Welcome to the Jungle

September 2, 2025August 29, 2025 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Last year on a whim, I brought home a few packets of flower seeds from work (we have a seed library at the library) and actually planted some of them. I expected nothing of a my zinnias, dahlias, and morning glories. The only thing I’ve ever successfully kept alive is an aloe plant that I brought home from the library’s garden table a couple of years ago and really, I can’t even claim credit. Aloysius is a very hearty, fertile little shit that keeps having babies and now I’ve got an entire jungle of aloe plants: Vera, Larry, Darryl (RIP Other Brother Darryl, who didn’t survive a pot upgrade), Large Marge, Sneaky Pete, Bobo and Lil’ Debil. I also have Tink, the tiny jade plant, and what remains of Cal Calhoun, my kalanchoe that was doing fine until it wasn’t, but I think I saved it. Maybe.

Anyway, my point is that I’ve never grown anything from a seed with any success before, but last year I decided to give it a whirl. And it worked out, mostly. My dahlias went nowhere, but my zinnias and morning glories grew and blossomed and made me feel like a real green thumb. I left them in their pots as I got them started late in the season and I also wasn’t feeling brave enough to try transplanting. They looked good on my patio table while I had them, though that morning glory loved to tangle itself in the furniture.

Bolstered by this victory, I decided to try it again this year. I acquired zinnias, hollyhocks, butterfly weed, Mexican sunflowers, regular sunflowers, marigolds, bee balm, and I even decided to try my hand at a couple of herbs, cilantro and basil.

It was an exercise in failure.

Nothing came of my bee balm and butterfly weed despite two tries. My zinnias and hollyhocks sprouted and then died. My sunflower and marigolds were doing great, but didn’t survive the transplant from the pot to the outdoors. My cilantro was thriving until it suddenly wasn’t and nothing I did saved it.

I thought my basil was going to be another failure. It was puny and I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to last. But as my cilantro took a turn for the worse, but basil pushed into glory. Maybe it stole it’s windowsill mate’s essence, I don’t know. But now I have an unusually tall, happy basil plant that I need to utilize.

I also thought my Mexican sunflowers were gonners like the sunflowers and marigolds as I transplanted them at the same time. I put them just outside of the “jungle”, a spot at the corner of our house that has featured hostas and elephant garlic, but has in the past few years been taken over by pokeweed. Usually, it gets trimmed up during the early part of the summer so it’s not so unruly (one year it successfully grew between the window panes and into the house), but with everything going on, that didn’t happen. This year’s crop is multiple plants and it’s huge. I’ve pruned it several times, but I was sure that since I let it go so long it would overpower my Mexican sunflowers and kill them.

However, every time I checked, my little Mexican sunflowers were still there, still growing. They grew funky because of the pokeweed, but the two plants somehow thrived.

Last month they blessed me with their pretty blooms.

So, yes. My plant endeavors were largely a failure this year, but I am cherishing the victories I did manage.

I’m taking this as a metaphor for life.

The Bisexual Journey Continues

June 18, 2025June 9, 2025 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Christin aka Kiki is a middle aged white woman with short, dark pink hair. She's holding up a bi pride flag in such a way that it shows off her rainbow pride ring and obscures her mouth and nose. I’m forty-five years old. I came out as bisexual at seventeen. I knew from a young age that I was into both men and women.

It’s very easy to assume that my sexuality journey was short, sweet, and to the point. There’s nothing more to learn. Like those concrete heterosexuals, I knew from a young age that I was 50/50 on my bi-ness. Done and dusted.

For some people, that is very true. The journey is more like a trip to the mailbox. Got my info. I’m good to go. And I thought that was what my journey was. I had myself sorted from a young age. I was good to go.

But that’s not quite how it worked out for me.

When it comes to my own bisexuality, I find myself regularly checking in to verify that I’m still bisexual. After all, there’s a lot of messaging from both the queer and straight communities that bisexuality isn’t valid. Maybe I am confused. Maybe I’m pretending to be something I’m not. But every check-in has verified my bisexual identity so far. Sorry, haters.

As I’ve gone through my life, the questioning has continued in light of other people’s journeys intersecting with mine and my continuing education in and from the queer community. Am I attracted to trans people? Am I attracted to non-binary people? What does it mean if I am or if I’m not?

I’ve adjusted my identity a little as result of my answers to these questions. Trans men are men and trans women are women, so they fall in my already determined attraction categories. I’ve also found myself occasionally attracted to people who identify as non-binary, gender fluid, or agender. While I still use the bisexual label, I will also refer to myself as Bi+ or queer. Pansexual might apply, but it doesn’t feel right for me, so I don’t use it.

Recently, I had an epiphany that has once again altered my self-perception a little, a shift within my bisexual identity.

Quick recap: Sexuality is who you are sexually attracted to. Romantic attraction is who you’re romantically attracted to. Sexual attraction and romantic attraction often match up, but not always. In my case, I always thought that they did. I considered myself 50/50 sexually attracted to men and women, and 50/50 romantically attracted to men and women. Bisexual, bi romantic.

Turns out, that’s not entirely accurate.

I am bisexual and I am bi romantic, but it’s not the 50/50 split I always thought it was.

I’m not exactly sure what the process was that led me to this realization. Like I said, it was something of an epiphany. Whatever the case, it occurred to me that I’m actually more sexually attracted to women and I’m more romantically attracted to men.

In retrospect, this is obvious. I knew I was attracted to women before I realized I was attracted to men, yet most of my romantic crushes were on guys. It’s easier for me to find women attractive than it is for me to find men attractive. But when I think about having a partner, I think about that partner being a man more often than I think about them being a woman. Part of that could be latent heteronormative conditioning, but I think it’s more just how my romantic attraction works.

I look forward to exploring this new found understanding of myself.

Another twist on the journey I thought I’d finished.

Poem–Magnificent Seven–“Jack Horne”

February 14, 2025January 24, 2025 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

“So, we’re talking about the same Jack Horne. The Jack Horne. The legend Jack Horne.”

Jack Horne is probably my favorite of the Seven. He is the reason why I watched the movie in the first place. My dad had seen the movie and found a clip on YouTube of the so-far-assembled Seven meeting Jack Horne for the first time. It makes an impression. After watching that scene a couple dozen times, I finally watched the movie. And an odd fixation was born.

Jack Horne is the tracker of the group, a man who’s lived on his own in the wilderness for a considerable amount of time, building himself a legendary reputation for his killing of Native Americans (it’s noted in the film and in history that the US government used to have a bounty on Native Americans). This makes things a little awkward with Red Harvest at first, and Jack Horne’s final confrontation with Denali even more impactful.

It’s insinuated in the film that his murderous inclinations and isolated existence were a result of his family being killed by Native Americans.

It also caused him to find God. Or maybe he already knew God, but out in the wilderness on his own, God became his bestie. He’s very devout in his faith, even as he’s clubbing and stabbing men to death. His isolation might have caused him to become a little off-kilter, too.

I knew that Jack Horne’s poem was going to invoke his faith and his past. It turned out to be the only poem of the Seven that I wrote in the first person, but it made sense. After all, it’s a prayer. And once again, I snatched a line or two from the film for the poem. They stuck in my head. I couldn’t just not use them.

The form I picked for Jack Horne’s poem is echo verse. The only rule is to repeat the last syllable or syllables of each line, and it can be repeated either on the same line or on its own line directly beneath each line. I chose to stick to the same line. It just seemed to fit better.

After all, what’s a prayer but an earnest request?

Jack Horne

Give me clear vision, Lord. Lord,
give me clear sight. Sight
to see through this sadness. Sadness
turned vengeance, vengeance
turned sadness. Lord, let me -me,
with my bitter past- bring peace. Peace
through violence. Let me fight, fight
in good company, and then, then
Lord, see me safely home. Home.

I’m Not Expressing Myself Well

September 23, 2024September 18, 2024 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

“That sounded better in my head.”

I’d wager that just about everyone has thought this or said it out loud. We all have those moments when we’re trying to get an idea across and the words are just not wording well. You know exactly what you’re trying to say, but you just ain’t saying it.

Man, I really hate that.

I think it’s because as someone with anxiety and as a person who tends to ruminate, I have a lot of imaginary conversations and arguments in my head, and sometimes out loud. I don’t necessarily want to have all of these conversations. Most likely, I will never have most of them. I’m either preparing for a war that I won’t have to fight or I’m reliving a battle that I already lost, saying all of the things that I didn’t in the moment because I wasn’t prepared. Or I was, but the words weren’t there when I needed them.

I don’t express myself well. Not often when I need to. Not often in the heat of the moment.

As someone who is fascinated by languages, who writes, who podcasts, who does a whole lot of communicating in her job, you would think that I would be better at this, that it would come naturally to me. You’d think I’d gotten the hang of it by now.

Alas alack, live moments don’t have edit buttons and my mouth has no backspace key.

In the unending rehearsals of rumination, I can workshop my words until I’ve got the right ones selected. I’ve got the right motivation, the right tone, the right expression. I’ve nailed the part. In the live improv that is life, I’m building sentences on the fly, influenced by my reactions and emotions and the fullness of the moon. Sometimes, the words come flying out of my mouth and leave the idea and intention behind in my brain.

These leftover intentions and ideas don’t simply disappear. They don’t fade now that the moment and the conversation has passed. No! They’re left in my grey matter to ferment and fester until I expel them in an imaginary conversation of what I should have said, a too late performance in the play I should have staged. A useless exercise because I learn nothing from it. My inner critic makes sure to point that out.

It frustrates me unnecessarily. Sure, people don’t want misunderstandings, and I’m not often misunderstood. I just don’t get my point across as effectively or efficiently as I think I should. Especially when emotion is involved. I don’t like that I lose my ability to word well when I’m irritated or agitated or caught off guard. Is this normal? Do other people experience this? Am I being unnecessarily hard on myself and getting frustrated over something that’s not really worth it? Yes, of course, to all of the above. That’s the glorious way I brain.

When I write, I have the opportunity to go back and fix my words, fix the way they’re presented, to express myself as best as I can.

I wish my mouth was afforded the same opportunity.

Apple and Pork Festival 2013

September 30, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

This past weekend was The Apple and Pork Festival and of course I went because there were some apple doughnuts with my name on them. Also some nacho-flavored kettlecorn and a lemon shake-up.

Anyway, with the nice weather the grounds were packed, the whole town was packed. I only went up on Saturday for a little while, walking up instead of taking the tram, and didn’t even bother going down to the flea market. A little bit was enough for me this year. Considering I never go out to the high school or antique mall or the country mall or the flea market that pops up in the old Cedar Square parking lot, it’s a very little bit.

Beyond those porta-potties lies the flea market.

Every year, it feels like it gets bigger, but it’s kind of neat to see how many of the same vendors and sellers show up and set up in the same spots. I appreciate that kind of consistency. For example, I bought something for my mom’s birthday on the Homestead grounds. I knew exactly what I wanted and knew exactly where the guy would be. And he had exactly what I wanted. Handy!

I love Apple and Pork, but only for the couple of hours I’m up there. Once I come home, I don’t leave my house again until Monday because with 100,000 extra people crammed in this tiny space, getting around is nearly impossible.

This is not an exaggeration.

Beyond that teepee they’re throwing tomahawks. I don’t know what you people do at YOUR festivals.

Rerun Junkie–Confession: I’m a Sucker for Reunions

September 9, 2013October 4, 2013 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I don’t watch Hot in Cleveland by habit. I’ve only seen a couple of episodes, mostly because there was some special draw, like the live episode (which was quite funny and well done for a live show). One episode that I made sure I watched, though, was the one featuring the Mary Tyler Moore reunion.

I’m a sucker for things like that.

Of course, plain old reunion shows are great (you know, like the Gilligan’s Island and Love Boat TV movies), but there’s something really nifty about getting actors from an old show together and having them play new characters. There’s the wink-wink, nudge-nudge they always seem to work into the episode, of course, but mostly there’s this fun of watching people with a history, with a chemistry, with a rhythm working together, but playing something different.

Like the Mary Tyler Moore reunion. They played a bowling team getting together after years apart, fame having undone their friendship. So there’s Mary and Rhoda and Georgette and Sue Ann and Phyllis sitting around a table, except they weren’t those characters. It was the same chemistry but presented in a different way.

Sharon Gless and Tyne Daly did it on Burn Notice. Cagney and Lacey together again only as Madeline and Tina, strangers not partners. So even thought Madeline is befriending Tina for a short-term purpose, that chemistry that made Cagney and Lacey such a great duo is still there.

I find that kind of thing fun to watch. It’s taking people who are comfortable with each other and putting them in a different element.

I look for those kinds of reunions. I don’t catch them all, of course, but I’m always thrilled when they happen. I guess it’s just the warm fuzzies it gives me. Here are the actors that created some iconic characters back together in a different, but yet familiar way.

It sucks me in every time.

You want me to watch current TV more often? This is definitely the way to do it. I’d clear my schedule for the right reunion.

I’m that kind of sucker.