I haven’t posted for 6 weeks.

That’s not to say I don’t have anything to say. I ALWAYS have something to say. These six weeks have been a bit introspective….we are still deeply divided, in the darkest days of Winter, the pandemic, and trying desperately trying to find our way.

We take the quarantine very seriously out here on the 20. My whole family is high risk and I love them quite a lot. I would like to smooch on them endlessly once this little virus decides to move on. So we stay at home. And we stay. And we stay.

Despite being a self-diagnosed extrovert, I am skilled (seriously) at keeping myself entertained. I find myself pretty charming and a pretty good companion. Myself and I have taken on numerous unfinished projects; a paint by number canvas from hell, sewing, harassing the Hubs, learning how to play the guitar and baking……so many baked goods.

For the holiday season, I decided to take to attack the very fine art of candy making.

This may seem like a small endeavor but I have a whole new appreciation for Willy’s Wonkiness. Making candy involves taking ingredients that live quite happily in a separate solid state….butter, sugar, milk; melting them into a liquid state so that they live together in melty gooeyness and then…wait for it……continuing to heat them up so that the elements in your kitchen become a molten sugar mixture from hell.

“Combine sugar and butter, keeping stirring for an hour until the mixture reaches a temperature of 280 degrees.” Not 281 degrees. 280

You know water boils at 212 degrees. Candy requires you take that 212 degrees and add another three million and twelve degrees. This combination is so stinkin’ hot that as soon as it hits a cool surface, it solidifies immediately. Hands, fingers, ears? No matter.

The irony is that this gooey, murderous, painful lava, poured out onto a cookie sheet hardens into a tasty toffee or beautiful caramel. I packaged tasty Turtles for friends and family.

“Oh these are good.” They would say.

Good? Do you know the depths of sugar molten hell I descended into? Do you know I no longer have fingerprints? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU???

Good my hiney.

Christmas is over and the turtles have found new homes. The candy thermometer and recipe book have been put away for another year. My glass stovetop still smells of burnt sugar.

Is this an analogy to 2020? Can I make some comparison to molten sugar and COVID? Nah, its a stretch. But in looking for a correlation, I did find the lyrics to Willy Wonka’s Pure Imagination……Onto 2021! Keep dreaming my friends. Love the turtles.

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There’s nothing to it

There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there you’ll be free
If you truly wish to be

Thank you to so many for your service.

I know these times are confusing but I think this is one thing we can all agree on;

Thank you to our Vets.

I have today off. I have never had Veterans Day off. Colorado is having a crazy COVID surge so my options for today were limited but I did do my favorite thing….I swam.

The pool manager LOVES 80’s music so today I swam to a Tears for Fears/Queen Combo….that’s right….We are the Champions…. and Everybody wants to Rule the World….fitting.

I was a kid of the 80’s.

I grew up with parents talking about the Cuban Missile Crisis; going to bed and not knowing what the world would be like when they woke up. Nuclear bomb drills where everyone hid under their desk….all in the tiny town of Plano, Illinois.

In the 80’s I sat glued to the TV as the nuclear arms race between the US and the USSR intensified; potential destruction my twelve year old mind could not comprehend.

Nuclear bombs are scary.

The made-for-TV movie The Day After came out in 1983. You wanna scare the crap out of a 12 year old? As if puberty is not terrifying enough, plop them in front of the TV to watch the Love Boat and what the heck….a nuclear holocaust. My preteens were spent thinking that surely we were out to destroy ourselves. I would spend my teen years in an underground bunker eating spam, watching my hair fall out….just me and my family…..a preteen nightmare.

I have always been a bit of an activist. At 12 I sat at the kitchen table with my best friend writing letters to President Regan about how I would really like to see my 13th birthday (I also had a flair for the dramatic).

I remember asking friend’s mom, “Why do the Russians hate us so much?”

“Oh Honey,” she said, “they don’t hate us. They don’t want this to get any worse than we do. “

In 1985, Sting released, I Hope the Russians Love Their Children Too, a somber, chilling song that really came down to this premise….. If destroying you means destroying me….well I love my family more than I hate you. So where do we go from here?

Mister Krushchev said, “We will bury you”
I don’t subscribe to this point of view
It’d be such an ignorant thing to do
If the Russians love their children too

We share the same biology, regardless of ideology
But what might save us, me and you
Is if the Russians love their children too

The Wall came down November 10, 1989. I sat in my grandparents living room and cried.

In 1993, I moved to Germany for a couple years and became friends with many people from the Eastern Block. They didn’t hate me nor did they want to blow me up with a nuclear warhead. They were also really good skiers and fun to drink beer with….so there is that. And they do indeed love their children.

Today Americans fight Americans.

And although we do not point warheads, talks of succession are damaging. They point to a fact that we cannot nor will not meet each other at a commonplace.

Would we speak so highly of each other to our children the way my best friends’ mom spoke of our ‘enemy’ during a Cold War? When nuclear bombs were poised towards each other?

Would we tell our children the other side does not hate us? And that the other side doesn’t want this to get any worse than we do? Would we speak about our country people with different ideology as graciously as my best friends’ mom spoke of people she did not know?

There is no monopoly on common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology, regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope Republicans love their children too

There is no monopoly on common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology, regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Democrats love their children too

Today is Veterans’ Day.

So many have fought for peace. Not only did they fight, but at the end they met the enemy at a commonplace. It would have been easy for Regan or Gorbachev to tell the other to stick it. I’m glad they didn’t. I really don’t like Spam.

For those who have been following the small business Halloween posts from my writer’s group, here is the last one written by yours truly- a salon for witches.

Happy Halloween!

Hello My Pretty Day Spa:

In today’s small business feature, we are happy to announce the grand opening of “Hello My Pretty Day Spa,” a full service exclusive salon for witches and warlocks.

Waste no time, hop on that broom, Kick off those pointy shoes, relax with a steamy eye of newt brew and your very own feral black cat- assigned to you at time of check in.

Flying monkeys driving you crazy during quarantine? We understand. Hello My Pretty is an exclusive day spa. Leave the flying monkeys outside while you indulge in a spectacular lunch of spider eggs and toads.

Have you indulged in one too many small children during the time of COVID? Our cool sculpting technicians will get you right back into that black dress- ready for a night of terrorizing the villagers.

Has your evil eye lost its radiant evilness? Come in for our exclusive chemical peel of goats eye and frog hairs…..that evil eye will stop Doorthy in her tracks- leaving her no time at all to steal your ruby slippers.

Yes, during this time of COVID, it can feel like a house has landed on top of your sister but don’t you worry my evil coven- we are here for you.

To quote owner and respected wicken, Lori Appleby-Hoke. “It’s not easy being green. But at hello My Pretty Day Spa, we double, double, toil and trouble……over you.”

Shake Your Bones at The Rib Cage
By Tracy Skochil for the Skeleton StarFeeling

Covid-catatonic and wanting to get out and move? A new fitness center down on Main Street may be just what skeletons (over the age of 18) have been waiting for! Owner Heather Schichtel, a long-time resident of Fossil Creek and active community organizer, decided to take the plunge and open during the pandemic.“I mean, the world is unpredictable. What are souls in this town going to do, wait forever for life to get back to normal?” Heather said, turning up the incline on her treadmill.

“Skeletons have got to get out and move. Staying in one place makes our joints stiffen, and no one wants that.”The Rib Cage Gym has everything from group fitness and kickboxing to spin classes and circuit training. The Little Socket Daycare is open from 6am to 8pm. The gym has luxurious showers, saunas to ease those creaky bones, a milk bar, and a calcium-enriched swimming pool. There’s a special introductory offer running for October: sign up the whole family and get free access to the movie theatre for six months. Jog or pedal along to everyone’s favorite, A Nightmare before Christmas, playing twice daily until December 26.

“We can all agree 2020 has been a year most skeletons would like to leave in the dust. So make plans now to join us on New Year’s Eve for our 8-hour cycle-thon to ride into 2021,” said Heather. “Replacement knees will be available to help you go the distance!”Call 1-888-Get-MOVIN for membership pricing.

A Bloody DelightLocal Restaurant Review:

Sweet Fang BakeryBy Leah Byrd of the Vampyre Times

The moment you walk into Sweet Fang Bakery, you’re greeted by the aroma of fresh blood and sweet pastry.  The owner and pastry chef, JoBeth Jamison, is a genius with red blends and has developed her own line of both natural and synthetic jams and syrups. “They’re secret clan recipes that have been passed down for millennia,” said Jamison with a sly grin.

With a carefully curated menu of both fresh and aged blood types, Sweet Fang Bakery offers a refined assortment of treats worth killing for. The towering croquembouche with caramelized B positive is the obvious showstopper, and few are able to resist the temptation of the red velvet cupcake with the surprise filling, but the cranberry scones with O negative clotted cream are what will keep you coming back again and again.

The Sweet Fang Bakery is a local hot-spot and a bloody delight (pun intended), and the perfect place to bring your out-of-town friends and family. Just be sure to get in line early or you might miss out on the half-priced lattes with steamed plasma. 

Bibbity bobbity boo!

I have not posted in OVER A MONTH because sometimes when your heart is heavy, it is hard to be insightful and poignant.

So forget ALL of that!

In the spirit of Halloween, my fellow talented writer friends have put together small business review for ghouls and goblins. If you are looking for writers prompts for your Littles these are a lot of fun and funny. Here is day one- Enjoy!

Taking Ogreship: By JoBeth Jamison

Need a fix? This week’s highlighted Ogre-owned business, The Pits, promises to deliver on every Ogre auto repair—gigantic or small, foot or fart powered.

Owner and operator Tracy Skochil, a Triple Onion-certified mechanic, started her career following in her mother’s and father’s stompsteps in MonsCar pit crews and fast became one of the sport’s most valuable assets.“I’ve always just been a sponge for the way things work,” says Skochil. “And for Grawp’s Pumpkin Eyeball Ale—I soak that up by the barrel every fall,” she chuckles.

Skochil ultimately transitioned into the role of world-renowned crew and engine consultant, which inadvertently led to her become THE mechanic to the stars. (Shrek and Fiona now refer to her as their “Motor Queen” since Skochil achieved what they were told was impossible: a full restoration of their iconic 1576 Zweibel Princess Coach after their notoriously wild child Bink drove it into the Royal Tar Pits last year.)

But Skochil’s own notoriety has never been her comfort zone. After a while she began to miss her Forest of Illusion roots. Despite the sparkle of her luxury-cargo-plane-set life, Skochil says, “I’m a swamp girl, through and through. I was never not going to come back here and be part of the community I love.”

She recently bought the dilapidated Humbaba estate in neighboring Cedar Forest and turned one of the out buildings into her retirement plan: The Pits, where she and her parents now work together full time. From Toyogres to Mercedes Bones, Chevrolegs to Caniballacs, Hyundeyes, to Infiniteeth, Bulkwagens, and more, The Pits promises superior service with that one-of-a-kind, superstar-swamp-ogress, Skochil Family flare—without the flashbulbs

Dear Friends, Family and Supporters of our Cause,

If you are receiving this email or reading this blog, website or tweet, its because you are engaged with us and for that we thank you.

Thank you.

This week marks International Mitochondrial Awareness Week. This week also marks ten years of Miracles for Mito as a nonprofit. Happy ten years to us! Today I was driving into Boulder from Denver. There is a point as you approach Boulder that you can see Long’s Peak, the Flatrions, Twin Peaks….it is really an amazing view.

I reflected on our ten years, Miracles for Mito’s mission to establish a presence in Colorado and felt a little teary. We have lived a lot of life in ten years. We have said goodbye to Littles we loved fiercely, we have raised over $1MM to the Mitochondrial Clinic at Childrens Hospital Colorado and we have established ourselves as a Mito presence on the Front Range.

There is still a lot of work to do. But in 2020, a year for the history books, we have raised $84,000 for our Mitochondrial Clinic at Anschutz campus. This significant, consistent funding has presented multiple opportunities for trials in 2021. The clinic is currently in negotiations for these trials.

In a Spring and Summer of lockdowns, Miracles for Mito shipped Ubiquinol and gift cards across the nation. We now have the bandwidth to ship supplements beyond the Front Range. Please let us know if you know a family that needs help, regardless of their location.

And our amazing nurse MaryBeth Hollinger, provides coast to coast support for Mito families facing the challenge of a rare disease during a pandemic. The support group meetings she conducts twice a week are a cornerstone of support for so many.

Family grants, gift cards, a registered nurse facilitating support group calls, COQ10 for whomever needs it. Miracles for Mito is there for our families.

Is there more to be done? Always.

Do we need your help more than ever? Absolutely.

But just like climbing one of our 14’ers in Colorado, it is one foot in front of the other, every little step makes a difference; tenacity, perseverance with a touch of exhaustion will get us there.  

Thank you for all you do. Please follow us on Facebook and Instagram this week as we celebrate advocacy and awareness. Thank you for ten years. Let’s dare to dream where the next ten will take us: http://www.miraclesformito.org.

Yours for a Cure,

Heather and Maria

I was 30. Before I was married. Before my children. Before I knew the words Mitochondrial Disease.

At 30 I could give you a list of all my worries but looking back, I had a pretty charmed life.

I was consulting for KPMG and I was scheduled to start my new gig on September 11th in Liberty Corner, New Jersey. I flew into Newark the night before, cursed dark New Jersey roads…..why is it so woodsy here????? And reported to my new project at 8:50 on September 11th.

I sat in the lobby waiting for my new manager, sipping my Starbucks, and watching CNN. You know how the rest of the day went.

But it was different because it was close. Liberty Corner is a commuter town. People had loved ones in Tower One and Two. I watched the day unravel. I watched loved ones search for each other, unable to get through, worried and frantic.

At noon they told me I should go home and come back tomorrow. But I had no home. I had room 311 in a boutique hotel of quaint and tiny Liberty Corner. And so I sat and watched and cried and fretted.

I couldn’t fly home for ten days and so I embraced a very sad community. I went to church and prayed. I went to the coffee shop. A firemans boot sat on the counter to collect funds for families. I ate scones, drank lattes, cried some more and tossed dollars into the boot.

On Friday, I went into the city to find solace with dear friends. The subway line under the Towers had just opened. It smelled of burnt oil. Smoke still stood in the subway air. Grand Central was a living Memorial of those missing. I’ve experienced a lot of personal loss in my life. The image of poster after poster of missing loved ones is still crystal clear.

I vote Democrat. I always have. But I was so proud of our republican president. He was strong, uniting, compassionate. For as hard as it was to be so far away from family; I have always been honored to bear witness to the healing of that community.

2,977 souls were lost that day. 19 years later, we honor those lives.

Would we be as good today? As we approach almost 200,000 lives from a pandemic we refused to acknowledge for months, would we be as good? Would we blame each other? Would we turn? Would we unite?

I don’t know that we would unite in the way we did 19 years ago. I can give many examples why I think that but many of you know where I stand on current issues. To say my why would only increase the divide. You know. I know.

It took buildings crashing down for us to unite. 2,977 souls and the ripple in the world that their void left. But it also took empathetic, compassionate rhetoric to reinforce that our neighbor was not to blame, blue or red was not to blame…………It was 19 men following a leader who made it his life’s work to destroy what we believe in.

I traveled often after 911, for a while on a weekly basis. As I took off shoes, belts, endured countless, very ‘personal’ pat downs, I would think about what I heard often in the security line, “Well the terrorists already won.”

I never thought that. I always thought that we all were doing the very best we could to make sure we all got to our places, with our loves, as safely as possible.

I hope we can back there someday. That we all do our very best to make sure we get to our places, with our loves, as safely as possible.

It’s all any of us ever want.

Peace and blessings to you on this day.

In March the world shut down.

Our trip to Europe was cancelled. Work trips were put on hold. Ski resorts were closed. We hunkered down and I continued to write in my gratitude journal.

“I am grateful.”

I am grateful for a job, a house, stability, my health, my husband…..the list…..I focused on the list.

And this worked for a while. I held my gratitude like a shield against all that was going on in the world.

But it didn’t get any better. In fact, it got worse. Politics got worse, the summer got worse, we got angry, divided, Spring turned into Summer. Summer turned into July.

Stupid July.

July was ugly. My gratitude shield was a puny piece of aluminium…..pew….pew….pew….

I called up my therapist- we hadn’t talked in a year.

“I am so sad. I feel so extended but I’m not. I live with one person, 24/7 and I love him but he’s loud and he farts…..a lot. I should be grateful for all I have but I’m so stinkin sad. I have lost friends. Everything I have held true seems to be false. I struggle. I should be more, I should be better, able to rise above the petty. I cannot.”

I waited for her to tell me I was broken. My pain was exaggerated and she could prescribe something to fix me.

Because we live in a world where we have an instant solution for what causes us pain; a pill, blame, rage….But instead she said to me, “With everything going on, everything. If you aren’t a little depressed about these events, you might not be in touch with what is going on in the world.”

Thank you…..thank you lovely therapist for this acknowledgment; that maybe it is the world that is broken and not me.

I talked to her today. “I am joy starved,” I said. Not just a laugh or a moment but a full on group Powow WAAAAHHOOOOO joy.

“I miss it.”

“What makes you happy?” she asked, “even for a moment?”

“This,” I said, “talking to you, swimming, yoga, moments with friends, reading, slow mornings with Hubs.”

“Your homework,” she smiled, “your homework is to remember these small moments. Take a second or two, remember the air, the smells, how you felt. Remember these moments. Hold them for a precious second and then move on. We can be enveloped in the bad. Hold the good.”

We are all trying.

Trying so hard.

I don’t think things will get easier. I think the next couple months will be very challenging. I invite you all to share what is good. Hold it in just a second longer. We are there….I am rooting for you….I am rooting for me….we are all rooting for us all.

This is not our life. This is just our life right now.

I used to be a tad more open minded to other opinions.

I still try to be but I find it harder.

And if you find me difficult and unrelatable, I get it. It’s not you. Really, it’s not you. It’s me.

And perhaps it’s the company I keep. Nothing is worse than a tribe of special needs parents reminding you that health is important, wearing a mask is important….nothing ruins your mojo more than special needs parents who have to run home to oxygen, suctioning, feeding tubes and bottles of purel. Special needs parents are not very sexy.

And bereaved parents?

Get. Out. Of. Town.

Never, ever talk statistics about how many children could die of COVID to a bereaved parent. To a bereaved parent, we beat the odds. Anything can happen. Don’t try to rationalize life and death based on what you saw on Fox News; especially if its not yours.

When was the last time you attended a funeral and sat in front of a baby casket? Never?

Then count yourself lucky and STFP.

Am I angry? Hell yeah.

Stop talking about things you think you know and I hope you never ever know.

But really. It’s not you. It’s me.

Of course I seem scared to you. My stories are your worst nightmare. The outlier to your statistics.

But I am not scared.

I was scared when my daughter seized for the first time. After the 20th time, it was old hat.

Cause it is what is it is.

I was scared when she caught MRSA multiple times and it took two weeks to get a bacterial infection under control. I was scared when I was sent home with two IV antibiotics to be administered two hours around the clock through her PIC line.

I was scared when I performed CPR for the first time. I hope I never have to perform it again.

But hey.

It is what it is.

160,000 dead in five months. But its not your Mother, your Father, your Brother, your Child.

Is it?

So you can ignore it.

It is what it is.

Until it’s yours.