Bullies

I am waiting to donate blood this morning, when a long-time co-volunteer says that a mutual acquaintance would like some feedback on an experience I recently had and inquired about. “Of course,” I say, “happy to. How about after I finish donating?”

An hour later I am escorted to an office and proceed to be condescended to and slapped down in such a way that I begin to reel. Nothing has been easy for months now. I am tired and running on fumes, and now someone who has asked to meet with me is mansplaining in such a dismissive way that I have to cast back nearly 25 years to locate another moment in which I felt so utterly disrespected.

Then, I felt, as so many women do all too often, screamed and demeaned into fearful near-erasure. That was a boss, an alcoholic tyrant of epic ego, with whom the power differential made things even worse. He threw chairs at us, in pathetic fits of rage. I was 23 or 24, needed the job. All of us did. And so we tucked our heads down and did our best and left when each of us could.

Today, I am 46. I had just donated blood on behalf of this person’s organization, a member of which I’ve been for an exceptionally long time, a good 15x longer than they have. Determined not to tuck my head, spill a single tear, or lose my cool in front of this bully who clearly had zero interest in my concerns, questions, or feedback, I feigned post-donation light-headedness and excused myself. I can’t begin to tell you how long I was in there. 20 minutes? a bit more?

There is no chance this individual would have spoken to me like this if I were male. I was, and remain, furious beyond anything I have yet been able to articulate. I have cried more today than I have in a long while, not because I care what any pompous bully thinks of me —no, I refuse to be pushed to erasure anymore— but because the vehement unkindness was so disheartening and, really, just so unnecessary. It was shocking. I remain shocked.

I don’t understand pumping this kind of ugly energy into the world. Everything is hard enough. Most people I know are not, shall we say, thriving, and for the life of me I just don’t understand the end-game of awful behavior. Is it power? Is it hubris? A desperate desire to be right? A high experienced from punching down?

I’m tired of even trying to figure it out.

The 'rona got me + looking ahead to spring gardens

After an evening out with a friend on Friday night, I woke early on Saturday and left for a solo 30-hour getaway in WV. Life has not been, shall we say, easy of late, and I was joyful about some quiet time with my animals and land. Halfway there, I started coughing. My chest burned as if its linings had been doused with the shittiest whisky. By 10:20a, I’d texted Tom to say that I felt truly awful and must have caught the cold that felled Jack on Wednesday. Why I didn’t think to test either him or myself is beyond me, but whatever.

The congestion revved up, my skin and teeth started to hurt, and I felt totally enervated.

Was it the two gimlets + wine? I’m no spring chicken anymore, so maybe.

I woke up Sunday not much improved and grudgingly headed home in the early afternoon. On the drive, something kicked in. I called T and he had a test waiting for me.

After all this damn time. Jack tested- positive too, though definitely a good four days ahead of me. He has felt really awful, so his double line was not a surprise result. Masks were donned, I took to the guest room, and here we are. Jack tested negative yesterday so is finally back at school with mask firmly in place. He feels better, but not good.

I still feel like roadkill, y’all. I have zero sense of smell or taste beyond what I can only describe as feeling that I burned my tongue and then licked pennies for several hours; the congestion was EPIC though that has subsided; the cough has been so severe that I have aching stomach muscles (core work! #silverlining) and have coughed up not an insignificant amount of unsightly phlegm curds; my throat is unbelievably sore such that it hurts to swallow; and I just feel tired and vague.

The acute feeling of “I am really effing sick” is gone, but yesterday I took 89 steps. Today, my step counter hasn’t even registered. All this after two initial vaccines and two subsequent boosters. I don’t even want to contemplate getting this in the absence of those mitigating factors.

I’ve done some reading (harder than you might imagine) and some student work and managed to make a large and thrilling-to-me gardening spreadsheet of all the seeds, bare root, and potted seedlings I’ve bought or are on order for spring arrival; full of all relevant info like preferred sun exposure and soil, height, animals repelled and attracted, intended planting location, and so forth, it also enables me to input and track when I started what seeds, when I upgraded their pot sizes, and when I ultimately get them into the ground or container.

So far, my wallflower seeds, both English and Fair Lady, are winning the sprouting race. Slow the train, little buddies. After just eight days I had to move their peat pots into a larger, non-covered pot because they were hitting the plastic cover of my Jiffy tray. The snapdragons and Billy buttons are up too, and I spy the rock cress and creeping thyme making their way. Part of my basement looks like a weed lab, what with pots and grow lights wired up everywhere, but it all brings me great joy, and my family kindly (and with some lovely eye rolls) alerts me when “another package from Eden Brothers arrived.” Listen, they have great seeds.

Anyway, I have showered today but that’s it. Ruthie came for a quick visit, but as per Ruthie, she’s gone again. I’m gonna finish my coffee, send vibes of love and strength to Tyre Nichols’ family while also fully understanding if they can feel nothing but grief and rage over the murder of their boy, send evil thoughts to College Board for bowing to performative GOP pressure and stripping their AP African American history course of, well, African American history, and feel thankful for science and medicine and little peat pots and the always earnest determination of nature and life.

From left: wallflowers at 4 days; snapdragons at 6.

Wonderful places to donate on behalf of animals

Throughout the year, we strive to share generously with organizations that work to combat poverty, homelessness, anti-women sentiments, and psychotic conservatism and Christian nationalism. But, in my opinion, how we treat non-humans is as important; animals are, against humans, defenseless creatures. By and large they are enormously sentient, gentle, stoic beings from whom we can and should learn much. They weather hardship and pain with fortitude, they are full of grace and grit, and when treated with love they respond in kind with distinct personalities. I hope one day to have an animal sanctuary of my own, to welcome one and all creature great and small.

Just today, while attempting to rid a pasture of shiso (invasive horror; never plant or allow it near you), I snuggled every goat and cat who wanted said snuggle, and when Rambo lay in a sunny pile of leaves for an afternoon respite, I joined him, resting my head on his belly, my arm around his neck, scratching at his lead. It was a wonderful moment.

As I do most Decembers, I have given almost all of my paychecks to animal welfare organizations, and I share them with you here in case you are inclined towards a last-minute gift that will be wholly and thankfully utilized.

1. Farm Sanctuary: incredible group that rescues, advocates, and educates farm animals like cows, goats, pigs, and sheep. You can donate generally or “adopt” one of their animals. You cannot go wrong in supporting FS, and right now, there is a 100% match going on.

2. Cats on Mars: Eugene Kibets is single-handedly saving thousands of cats in Ukraine. He climbs ladders into bombed-out buildings, rescues orphaned pets and ferals, gets every being the medical treatment it needs, and is cool as get out. He’ll drive clear across Ukraine to save any cat and does on the regular. Support via Patreon (I do) and/or via his PayPal (I also do this): catsonmars.ukraine@gmail.com. It’s legit.

3. Niall Harbison is an Irish emigre in Thailand dedicated to loving and supporting in all ways the country’s many street dogs. Today, for example, he cooked a full Christmas dinner for more than 100 dogs, and he spends thousands a month on medical care for sick babes. His donorbox is legit.

4. Berkeley Humane: one of many humane societies doing work that I would consider godly were I believer. One of my best college friends is a board member, and they (in CA) put all donations to their cats’ and dogs’ needs.

5. Closer to home, in my WV county, Berkeley County Humane. This is not a wealthy area, and they are doing crucial work on a shoestring. Please consider supporting the poorest of animals, too.

Thank you so very much.