Alison Jutzi Talks Amongst Herself

We suddenly lost Sheldon on August 23, 2026.  He was only 7.5 years old; I thought we had a few more years.  He seemed fine in the morning, and he was gone that evening. We won't ever know why with certainty, but all signs point to hemangiosarcoma which is a common cause of sudden death in certain breeds, including German Shepherd (he was mostly Border Collie, but was also part German Shepherd...essentially, a galumphing, 75-lb Border Collie).  He had just turned 3 when we got him after his former owner had to move into a rental apartment that didn't have backyard access. He was a delight for the too-short time we had with him.  I'll forever miss the way his face lit up when I told him friends or family were coming over, or that we were going to go to the cottage...the way he watched for the boys at school pick-up...the way he lay on the bed at my feet while I typed on my laptop...the way he wrestled with his cousin-dog Rosie...the way he could recognize the crinkle ...

My son asked me what perimenopause was exactly, since I talk about it "all the time". I told him it's when women's estrogen levels go down and they see the patriarchy with clarity. (He didn't ask me to define patriarchy; I truly do talk about that all the time.) When I started glimpsing the world through my new lens, I told my husband, Phil, that I see why a lot of marriages end when wives are in perimenopause. She's metaphorically rage-flipping tables and he's like, hey, remember when you cared about pleasing me?  I told Phil that he could expect a lot of changes in me, but that I recommended he hang on because I was turning into a more fascinating version of myself. And I thought, that's what I want for my son: not only to treat his future high school girlfriend with respect but to be open to his future wife changing and wanting more, and for him to be ready and willing to embrace her transformation.  So I'll incorporate this into my mental list ...

I'm getting table linen ads in my feed and am working hard to resist them. I want to save up for our family vacation this summer and I do NOT need more high-end, soft, sustainable napkins. But pals, I want them. My kids started to ignore me so I had a minute to look up at my house and it turns out it could use some zhuzhing. I crave cute pillows and silver candlesticks. I PURCHASED SILVER POLISH. I also deeply connect with the narrator in Miranda July's novel, All Fours, who spends $20,000.00 (USD, people!) redecorating a motel room. I am both rejecting the male gaze and seeking physical beauty. 47 is a trip. 

I'm over the tiny penis jokes. And the fat jokes. And the bald jokes. When fascists are fascisting can we focus on the fascism and not the low-hanging fruit of attacking physical attributes that have literally no connection to their actions?  Why do we demand emotional maturity from men and then attack them in juvenile ways? Stephen Miller would be evil even with Gavin Newsom's hair. 

This contains spoilers, but also - why haven't you watched it yet?

Narcissists are the most vile, destructive people. But they are fascinating and, when you realize they all fundamentally follow the same pattern, extremely predictable.  Like how they can never be happy and satisfied. Imagine having a job that is famously considered the most powerful position on earth (literal EARTH) and still needing to pad your resume with the pretend credit, "Acting President of Venezuela".  I mean.

The thing I like about making soup stock is the witch's cauldron of it all. The haphazard throwing in of whatever herbs I collect from the garden and the stirring with a ladle while the giant black pot boils. Other witchy things I like right now are essential oils, candles, incense, astrology (what?) and my dollhouse. I am not as easy to get along with as I used to be, but I find myself delightful.