Lest I Complain Too Much

Posted on September 13, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

It’s true that I cling to my emotional support iced coffee all year round, but fall isn’t *ALL* bad. Last night we went to a little bluegrass concert and it was really, really fun. It was outside, at twilight, not too cold and not too hot. There were lots of kids running around, the band played the little guy’s favorite song (Wheels on the Bus), and by the end of it things felt like an all-ages dance party. And this morning, I took the little guy to his music class (similar to Music Together, which I did with the girls, but a little more folky). Pure joy. I love being able to do things like this with him.

I’m excited to go apple picking sometime in the next week or two. Not so much the picking part, because the little guy picks them up from the ground and the girls pick ones that shouldn’t be picked, and it’s like herding cats to get all three of them to go in the same direction. I’m there for the apples to make apple crisp with, I’m there to get some pumpkins for the doorstep, I’m there for the cider donuts, but I’m mostly there for the photos. Every year I take lots of picture on our apple adventure, and I always manage to get one or two that are my all-time favorites.

I’m also excited to pull out the sweaters, not just for me but for the little guy. The girls have long since refused to let me dress them, or wear clothes that I pick out for them – today, in fact, I saw a little girl dressed head to toe in a Hanna Andersson dress and leggings and I wanted to weep, because those days are over for me. But! I can dress the little guy in jeans and little old man cardigans. For a little bit longer, anyway.

Also, it’s GBBO time! I started watching it last night and the next thing I knew I woke up at 7:30 am, having apparently fallen asleep on the couch and stayed there all night. It’s only week 2 and I’m not sure who I am rooting for just yet, but I would like to know why Noel Fielding seems to be channeling Elvis this season.

I also really like decorating for fall, especially with twinkly lights (leaf or ghost-shaped). In past years, O has been all about the “decorins”, but is currently refusing to leave the house to go buy some. To be fair, she has either allergies or a cold making her a little miserable, but not miserable enough to be willing to take any medicine. No, she would rather suffer and complain. *sigh* I have at least 2 fall quilts half-started, and if I can ever get through the pile of laundry that haunts my days (and nights) I will attempt to finish one of them. I’m also waiting on pins and needles for the new couch we bought a couple of months ago to arrive, because between the kids and the cats our current couch is just an eyesore. They have been repeatedly warned there will be no more eating on the couch, but I am bracing myself for the inevitable spilled milk.

Lastly, fall means homemade chili, beef stew, pot roast, and grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. (She pauses to go take the beef out of the freezer so she can make chili tomorrow, because she WILL forget unless she does it right now.) It also means cozy socks and my fleece-lined LL Bean slippers, which I often leave the house wearing because they are comfy. And, if I’m lucky, it means some nice afternoon walks in the woods with no bugs!

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Ruminations in the Key of F(all)

Posted on September 11, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

It’s no secret that I am no pumpkin spice girl; fall for me means the light shifts and I just want to crawl into a hole until February when the light shifts again. I tend to ruminate anyway, but fall drives my thinking into overdrive. And just like clockwork come my weird dreams, like the one the other night where I dreamed there were dead bluejays all over our back deck because the cats had gone on some sort of killing spree. (In truth, we found a small dead rabbit on the front lawn last week, which we immediately pinned on our big orange male cat Duffy but was probably the small scrappy black-and-white Ghostie Girl.) I’m not a woo-woo sort of person but I was disturbed enough to Google “what does dreaming about dead bluejays mean” and as usual got all sorts of possible answers, none of which seemed to fit.

And then I thought, I probably should skip the psychic and go straight to an exorcist.

It’s turning colder at night already, and even the cats are cozying up rather than stalking the doors wanting to be let out. The girls are back in school and no one, least of all me, has gotten the hang of the schedule. D started piano lessons and I bought her a nice keyboard, but it’s caused this cascade of projects around the house because in order to set the keyboard up we have to rearrange the playroom, which means rearranging the girls’ bedroom, which means all the stuff they have dragged up from the basement needs to either go back to the basement or disposed of. Also, I have spent the last month wanting to drag my guitar out of the closet but it’s still there, probably needing new strings, but that’s a task that always makes me sad because my dad always changed my strings. And even though he showed me how to do it, I don’t want to.

I can’t believe it’s been ten years since he died (well, in a few weeks it will be ten years). I’m thinking about him while listening to John Denver and James Taylor, much to the annoyance of the girls who have all of a sudden developed an affinity for K-pop. (I blame that Turning Red movie, which has been watched so many times at our house I can’t stand it anymore.) Sometimes I think it’s probably a good thing that Dad died before Trump’s presidencies, because he probably would have had several heart attacks by now over the state of things. There are times when I wonder what Dad would have said about something, but I know exactly what he would have said about the state of the world right now. I also know exactly what he would say about my car (clean it), my house (clean it), my kids (need discipline), our decision to even have kids and also how we wound up fostering (crazy). I don’t really miss his lectures, but I miss the sound of his voice over the phone, I miss eating chocolate ice cream on the couch and watching the Blues Brothers, and I miss his ability to fix pretty much everything, including once using a metal coat hanger and duct tape to hold my car’s muffler in place.

And, I wish. I wish he could know my kids, I wish they could have had him as an active presence in their lives and not just my memories. I wish he was here to help me clean out the basement or fix the crack in the wall above my closet door. I wish he was here, period.

so close your eyes

you can close your eyes, it’s alright

I don’t know no love songs

and I can’t sing the blues anymore

but I can sing this song

and you can sing this song

when I’m gone

~James Taylor

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Another Miscellaneous Post

Posted on August 5, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

You haven’t lived until you’ve tried to change a 2-year old’s poopy swim diaper outside at a family picnic…and he takes off running, stark naked…and pees freestyle…and then hollers “bye pee pee!”. I just sat on the ground and let it happen because, let’s face it, I am tired. I also have a knack for anticipating a good funny moment and am loathe to squash it.

***

When I was young, maybe 9 or 10, I loved these black canvas, Mary Jane style shoes with thin rubber soles. We called them “China Flats”, and I’m not sure whether they were indestructible or just cheap enough to buy them all the time, because I feel like for years there was always a pair or two lying around the house. (A quick Google search tells me they are now referred to as “China Doll Shoes” and are sold at WalMart.) The other thing I remember wearing a lot was a red calico wrap-around skirt that my Aunt Linda made me. That skirt and those shoes and I was pleased with myself.

This afternoon I took a quick walk down to the smoothie shop near my new office. I was feeling similarly pleased with my attire, until I realized that my linen wrap dress and my navy blue Dansko’s were just a grown-up version of what I wore in the early 1980’s. I was kind of horrified, but it weirdly plays into my theory that I honestly haven’t changed that much in all these years. I mean, my life has changed for sure, but the core person inside? Not so much. Not enough to spurn a good wrap-around garment and Mary Jane shoes, anyway.

***

And, I will note, that when I bought these shoes I desperately wanted a red pair I spied at the shoe store despite the fact that they went with nothing I own. My mom tells me that when I was little (2?) I had red shoes and wore them long after they stopped fitting me, even stealing them back out of the garbage. Alas, the shoe store didn’t have the red ones in my size so I went with a blue pair…but I still think about the red ones. I don’t even like red as a color that much, but I was like the Wicked Witch of the West coveting those red shoes.

***

Speaking of red: It’s been crazy lately and my garden – what I managed to get planted – has been horribly neglected. Yesterday I spied something red from an upstairs window, and tonight I got myself down into the backyard to pick the first tomatoes of the season. I also had to do some major pillaging of leaves and stems because early blight has begun. It’s partly my fault for neglecting things, and partly that the spot I put the tomatoes this year always winds up with blight. I rotate planting every year between three raised beds, and so far it hasn’t happened in the other two beds. I think I remember reading that blight can get into the soil? At any rate, next year we have to rip it all out and start over anyway because the raised bed boards are starting to split and warp. But, tomato season is here! And I suppose I have fundamentally changed in some ways, because I always refused to help my dad in his garden and I also always hated tomatoes. That’s something, I guess.

***

And speaking of the Wicked Witch, I finally got around to watching the Wicked movie on Sunday afternoon. I read the book a number of times, and while I never got to see it on Broadway I listened to the original soundtrack for years, “I’m Not That Girl” being a common refrain in my dating life. Alas, I fell asleep in the middle of the movie. I fell asleep to Fiyero dancing in the library and woke up to purple flying monkeys, and while I know what I missed I was still confused. Another time, perhaps.

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June in Maine, in all its Joy

Posted on June 5, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

June is the best month in Maine, I will die on that hill. It’s not too hot (except for today, which is ridiculously 84 degrees F), not too cold, and everything is blooming. I grant you that the lilac blooms are on their way out, but for the moment I can still sit on my porch and smell them. The wisteria and peonies are not that far behind. We also have wild honeysuckle growing around our property – it’s invasive, mind you, but it smells so lovely I don’t have the heart to dig it up.

It’s also the season of school field trips. I’m lucky that I was able to chaperone trips for both girls last week, both of which featured frogs in various forms (tadpole to giant bullfrog). We also managed a couple of field trips of our own to play in some tide pools, and I just get SO emotional seeing my kids romping around outside. I spent my own childhood with my nose in books, mind you, but I love how much they love the outdoors. What a gift it is to explore the world!

And, you know, maybe us Mainers need to get out more (out of state, that is). When I was a young adult and living outside of Maine, it was always interesting to hear people’s reactions to hearing where I am from. One girl in college thought Maine was part of western Canada, which was…odd…but for the most part people heard “Maine” and equated it with upper middle class, LL Bean-wearing, lobster-eating skiiers who also grew up on sailboats. It was a far cry from my actual upbringing – working class, in the Western mountains, and even if we could have afforded to ski I was (am) terrified of heights anyway. We took one or two day trips a year to the coast, often with my grandmother, but it was not a regular thing. We played in pine forests on big wooden spools, the kind telephone wires are wound on, and if you were lucky enough to have Mr. Waldeier as your 4th or 5th grade teacher you got to go on nature walks – down the road, over the stone wall, up through the field into the woods, where he would point out different types of trees and animal scat. We didn’t swim in the ocean, but in lakes formed by glaciers eons ago and filled with brutally cold water, the kind that “builds character” while turning your lips blue during 8 am swim lessons. Later in the summer it would be our fingers turning blue, when we picked wild blueberries growing in the power line corridors.

There are times when I miss Massachusetts. Most of the time it’s because I miss seeing my family on a regular basis, but also we could really use a babysitter and if we were still in MA some combination of my sister, mother and nieces would be there to help. Massachusetts is also the only state that I lived in that had health insurance that actually covered things (my 5-day stay in the hospital for a c-section cost me nothing). And Massachusetts is full of easy hikes and arboretums and nature centers and things to do with small children. Coastal Maine certainly has things like that – but much less stroller friendly. There are rocks to be maneuvered and trees to climb and tides to be mindful of. It’s similar, but different, especially as you move up the coast. It, and we, are beautiful but weathered, tricky to navigate (can’t get there from here, said without any r’s actually pronounced), and sometimes a little prickly.

Over the years O’s eyes have changed to this odd gray-green combination, not blue or brown, and not like her father’s blue-gray eyes either. It’s very similar to the color of the ocean on a cloudy day, after a storm has churned through. That said, there’s always been something about her personality – stubborn, for sure- that demanded she be raised in Maine. The one thing I had not planned on is her having a Maine accent of her own. When she is older and out in the world, and she tells people she grew up on the coast of Maine, they will nod. Of course she did.

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May Misc.

Posted on May 25, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

What a month. If I wasn’t sick (bad cold? allergies? who even knows at this point), the weather was just awful. Also, I was juggling a litany of kid-related things — and, because one of our kids is adopted and another is a foster child, some of those things are just…hard. Or complicated, anyway. But other things were fun – Miss O’s second grade class invited parents to come in to talk about a family tradition, and together O and I decided to bring s’mores and talk about camping. The s’mores seemed to have been a big hit, even though I had to bake them and bring them to school, and by the time the kids got to eat them the marshmallows were more like glue. Sugar is sugar, though.

Other things I have done, in no particular order:

  1. I mowed our lawn! It took me 50+ years to actually operate a lawn mower, but our lawn desperately needed to be mowed and the husband was buried in work, so he showed me how to start it and off I went. I needed ibuprofen for three days afterwards, but at least the front yard was presentable.
  2. Wore my winter coat again, because it’s been cold and rainy.
  3. Had coffee with a former coworker whom I adore.
  4. Wordle, the Mini Crossword, and Connections (NYTimes games). I justify this as exercising my brain, but really I find the little lilt of music after the Mini Crossword incredibly satisfying. Sometimes Connections is just diabolical, though.
  5. Watching Hamilton (again) and getting unreasonably angry about how brilliant it is and how I am not that brilliant and will die without any piece of genius work as my legacy. (Confused husband: “What? You’re mad at….a musical?”) *sigh*

Things I have not done, in no particular order:

  1. Put the garden in. Peas were planted, along with some carrots, lettuce and beets – but that’s just one small raised bed, and there are two more waiting to be turned over and planted. If it ever stops raining, I’ll get around to it. I also have a hydrangea and some lupines (birthday gifts) that need to be planted, and my entire flower bed is a complete disaster. I discovered tonight that something has been eating my lilies (likely a deer).
  2. Registered / inspected my car (ridiculously overdue) – just happened to notice it yesterday. In my defense, I usually drive husband’s car because all 3 kids fit into it.
  3. Finished reading anything. Finished sewing anything.
  4. Written any piece of genius work as my legacy.

Today it occurred to me that my *actual* legacy will likely be a shelf full of yarn and totes full of quilt fabric and lots of random pictures of birds. At any rate, I’m ready to put May to an end for this year. June is my favorite month here in Maine anyway – lupines and lobster rolls and lots of trips to the tide pools. And maybe some sunshine?

“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.” – Lucy Maud Montgomery

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April 29th (chart the constellations*)

Posted on April 29, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

(*Swiftie reference)

I survived April vacation with the girls, but now this week our little guy’s daycare is closed Thursday and Friday so I will be back on full-time mom mode for a bit. The weather has been glorious the past two days, sunny and 70ish degrees which is perfect for sitting on my porch and contemplating…everything. I don’t even know what to say about the state of things at this moment in time – politically, economically, philosophically – so focusing on the lilacs budding and the forsythias blooming is 100% necessary.

I found myself in a right funk today though, realizing that it’s a) almost my birthday and b) that it’s been almost 2 years since I left my full-time job. Initially I had grand plans for some time off, but our then-foster daughter’s little brother was born and came to live with us. Raising kids is hard, and raising OTHER people’s kids is even harder. I don’t regret it one bit, but it was one of life’s unplanned detours. I was admonishing myself for not accomplishing anything I had planned during my “break”… but of course I didn’t. How could I.

The grass is always greener, though, and comparison is a thief of joy (as the saying goes). I felt the same way during my maternity leave when, rather than launch a side business or write a novel, I sat on the couch mainlining CNN and breastfeeding (with occasional walks to the taco place near where we lived and Target runs) and recovering from an unplanned (but likely inevitable) c-section. It’s way easier for me to focus on the things not going well, or that I don’t have, rather than what is right in front of me. I now have two daughters, and whether the little guy stays with us or not I will always have him in my heart, a son that I imagined sleeping in our spare room long before he existed. That’s what this is all about, right?

I’ve also been missing my father lately, and sort of oddly was wondering what happened to an old photo of the two of us at the ocean. My mom gave me my birthday card a few days early and, lo and behold, inside was a copy of that photo. I cried, of course, and then cried harder because I felt dumb crying over a photo, but also the coincidence was the sort of coincidence that feels like a message. The thing is, I know Dad felt really strongly that older people shouldn’t have children; I remember a long conversation with him once because he had read an article about children conceived by older parents had a higher chance of being schizophrenic (among other things). And I know he didn’t like the idea of adopting from foster care either, believing that the kids “have too many problems”. I was thinking about this yesterday while drinking my iced coffee at a local eatery, when my ears perked up at the sound of three older gentlemen discussing Johnny Cash. Another flash of grief, followed by a chuckle to myself. Another “Hi Dad” moment from the universe.

And then, yesterday: I do not know what transpired at school, but my oldest daughter came home and announced it was time to get her ears pierced. We tried two years ago, twice, and both times she couldn’t go through with it. I saw something in her eyes, though, or maybe it was something I heard in her voice, that told me this time would be different. She went through it this time, and in one weird flash I saw how much she has grown this year – not just taller, but more wise and mature. She also proved something I have known since she was born: if she is determined to do something, just get out of her way and let her do it (and be prepared to hand over your bank card). Also: she had blue eyes when she was born, with little speckles in them, and I thought they looked like constellations as if she had been born of stars. When I first heard Taylor Swift’s “chart the constellations in his eyes” lyric I knew exactly what she meant, because I will always remember gazing into her eyes and wondering who this baby girl was going to be. And now I’m starting to find out.

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Thinking Things.

Posted on April 12, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

Woke up to snow again this morning. Even though an April snowstorm in Maine is a routine occurrence, with everything else going on right now it feels like a big kick in the pants. It will be gone soon enough, but my bones are ready for sunshine.

I’ve had tons of stuff on my mind this week. First, a former classmate of mine, Son, wrote a memoir. Aside from being bothered by the fact that I know people old enough to write memoirs, it gave me SO much food for thought. He came to the US from Vietnam as a small child, narrowly missing the fall of Saigon. My dad did two tours of duty in Vietnam, so that is a topic that will always interest me. Son wound up in the foster care system here in Maine, which also is a topic that will always interest me. Hearing (because I listened to the audio version on Audible, because that’s about the only way I can find time to “read” these days) his stories about our elementary school days made me laugh until I cried. I recently had lunch with two other childhood friends, one of whom I had not seen in 30+ years and the other I had not seen in 20. Whether it is getting older or having young kids, I find there is a certain poignancy to spending time with these people who knew me when I was a little kid. They have changed, and I’m sure I have too despite usually feeling much, much younger in my head. Finally, Son is a musician and I’m itching to get my guitar again, even though I have zero time and a million other more pressing things. (Laundry. Always the g-d laundry.)

Yesterday I went to a foster care / adoptive families conference and even though I missed the opening speaker, the breakout sessions I attended gave me a lot to think about. Mostly my thoughts are (obviously) from the perspective of being an adoptive and foster parent, but the sessions also made me think about some of the kiddos I’ve met over the past few weeks at my girls’ school, where I have been substitute teaching a little bit. “Teaching” is a stretch, as I’ve mostly been in PreK and Kindergarten classes and it’s more about making sure they don’t hurt each other during recess and stay on their mat during rest time…but being in a formal school setting after all these years has made me think a lot about our education system. Thoughts are still swirling, but I’m looking forward to learning more about Trust Based Relational Intervention (TBRI). I only got an introductory overview yesterday, but it feels like it might be a good tool at home (and maybe at school too).

Finally, after finishing Son’s audio book I moved on to Maggie Smith’s book Dear Writer. A couple of years ago I had a friend who was going through a divorce and she raved about Smith’s book “You Could Make This Place Beautiful”, which I loved in the way I loved Molly Wizenberg’s book “The Fixed Stars” — I’m neither divorcing or gay, but the writing is beautiful and I find I learn so much about myself through reading about other women’s struggles with life in general, not to mention being a parent and trying to work. Maggie Smith is first a poet, and I think Molly Wizenberg may have started out writing poetry in school? Maybe that’s why their prose is so poetic at times.

“Dear Writer” is a book to creatives, mostly writers but others would probably relate to it as well. I’m only a couple of chapters in, but I love anything that starts out with acknowledging that most creative advice out there is completely impossible for working mothers to adhere to. A few nights ago I had a raging case of insomnia and found myself reading through old posts on here, well before marriage and children, and I marveled at who that writer was. THIS writer is currently sitting at a desk with sewing tools and a half-cut out quilt on top of it, while the husband is downstairs trying to get the baby to nap. One daughter is on her tablet and the other one, who managed to lose her own tablet somewhere in the house, is demanding use of my laptop to watch Bluey. And my stomach is rumbling, making me realize I’ve had nothing but coffee this morning. Time for lunch, I think…

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Wednesday Miscellany

Posted on March 5, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy
  1. Usually when I visit our local library I have at least one child in tow and spend the entire visit in the children’s room where they prefer to play with toys or do a craft rather than actually look at books. As someone who ADORED the library as a kid, this is a huge disappointment to me but also, I can appreciate the lure of pushing little shopping carts full of blocks up and down the aisles.
  2. In addition to the fun children’s room, our library has this wonderful quiet space tucked upstairs in the original part of the building complete with an old fireplace, leaded windows with deep sills, and lots of ship decor (as we are on the coast of Maine). My paternal grandmother lived in this town as a child, and I like to wonder if she ever came here. I hardly ever get to come up here, but it definitely feels like a few ghosts are lurking. It would also be an excellent place for a game of Clue.
  3. I have about a million projects all racing around, most still in my head but a few are inching towards daylight. As am I: I had to make a mad dash to Target yesterday and as I was getting on the highway I realized it was 5:30 and still light out, and I am telling you the relief my body feels with the light change is just inexplicable. There may be two feet of snow on the ground but spring is coming.
  4. We realized we never got around to planting garlic last fall. We also never really “put the garden to bed” for the season, and we had planned to rip out the strawberry plants that took over one entire raised bed. It’s either rip them out or spend money to critter-proof, because the birds and squirrels eat the berries before we do. The whole garden needs an overhaul, though. I swore I would start seedlings this year instead of buying plants from the nursery, but a) I have zero motivation b) zero room and c) between the cats and the toddler, they would not survive.
  5. As much as I want to bury my head in the sand over the state of politics right now, I can’t let myself. I’m sad and angry and confused and incredulous. And yet I have family that I love who are adamantly on the other side of the fence. Some days I worry less about WW3 than I do Civil War 2.0. Mostly I keep thinking about all those conversations about Vietnam that I had with my dad, and how this is not the country he fought to defend, and how he always said it was up to us to make sure things like Vietnam and the Holocaust never happened again. But they are happening, and I don’t know what to do about it. Call your Senator! Call your Congress(wo)man! Nothing I say or do is going to change their minds one bit. I mean, if this latest stupidity doesn’t change Susan Collins’ mind, I don’t know what will. Also, do people really think trans women are lurking in bathrooms waiting to prey on kids? I thought we were past equating all non-heterosexual stuff as pedophilia. Then again, I thought we were past a lot of racist and sexist stuff so what do I know.
  6. I would, however, like to know what Obama and Hillary think about all of this BS.
  7. Also: as a results-oriented person, process can drive me right round the bend. I hate it. And yet, I have learned that the process often dictates the results, and/or how people FEEL about those results. Eliminating government waste is a fine goal, but summarily firing people and telling them they suck (they absolutely do not suck) is not the way to go about things. Also, what private sector jobs???? I’ve been job hunting for months, and now I get to compete with laid-off government employees. And if they cannot collect unemployment does that mean the unemployment rate gets artificially suppressed?
  8. It is raining today, and I would love to curl up with a book but alas, a half day of school means I am refereeing chaos this afternoon. I set D up with an art project and O has her tablet. I should probably go check and see not if but how much paint has been spilled…
  9. Life is weird. And short. And I’m hungry.

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Floors & Windows

Posted on February 21, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

We are deep into winter now. After two storms in four days we have snowbanks and snowdrifts burying the animal tracks that circle our property. Rabbits, for sure, and then either foxes or coyotes – possibly both. Not great odds for the rabbits, but luckily our cats refuse to go outside when there is snow on the ground. I would love nothing more than to park myself in front of the fire with my knitting and my books and my journal, with my children reading or coloring at my feet. Alas, it is 2025 and I am not a trad wife, and since the kids have been cooped up inside due to the storms they are basically feral at this point. It’s loud and messy and the baby painted himself with yogurt and I am staring at some weird smear on the wall that I desperately hope is a smashed raspberry, wondering whether a baby wipe will remove it or I need something stronger. I am also sick of hearing myself holler “STOP YOU ARE SCRATCHING THE FLOOR!” We spent a ridiculous amount of money for hardwood floors throughout the house and they are actively being destroyed by ride-on toys, roller skates, step stools, and who knows what all else they find to drag from room to room. It’s not how I want them to remember their childhood but, oof. After I’m dead they will joke that “stop scratching the floor” should have been my epitaph. (For all I know it will be.)

The other thing I yell a lot? STOP JUMPING OFF THE WINDOWSILLS.

Exhibit 1: Feral child at work (face is blurred on purpose)

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Dear Taylor (a sanctimonious soliloquy)

Posted on February 9, 2025 by Lori Finding Joy

One minute I found myself downloading Folklore to have something new to listen to during my lonely commute to work (because it was 2020 and literally no one else had to actually go to their office anymore). Then it was four years later and I inexplicably found myself sobbing over an NFL player’s retirement speech, and now my proverbial Roman Empire is falling down the rabbit hole of Taylor and Travis. Also, am I going to be able to watch the Super Bowl tonight?! THIS is what the internet was invented for!

I am 53 and parenting three young children, so I’m hardly the right demographic for all this. I have many better, more important things to do, is what I’m saying. And I wasn’t really a fan until Folklore. I knew the song “White Horse” because I’d fallen off mine, so to speak. (Thrown off is probably a better term for it.) It wasn’t until I read reviews of Folklore that I decided to give it a listen. I loved it immediately, and it was quickly followed by Evermore. Since then I have added the “Taylor’s Version” of her albums as they were released, along with Midnights and now the Tortured Poet’s Department (the Anthology version, because why buy 16 songs when you can have 31 for $1 more). The whole lot is on my phone, set to shuffle, and she’s basically been my soundtrack for the past 4 years. I can re-enact the 10 minute version of All Too Well in my car with the best of them and carry an outrageous amount of contempt for Jake Gyllenhaal. AND MAYBE WE GOT LOST IN TRANSLATION!

I downloaded the newest album (TTPD) shortly after it came out, at about 2:15 am. I was in a hotel in Massachusetts, lying in a queen-sized bed that I was being crowded out of by my girls (which is why I was awake at such an ungodly hour). I later managed to listen to it twice while driving back to Maine, while the girls slept in the car, and I hated it. HATED IT. I thought, good lord, what a vanity project, she needs an editor, what on earth were Jack and Aaron thinking letting her put all this stuff out??? (I later read the NYTimes review of the album which heartily agreed with me.)

But. But! Much like the New Heights podcast, this new album has grown on me. Let me digress here just to say that despite listening to this podcast I still do not know what a “down” is; like several men before them the Kelce Brothers failed to make me understand it during one of their “Ask a Dumb Question” segments. I have never actually sat through an entire NFL game, even though I am from New England. Once I got a text from my sister saying that my niece was bowling with Vince Wilfork and I had no idea who he was. I have no business listening to a podcast about any sport, let alone football, but Taylor Swift’s love life has led me here and who am I to fight the alchemy? The world is literally falling apart and I’m parsing song lyrics like I’m back in high school (which, in fact, is another track on the album and let me just say Taylor and I clearly had VERY different experiences in high school). Every few weeks I get hyper-focused on a song from TTPD, right now it’s Peter (my lost fearless leader, in closets of cedar preserved from when we were just kids, was it something I did?) but give it another few days and I’ll be onto another track.

At any rate, I much prefer the football player over the whole lot of the exes. I’d never even heard of The 1975, let alone Matty Healy. Strange, since pretty much every guy I ever dated had more in common with Matt than Travis. Dark, weird, musical, probably mentally ill – sign me up! (I Can Fix Him, No Really I Can). Happily I (eventually) learned my lesson, and while my husband is not an NFL player he also has crinkly, twinkly eyes and an inordinate amount of patience for my whims. But there is more than just the boyfriend situation to keep my interest in Taylor. Did you know there is a whole gaggle of moms on the internet who insist that playing Taylor Swift puts babies to sleep? I have tried this with mixed results, partly because “Stay Stay Stay” and “Shake It Off” are popular living room dance party choices for the girls, run through the karaoke machine my sister bought them last Christmas as they shout-sing along. NO ONE can sleep through that. (Fort the record, baby likes the Beatles and Fleetwood Mac, as well as a classical playlist on Spotify that almost always puts him to sleep.)

I don’t know where this goes or how it ends. I know entirely too much about these strangers, I even know that at least half of what I “know” probably isn’t true. It’s embarrassing, really. I blame menopause; I knew I’d lost my mind even before all this Taylor drama but now it’s like an ADHD hyper-fixation, without any productivity. My brain completely rewired itself while I was pregnant, and then over the past couple of years it’s gone and done it again. It’s been 2 years since I asked for a referral to be tested for ADHD. I had the consult and was given some questionnaires to fill out. I have lost those questionnaires three times, which as far as I’m concerned should tell the doctor everything she needs to know. My husband is half-amused and half-worried that my sports-loathing self now sits on the living room floor playing with the baby while cheering for the Chiefs, and then immediately demanding to know what just happened because honestly, I have no idea. The baby thinks it’s funny and yells YAAAAAAAY along with me and just laughs, and I just pray his bio family (staunch Patriots fans) doesn’t find out I’m encouraging him to root for another team. In the meantime, GO CHIEFS!

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