Perspective

I've been trapped in the suburbs since Friday afternoon and unable to leave until tomorrow morning. This place is starting to feel a little more like my family's home and not my mother's former home, but it doesn't make me miss home much less. Worse, I haven't had much company this weekend since my husband had a couple of errands he needed to run and then a professional appointment this morning. 

Maybe I could have gone for a walk--but no. I was always scheduled to meet someone here at noon, so there wasn't much of an adventure to be had. But it's a nice day and between 7:30, when my sister's bus comes, and 12, I could have walked to the quaint city center. However, I got a call at 7:35 that the elusive Floor Guys would be coming over at 8:05, so after I ate my breakfast my husband and I were set to work moving furniture (and going through yet more detritus). 

I had time after they left (and someone came to check that they had indeed arrived) to write some emails. I was just finishing that up when the cleaners showed up. Always a pleasure to see them--they're one of the reasons I find the house more pleasant--but since I wasn't expecting them, I didn't plan around them (including to bring my checkbook) and then it was that much longer that I had to stay for them.

I complain to my husband about how trapped I feel via text. He kindly offers to console me with my comfort of choice when he gets home, then tells me that someone he knows just lost a family member in a way all too reminiscent of how I lost a family member last year. A little bit later, a friend contacts me to reach out because they're having health problems. I'm a poor choice to contact since I have no medical training, but there's a reason I'm one of the better options (not my story to tell).

Yeah, maybe there are worse fates than the one I'm enduring today.

I get to see my boys tomorrow, eat cake (or watch them eat cake), and sleep in my own bed tomorrow. That isn't soon enough, but in the meantime I can sit out on a deck and overlook some green. It's not what I want, but maybe it will do.

Deb in the City

One bite at a time (by the numbers)

The recommended method for eating an elephant, it turns out, is the best way to get other projects done.

I want to call 1000 people this election season, and I want to call them sooner rather than later, but making 20 calls at a time can be wearying in certain states (I get it, some swing states are getting a lot of calls, but all of those hang ups and wrong numbers can be a little disheartening). I cannot make 20 calls every few days, but I can make ten calls every week day. That's what I did last week, and now I'm up to 180 calls. Hell yes. 820 more to go, and I can do it.

I've averaged 1000 transcribed words of my saga every weekday. That was A LOT when I embarked on this in December, and because of numerous appointments in May, I missed a few days. I didn't panic--no one is tapping their foot waiting for me to finish this--but I happened to have some time on my hands yesterday, so even though it was a weekend, I transcribed a lot more than usual. And then this morning, even though it's still a weekend, I transcribed a little more. Which is all to say that the eight installment, Factor of Loss, is now transcribed (and commented to hell, high heavens, and back), and the whole saga--literally and figuratively--is up to 190,285 words. 

Did I mention that this means I'm halfway through the installments?

My note-taking, which had been staring at me for almost a year, finally began in earnest a few weeks ago, and now I have stack of note cards from regular sessions of reviewing notes and "making" five notes a day. It's gratifying to see the pile increasing, even as I'm learning some disturbing things, in no small part about myself. But that's a post for another time.

And finally, I had my annual physical this week. My doctor is very pleased with my progress. It was humbling to hear that many people who had my diagnosis of cancer aren't doing as well as I am two years out (in case I didn't mention it, I'm clean as a whistle--but don't throw the party for another three years). I credit this to my diet (you can insert everything you want to about relative privilege--you wouldn't be wrong, and that's infuriating). That seems to also be having an effect on other health metrics, particularly my cholesterol. (The fact that a long-time vegan and practically eternal vegetarian can have a cholesterol issue should be the only evidence you need that there is only so much you can control.) I've brought it down a lot with legumes, whole grains, produce, nuts, and negligible amounts of refined sugar and ultra-processed foods--but apparently I've still got a little bit of wiggle room.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'd like to be *done* with certain things so I can move on. But to what? Well, part of why I embarked on these journeys is to answer that question, and it's probably better that I take my time answering it.

Deb in the City

You're right, you can't afford to live in Boston (Day 39)

Or most of Massachusetts.

One of my children pays more than the accepted ratio for rent. (That's about 28 percent, thought sometimes it gets up to 30.) Shockingly, they don't have a lot of money in savings, and they were aghast when they found that they owed some money in taxes. Not very much, but when you live effectively paycheck to paycheck, anything is a lot. 

I thought of this child when I saw this chart from the good people at the Raise Up MA coalition. Suffice to say, my child is not making the $27.89 per hour they would need to in order to be able to, well, afford to live in Boston. They talk about moving to a more rural area, but frankly that won't do it; they'd probably have to leave the state, as I think one of my other children will eventually.

Just so we're clear, that's one of the most painful things a parent can write. This isn't the same as "my child is going to leave the state to pursue a really great education somewhere, or they got their dream job in another part of the country." This is "my child can't afford to stay somewhere where they have friends and family, and they can't imagine being able to build a life here."

This is not unrelated to wealth inequality in Massachusetts. Forget comparisons to San Francisco; when places get like this, it starts to feel like some of the oligarchies around the world where you find a disproportionate number of billionaires but the average citizen is likelier to live in poverty (I'll let you fill in the blanks). 

So let's raise the minimum wage, and let's support unions. It's not just to keep my children here, but other people's, too.

Deb in the City