The first time I looked at my phone this morning, it was 8:46am. The exact time the first plane, Flight 11 from Boston, crashed into the North Tower.  I looked outside to a nearly cloudless, crystal blue sky. A sky akin to 2001.

It's been 20 years since the towers fell, and the weight and sorrow and infinite sadness of that day are still living right under the surface of my being. Geo and I were at the shore, watching the events play out in horrifying, graphic detail on the tiny television screen in our hotel room. I suppose these feelings will never leave me. Yes, I move forward, living life as fully as possible, loving family and friends to the best of my ability. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

All it takes is an image date stamped 9/11/01 to send me back.

I felt restless today for some reason. I'm not good at sitting still, especially on a glorious day. I stood still much too much over COVID season. I decided to take a walk through my favorite cemetery. Cemeteries are the best places to walk. It's quiet enough to let your mind wander, there are hills (because Pittsburgh), and this one in particular has interesting tokens left on headstones of departed loved ones. 

Today there was a silent 9/11 walk through the gravestones. The panels depicted the events of the day, chronologically, beginning with the 7:59am departure of Flight 11 from Boston through the collapse of the North Tower. The images scattered throughout were many iconic photos from that day: the North Tower ablaze; the second plane just before impact on the South Tower; both towers on fire as seen from across the river; the South Tower falling; the fallen chaplain being carried out of the wreckage by firefighters; the jarring image of a lone, vertical man plummeting to his death. 

All of these photos send me directly back 20 years to the rawness I felt then. That last one though. When I look at it, I hear the sickening thud of human flesh hitting pavement and see the horrified cringe of the fire chief's face from the 9/11 documentary released months later. To choose to leap to one's death rather than risk being crushed by a toppling tower. Wow. I don't know, man. I can't even imagine having to make that choice. 

With the personally devastating year my family and I have had, not to mention perpetual COVID, it somehow seems fitting that it is also the 20th anniversary of the defining moment in our country's modern history. Sure. Why not. Let's heap it on. Maybe if we get all the bullshit out, we can finally have nice things in 2022. Even I'm not buying that, and I'm generally a positive person. LOL 

I would love to believe we, as a nation, we can come together for the good of the country again. That we can be kinder to one another, be respectful towards each other, embrace our diversity, believe in science, care for one another enough to wear a fucking piece of cloth on our faces without equating it to GD fucking Nazi Germany, stay out of women's wombs. But alas, I cannot. Not today. Today I feel like we pissed it all away. 

I would love to end this missive on a somewhat optimistic note. So here goes. 

We all woke up today, right? To feel the sun's warmth on our face, or hear the rain on the roof, or to sniff the aromas of the oncoming fall. I'm looking at you, pumpkin spice.

We all have survived our worst days, 100 percent.

We all get another chance to make a difference, however slight, in the lives of others. Be it a phone call, a text, or a rando encounter in the wild.

We all get a chance to hug someone, maybe it's your Mom, or your sister, or your significant other, or a dog, or your neighbor's adorable cherub who runs up to you to show you their new toy. Hugging is healing. It's a science fact. It IS! No lie.

And finally, never pass up the opportunity to pee, eat the damn dessert FFS, and sometimes wine DOES fix everything. Or at least it may help you laugh so hard you almost tinkle, at which point I refer you to item #1 of this paragraph. 

Bless me, Father, for I have slacked. It has been three years since my last blog post...

Is this thing on?!?

Hello? *taps the imaginary mic three times to the annoyance of the equally imaginary audio tech*

Oh hey! So, this still exists. How about that. It's more than a tad dusty, and I think rats have been squatting in the dark recesses of this blogosphere, and DAMN this place could use a fresh coat of paint, but who has the energy. At least it's not condemned, just merely in need of some TLC from a hunky no-name carpenter on HGTV, or Home Depot. Whatevs. As long as there is no plumber's crack involved. Ain't nobody got time for that.

So, how have things been? 

In this present reality, things have been, well, to put it mildly, fucked up. The past three years have been filled with lots of great music, road trips with friends, general shenanigans fueled by bad judgement juice (I'm looking at you post wine flight holiday pop-up bar), and countless other socially satisfying events. It was also filled with a constant barrage of heinous actions perpetrated daily, nay, hourly by an unhinged wanna-be autocrat, hell bent on destroying our precious democracy, one seditious act of treason at a time, enabled by a complicit and cowering GOP Congress. To each and every one of these Kool-Aid swilling cowards I say, HE LOST THE ELECTION (THANK BABY JESUS)!! GET OVER IT! Post election has been a disgusting display of reprehensible attempts to subvert democracy by a vile bunch of despicable criminals who should be jailed. Go Google it. I can't bare to write about it. I have flipped the bird so often over this past year in particular, I have tendonitis in my middle finger. I am not even kidding. Fucking tendonitis. If for no other reason, I am looking forward to a Biden/Harris administration for the shear radio silence of rampant 3AM insane toilet rage tweeting. The silence will be a GD gift. Oh, and KAMALA HARRIS IS OUR VICE PRESIDENT!!! Holla!!!

And then there is the disgraceful mishandling of the pandemic. 

I started and stopped so many blog posts throughout the past 10 months, mainly in my head, while falling asleep, in the shower, driving wherever. (Man, I miss road trips.) All of those potential posts were much better in all ways, but today is when I am forcing myself to click the keys. Oh well. If there is one thing I had to learn during this GD pandemic is to forgive myself. I mean, just getting from one day to the next was an achievement. I had extra time off from work because of a reduction in on-site staff out of an abundance of caution, and absolutely zero social obligations, and yet I couldn't focus on finishing a sentence, let alone a book or home improvement project.  Plus, add the all-consuming stress of trying to keep Big Mar alive and healthy through the duration of this crisis, and you have me trying (and failing) to keep my shit together.  So, forgive me if this is more than a little scattered.. SQUIRREL! If not, well, fuck off. Now there's the Murray you know and loathe!  😂

But let's back up to January when the world as we knew it still existed. I crossed a personal milestone in January. I marked 60 years on this crazy spinning orb. It was a celebration spanning two weekends, and one of the best birthdays ever. My sisters threw me my first-ever surprise party. Disguised as a regular monthly Card Club meet up (full disclosure: we don't play cards-just eat, drink, and yak incessantly, you know, Book Club without the book), I opened the door to a roomful of lady friends from nearly every facet of my meager life. Family, college, KD, Card Club, concerts, WYEP. All in one room, meeting each other for the first time. The greatest Sisterhood gathering ever! It was magical! I felt so incredibly loved. 

I wore a GDAMN TIARA, MOFOS!

Little did I realize this photo would be the theme of 2020.

The following weekend continued the celebration with axe throwing, bowling, and imbibing with even more friends. FYI, axe throwing ain't easy. Not at all. 

2020 started off so well. I was freakishly happy. 

Then in March the Universe said, "Hold my beer." 

BOOM!!!

Pandemic, Bitch!

And the entire world shut down for months. 

To be honest, I kinda feel somewhat responsible. I mean, I have been hemming and hawing about growing out my hair for at least two years. I think the Universe at large was sick of hearing about my stupid locks, and decided to shut all the shit down so I would shut up and let the follicles flow. I kid. The Universe gives zero fucks about my Medusa hair, although I think I heard it choke on popcorn once when all of my "sparkles" appeared in my snake-headed mop. 

I had so many great plans for 2020. Geo and I were going to embark on a long-talked about two week baseball park trip through the midwest to Dallas and back. I had two trips to the shore planned. I missed the beach so damn much. I had so many great concerts lined up. Concerts. Remember those? Actual live music played out in front of your eager ears, shared with throngs of other like-minded enthusiasts, singing and dancing with abandon. Feels like ages ago. I miss them SO FUCKING MUCH! I only managed to attend two concerts at Club Cafe before the world closed; Wesley Stace on February 3 and Caroline Rose on March 11, two days before the shut down. All of the other shows I had booked were postponed until Fall, then eventually cancelled altogether when it became abundantly clear 'Murica's refusal to take COVID 19 seriously would close all of the arts and sports gatherings until deep into 2021. Thanks, asshats. Normally by December 31 there is a ginormous stack of concert tickets, wine flight tickets, airline tickets on my jewelry box. Proof of a year well lived. Today there are four sad and lonely pieces of paper giving witness to the unprecedented year that was. That's right. I used the ridiculously overused "U" word.

Initially, I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. The five years of March and April were nothing any of us have ever dealt with before. The isolation, the uncertainty, the lack of solid answers about a virus indiscriminately slaying thousands. The worst by far in that initial lockdown was the suspension of personal contact. I'm a hugger. I like to hug. I miss hugging. 

Some random observations during lockdown:

• Zero cars on the road during rush hour

• The Powerball and Megamillions amounts on the billboard I drive by every day barely rose

• The prevalence of masks dangling from rearview mirrors

• Every day felt like Saturday

• Increased anxiety when approached on the street by someone not wearing a mask. 

This is one of my biggest superficial gripes about the pandemic. I hate that this stupid virus has made me do fucking algebra. "There are two unmasked people walking at different speeds towards each other. Solve for x, which is the time it takes for our paths to intersect and me to kick them square in the GD nards." WEAR YOUR MASKS, ASSHATS!!

But I digress...

I managed to write a small blurb in an unofficial personal journal from April that sums up my feelings at that point.

"I am so sad to put my social life and concert life on hold, but by far, the worst part is the suspension of personal contact. I miss touching my friends when we speak. I miss going to bars for day drinking with my best friends. I miss hugging my friends, our PTL guests, my coworkers, Big Mar, the two little girls next door. And HOLY CRAP I am tired of constantly washing my hands, the groceries, the GD steering wheel in the car. If we had actual adult leadership, we wouldn't be in this extreme circumstance. IF. But this is where we are. We will come through this, hopefully with a better sense of humanity. Hopefully. Some positives from this mess are a renewed sense of family time. For some, it's the first time their families are together without distraction from their overbooked lives. People have been kinder to one another, helping neighbors and strangers alike. There is a deeper appreciation for essential workers who are risking their health, both physical and mental, to do what we all need them to do. Doctors, nurses, aides, EMTs, bus drivers, custodians, postal workers, grocery store staff, restaurant workers, maintenance and utility employees, and yes, journalists on the front lines. These are the real heroes."

Side note: I'm still sick of washing my hands to bleeding, but oddly the mask wearing has become so normal, I forget to remove it sometimes. And now, added bonus, I physically recoil if someone gets too close to me, with or without a mask. I am going to need therapy when this is all said and done. 

Initially, people across the country stood on their porches, opened their windows and cheered for the medical personnel and emergency workers at 7pm every night. It was incredibly moving. People were kinder and gentler towards one another. The absence of human interference allowed the world to begin to reset and heal. There are amazing photos and videos of dolphins and fish visible in the cleaner canals of Venice, crystal clear skies in LA, and images of the Taj Mahal unencumbered by cloaking smog. It was all peace, love, and Kumbaya for months. Humankind got a much needed mulligan. A chance to hit pause, take a breath, and realign priorities for a better approach to life. Surely once restrictions were lifted, things would be better. People would be better, right?

WRONG!

As soon as the strict lockdown was reduced from red to yellow, people started shooting each other again. It's like people spent their three month downtime composing murder lists instead of gratitude lists. It was beyond disappointing. And don't get me started about the selfish, whiny anti-maskers who continue to refuse to wear a fucking piece of cloth to protect their fellow man because it "goes against my civil rights". There were protests wherein armed white men stood on capital steps across the country waving signs that read "My Body My Choice" without one ounce of irony. 

For realz. 

They had that kind of nerve to say that shit. The same stupid ass motherfuckers who are down with the government getting all up in women's vaginas. Yeah. And this went on all year, and is still going on even as the death toll keeps soaring from unmasked super spreader events. It's insane. Wearing a mask isn't even a sacrifice. It's a simple act of love to end the spread of a deadly virus. Period. White people are weak, yo. 

There have been some big positives to come out of this year of madness. The horrendous death of George Floyd and sadly, so many others, at the hands of police have spark the flame of civil unrest and activism in a new generation. The daily protests over the summer shined a light on systemic racism still prevalent in our society. More and more younger people became more and more engaged in the political process to change society. Their actions give me hope for the future progress of our country. And because of the continued health concerns caused by the never-ending pandemic, the entire country offered mail-in voting. It was super easy for everyone EVERYONE to cast a vote from the convenience of their own home. The turnout was historic! Paper ballots = tamper proof from foreign hackers. This is how we should vote always IMHO, especially in the age of the interwebs.  

On a personal note, one of positives from the lockdown was the surge of online performances. Faced with an empty calendar, musicians flocked to online outlets like Facebook, YouTube, and StageIt. These platforms became a lifeline for the artists and fans alike. They have been soul saving. Bands like Low Cut Connie (who should not be missed on Saturdays on FaceBook), Kevin Griffin of Better Than Ezra, Jill Sobule among others have filled the void of live concerts with their interactive shows. The biggest gift for me was Rhett Miller's immediate jump on the StageIt platform. He has mastered the process of playing 4 times a week. Over the course of his 150+ shows, he has played every Old 97's/solo album in its entirety, shared outtakes and unrecorded extras, and told tales of the background and circumstances behind many of the songs. Each show is a gift. They are light, airy, and uber entertaining. The perfect calming distraction from the barrage of angst from a difficult reality. The intimate nature of the platform makes it feel like we're all at the bar, shootin' the shit with Mr. Miller. It has been amazing. 

All I can say is thank Baby Jesus for technology. What would we have done without it? Because of the internet, children are attending school, people are working from home en masse, family and friends are staying connected. For that last one, I am most grateful. Because of this virus, my Old 97's fan friends and I have instituted twice weekly Zoom Happy Hours before Rhett's shows. The number of participants fluctuates between 9 and 15, but the core group is about 10. I have enjoyed these women for years, but the past 10 months have forged a much deeper love and friendship. We have bonded hard, yo! We even became aunts to a litter of 5 kittens born on one of our Wednesday night happy hours seven weeks ago! OMG, kitty cam is the best therapy EVAH!! I love these women and the two lone y chromosomes with every fiber of my pointy heart. 

Last night the hideous dumpster fire, flaming turd of a year that is known as 2020 was kicked to the curb. Thank the Goddesses! We are still in a heap of woes, but there is hope. Hope from not one, but two vaccines. Hope from a new adult, experienced, compassionate administration beginning at noon January 20th. Hope we will be able to gather, laugh, hug each other again in the not-too-distant future. I mean, time became irrelevant in 2020. Every day was Blursday. What's another six months, right? Fare warning to friends and family: when it's truly safe, there will be much hugging, oh, yessireebob there will be! And the hugs will be long and uncomfortable. Prepare yourselves.

Every holiday was weird in 2020. We all had to adapt, but we figured out how to stay connected and celebrate with the ones we loved even if it was over a little wire magically connected to these marvelous devices we had no idea would be so fucking vital to our very existence when the original tech wizards dreamed them up decades ago. 

So thank you again, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates for giving us the opportunity to keep a final annual tradition alive in the year we all agree to never speak of again.

                                        BUH-BYE YOU RAT BASTARD OF A YEAR

Please don't kick us in the collective nuts, 2021. We'll bake you sour dough bread. 💖