Stream of Consciousness
By: Valerie Macewan
Tags: Dead Mule, Memoir, History, Gloomy Weather, Essay

The past, the present, the future

Stream of Consciousness

it’s a gray day. photo by author.

What today is all about.

It’s about reading Apple News and finding out the Stimulus Package, whatever they want to call it, won’t be enough to stop the evictions.

It’s about knowing we’re safe after spending three years in PTSD-induced poverty. Finally getting compensation from the VA, the Air Force. Finally having more than my social security disability check $775 to live on and being able to breathe and feeling guilty about it because so many people can’t find the money to pay their rent, to buy food and now we can. We almost lost our house, we did lose our car, and life was not a bowl fo cherries, to say the least. The past is gone. Faulkner was wrong, the past is past. Yes, you can argue that point with me if you want to…

https://deadmule.medium.com/southern-neighborhood-living-on-775-a-month-475a64ab861a

That link was supposed to turn into a box with info and link. Oh Medium, ya let me down. Well, the link at the bottom formats correctly.

We donated to 16 charities this year in November and December. We kept most of the money local. Our local Boys and Girls Club, the Food Bank, Veteran’s Christmas fund, Toys for Tots, animal rescue organizations, KIVA, community centers, Feeding America, local arts council (we bought a brick to be inscribed with our name and placed on the sidewalk in front of the building)… it was more fun, more rewarding, I must admit, than buying trivial needs on Amazon. But once I gave the money, I found I wanted to do more. It was like eating popcorn but giving away our disposable income every month is not sustainable because disposable really isn’t. It’s needed by family and friends and there is another story for another day in that fact.

Today is about remembering Christmas when I was a kid. From 1950s through 1960s, my childhood years, it was as magical as it could get. From the decorations to the food to the presents… and then on the 26th we drove through four states to get to Cincinnati, Ohio to see our relatives and we’d spend a joyous week eating Yankee food and visiting with greats and grands. And the cousins!

Today is me publishing the January 2021 issue of the Dead Mule and reflecting upon TWENTY FIVE years of maintaining that website. I’ve managed to publish every month, for the most part, for all of 25 years in 2021. I find such a revelation difficult to comprehend. Honestly, don’t know how that happened, 25 years on. Not sure how to celebrate it. The site averages 500 pages visited a day. A day. The statistics plug-in tells me it’s the front page and then on from there but if we have 150 unique visits (a day!) they’re reading more than the front page. I like the design of the Dead Mule although the “theme” is supposed to be for a store front, the layout for products for sale, not story excerpts. I’ve used it for a couple years and hope to keep it going for quite a few more. I’ve had many iterations of the Mule. This one, while time consuming to format the writing, seems to be the simplest WordPress one so far.

We tried podcasting but it turned out to be not what was expected: the monthly additions aren’t regular but what’s on there now is entertaining and I suggest a listen. Hopefully we’ll get some new stories on their soon.

Today is me remembering. Today is me looking forward because looking back at 2020 is fraught with dismay, isn’t it? I mean, we can all write something about the horrors of the last 365 days. And I don’t just mean politics.

My mom would make oyster stew for my dad on Christmas Eve. She’d make Welsh Rarebit on toast points for my sister, brother and me. When I got old enough to reach the stovetop safely, the rarebit became my responsibility. Daddy would buy Guinness for the rarebit. It’s been 40 years since I’ve had rarebit. I’m not moved to recreate the recipe this year nor have I been for decades. Memories sometimes just should remain so. To recreate a moment can cheapen it, I think. Maybe I’m just jaded because it won’t live up to my expectations — that rarebit. Everyone who enjoyed it is dead. So to try to drum up new support for an old tradition just seems sad.

Christmas Eve gets to be at my daughter’s house with my grandsons and son-in-law. We all have stayed in our houses, no contact, not even with each other, since Thanksgiving in preparation for this event. Only trips to store for necessities, no restaurants, no risky behaviors, always masked, always distant, always washing our hands.

Jane’s doing prime rib, Yorkshire pudding and a Yule Log. We see each other, distant from on another, front porch visits — they live three blocks away but we haven’t shared a meal, been together, in months, as is true of probably everyone reading this. The isolation. I think about that today.

My other daughter, across town, a couple scant miles away, will remain distant. Her 17 year old stepson has what we hope is a cold. His Covid19 test should be in today but since he was previously exposed (daughter/stepdaughter had Covid in May) and had a negative test, I think he’ll be negative again. Just rationalizing here, hoping for the best outcome. He works at grocery store part-time, hangs out with a small group of friends that have been together since last March… probably not the safest person for me to be around these days so we’ll celebrate some gift opening probably with us on their back porch on one side of sliding glass door and them on the other side, inside.

Today is me thinking about what’s good. And getting ready to order groceries “to go” from our local Food Lion grocery store. I’ll pick them up tomorrow, as I’m late with today’s order. I haven’t been in a grocery store in months and I see that as good. I see my dogs, curled up on their blanket on the couch as good. My husband fiddling around with a new MacBook is good. Joseph R Biden will be president next month and that’s glorious.

I don’t write about politics in my blog or my stories, except for when I wrote about how, in 1972, I went to the Republican National Convention as a page and how that experience played out. Man, I was adventurous. I think three years of poverty and one year of a pandemic definitely slow me down. We’d just begun to have a living income when Covid hit. I bought a 2019 Chevy Equinox in May 2019 and have less than 7,000 miles on it, after all this time.

Well, that’s enough about my thoughts, enough of my day. Not publishing this on GiaB, this goes back to personal blogging, back from 2016–2019 Medium posts.