I'm writing from Huron, Ohio, where Janine brought Katie and me to see her childhood home. This is my first time meeting Ohio and we’ve bopped around a bit visiting Cleveland, Sandusky, and Milan. The Lake Erie coast has majestic egrets and stunning sunsets. By "majestic," I refer not only to their size but also their uncanny ability to materialize without my noticing their arrival.
This week has been rich with sightseeing and storytelling, which I've snuck and saved in voice memos. Ghost town is typically used as a ~spooky~ term but the comfort of the Frankart family has been felt throughout. It’s a privilege to walk past an unmarked building and know it was once a gas station where Janine's father worked as a mechanic. I treasure this tour with them both and every glimpse I get of the person who existed before Janine became an integral part of my life. Here is a little postcard from Ohio.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff17b8ccc-12a8-4089-af35-f696db4644ae_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fcd8fc42d-6926-43a5-bd91-d0e49a2389b1_6000x4000.jpeg)
June's seemingly disjointed themes ended up leading to a sense of attunement I did not expect. I don’t know if I would have reached that if it were not for the process of making sense of it here.
Beach Magic
In my late teens and early twenties, I was back and forth between Virginia and New York. When my college dorm closed, I'd surf friends' couches in Brooklyn, extending my teaching assistant job for a few more paychecks. Those summers were sticky, vibrant, loving, and gloriously messy. There were five roommates for 750 sq feet and my suitcase perched atop the toilet in the half bathroom. We danced excessively, slept sparingly, watched every episode of Sex and City, flirted with questionable musicians, and savored rooftop sunsets most evenings. This is also when we discovered New York City beaches.
Beach summers were unexpected when I moved to New York over a decade ago. These beaches aren't serene by any means, requiring multiple train rides or a ferry if no one has a car. Still, it makes for a delightful group adventure. After the trek, we'd claim our spot, pooling our resources—blankets, umbrellas, a cooler, tins of leftovers, fruits, pickles, chips, and a speaker. I'd contribute seven bottles of sunscreen. We'd arrange our blankets and towels into a patchwork quilt, grinning at our temporary accommodations. Before our arrival, it was merely a patch of sand.
Yet, I've always been unmoved about "beaching." I don't tan and have unpleasant memories of childhood sun poisoning. My one joy is immersing myself in the cool, moving water. I love squaring up with the waves, choosing to brace or surrender. The sensation of lying down afterward, feeling water droplets evaporate under the sun's rays, is honestly heavenly. However, my translucent skin invites sneaky, violent sunburns, so a beach day mostly involves me responding to my primal instinct of sheltering every limb under an umbrella while enjoying the great company.
Unable to swim this summer because of my knee, I'm grateful for last year's trip that revealed the beach's charm through my friends' eyes when we celebrated a wedding anniversary with playful energy. On this particular beach day, I felt compelled to build a "poo-poo" castle, a technique Janine taught me during our annual Nags Head Beach visits. I think I especially missed her at the time.
Post-lunch, armed with deli containers and cans, we set to work. We took turns romping to the ocean, filling a plastic grocery bag with water, tiny fountains erupting from small holes as we returned. I mixed sand and water in a deli container, just as Janine showed me. Scooping palm-fulls, I loosely dropped the mixture, letting gravity form almost gothic-looking structures with spindly tops. We all busied ourselves digging the moat, planting seaweed flags, and reconstructing a precarious bridge. We combed the beach for accoutrements: crab claws, driftwood, horseshoe crab shells, beach greens, and pebbles. My friend dropped a piece of seaweed into a transparent lid and our eyes widened as it did a suspended dance. This inspired us to create terrariums. We spent hours dipping, balancing, and testing the buoyancy of our precous items. We'd wet pebbles, hold them sunward to charge, before admitting them onto our driftwood boats. Our faces reached low to the sand to admire our creations from every angle. As the sun set, we packed up and embraced each other before heading home. A comment, "I enjoyed playing with y'all today," brought a smile to my face.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7e9638b8-5310-4106-93d8-5ca7001faeec_4032x3024.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F9ce29a87-089a-43a7-ba58-d17af9afce86_4032x3024.jpeg)
That day coaxed me from under the umbrella, helping me experience the beach as a wondrous, active landscape for the first time. Since then, I'm always excited to "visit the market" and create something.
On a recent Fire Island trip, I remember talking to a pal prior and saying, “I don’t really like the beach. I’m just coming to spend time with ya’ll.” Once I got there, I was delighted in our new routine of breakfast, fresh air, beach combing and building, outdoor showering, painting, dinner, and rest. We soaked up every bit of sunlight in those longest days of the year. It reminded me we’re designed for exerting our energy, eating delicious food with great company, and restoring with rest.
A beautiful crab that was found inspired me to construct a little crabby shack. Yes, I managed this all in my leg brace, with thanks to Ralph for gathering branches. And thanks to my friends, my absolute best playmates.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F10a65722-fee7-46bb-b6c4-96a3cd6ed04e_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F2dbfe63e-1513-407b-b5e7-af8e3e0e8e0b_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5fb06f5f-9ff1-4d0e-b4a5-ca617dde37cc_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7c7b93fc-10c6-4bd8-835c-254ec36e0e76_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F41bdf74f-0bf2-4beb-b996-6bf6a3828c7b_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fc44c9c85-bdfe-4dcd-939c-d2c8193f45cd_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F789b6031-b5c4-451b-9bc5-3da120d9717a_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb0887a3e-d1dd-4dec-9a98-38a590af6377_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7e0f75dd-2c30-49d8-857b-78105242c32a_6000x4000.jpeg)
Seasonal Living and a Return to Prayer
I was sitting at a bar patio outside, post-picnic, with a group of delightful people when we started sharing our birth charts. As I sipped my sour, someone graciously offered their expertise for an impromptu reading, which I hadn't had in years because I’m pretty selective about such matters. We reached my Saturn placement, and the cornerstone of our conversation became my Saturn return. "Anything in particular informing this period of your life?" she asked. I was tipsy and responded with one word: "God?" Then I elaborated, explaining that I was re-opening myself up to spirituality outside of organized or commercialized religion. I clarified that I was transitioning into doing this in a way that was more than making room inside myself. I'm beginning to take it outside my body and into practice again.
This focus started for me in 2021 when I felt called to start praying again. To put it simply, I missed it. I missed the way prayer helped me feel connected to something greater to myself. While I was growing up, I took a lot of comfort in prayer. I practiced prayer in a number of ways and for a number of reasons:
to connect with my parents and the ancestors beyond them
practice gratitude
talk to god because he felt like my special friend– the only omniscient being who saw both my pain and joy, my bad and my good
send telepathic messages to my brothers and friends
comfort when I felt swallowed by loneliness
wishes
relief of worries
participation in collective voice at church
the sheer ability of being unable to sleep without praying
I said my prayer in the same order before I went to sleep every night. It was long, and I had this strong gut feeling that made me start over and over from the top if the order was wrong, or if I broke my attention and tangented, or forgot to greet any relatives or pray for loved ones in pain. I didn’t know this was me in the grips of religious OCD, all I knew was that once I did say my prayer perfectly, I would finally fall right to sleep.
So I have dipped my toes back into prayer again in a more informal way, except when the hospital bishop prayed over my knee before surgery, that was very formal. While I was raised Christian, I’m not sure I am necessarily praying to God. I am not sure what that is for me, and I am open to whatever reveals itself. Sometimes God feels like a tree and sometimes like a ripe peach. As I try to rebuild my own path with this, I come to feel connected to the highest parts of myself through ancestor work and observing nature. These are also themes that I have been visualizing during EMDR for strength, peace, and grounding as we go through the rounds.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5dc607f9-9418-4b44-8c06-c4aa7c4c4e31_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_720,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe7a58164-23aa-4d16-a4c7-20e2d5477714_6000x4000.jpeg)
It’s said that solstices are a time of renewal and rejuvenation and I can’t claim to have felt that in the slightest since summer greeted us but I do feel a certain shift and deepening in my personal life’s practice as I move through seasons and celebrate their arrival. For about two years now, I’ve celebrated each solstice and equinox communally and/or independently. This started for me as a standard classroom practice. We’d reflect on the past season’s memories and anticipate what’s to come. The children LOVE to mark time in this way. It is so external and connects with the sensations more than any clock does. It took me a long time before I remembered I like to celebrate the seasons for this reason too. As an adult, I find it amusing to discover myself creating my own traditions. It’s even sweeter when you find a community that enjoys recognizing and ritualizing what you like to. I’m yearning for more of that as it was never something I had to seek out when attending church; it came as part of the package.
The development of this new practice was inspired by a deep sense of comfort and curiosity I felt at a friend’s Imbolc dinner. The long table was dressed with flowers, candles, and St. Brigid’s crosses. There was laughter, flowing spirits, and all sorts of round foods. I slathered countless boiled potatoes in every flavor of butter you could dream up and baked a chicken pot pie for the occasion. It was the perfect cozy night feasting around a table to celebrate the mid-point to spring, a bit of hope in the darkness of winter. I thought about the tender shoots pushing their way upwards in the dirt. I visualized sap rising in maple trees. I couldn't see any of these processes but I felt uplifted to know there was energy beneath the surface. The energy above the surface was our feast.
I’m not sure it makes too much sense for me to follow a strict formal calendar as I try to cultivate a more embodied routine in this area but I am looking to observe the patterns that call out to me to help inform what I find joy in celebrating. As I play around and feel it out, I find that seasonal living has helped me feel more connected to how I spend my time. Without stretching my muscles to be more present, I would miss so much that is reaching out. For example, there is a specific time of spring when wild columbines pop up and that has been holding me and informing my sense of passing time for a few springs now. This year for the summer solstice, I cleaned, arranged flowers, took a neighborhood walk, propagated ivy cuttings, dusted my family photos, and journaled a little inventory of my time and attention for the year's first six months. Ralph also prepared a supple steamed fish for our friends to enjoy. Here are some delights I'm looking forward to this summer:
naps in the sun
orienting myself to the landscape of the city i’ve lived in for 10 years
markets and produce
bare feet on cold ground
creeks
worms and bugs
pockets of rocks and shells
opening up ranges of motion in my knee
fossil hunting
a belly full of cherries
learning more about birds
outdoor meals
I'm not aiming to maximize summer. I simply want to savor this period for what it is. The energy can actually be a bit overwhelming for me because I feel like my skin is extra thin. I’m able to enjoy it best when I approach my time with pace and delicacy.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffea29929-1d93-4e95-9975-647b29641dba_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F99653958-f3e1-4d06-9f48-acd25f61dcbb_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F14199d4e-1b38-4598-9fc2-8f1ffbf97377_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F5a0e57c6-fdc2-499f-9c96-d0211fc2a3d9_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fa6a94a6c-1747-49b5-9d81-37371da84485_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F444e7319-c028-40ea-97c7-760e9645022c_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fb723dcd2-8171-4dc6-86df-84f6a0b2e961_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F58ce2a1e-1de9-4930-aa82-0a1652ffc374_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fd993a0e2-6ad9-4d05-bb5a-755c46875a92_6000x4000.jpeg)
Time to Rest
Mid-month, I received news that a relative had been rushed to the hospital due to unexpected complications. This former caregiver is someone I decided to cease contact with at 18, aside from a carefully arranged lunch two years ago. After the initial news, everything went downhill rapidly. Test results trickled in as time twisted, stretched, and collapsed. Two weeks shrank to one, then to a day, and finally to any moment. I spent those six days enveloped in thick air, clutching the life I've built, shielding it from her potential to take away everything in her final moments, using whatever reservoir of power lurked beneath the bedsores and infection. One night, as my body shook with tears, I remember the words slipping out: "I just want her to die already." Ralph drove me to the creek the next day where we spent all day in the dirt and water. She passed that night. I felt moved to light a candle, speaking to her as I stared at the flame, praying for an easy passage.
As the practical nature of death weighs in with its responsibilities, I’m reminded that there is a piece of paper that names me as her legal daughter. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions, starting with the shock I feel over the certainty that this person can never inflict pain on me again. Sure, I had exercised the utmost amount of boundary setting I possibly could to ensure that, but her body no longer being here offers a sureness that surprises me. The truth is that allowing any type of feeling to pass through me in response to her only reminds me of the pull she had over me— a force I never thought I’d escape. Throughout those six days, I had a note written in as many places as possible to remind myself that I was safe and protected from her.
In many ways, I had already grieved the loss before estranging myself from her all those years ago. That severance was a necessary step so I didn’t get pulled back in. Of course I questioned whether or not this final occasion was cause for opening lines of communication. When it came down to it, I couldn’t rush or will the honest conversation that a very, very small part of me believed, that maybe, could possibly happen some day, 10-15 years down the line. Family members messaged me, letting me know they forgave her. I was happy for them to experience resolve. I wonder what it was like for my aunt to have her final days filled with conversations and sentiments of this nature. I wonder if she had any desire to have one with me. Her pride would never let me know.
People in our wider strata of community assume death is always a loss and they offer their kindly-intended prayers and condolences for it. It’s just something we say: “so sorry for your loss.” I accept and appreciate the thought behind these sentiments. These formal exchanges fill the silence because listing out or reliving that hell wouldn’t bring me peace anyway. The way she went out is too sad for that and still, I receive it as a final blow.
I do feel a public responsibility to uphold harmony right now and protect the grieving process for any of her loved ones, so I won’t go into detail about the (very natural) feelings of anger swirling around and beating the inner walls of my chest. I just know I need to let out a huge scream or chop a hundred logs or something. Lmk if you know a place.
When it comes down to it, I’m not sorry for this loss. That’s just the reality of it. I’ve only ever wanted peace and rest from all of this for her. Someone asked me, “did you have any good memories of her?” I do. I just keep them tucked away because accessing them has always felt as painful and compromising to my safety as the bad ones. It’s the good memories that feed into the delusion of hope. To my surprise, I find I am welcoming those memories a bit in these past couple of weeks. Death is a funny teacher and very much so an active presence in that way.
I spent hours with that voyage flame, thanking her for the childhood bedtime stories. She created a series of adventures starring my brothers called The Lollipop Gang, even illustrating it herself. In the early 2000s, she received a new CD monthly, likely from a subscription service. She introduced me to Alicia Keys, Luther Vandross, and Faith Hill. As I grew older, I enjoyed listening to her new poetry pieces, learning about her in the process. With puberty came the heavy weight of insecurity. When I cried about being bullied for my dollar store clothes, she took me thrifting at Goodwill. When I told her about the kids mocking my facial and bodily features, she'd spring into action, buying me a flat iron or applying makeup over my freckles. While not ideal for fostering self-acceptance or inner confidence in a young soul, she worked with the tools she knew. I look at furniture through a different lens as well. When I found a foot stool with great wood and stained, musty fabric at my junk shop, I knew I could turn it into something worth keeping because of her. I watched her do the same with so many pieces– stripping sofas down to the springs to doll them up again.
There are not many good memories of her in comparison to the ineffable physical, financial, and spiritual anguish I faced before social services removed me from the house, but they certainly are something. I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t a match from the start because she always told me I spit in her face the day my dad introduced me to her before he passed. Children can be so knowing.
I'm curious about our relationship in this new form, though. I can let it all exist now, and perhaps this widened perspective allows her to see all that exists too. I hope she's enjoying time with my father, her baby brother. I hope she resolves things with her own mother and gets to embrace her grandmother, who raised her. In time, I may be more open to connecting with her than I ever imagined. Death has never felt like the end of any relationship in my life, but this could be the first time it marks some kind of new beginning. You can read her obituary here.
June reminds me that how we spend our days is how we spend our lives. When I write that phrase, along with thoughts like "seasonal living," I can't help but giggle—isn't it all just living? It is. It's the life I hold precious. It's what I've built for myself and continue to reinforce against the pangs of survivor’s guilt.
I constantly teeter between feeling like a young, vulnerable being—learning to fortify my defenses and feel comfortable in this world—and tapping into some kind of ancient strength I notice peeking through the clouds sometimes. This strength feels like my own and, simultaneously, so much more than I could ever claim ownership of. It guides me to rediscover play, practice rogue prayer, and keep my heart open to the natural rhythms of life and death.
One thing is for certain: it’s summer and every time I feel lame? I’m looking up because, in fact, I plan to soak up the sun.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fd70a43e1-3c43-430b-a9cf-587847def70c_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff65ca726-5020-47ff-a47b-ed3a119edadb_6000x4000.jpeg)
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_474,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F792e4621-1a59-4bae-9aa6-db78b54e5aba_6000x4000.jpeg)
Offerings:
I enjoyed this essay on the presence of absence. https://theamericanscholar.org/the-presence-of-absence/ “But I can see that absence has a role to play in vitality all the same. To contemplate and ritualize it is not macabre, but an act of true consciousness.” There is also a beautiful excerpt from the Tao Te Ching in this essay.
A list of words. I’ve kept a list of words since I was 17 years old. Here is a scan of my first one ever from my (cringy!!) teenage journal and my current one.
Something I can accredit my aunt with is ensuring I got my ass to school for the first time and came home with an A, or it was curtains. When she took on my guardianship, she got me into remedial groups and found the right developmental tests to determine that I was a smart little fella with rampant ADHD and no exposure to a phonics program. Anyone who studies childhood language development knows that facing a vast vocabulary gap at that time is something hard to come back from. I keep a little list of the new words I learn and like in hopes to use them and always honor the power of words.
On Repeat:
I just want a cold noodle dish, ok? Maybe you do, too. Maybe you’ll empty those containers of sliced cucumbers, radish, greens, anything really to add in the noodle pile. Maybe you’ll go traditional with the sauce or maybe you’ll get freaky. I know ralph always does.
thanks for reading. see ya’ll in july ⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ₊⋆°•