“Do you think the kangaroos are my destiny?” I whispered to Josh while we were falling asleep.

“No,” he answered back.

“I think they’re my destiny,” I told him.

*******

My friend Sarah told me about the kangaroo sanctuary. It’s actually not just kangaroos. The woman has wallabies and sugar gliders and degus and emus. But the focus is on the kangaroos. And maybe sanctuary is the wrong term. Maybe kangaroo ranch? In any case, it’s an education kangaroo space.

Sarah and I were talking about what I’m going to do with myself when the twins go to college. I am in a constant state of thinking about possible hobbies and volunteer work. I was telling her how we’re going to become birders, despite knowing nothing about birds, and that I was going to start volunteering with the ornithological society. “It’s not ideal,” I told her, “mostly because I’m not totally in love with birds, but volunteering for the zoo — what I really want to do — is too hard because it’s so far away.”

“Why don’t you volunteer at the kangaroo sanctuary. That’s right near your house.”

Kangaroo sanctuary? How have I never heard of this place?

She opened her phone and showed me photos of her daughter petting a kangaroo. The woman takes the animals on the road for educational events, but you can also visit the ranch and play with the animals while you learn about macropods. Plus, they need volunteers to clean out the habitats.

Check out the little joey sticking out of her pouch!

I was born to clean. That is my passion. When I was a kid, I mucked stalls and groomed horses once a week at the stable where I rode. My favourite job ever was dishwasher at a cafe. I have cleaning supplies all over my house so I can be in a constant state of cleaning.

The only way I can explain how in felt to learn about this place was with that part in The Magicians when Penny brought the button to Quentin after they were both out of Brakebills and Quentin realized that his childhood dream of going to Fillory had been in his future the whole time. That is how I felt learning about this amazing space just a few minutes from my house — that the Melissa of a few weeks ago had no idea that her future contained a kangaroo sanctuary, but it clearly has always been my destiny, especially as I piece together moments of my life like a jigsaw, layering together my love of animals with my love of Australia with my love of cleaning.

I went last week for the first time. I got to hold a baby kangaroo in a carrier, stroking its velvety head while it ate leaves. We bottle-fed kangaroos and they licked treats off our hands. We peeked inside a pouch and saw a little jellybean-like kangaroo growing. There are about 30+ kangaroos on the ranch, and all but three were happy to play with us. They were so loving, and the woman who runs the ranch is brilliant and filled our brains with macropod facts.

I want to start volunteering now so I have all of my ducks in a row before the twins leave for school. I need to know that something else needs me, even if it’s just to remove poop from an enclosure. I guess you can say that I’m ready for my destiny to begin.

“A Macintosh PowerBook 160: she’d left it to me in her will, along with her books, but it had sat, plastic and inert, a thwarted life of the mind, her mind, a mind that I crammed into a box and stored in the back of the cupboard where I keep my fabric, yards of cambric and calico and gingham. So this spring I yanked it out of the cupboard and hauled it out of the box.” –“The Lingering of Loss”

The New Yorker had a piece where a friend willed the other her computer. It’s the modern-day equivalent of passing along your diary except maybe even more intimate because while diaries have stories and thoughts, computers often contain those too along with images and bookmarks and old correspondence. What someone saves says a lot about them.

The essay is a gorgeous statement on friendship and loss — I guess it’s not really a spoiler to say her best friend dies because I’ve already told you that there is a will — but I kept returning to this idea of who would want my computer. Josh will get it when I’m gone or the kids or the grandkids. I don’t know if anyone will want it; if anyone will power on the machine and poke through it. I mean, I would, if I was willed a computer, but I wonder if I’m the norm or the anomaly.

I’ve thought about my journals and my photos, my important papers from childhood and all the mementos I’ve collected over the years. But I never thought about my computers and how personal they are.

Would you give your computer to someone?

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

*******

The twins are both named after great-grandparents. We didn’t struggle with their names at all. We knew we wanted to name the kids after these two people, which greatly limited our list of possible names and made the choice pretty straight-forward.

The ChickieNob’s name was one that I floated very early on in our relationship as the name I would use for any daughter, and Josh agreed. The Wolvog’s name sprang into my head one day — long before we were pregnant — and I told Josh that if we ever had a boy, that would be his name. And… well… he agreed again. Then we had to work for years to actually have the kids so we could use the names, but the names themselves weren’t a struggle.

I like being named after someone. I think the kids like being named after someone, especially when we come across pictures or objects or stories we can tell them about those people. Most of my friends and family members are named after people, too. But my friend list skews heavily towards Jewish, where naming your child after someone is common practice.

Are you named after someone? Did you know the person?

*******

Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored post.

There was a recent Carolyn Hax that caught my eye, mostly because the title referenced being child-free. Except the question asker wasn’t really child-free. He was the father of a child who had died, and because his child wasn’t here, he was on the receiving end of familiar child-free comments ranging from the “you’re so lucky you don’t have kids” to the “you don’t understand” variety.

Carolyn told him to answer truthfully and respond, “‘I actually do know what it’s like’; or, ‘No, ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d choose.'” Which is exactly what he should do, but it made me think about why we ask for permission to tell our story.

The person who makes the comment doesn’t ask permission to make the comment. They just make an assumption and comment on the other person’s life without thinking.

[Side note: I am, by the way, separating out the thoughtless from the malicious. We all make assumptions every single day, believing we know things about the person we’re speaking to and commenting accordingly. Anyone who believes they’re sensitive and thoughtful and aren’t negatively impacting other people on a daily basis are not only fooling themselves but are the worst offenders because they won’t even admit how inadvertently hurtful they are.

I am promising you, no matter how kind you may believe me to be, I am hurting people left and right without knowing it when I post things here or walk by people in the store or––worst of all––engage in one-on-one conversations. I don’t believe there is anything we can do to avoid this except try our best to be mindful and minimize it.

It reminds me of the “Monk’s Story” in Gita Mehta’s A River Sutra, and how Ashok sweeps the ground for tiny bugs so he doesn’t negatively impact their lives by stepping on them. He crushes fewer bugs that the average person walking the same ground, but… you know… they’re tiny. He still ends up crushing bugs, even though he may not know when it happens.]

Anyway, the question asker is asking permission to answer, something that the comment maker never asks permission to do. This is a theme of advice columns: it seems people are more often asking for permission to respond vs. permission to comment. But… why are we asking permission to tell our own story? To state facts from our life?

Food for thought.

We saw The Farewell on Wednesday night. It was fantastic. It’s based on a true story, and it actually made me smile much more than it made me cry; a pleasant surprise.

Plus Akwafina completely transformed herself. She was incredible. I love it when you see an actor in two roles and the two characters are so different that you know the person has completely dissolved into the character. I always feel that way when I see Benedict Cumberbatch. Sherlock is nothing like Hamlet who is nothing like Patrick Melrose who is nothing like Alan Turing. I mean, they all look like him, but I didn’t watch Sherlock thinking that I’m seeing Alan Turing as a detective. Does that make sense?

Whereas some actors are always the same character. It’s more or less the same film after film, so it doesn’t feel like they dissolve insomuch as it feels like they’ve changed costumes.

*******

Stop procrastinating.  Go make your backups.  Don’t have regrets.

Seriously.  Stop what you’re doing for a moment.  It will take you fifteen minutes, tops.  But you will have peace of mind for days and days.  It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

*******

And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “We Can Imagine What It’s Like When A Baby Dies–We Just Don’t Want To” (An Unexpected Family Outing)
• “For Those Suffering” (Infertile Phoenix)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Empty Arms, Broken Heart has a post unpacking that often-said sentiment: “You haven’t changed one bit!” She admits it bothered her. “She meant to compliment how young I still look, but her compliment back-fired and made me feel the need to show my growth. I lived and learned through infertility, divorce, and foster-adoption.” Our growth is often internal, not visible to the people who meet us again in passing, but this post will make you think twice about how you phrase the thought.

Life’s Basic Elegance has a post about a planner. Except… you know… it’s not really a planner. It’s a post about the things we stop when we are in mourning, and the importance of restarting those tiny daily rituals that bring us back to everyday life.

Road Less Travelled writes about social media minefields we may not even be aware that we’re stepping on. After her SIL asks her not to post something for fear of offending other people (who weren’t invited), she wonders how many other postings have inadvertently had a negative impact on another person. As she points out: “Life is both richer AND a lot more complicated since social media arrived on the scene.”

Finally, FinallyMyLinesNow has an ode to her partner. They’ve been through a lot together, and she marvels at the new side she is seeing now that they are parenting. She writes, “I never would have guessed that kids would make my marriage stronger, but seeing him care for the babies and me in every sense possible has done exactly that.” It’s a happy story.

The roundup to the Roundup: Go see The Farewell. Your weekly backup nudge. And lots of great posts to read. So what did you find this week? Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between August 2nd and August 9th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week? Read the original open thread post here.