to start posting my randomness every Friday, even if I don't do a real blog post.  Why? Because I do want to start writing again, but have all these random thoughts in my head.  Aren't you lucky?

Here are the things that are floating around. There are a bunch for a vacation week.  The inability to focus completely kicked in. Instead of doing my adulting things that were necessities, I focused on cleaning closets.  And the garage.  And finding TIDE in one of the kidlet's cars.  TIDE! Unused!  Two bottles of it! Travesty!

I collect TIDE.  No joke.  I kid around with my dad that if there's ever a zombie apocalypse or national emergency (no - NOT a wall needed!) I will be prepared with TIDE.  Everyone has "their thing."  Mine just happens to be a laundry project.

I love this Taylor Swift song...

"They're burning all the witches even if you aren't one

They got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons

They're burning all the witches even if you aren't one

So light me up (Light me up), light me up (Light me up)"

How's that for pop music?  Adore it.  Oh yes.  Very true to our political climate, ne c'est pas?

And here I've jumped onto politics! Yes! MausiGal is going political in 2020!  If you aren't on board with my views, that's cool.  I appreciate that.  I won't scream in your face what I believe.  I'll treat you with respect as long as you treat me with respect - along with my friends who are of different cultures, races, those from the LGBT+ community, ages all around (don't hate on millennials and do not hate on elders.  Learn from ALL!), and any gender identity.  Classism sucks.  Stop being a snob. Be thankful for what you have and give back.

I'm all for the Bern in 2020.  Why?  He's passionate.  He comes from a working class family.  Bernie back in 1963 was arrest for pleading the cause for equality. Listen to him speak.  There's fire there.  Ok.  My Bern post for the week is complete.

On another note, I laughed / felt horrible / this was classic when I heard what happened when Kirsten Gillibrand was speaking and was interrupted by someone looking for ranch dressing! Let's face it. Running for President must be 1,000,000 times worse than running for middle school student council president.  Not only will they call out your zits, but they'll slander your family, call your dog / cat / fish fat, and ask for tax returns.  But in middle school you only have a cool pencil case (or lack thereof)!  So imagine you're giving this rocking speech, and someone approaches you? I'd be pumped.  And then they want to know where the ranch (ick!) dressing is?  Me? I probably would have burst out laughing and told the person they needed to go with Vidalia Onion.  Ever have that stuff? It's amazing.  No joke.  Ranch is so yesterday.  Then I would have gone on a tangent about salad dressings, and the audience would either be 1) laughing hysterically thinking it was a comedy show; or 2) wondering why I was running for President because I was discussing condiments; or 3) me wondering if salad dressing is a condiment.  Has the Presidency become a comedy show?  Should I run? I am over 35, after all.

I'm off to go organize my desk that Parkour Guy helped set up.  On an IKEA note, what the heck is going on with this diagram? His hand behind his back? That grin???? Thoughts?

So Weird It's Attractive

Um, yeah.  I just tried to Google fun images for flirting and dating. Well, wasn't that an epic fail!  The above one I think just fits me perfectly.  Different.  Original.   Unique.  However, no one wants a misshapen avocado in the supermarket when they want to make that perfect guacamole, do they?

I've posted things over the years about my online dating experiences.  What have I learned?  That people are unique, just like me. I understand that not all of us can match up in this huge haystack called life.  However, at the same time, one starts to see that online dating brings you to people that completely clash with your ideals - whether those be religious, political, or to your soul.  Let's go beyond the boxes of favorite music, whether you work out every day, and if you are vegan or not.

Does online dating work? Supposedly.  A recent search said between 17-20% of all marriages start off online.  That's a pretty cool percentage.  But out in the trenches?  As a soon to be fifty something mujer?  Ah hahahahaha.  Let me tell you.  It goes beyond ghosting.

As an empath, I tend to attract those who want help.  So what have I had? Those who have no jobs at the age of 45.  Or those who are completely broke.  Nope.  After two dates, I just cannot do it.   I understand many people go through a flux in life, but I'm not willing (honestly) to start a relationship at that point. Maybe some other people are?  That's great.  Not me.  I truly, truly detest those who spring this info on to you on the third date, after stating in their profiles that they're employed at such and such an industry.

We all have our quirks, me included.  Seriously? Let's look at MausiGal's:

• Swede Mobiles
• Converse Sneakers
• Music that includes Rap and Alternative
• Swearing at odd moments (yup, sorry)
• Liberal to an extreme at times
• Little Black Dress? Screw that.
• Cats and dogs and fish!
• Too much caffeine to count

But I've met people who freaked when I told them I was so comfortable with my friend at Temple.  Another when I said I did indeed own my own home.

One guy, I think, hit the nail on the head this summer when he said I truly should do an hour on The Moth radio.  "Your personality. It's just so big. And I can't handle it."

How do you walk away from that? Seriously?  Do I give up, as my mom suggests, and just be content with friends and family?

Time to throw in the towel?