A Note of Thanks

Three things that do not suck

a female lesbian podcaster wearing headphones perched on a large mountain of mashed potatos

I hadn’t planned on sending a note out to subscribers today—I hadn’t planned on doing much at all today aside from consuming a large mountain of mashed potatoes—but as Janna puts her brown butter rolls in the oven and Moose snoozes nearby, I find myself in a rare reflective mood. It’s been a bitch of a year in many ways: war, famine, flood, we’ve had it all. Not to mention that interminable election. The only positive thing I have to say about that whole thing is that it’s over. And yet, there are things to be thankful for, so here are a few of mine.

Facebook. In the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, when many of my family and long-term friends were suddenly and quite literally in the dark, days—and then weeks—went by without contact. Text messages went unanswered; phone calls went straight to voicemail. At the same time, it was sunny and gorgeous here in the Pacific Northwest. The nice days felt like an affront when, back home, the apocalypse had landed. I spent the first few days after the storm in my windowless basement, watching the news and opening apps, desperate for updates. Of course, there was no electricity and the internet was out, so, oddly, I knew more about what was happening than people there on the ground. When I was finally able to talk to my brother, he had no idea that he was living through a high elevation Hurricane Katrina; all he knew was what he could see out his window.

Then, gradually, as people were able to chainsaw their way out of their neighborhoods and find a bar or two of service, the updates started coming in. But they didn’t come in via Instagram or Twitter or TikTok or some newer app. It was Facebook, the old standby. In recent years, Facebook has become mostly a place to buy used gym equipment or see whose parents have died—there are more obits in my feed than invites these days—but after the storm, every time a friend posted an update or marked themself safe, the knot in my stomach loosened a bit. And then I’d open Twitter and see another conspiracy theory about FEMA or body bags or the “smell of death in the air,” usually posted by someone who couldn’t pick out Marshall or Spruce Pine or Blowing Rock on a map, and I’d close it and go back to Facebook, where the people were real and familiar and just trying to tell loved ones they were still here.

A dog’s love. There’s a term used in polyamorous communities: compersion. It describes a feeling of joy one gets when seeing their lover in love with their other lover (or, maybe, their lover’s lover’s lover). Now, I am not poly. Not only do I have an intractable jealous streak, I am the rare lesbian who refuses to process. Talking about feelings is, in my mind, a job for therapists, not people, and to be poly is to talk. None for me, thanks. But there is one relationship that gives me so much joy I think it may qualify as compersion: Janna and Moose.

Here’s how our mornings go: Moose wakes up first, jumps up on the bed, knocking me out of my peaceful slumber, and he then completely ignores me while he crawls up to Janna and lies his entire body on top of hers, thumping his tail in time to her heartbeat. Even now, as I write this, Moose is perched on the couch, watching Janna make her Thanksgiving rolls across the house. There’s no hope he’ll get scraps (I’m the weak link when it comes to people food). He stares because there’s nothing he loves more in the world than his girl (at least until Uncle Andy comes to visit).

Moose’s obvious preference for Janna used to make me jealous, almost bitter. I’m the one who feeds him, who walks him, who picks up his shit, who brushes the knots out of his tail, who makes sure he gets the right blend of physical and mental stimulation each and every day. But when Janna walks in the door after work, his joy could power a house. I thought maybe I understood how stay-at-home moms must feel when dad gets home from work and the kids act like Santa has dropped in for a visit. Why you? Why not me? But then I had a realization that turned my jealousy into joy: I like her better too.

The competition

You. This podcast is the third best thing that has ever happened to me, and none of this would exist without you, the people who listen, who share, who tell their friends, and who’ve supported us along the way (also Jesse, I guess). We are particularly indebted to our Primos, our cousins, the true heroes here, and the community that our Primos have built is truly one of the last places on the internet that does not suck. After nearly five years, it has yet to devolve into scandal, drama, and petty infighting, but if and when it does, we’ll make an episode about that too. So a genuine and heartfelt thanks to every one of you for the support over the years. There is no us without you. Thank you.