Notes from the Red Bird House

I'm not going to beat around it. I signed up for an on-line dating service this week. Like I paid for it. Something I said I would never, ever, ever, ever do. As in never, ever, ever be desperate enough to do. For the record, I'm not desperate. I don't need a woman in my life. Hell, I'm barely sure I want one. However, I feel like I should at least put in the effort. That way down the road, when loneliness hits or I need someone to push me around in my wheelchair, I'll know I tried. And failed. Sure, because that's the likelihood. I'm not, nor have I ever been, good at dating. I despise it, honestly. Hours of small talk over a drink or coffee? The merest idea of it all makes me shake. And yet for some reason, I've spent far more time than expected this week wandering through the LGBTQ wing of E-Harmony. It's just one of those inexplicable things in my life that I simply have to go with. I joined up for six months. I could have paid about the same

Don't worry. She won't read this blog. No chance of that. Seriously. The great thing about the new people that come into my life? They don't know about the blog. They don't know that they might be featured, discussed, or aired out if you will. They don't have a clue. And that's a really good thing. You see, very often I need to write it out to get it out or to help me come to terms with it. It's what I do, what I've done. And what I hate to stop doing once the aforementioned new person discovers the blog. Oh, they almost never happen upon it by chance. Because they never look? Possibly, but even if they search for it (or me), they'll end up stuck in Google's vast catacombs and discover absolutely nothing of value about me. It's the beauty of not being famous (enough) in a world of trendsetters and influencers. While they clog the Internet with inanities, I get to write whatever I care to write (see below) and go largely unnoticed. Let's

Previous to my mom's passing, I had little experience with death. Just lucky, I guess? I'd had friends, co-workers, and family members pass, but I'd never been there. I'd never seen the moments before or experienced the wondering ("Push the button. Get the nurse. Is she...gone?"), nor had I held the hand of someone after their last heartbeat was confirmed. I'm here to tell you that it's impossible....and beautiful...and important. My mom wanted to pass from this world peacefully. She never said my sister and I needed to be there. I'm sure that might have been part of what she meant by "peace," but I can't know for sure. There's a lot of things I can't know for sure. Now. I will never know if she knew I was there - that we were there - or that I held her hand until the doctor finally arrived to make it official. The nurse said she wasn't struggling as she neared the end; I have to assume she wasn't afraid. She knew wha

"I'm an introvert with a favorite spoon." ~ Stacee Ann Harris Let's be real. I think I'm pretty cool. Well, I can be. I have above average intelligence; I workout regularly and watch what I eat; I drink alcohol sparingly; I've published novels and traveled the world; I can hit a tennis ball with some level of consistency; I'm pretty decent at endurance activities; I have two degrees in liberal arts which should make me a lot better at trivia than I am; I have a decent credit score, no criminal record, and I'm a reasonably safe driver; I'm kind, open-minded, and considerate of the feelings of others; if we exclude anxiety issues, I'm sane. And I have a favorite spoon. Everyone has quirks, Stacee? I get that. Everyone has something... It's just that most people's quirks are held in check by the close proximity of others - i.e. family members, significant others, friends. At this point, there is nothing holding back my oddness.