Author: Angel Beldam

I’m having to do something this morning I haven’t had to do in years -commute into the office. It’s my own fault. I forgot my password and the only way to get it reset is for me to plug into the network and that is at the office.

So first, I‘m embarrassed I can’t remember my password. And second, I’m experiencing mad anxiety. My dread for driving during rush hour caused me to ask for leave this morning so I could go in after its mostly over.

I used to be such a warrior facing that soul crushing commute each morning. I’ve gone soft. But is that really a bad thing?

The pandemic was awful, but it showed employers and bosses that most of us could be just as productive or more so from home. It makes my blood boil to see that House Republicans are trying to make all Feds go back into the office. Bastards. But I digress.

Working from home has allowed me a much better work-life balance. Despite being an introvert I am very much a social creature, but I have never really liked socializing with my coworkers. I have a couple of them I consider good friends and I meet with then outside of work but mostly all that in office socializing just seemed wasteful when I had work to do. I much prefer to be social with my friends and professional with my colleagues. Does that make me a boomer?

Anyway, I’ve procrastinated long enough. Time to go get ready to do my penance for forgetting my password.

Be well my friends.

What is it about the magic of those three little dancing dots? You know the ones I mean.

I’ve been watching Ted Lasso (highly recommend) and there’s a whole story arc about two people chatting in a dating app. Each of them, sometimes alone, sometimes with their friends, are seen staring at those little dancing dots. Each waiting to see if there will be romance and adventure in their future.

The anticipation of what words will appear while we watch those dots is often filled with hope and sometimes dread. Either way the waiting can be agonizing. It feels a little Pavlovian how those dots immediately trigger anticipation or anxiety.

I know that not everyone has the internet or a phone or computer so saying this fascination with these dancing dots is universal is a gross overstatement. However, enough people feel it and wonder about it that there are many articles written about it. Yes, I went and looked.

It’s called the “typing awareness indicator” and, apparently, there are complex rules about how it works depending on the app you are using. For instance, if the dots disappear, it doesn’t necessarily mean the person has stopped typing. They could just be taking too long. But also the reverse can be true, sometimes.

Whatever the rules, we’ve learned to react to them. And I know it’s not just me because if it were there wouldn’t be entire scenes in a hit show dedicated to the waiting for those dots to change into words.

Here’s to hoping that all your dancing dots fill you with happy anticipation.

Be well my friends.

This is my 100th post. It’s hard to believe I’ve managed to stick with it this long or that I continue to have things to say. Granted nothing I have posted will win a Booker or a Pulitzer, but since that is not point of my writing I guess it doesn’t matter.

I’m still enjoying the process. Even on the mornings when it’s a struggle. I’ve come to appreciate that struggle.

I know that for some writers the words just come to them and that they are merely a conduit. Because that has never happened to me, I just assumed that must mean I wasn’t a very good writer. That used to discourage me.  

But the need to write never goes away for me. Some days the urge to write is so powerful. I get restless and the need to pick up the pen is relentless. You would think that on those days the words would just roll right out of me, but more often than not, those are the days the words just won’t come at all.

Being around other writers, however, has reassured me that the struggle is real for most of us, and that the practice of writing daily is what it takes to make the words flow more freely. Who knew creativity required such discipline?  

This is hard work. Fortunately, most of the time it doesn’t feel like work. The anxiety before pushing that publish button still comes from time to time, but mostly hitting it brings me satisfaction and joy.

Thank you to all of you read my blog, whether you do so daily or en masse when you can. And for those who provide feedback in whatever form that takes, likes, comments online, texts to check in on me, or kudos in person, you have my most humble appreciation. Please keep doing it.

Be well my friends.

A friend recently asked, why do women do this to each other?

She was referring to a Facebook post where a woman described what she called the most awkward first date in history. The text of the message says, “She ordered milk with her dinner…and specified her preferred milk fat percentage. For dinner she ordered the kids menu dino nuggets w/ extra ketchup.”

First of all, arrogant of her to assume she could lay claim to such a prestigious title.

Second, what’s wrong with milk and dino nuggets? Maybe it was the extra ketchup? I mean some restaurants are known for being stingy with condiments so that seems like a valid request right?

My friend’s objection to the post was that women should not be food shaming other women. I completely agree. I also believe that no one, regardless of their gender or age, should shame or be shamed over anything they eat, no matter what it is.

Food is fuel and nobody but you gets to decide if that fuel is adequate for your body. For many people that’s all food is, but for many others food is so much more. Again, nobody but you gets to decide what food means for you.

When I replied to my friend, I told her that I agreed with her stance on food shaming, but that I also saw that post from a slightly different angle. I suggested that maybe the dino nugget order had actually been a test and the food shamer fell right into the trap and failed miserably.

What if the milk and nuggets were a deliberate choice to find out if there would be a second date? Maybe this is how she weeds out those who won’t be tolerant or easygoing or fun loving? A strategy to see who won’t be any good at letting her be her authentic self?

This does seem somewhat manipulative, especially if it’s not something you would normally order with family and friends and you are doing it only as a test. But if it’s a meal you would also order three dates, or weeks, or months into the relationship, then I think it’s a brilliant strategy and anyone going out on a first date should seriously consider employing it.

Be well my friends.

I’m trying something new today. I was recently explaining to someone about my writing process and how I don’t seem to be able to create when I’m typing. How I always need to handwrite everything. They said ‘that’s quite a process’ and I felt judged. I doubt they meant it that way though maybe they did. Whatever their intent, I still felt judged.

I’ve been stewing on this and wondering if it’s a self fulfilling thing. I can’t because I say I can’t. So this morning I thought I’d give it a try.

And I am struggling.

When I put pen to paper, or more recently pen to reMarkable, the words just flow. I don’t really worry about a misspelled word or if the grammar isn’t quite right because I know I can fix it on edit.

But when I type and the computer red-lines something, it completely stops the flow of my creativity. I literally lose my train of thought.

I also can’t type as fast I used to. Back in the olden days, before computers were a household thing, I could type close to 100 words per minute on my electric typewriter. I wasn’t creating though.

I’m in a writer’s group where we do 20 minute sprints for 3 hours twice a week. The moderator of the group is a well established writer with multiple books under several pen names and she can create and type a over a thousand words in a 20 minute sprint. It’s mind-boggling and I’m envious, but I’m trying to remember it’s not a contest.

Sometimes it’s good to be challenged to examine what we do because we learn that we need to change what we’re doing. However, sometimes we get confirmation that what we’re doing is right for us.

So I managed to get words on the page and I’m going to post this. But I did not like or feel comfortable doing it this way. I’m going back to my process because it works for me.

Be well my friends.

This week at trivia two of our newest teammates, one the youngest and the other the oldest, were sitting near me. A music question came up and I didn’t know the answer. My young teammate was trying to sing a song by the group but I did not recognize it.

I figured it was another one of those 90s things I missed out on because I was living in another country. But then when the answer to the trivia question was revealed, 4 Non Blondes, I finally realized what she had been trying to sing.

I forgot myself and did a very Gen X thing. I was sarcastic and she called me mean. I apologized then and I’ll do it again now.

Here’s the thing though that other Gen Xer at the table, the one whose presence I adore because now I’m not the oldest at the table, totally got me.

Here’s how I know.

We have recently become FB friends. I posted a meme yesterday about how you know I’m comfortable with you when I’m weird with you, I sing whatever comes into my mind, etc. And she comments with the beginning lyrics to that song my young friend was trying to sing on Tuesday night.

I busted out laughing so hard. We are so going to be friends for a long time.

I know I’ve written about Gen X before, but I cannot emphasize enough how cool it is to be in the presence of someone who gets it. I may owe my young friend another apology but I owe my new old friend a beer.

Be well my friends.

Until I started doing research for my novel I had never heard of this holiday. Imbolc, also known as Candlemas, occurs at the half way point between the Winter Solstice (Yule) and the Spring Equinox (Ostara). It is a celebration of the beginning of spring, the season of new beginnings.

I am all about new beginnings right now and the tarot reading I had last night on the eve of Imbolc, confirmed and clarified this with 4 of the 5 cards in the spread being in the suit of Cups. Big thank you to the friend who did the reading for her help interpreting the cards and her sound advice.

One of the resources I use to learn about the cards says that if a reading is mostly Cup cards, I am seeking solutions to emotional conflicts, love matters, feelings, and creativity. I am in a place where the old and the new are bumping into each other quite energetically.

With regard to creativity, the conflict is not so much emotional, though there is frustration. I am approaching retirement, but it’s not until the end of next year. I am wanting to be a published writer, but because I have to work 40 hours a week there just aren’t enough hours in the day for this new creative venture. I know this will resolve itself. I just need to be patient.

In matters of the heart, however, there is a great deal of emotional conflict, all of it internal, and it is coming to a head. (Weird expression that, but no time this morning for an etymological diversion.)

I am a reluctant member of the sandwich generation. I have no regrets over the decisions that I have made and would make them again every time. These are my past and present, but how will I move forward?

If this new relationship is going to progress to a happy and healthy place as my future, I have to find a way to reconcile the conflicting requirements of my present as dutiful daughter and supportive mother.

The final card in the spread was Judgement. It was a reminder that I am going to be judged no matter what decisions I make, so I need to make the ones that are best for me.

Here’s to hoping the coming spring brings resolution. Be well my friends.

I have a friend I’ve known for years who recently lost her husband. They married late in life, and he was most definitely the love of her life. She’s been posting mini love letters to him everyday accompanied by a photo and a memory about that photo.

I feel her love and grief as almost a physical thing. It feels beautiful and sacred, which is likely why I feel so guilty when it triggers my sadness about how much I am missing my girlfriend.

This feeling is called comparative grief. Her grief is so much worse and is completely valid whereas mine is ridiculous in comparison and is, therefore, not valid.

My friend would be the first to tell me to stop that nonsense and that my feelings are just as valid. Intellectually I know this to be true. However, my person is only a plane ride away (or a very long road trip). The distance can be crossed. Perhaps not easily or cheaply but it’s possible for me where it’s not for her. Not in this lifetime at least.

I am trying not to feel the guilt. I’m trying to remember that my feelings are not to be compared, not even to rationalize about gaining perspective. That my sadness and yearning to be with my person is temporary and that I’ll get to see her soon doesn’t invalidate the intensity of these feelings.

It may be unfair, but it feels like this concept of comparative grief is a social construct perpetuated by the capitalistic patriarchy. There’s always someone worse off than you so buck up and get back to work. I wonder. I see a rabbit hole of research into comparative grief in my near future.

Nothing like getting angry at the patriarchy to make a girl feel less sad.

Be well my friends.

Have you ever sent a message or a meme to the wrong person? I do. A lot. Maybe statistically higher than average I think.

Usually it’s no big deal. I’ll get a ?? from the person and I’ll say oops sorry that was for my mom, or whatever.

But every once in a while I’ll send something that causes me full on embarrassment. Not guilt or shame mind you because I never send anything to anyone I’d have to feel guilty about or ashamed of.

I try never to lie or be unkind no matter who I’m talking to, but I’m not a saint. Sometimes I am unkind, though not intentionally. Or I’ll tell someone I’m not well and can’t go somewhere or do something when in fact I just regret promising I did, or I can’t muster the energy, and I don’t trust that the person will be okay with my real reason.

Most of my contacts, however, are close friends, people I can trust to be ok if I say I’m just not in the right head space. Besides lying requires you to remember what lies you told to whom and my memory is not nearly as good as it used to be.

As for shame, I no longer do shame. I will never again let anyone try to shame me. I am allowed to exist, to take up space, eat what I want, love who I love, be sexual, smart, strong, and sarcastic without judgment from anyone.

Thank goodness those closest to me believe this too and would never shame me.

Some of them may, however, tease me endlessly for accidentally sending them a spicy meme meant for my girlfriend. My face will be pink from embarrassment the next time I see them. But I’m ok with that.

Be well my friends.

Last night was date night and the girlfriend found this app with great questions to ask for a date night. It was fun and we got to learn even more about each other.

There was one question she asked me, however, that was practically impossible to answer.

If I could only keep one book that I already own what would it be?

What? How is one supposed to pick only one book? That is like asking which tooth are you going to keep in your mouth? It’s the reason I only had one kid because I’d always have an easy answer for who’s my favorite. And apparently saying I’ll just keep my Kindle was not an acceptable answer.

When I moved in with my mom after my dad died, I knew I had to pare down my books if I also wanted to keep my father and grandfather’s books. There just wasn’t enough room in this small house.

It was quite literally one of the hardest things I have ever done. The books still on my shelves are what’s left after a dramatic, painful purge.

Granted there are some that I haven’t read yet, and in the case of the religious texts, especially the one in Greek, I never will. But that doesn’t mean I want to part from them.

The TBR pile is growing so there might be some in there that I could let go of, but to keep only one?

In the spirit of the night I knew I had to give her an answer. So I told her I’d keep the dictionary. With that I could find interesting words and write my own stories about them. I suppose I could live with that. But would that be living or merely barely existing?

I can ‘t even imagine a world where I’d be forced to have only one book. That’s totally barbaric. A truly dystopian world. Thank goodness that’s not a real thing and I get to keep my Kindle and the books on my shelves.

P.S. To my nerdy friends who get the allusion of my title, send me a message so I know where my peeps are at.