When it's a bad fire—

What I'm not over plus some more emo thoughts on the state of the world

On our way to our spring break destination (the popular and warm Minneapolis), we had to drive through small-town Iowa. April must be the fire-burning season in the grassland—everything is dry from the winter air, and most everything is out from its sheet of ice and snow because of the spring sunshine. As we drove through, it appeared that Iowa was on fire.

Being married to a firefighter, you tend to pick up on certain and distinct fire smells. BBQ is our favorite and makes our stomachs growl. A scheduled fire doesn’t smell like anything other than charred grass.

But a bad fire?

There’s a lingering chemical odor that stings your eyes. When my husband fought one of those, it usually takes him a couple of showers and a sauna session to get the smell out of his hair. The smoke smells like an accident and loss. It smells like horrific timing and a whiplash.

You would know a bad fire smell if you smelled one.

***

A year and a half ago, I graduated from therapy. I had been going to see her for about three years straight, and I thought I was all set with every tool she gave me. But here I was—one year later. I suppose I didn’t have all the necessary tools. Or I didn’t know which one to use.

I think we all need a helping hand sometimes, especially when we’re presented with new information. The latest information: I’m not sure if I’m pretty over moving. What tragic irony it is to have moved on physically, but not mentally.

Despite moving closer to some friends and family and to a place intended for my children to grow and thrive in, I feel like an angsty adolescent figuring out what I’m doing. After all, now that I’m out of the throes of little kid messes and clean-ups, what am I like? And in figuring that all out, what does my support system look like?

It’s all existential, isn’t it? But I also want to roll my eyes every time I think of my very emo thoughts. I do think, however, there’s something to be said about an honest yearning for your sense of self along with my support system.

My therapist heard all of my thoughts, wrote them down, and gave me a challenge to work on. Don’t write about how you’re grateful—write something down about how you’re resilient.

***

I asked for a new garden tool for Mother’s Day. I didn’t want floral pruning shears—I wanted a freaking pruning chainsaw. Our backyard has these magnificent plants, and all of them were overgrown. And because the yard’s healthy, I knew I needed something more than a sharp pair of shears or hedge clippers.

Walking out with my tiny chainsaw truly gave me pure delight. My forsythia is now gorgeously clipped, and my lilacs can breathe. Even with the chainsaw, it took time, resulted in numerous scratches, and required a whole-body workout.

But even after breathing a sigh of relief after seeing everything newly pruned, I wondered, “Did I cut too much off? Was it better than before?”

***

The news is a blaze of fire every time I see it. And I can’t look away. My organization’s National Endowment for the Arts grant was terminated—a grant that we had held for over 10 years. I launched a campaign and even ended up on CNN, discussing it with several arts organizations.

But then something else pops up. Just down the street at a local restaurant, a man from my dad’s home country was shoved on the floor and arrested by ICE agents who refused to identify themselves. Like I said, he looks like he could be related to me. No one gave a warning that this would happen—it just did. The stench from that horrid news wafted its way through news streams and on my screen.

You know what smells worse? The absolute silence from the churches I’ve served in the past. God forbid that we mention abortion, though—men at pulpits decry babies being killed. But what about LGBTQ+ babies? Those babies are struggling to keep alive? And this man who was helplessly thrown on the floor? What about him?

My rage builds. My thoughts spiral and circle back to our home.

As my son gets older, will he also begin to lose his credibility? At 13, he’s been mistaken for much older, and I know—more of a threat. Because he doesn’t look like a white boy—and yes, we’ve had that conversation. There’s more at stake if he gets in trouble. He doesn’t get a second chance. My youngest son doesn’t know this yet—but he will. And what about my daughter? How do I prepare her for the fight ahead?

I could give myself an eye roll for overthinking.

But you know a destructive fire when you smell it. And it reeks.

---

When you see the smoke,
Will you choose to s e e
It all b u r n down quick?
Will you choose to speak?
Or just close your eyes?

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June already? It was totally a May-cember around here with several concerts, a kiddo graduating 5th grade, end-of-year events, and yes, my job was wild with PR surrounding the NEA cuts. Plus, you know, living. So forgive me for this super late newsletter.

If you can’t already tell, I’m a little emo this month, haha. I’m happily embracing this phase all over again, as I did not enjoy it as a teenager. And as a side note: if you’re a mom of teens, did you feel like some part of your teenage self was reawakened? Would love to know if that’s true for you, too.

Here are my lovely delights for the month—enjoy!

• To kick off the summer with a lot of live music, Zach and I are attending Phase Fest in KC! It largely inspired this emo playlist, so ENJOY!

• My daughter and I are having a girly-girl summer, watching all the girly things. We recently finished the entire “To All the Boys” series, but I also watched “Forever”. The former is perfect for tween girls, but the latter is definitely more suited for adults!

• I came across this Hank Green rant, and I lost it. My kids and I have been saying we’re all lava monsters now.

• After Memorial Day, my brain was total mush at work, and I found an explanation why! Here’s a helpful article from the Stylist.

• Also—it’s lemon bar season! Here’s my favorite lemon bar recipe.

• Oh, and don’t forget to download 5calls and contact your reps about the NEA, Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and so much more. It’s a lot, but your voice matters.

Until next time, friends—enjoy your emo summer and fighting for what’s right 🤘🏽