When I was a little girl, my father worked in a food canning factory. Canning plants could be found all over the Bay Area back in the day: the Shasta soda plant we saw on the drive across the San Mateo Bridge
or the smells associated with various foods being processed in Hayward or San Leandro. In my own home, an elderly neighbor taught my mother how to can jams and jellies. This personal history with canning has been lost on me. I have lost my ability to can.
When did this happen? When this 45th Republican regime came into power? When the third white boy from Peyton Place Bay Area cussed me out at work? There was some kind of perfect storm this fall. Winter isn’t coming, y’all. It came. Ya llegó.
I have fought back in the usual way. I have been focusing on getting fit. I have continued to dance. I have taken refuge in TV shows and books. But my signature patience has worn thin.
Given the current state of the state, lacking patience may be a good thing. It’s time to stop suffering like a santita and get into warrior mode.
My fear is that I’m taking it out on the wrong people. I have become much less patient with my partner and my child. Y eso no está bien.
Rambo was and is a soldier. He can take my stank attitude for the most part. He also has no problem checking me when I get to be too much. M, on the other hand, is sensitive. Don’t let the sass and side-eye fool you. My daughter is sensitive and I am the person who has the capacity to hurt her feelings the most. She has told me so. I am committed to being the great mother she deserves.
So while I’m freezing, it’s time to power through this change of seasons. While I may not be able to can with the trifling behavior of spoiled teens or the shenanigans occurring on a national scale, I know damn well there’s nothing to stop me from being my best self. I can and I will.