The poetry collection Monsters in the Closet came out last week and I just purchased it. This gets to me so, so, so much:

Dedication For every queer soul who has ever been called unnatural, unholy, or monstrous— for those who have been told their love is a sin, their desire a curse, their very existence something to be hidden in the dark. This is for you. For the ones who have whispered their truths into the night, who have carved their names into history with trembling hands, who have refused to be erased. You are not a mistake. You are not a villain in someone else’s fable.

You are not the thing to be feared in the shadows. You are the storm, the fire, the myth that will never die. You are beauty wrapped in defiance, love woven from survival. And if they call us monsters—then let us be monstrous. Together, we reclaim our darkness. Together, we shine.

 

Oh my gosh, is this one sick puppy of a book! It goes from being amusing and relatable to being a tale of twisted revenge that reveals more about Ruby than the people who hurt her. Fast-moving and full of oomph and strong dialogue, this novel nevertheless ended up leaving a bad taste in my mouth. 😳🤦‍♀️ May you never cross a Ruby in your own life!

What does it mean? I ask myself a lot lately. Am I returning to feeling a lot of self-hating, internalized homophobia because of Trump and his ilk or is this how I always am, even when I do not know I am.

Two years ago and some change, I discovered I had the superpower to not get crushes on people anymore and I’ve been using that to push through all sorts of things. 

Of course it helped a lot that after years of pining (and inappropriately at that!) I learned that the person I secretly liked for years was the exact embodiment of everything I don't believe in.

Her anti-gayness didn't bother so much as her not owning it and blaming a decision she made on someone else, who is a big supporter of lqbtq+ rights. 

Anyway, at the risk of going into another full-blown, near nonsensical rant like I did earlier this week on here, I just want to quickly post about two things: an amazing book search app called Eurobuch and a book that is really helping me see how others see queer people: From Disgust to Humanity

More later if I can pin my thoughts down...

 

It was the not knowing that tore at Jean. Less the thought of what could have been, more wondering how Jo had fared in her new life. Jean would have given nearly anything to know for certain that she was all right.

Having recently finished the novel A Sweet Sting of Salt, I am still feeling it terribly. I appreciate it so much for its beautiful storytelling and achingly relatable characters and surprisingly happy ending, but I cringe at some of the memories it brings up in me with my personal life.

Like two of the characters in the earlier parts of the novel, a friend and I were torn apart after I came out to my parents in 1991. I told my parents about myself because I was in a bad way at the time and couldn't deal with it all by myself anymore. 

I knew better, knew that my parents (though nowhere near as far right as they are now) would not accept me and they didn't. Instead my father shut down even more than normal and my mom flew into a rage so intense it terrified me. They told me I had to leave or go to Christian "ex-gay therapy" (though it was called "homosexuals anonymous" at the time).

Telling them I would go (not knowing just yet how bad the 'therapy' would be) I went to my summer job the next day, upset but functioning. 

When I returned home the next day, my mom had gone through all my drawers and stuff in my room and found letters my friend and I had been exchanging all summer. She had them in her hand as she spoke on the phone to someone.

That someone was my friend's father and my mom was outing his daughter to him. I couldn't believe my ears, that she was doing that to someone she didn't know at all, possibly ruining a life in one nightmare moment of anger and self-righteousness.

Not that it would matter to my parents or anyone on their side, but the letters didn't have any kind of "hanky panky" in them or "devil's work" or whatever other words one might use. Instead, those letters served as support systems and bonding over all sorts of things, not just the isolation and sadness of living in a world that didn't accept people "that way."

To this day, I do not know whatever happened to my friend and my parents still do not accept me. I ended up going to "homosexuals anonymous," but it was so, so, so very bad I went home one day and told my parents I couldn't do it anymore. They gave me an ultimatum: go back or leave the house for good.

I couldn't go back but I also had nowhere to go so I told my parents I would change on my own, that I was "mistaken," "confused," and would join the local church youth group. The same church my mom had marched me into and demanded the pastor tell me I was going straight to Hell. (He told my mom he personally agreed with her that was where I would go, but that he didn't think that might be the best approach, a far kinder tone in his voice than either of the two leaders of the HA group had).

I started trying to date "normally" for the next five years after that, but I was still miserable and still having very dark thoughts of how nice non-existence sounded. I was fortunate that I made a nice friend through my feeble attempts at dating and he and I hung out together through a good part of the 90s.

Because I "changed my mind" in my parents' eyes and lived according to the way they wanted me to, I still had a place to live. In my late 20s I finally moved out and could breathe more freely, but I never forgot the horror and guilt of how I hadn't thrown the letters away and that my mom found them and called my friend's parents. I should have done better.

I've really, really digressed from the book I wanted to talk about, so I'll just say this before I leave for now. Whether it's the 1832 in the novel or the 1991 I tried to come out in or the 2025 that is the horror show that is now Trump...being gay and the struggles and sadness and isolation that come with are still all too real.

Some people still react poorly (or worse) and those they inflict damage on still suffer.

“Josephine Keddy?” Jean flinched. It wasn’t fair of her mentor to bring up Jo, and it wasn’t like that. Not at all, and it never could be. She and Jo had been the closest of friends, joined at the hip, telling each other all their secrets. Friends first, and then more than friends, right up until the awful Sunday at church when Jean found she couldn’t get close enough to exchange a single word with Jo anymore without some member of her family appearing to hurry her away, a solid living barrier sprung up between them. Mrs. Keddy had slandered nineteen-year-old Jean to anyone who’d listen, that she wasn’t to be trusted around their daughters, a filthy sinner and a bad influence…and in what seemed like no time at all, Jo had been married.

This probably sounds very disjointed and not readable, but I find that I get just as much flustered with my writing as I do with my verbal words when I am upset over something.

I saw some gaslighting and transphobia today that really bothered me so I asked AI what it thought of the true Christian attitude towards respecting people‘s pronouns and this is what came up:

(If even something as auto-generated and heartless as AI understands this why can’t human beings?)

Here's why respecting pronouns is seen as a Christian act:

• Love and Compassion:
  Using someone's preferred pronouns is a simple yet powerful way to show respect and affirm their identity, which is a core Christian value of loving your neighbor. 
• Empathy and Understanding:

  It demonstrates empathy and a willingness to understand and connect with others, even when they hold different views or identities. 
• Avoiding Harm:

  Misgendering someone can be hurtful and damaging, and respecting pronouns helps create a safe and inclusive environment for everyone. 
• Biblical Principles:

  Some Christians interpret biblical passages, such as 1 Corinthians 9:22 ("I have become all things to all people, so that by all possible means I might save some"), as encouraging Christians to be open and accommodating to others, even if they disagree with them. 
• "Pronoun Hospitality":

  Some Christians, like Preston Sprinkle, advocate for "pronoun hospitality," suggesting that using someone's preferred pronouns is a way to show respect and keep the door open for relationship and spiritual conversation. 
• Not a Compromise of Beliefs:

  Respecting pronouns does not necessarily mean agreeing with someone's identity or lifestyle, but rather acknowledging and honoring their self-expression. 
• Creating a Welcoming Environment:

  By respecting pronouns, Christians can create a more welcoming and inclusive environment for people of all identities, which is in line with the Christian call to love and serve others. 

 

One of the very hardest things for me as an adult is making new friends. Though it's nowhere near as painful nor as difficult or challenging as when I was a child or teen, it's still something that leaves me uncertain and so extremely nervous I overcompensate by talking too much.

Years ago, when I would babysit for supplemental income in my early 40s, I took care of a little boy who would greet other children on the playground by yelling, "Hi, everybody! My name is John, wanna play with me?" It was endearing and adorable and the kids responded well.

But doing that as adult would go an entirely different, most likely not good, way.

Well, this morning I opened my email and I had the nicest message from someone I met through a work event last Thursday. She wrote how much she enjoyed our talking and how she thought my cat was cute and to please text her if I had any questions about our event or if I just wanted to chat about our pets.

I felt like I was back in school, only this time with more favorable results. For me, making friends at this age is both welcome and scary and I am so grateful that my trying harder to meet people didn't have someone running for the hills.

 

Caught by surprise hearing "Let Your Love Flow" earlier today, it was all I could do not to break down crying, both for personal reasons and because of how things feel in the world right now.

Released in 1976, "Let Your Flow" is one of at least half a dozen songs I first remember having an emotional impact on me as a six year old. And that year is probably the first year that I have any memories of from my childhood. I remember my family and I were traveling to Gatlinburg, Tennessee in the summertime and ever since then I always feel a strong connection to the single.

More generally, today it hit me hard because of the lyrics:

There's a reason for the sun-shining sky
And there's a reason why I'm feeling so high
Must be the season
When that love light shines all around us

So let that feeling grab you deep inside
And send you reeling where your love can't hide
And then go stealing
Through the moonlit nights with your lover

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you'll know what I mean
It's the season
Let your love fly like a bird on a wing
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean
That's the reason

There's a reason for the warm sweet nights
And there's a reason for the candlelights
Must be the season
When those love rights shine all around us

So let that wonder take you into space
And lay you under its loving embrace
Just feel the thunder
As it warms your face, you can't hold back

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you'll know what I mean
It's the season
Let your love fly like a bird on a wing
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean
That's the reason

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you'll know what I mean
It's the season
Let your love fly like a bird on a wing
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean
That's the reason

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dream

I've been thinking about what I wrote yesterday and also about how I realize bullying can't be blamed for where I am in my life. I'd say that most of the time I never even think about my childhood, except in my dream life. Sometimes, because I have lived in the same town since birth, I even bump into some of the people I knew in school and I remain unscathed.

Just because I'm a statistic (over 50 and never married and single) that matches the adult aftermath of childhood bullying doesn't mean I'm excused for how my life turned out or that it even serves as an explanation.

There are so many reasons: I never met anyone who felt the same about me, I never really experienced an active dating life and (most important to me) I never had the courage or defiance within me to break through my family's expectations that I literally live the straight (pun intended, or is it no pun intended?) and narrow life.

We are all responsible for our own actions, at least to a huge extent, in many situations. I could have tried harder with my looks, eaten less food, been less selfish.

I also know that deep down I didn't want to end up alone and where I am in my life now. I am unbelievably aware, as a childless cat lady and celibate lesbian, that I chose the path still frowned on by much of society. I'm not saying I chose to be gay (I firmly believe no one does) but that I chose what to do about it, if that makes sense.

Most days I am fine with my childless cat lady status (no matter what Mr. Vance says about women like me). But on the days I am not fine and I hear the unhappiness in my mother's voice because I never married (a man, obviously) or I see unwelcome pity in long ago friends I bump into at the grocery store I can't think of a good defense. I see what they see, a woman who is so unappealing and out of sync with the rest of the world, she is faking almost all of her daily actions outside the home.

Where I work is a family-centered place so I am around "normal society" every single day I'm on the job. Women with multiple children (especially when all are under the age of five) come in and I practically hyperventilate at all the responsibility and work that must come with that. I don't see the joy that I know is there, that I refuse to see because it will force me to recognize my colossal failures as a woman and daughter. I convince myself they are faking at their lives just like I am, but, truly, I know I'm only kidding myself.

I think back to when a boy in one of my classes back in high school told me he saw a future cat lady in me and that I should just go ahead and accept it. For years I was able to laugh at that, then lovingly embrace it when a cat actually did come into my life (a cat I love more than I ever could have imagined, by the way).

But now I wonder if I were a more deserving person, more acquainted with the right ways of living and the looks and personality I need, if I couldn't have been a cat lady and a person with both humans and feline as family.

 I asked AI this:

I wish so much I had kept a journal in high school but I didn’t and I know memory is unreliable so I don’t know how to retrieve some of my memories. I’m trying to explore to help me deal with some traumatic dreams I’ve been having over the years. Is there any way to retrieve accurate old memories through writing?

And it gave me some advice, some of which I already knew, but some that strikes as quite promising:

It's understandable that you feel this way, and it's great that you're exploring ways to process your experiences and dreams. While you may not have kept a journal in high school, writing can still be a powerful tool for retrieving and processing memories. Here are some strategies to help you explore and recover memories through writing:

### 1. **Free Writing**

   - Set aside time to write freely about your high school years without worrying about structure or accuracy. Let your thoughts flow, even if they feel fragmented or disconnected. This can help unlock memories that are buried beneath the surface.

   - Start with prompts like: "What do I remember about my high school classroom?" or "Who were my closest friends, and what did we do together?"

### 2. **Sensory Prompts**

   - Memories are often tied to sensory experiences. Write about specific senses (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, textures) associated with high school. For example:

     - What did the hallways smell like?

     - What songs were popular at the time, and how did they make you feel?

     - What did your favorite outfit or backpack feel like?

   - These details can trigger deeper memories.

### 3. **Timeline Approach**

   - Create a timeline of your high school years, marking key events, people, and places. Even if you can’t remember everything, jot down what you do recall. Over time, this can help fill in gaps and spark additional memories.

### 4. **Dialogue Writing**

   - Write imaginary conversations with people from your past, such as friends, teachers, or family members. This can help you access emotions and memories tied to those relationships.

### 5. **Dream Exploration**

   - Since you’re having traumatic dreams, try writing them down as soon as you wake up. Then, reflect on them by asking:

     - What emotions do these dreams evoke?

     - Are there any connections to events or feelings from high school?

     - What might these dreams be trying to tell you?

   - This can help you uncover unresolved emotions or memories.

### 6. **Photo or Object Triggers**

   - If you have old photos, yearbooks, or objects from high school, use them as prompts for writing. Describe what you see or feel when you look at them, and let your mind wander to related memories.

### 7. **Letter Writing**

   - Write letters to your younger self or to people from your past. This can help you process emotions and uncover memories you may have suppressed.

### 8. **Guided Memory Exercises**

   - Use guided memory exercises, such as visualizing yourself walking through your high school or sitting in a specific class. Write down everything you "see" in your mind’s eye, even if it feels vague or incomplete.

### 9. **Thematic Exploration**

   - Focus on specific themes, such as friendships, challenges, achievements, or regrets. Writing about these themes can help you recall related events and emotions.

### 10. **Be Patient and Gentle with Yourself**

   - Memory retrieval can be slow and emotional, especially when dealing with trauma. Allow yourself to take breaks and approach the process with self-compassion.

### Additional Support

If your traumatic dreams or memories feel overwhelming, consider seeking support from a therapist or counselor. They can help you process these experiences in a safe and structured way, often using techniques like **EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)** or **trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT)**.

Writing can be a powerful tool for healing, but it’s important to balance it with self-care and professional guidance if needed. You’re taking a brave step by exploring these memories, and with time, you may find clarity and peace.

I've heard it said more than once (and some of those times very recently, too) that young boys pick on girl classmates because they secretly like them. Not only is this not always true (believe me on this!) but even if it is sometimes true, it is deeply problematic.

Telling young girls that this kind of behavior is indicative of a crush or something else seemingly innocent is actually telling young girls that teasing and tormenting are acceptable and normal. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way because I've heard and seen others comment on how horrible it is to make unacceptable behavior a "boys will be boys" thing.

I think back to my own experiences and how boys (and girls too) said very cruel things and threw things in my very big and curly and auburn hair and how I knew from a young age this was not because of any secret crushes. This was abuse for abuse’s sake. 

My teasing was not secretly coded. It was what it was: my classmates showing and telling me I was a freak, an oddity, someone who was so repulsive I was a constantly moving target. 

As middle school ended and high school began, I found the teasing and torment eased and instead my invisibility became the norm. I wasn't seen because I wasn't worth being seen. (Studies on bullying have included one that connects being bullied as a child to not being married at age 50 or above, which is what I am.)*

Other children's stories are different but no less abusive; in fact I know my story would pale next to others'. 

To tell a young girl that a boy is only making her life miserable because he likes her (in the times when the instances of this may actually be true) is not reassuring or making excuses...it is telling young girls (then later on: women) that this is how boys and men are and that they should just accept this.

On a side note, I just want to add that years ago I received a really nice note in my Facebook Messenger that helped me and validated that I had not been imagining or exaggerating things in my mind and memory. I saved it so that I could look it if I ever needed to fall back on the comfort it brought me. 

I remember trying to tell my parents once about what was going on and they told me that I needed to be stronger and not take things so personally. Their attitude had compounded things, but I also remember thinking at the time that since they both had very difficult childhoods growing up maybe I should just suck things up.

Getting the message below eased a lot of the pain I had felt both from the bullying and my parents not taking what I told them seriously.

* https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4552909/#:~:text=Being%20a%20victim%20of%20bullying,social%20support%20at%20age%2050.

other links:

https://www.quora.com/Why-is-red-hair-mocked

https://new.calderdale.gov.uk/schools-and-learning/youth-support/bullying/if-you-are-being-bullied#:~:text=You%20do%20not!,the%20way%20people%20treat%20us.

Each day I swear I won't look at the news and yet each I do. I used to have anger rise up in me so fast and furious it terrified me and made me sound unreasonable, even if I vocalized it. Now, I'm a deflated balloon with no idea or plan how to get going again. Whether it's Musk or Trump or some of the Republicans speaking out (and bragging) about overturning gay marriage, I just have no fight left, just sadness.

Sometimes I have fleeting, but very memorable and crazy high school memories...like the time my 10th grade English teacher read a scene from MacBeth right before a mouse ran across the room and Mrs. M hopped on top of the desk faster than I'd ever seen anyone move before. 

"Dude, I didn't know Lady Macbeth had a dog," commented one boy(perfectly serious and not seeing the mouse at all) in reference to our teacher saying "out damn spot."

Other equally strong, but far less funny and more devastating memories I seem to have made an entire career out of submerging. So perhaps that's why I've been having recurring dreams, going on decades, about something else that happened during high school that was far more alarming than a rogue mouse amidst Shakespeare.

I had one of the variations of the dream last night and as I always do after I wake from having it I wonder what is wrong with me that I still dream about something that happened so long ago and that the dreams can be so happy sad. 

One time, in one of my rare moments to try and put a stop to the dreams by actually acknowledging them, I wrote a hypothetical letter in my journal to try and find closure and apologize, in some kind of metaphysical way I suppose.

Reaching out to someone to apologize for overstepping boundaries years and years ago just seems selfish and wrong and possibly triggering so I knew I could never actually send anything. But I think when you realize you've wronged someone and you have no way to make up for that, it can haunt you for a long, long time, either in your real life or your dream, or both.

At that time in high school (and, really, still now) I was a very geeky unpopular girl who had a crush on another classmate. I didn't have any inappropriate longings or anything like that, but I deeply wanted a friendship I knew I could never have and it was up to me to recognize that fact and the kind and sensitive but still firm social cues I should have picked up from my classmate. Instead, though not by any intentions I was aware of, I became a huge pest and how can you ever apologize for something like that?

 

School Spirits means more to me than I ever could have imagined. When I first saw the ad pop up on my Fire TV home screen it went right over my head. Then when I noticed Spencer MacPherson as one of the people in the promo I decided to give it a go. (Spencer MacPherson is also starring in the Hallmark show The Way Home, another current favorite of mine.)

One of the ghosts who haunts the high school (all of the spirits live on campus and cannot leave unless they cross over into the next life) is Charley, who died in the mid-1990s and has a gay backstory I can relate to all too well.

The show is just so genuinely good-hearted and tragic and yet still sometimes light-hearted and fun.I know I've already written about it before, but it resonates with me in a way that feels life-saving and less lonely.

I'm on a break at work and I just checked my pet cam to look in on my cat. I do this about three times a day over an eight hour period but I am not fanatical about it. I do so because I like to make sure my cat seems okay and I miss him. 

My cat has a human name so when I talk about him and someone happens to overhear who doesn't know Henry is a cat they can get a funny Mr.Furley expression on their face.

One time I was telling someone a few years ago I couldn't get Henry to join me in bed and someone else commented "is that appropriate conversation for work?" It was much funnier in the moment than it is in talking about it now, but anyone who knows me at all knows I don't talk about sex at work, much less anywhere else.

Anyway, I love Henry as much as I would a human and there are two people in my life for which this gives them great concern and a big need to tell me how misguided I am to love an animal so much.

If I am misguided, so be it. Animals, more than ever, often make better companions than a lot of humans do.

In three days it will be six weeks since I last drank wine and I'm surprised at how much I don't miss it. After all, I went for more than five years drinking it pretty much every day unless I were sick or recuperating from my broken wrist. 

Even going in the liquor store on my most indifferent days I still always felt a tiny bit of shame, the smells of the bottles hitting my nose obnoxiously even when I didn't think they were. And if I ever saw an adult accompanied with small children I would think back to my childhood, when my mom would take my sister and me with her to get wine.

I look back now as if it has been years instead of weeks without and I wonder what I was thinking and doing all that time and what I can do with the shame. I absolutely despised alcohol from an early age and never touched a drop until I was in my 40s, when I apparently began to make up for lost time.

Because my health has improved and I seem to be losing some weight, though not as much as I had hoped, I am determined to take dry January into all of 2025. I joked with some friends when Trump won that 2025 would be a terrible time to give up wine, but now I realize it really is the best time to do so. I have a feeling a lot of us are going to need all our wits about us.

In his book, The Cruelty Is the Point: Why Trump's America Endures, Adam Serwer, an award-winning journalist at The Atlantic, presents a compelling argument that the cruelty witnessed during Donald Trump's presidency is not an anomaly but a reflection of deeply entrenched dynamics in American history. Serwer's essays dissect the most devastating moments in recent memory, revealing patterns as old as the country itself.

One of the central themes of the book is that Trump is not the cause of America's issues but a symptom. This perspective is particularly relevant as we observe the ongoing political and social landscape since Trump began his second term as president The January 6 insurrection, anti-immigrant sentiment, and American authoritarianism all have historic roots that explain their continued power, with or without Trump.

Serwer's phrase "the cruelty is the point" resonates across centuries, encapsulating the intentional infliction of harm on political opponents that has become a hallmark of Trumpism. This cruelty is evident in Trump's handling of the COVID-19 pandemic, where his refusal to address the crisis adequately was seen as a racist act, sacrificing the lives of disproportionately Black and Brown workers to fuel the economy.

Since Trump's return to the presidency, his administration has continued to push policies that reflect this cruelty. From mass layoffs at the U.S. nuclear weapons agency to the controversial handling of immigration and tariffs on steel and aluminum, Trump's second term has been marked by actions that many see as harmful and divisive.

The relevance of Serwer's book today lies in its ability to connect past and present, urging readers to confront the brutal realities of American history and politics. As we navigate the complexities of Trump's second term, it becomes increasingly important to recognize the patterns of cruelty and injustice that have long been part of the American experience.

 

I just finished the first season of School Spirits and I am floored by both the plot twists and the emotions. The show is way, way, way better than I could ever capture here.

There are so many things about the show I could write about if I had the right words, but one thing I want to talk about briefly is how I see ghosts as being deeply connected to the theme of closure and the heartbreak of not finding it for decades, if ever.

One of the ghost characters deeply regrets how things ended up with the boy he loved in high school. 28 years later, he finds himself writing a letter to “the love of his life” and hopes that he can both forgive and be forgiven for things that transpired when they were students in the mid-1990s. It’s a credit to both the actors and the writing and the atmospheric feel of the scene that it is touching and heartbreaking instead of creepy.

Boy, did this hit hard, both personally and because the show is just so good at pulling on your heart strings. My own situation is completely different and obviously I’m not a ghost. But I see the theme of being haunted (by something you did years and years ago) as something that can happen to a person who is alive or not alive. It’s one reason I think having ghosts and high school connected works so well and beautifully in School Spirits.

Whether we’re invisible in high school or we’re an adult years later and are stuck on things that happened to us as teenagers, we don’t need to be an actual ghost to be haunted or haunting.

More and more lately I see laugh emojis used on Facebook as hate and I just have to wonder what is wrong with people. 

It’s really disheartening to see something as seemingly harmless as the laugh emoji being used to mock and belittle others, especially when it comes to serious issues like politics and LGBTQ+ rights. 

Unfortunately, some people seem to derive satisfaction from trolling and spreading negativity. It reflects a lack of empathy and respect for others.

 

Oh my gosh, is Good Day Chocolate Calm a great way to relax. Ever since I gave up wine I’ve been trying to find another way to chill at the end of the day and I think I have found something that works.

It almost feels prescription-strength strong, kind of like the OxyContin I took last year when I broke my wrist.

 “Every one is haunted by something.”-Maddie

School Spirits(Season 1) mixes supernatural mystery with heartfelt teen drama and follows Maddie, a spirited student trapped in the afterlife at her high school. As she navigates her ghostly existence, she teams up with fellow spectral peers to unravel the mystery of her sudden disappearance, all while grappling with unresolved emotions and connections to the living world. 

The season surprises with its sharp writing, balancing suspense and emotional depth, and subverts expectations by weaving a twisty, tightly paced narrative that keeps viewers hooked. Anchored by strong performances—particularly its charismatic lead—the show explores themes of identity, loss, and resilience, delivering both spine-tingling intrigue and poignant moments.

I am pleasantly startled by just how much I love this show so far and I can’t wait to keep watching more episodes and start season two. I think one reason I like it so much is that the show speaks to a part of me that’s never quite let go of high school completely,  even though I didn’t particularly enjoy high school.

It’s funny because it also kind of ties into a book I’m currently reading: _My Best Friend’s Exorcism_ by Grady Hendrix, A wonderful ode to the 1980s, which is the time I was in high school.

 

Every year on this day of February 4th I always think of Karen Carpenter and how she left this earth too soon. It's not just any future music we lost, but also that we lost a kind and funny person and that she left this earth too soon because of the ravages of anorexia nervosa.

In  Why Karen Carpenter Matters, the author writes about something she calls “the Karen effect,” being “the capacity to make you feel something, to make you believe in a spiritual undoing and trembling beneath the polished arpeggios and vacuum-sealed harmonies.” She speaks for many fans, I am sure, in describing the distinct sound of one of the most gifted vocalists of all time.

Author Karen Tongson (named after the singer) is a Filipino-American cultural critic, writer, and queer studies scholar. In this moving and often riveting half memoir/half biography she intertwines cultural analysis and personal anecdotes, creating a rich mix of insight and emotion into the life of Karen Carpenter.

The Carpenters’ music was immensely popular in the Philippines and other parts of Asia during the 1970s and beyond. Their songs had a significant impact on Filipino culture, and Tongson grew up with a deep appreciation for their music.“To be corny is to be mawkishly old-fashioned; tiresomely simple and sentimental,” Tongson writes, explaining part of the reason of her love for Karen Carpenter, who ultimately became the tether to the Philippines.

Tongson also navigates the sensitive topic of Karen’s eating disorder with grace, shedding light on the societal pressures that contributed to Karen’s tragic struggle. She emphasizes that Karen’s story is not just one of personal struggle, but a reflection of the larger issues women faced during that era, and still to this day, a powerful reminder of the need for compassion and understanding.

One of the most striking aspects of Why Karen Carpenter Matters is its examination of the intersection of race, gender, and music. Tongson studies the ways in which Karen Carpenter’s voice transcended cultural boundaries and challenged stereotypes, making her an unexpected icon in the LGBTQ+ community. Karen’s voice, as the writer beautifully describes, became a “sonic balm” for those who found solace and identity in her music.

I have loved the Carpenters since I was a kid and find Why Karen Carpenter Matters to be one of the most authentic and soulful nonfiction reads ever, not just on Karen Carpenter, but on any person or subject. I can still feel sad when I hear a song of hers on the radio or my music streaming, but that doesn’t take away the power or comfort or loveliness of one of the most sincere voices I have ever heard in music. From all accounts written about her, from everything friends of hers have said, Karen was a fun and funny woman, sweet and a genuine person.

For more about the Carpenters:

Carpenters: The Musical Legacy is an enchanting journey through the timeless melodies of Karen and Richard Carpenter. There are lots of fascinating tidbits about recording sessions and songs chosen for albums and what Karen and Richard thought about their music and about music in general.

Lead Sister: the Story of Karen Carpenter is well-worth tracking down. A 2023 release, it takes a more artistic look at her life and how much more there was to her in her musical life than that magical voice. Karen herself once said that she thought of herself as a drummer who sang, not a singer who played the drums. I think she would like this book a lot.

I miss the tv show "Fringe" so much. I wish I had more time for fan fiction, but there never seems to be enough time for everything.

The Case of the Missing Jell-O

Walter Bishop stood in the middle of the lab, his hands on his hips, staring at the empty spot on the counter where his prized lime Jell-O had been just moments ago. His brow furrowed, and he turned to Astrid, who was typing away at her computer, oblivious to the crisis at hand.

"Astrid!" Walter exclaimed, his voice tinged with both panic and indignation. "My Jell-O is gone!"

Astrid looked up from her screen, blinking. "What do you mean, gone? Did you eat it and forget again?"

Walter shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. I distinctly remember placing it right here, next to the centrifuge. It was a perfect specimen—wobbly, yet firm. And now it's vanished!"

Astrid suppressed a smile. Walter's obsession with Jell-O was well-documented, but this was a new level of urgency. "Okay, Walter, let's think about this logically. Did anyone else come into the lab?"

Walter tapped his chin, deep in thought. "Well, Peter was here earlier, but he left to get coffee. And Olivia stopped by to drop off some files, but she didn't seem interested in my Jell-O. Unless..." His eyes widened. "Unless it was the Observer!"

Astrid raised an eyebrow. "The Observer? Why would an Observer take your Jell-O?"

"Because they're mysterious and unpredictable!" Walter declared, pacing the lab. "They could be studying our gelatin-based desserts for their own nefarious purposes. Or perhaps they're using it as a medium for time travel! Did you know that Jell-O has unique temporal properties when exposed to certain frequencies of—"

"Walter," Astrid interrupted gently, "I think we should rule out more mundane explanations first. Maybe it just... fell?"

Walter gasped. "Fell? Astrid, this is Jell-O we're talking about, not a common pudding! It doesn't just 'fall.' It was *taken*."

Astrid sighed, realizing there was no talking Walter out of his theory. "All right, let's investigate. Where was the last place you saw it?"

Walter led her to the counter, pointing dramatically at the empty space. "Right here. And look—there's a faint residue. A clue!"

Astrid leaned in, examining the spot. Sure enough, there was a tiny smear of green gelatin. She grabbed a swab and collected the sample. "I'll run a quick analysis. Maybe we can figure out what happened."

As Astrid worked, Walter rummaged through the lab, muttering to himself. "If the Observers are involved, we'll need to prepare. I'll need more Jell-O—different flavors, different consistencies. We'll set a trap!"

Astrid chuckled softly. "Walter, I really don't think the Observers are after your dessert."

"Then explain this!" Walter held up a small, shiny object he'd found on the floor. It was a paperclip, bent into an unusual shape.

Astrid took the paperclip, studying it. "This could be anything. It doesn't necessarily mean—"

"Ah-ha!" Walter interrupted, his eyes lighting up. "It's a *symbol*. A message from the Observers. They're telling us they've taken my Jell-O as a warning. Or... or maybe it's a cry for help! What if they're trapped in a gelatinous dimension and need us to—"

"Walter," Astrid said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think I found our culprit."

She pointed to the corner of the lab, where a familiar furry creature was happily licking the remnants of lime Jell-O. It was Gene, Walter's beloved cow, who had somehow wandered into the lab unnoticed.

Walter's jaw dropped. "Gene? You ate my Jell-O?"

Gene let out a soft moo, as if to apologize.

Astrid couldn't help but laugh. "Looks like the case of the missing Jell-O has been solved. The culprit was right under our noses."

Walter sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Well, I suppose I can forgive her. But next time, Gene, ask before you help yourself to my experiments!"

As Astrid returned to her computer, shaking her head in amusement, Walter began preparing another batch of Jell-O—this time, with extra lime. After all, a scientist's work was never done.