<![CDATA[DOROTHYJEANRICE.COM - Blog]]>Sat, 02 May 2026 00:55:20 -0500Weebly<![CDATA[Facing]]>Fri, 17 Apr 2026 19:25:34 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/facing​When I was very little, 2 or 3 years old, thunderstorms scared me. The lightning, the loud booms. Terrifying. My mother, knowing I had many long years ahead of wind and rain, decided to put my fears to rest. So, as one storm approached, she set up chairs in the garage, and through the open door, we watched. She answered my questions. Thunderstorms transformed from frightening to fascinating. They have remained so.
 
At age 6, we went for the first time to the pool in our new neighborhood. Having known how to swim since I was a wee peanut, I was ready. However, upon seeing how much larger this one was than the kidney bean-shaped one of my preschool years, I had a meltdown. My parents encouraged me to swim across the 25-yard length and convinced me that treading water in the 13-foot diving well was the same as in shallower water, so that I could pass the swim test to leave the kiddie area. To keep my courage up, in addition to standard swim lessons, they signed me up for the summer league swim team, too. I cried at every new pool, but did eventually swim my races. Serious about water safety and concerned about my developing a fear of water, at the end of the summer, my dad said, “Why don’t we sign her up for the winter league?” The tears lessened significantly that autumn. The last time they appeared was at the final meet in the spring. It was held at Ohio University. It was a short-course (25-yd) meet setup perpendicular in an indoor, long-course (50-meter) pool. It really was a bigger pool.
 
(I suppose I did cry at other meets over my 12 years of competitive swimming, but those were for other reasons altogether. Never again over fears related to the pool size.)
 
In 4th grade, the talented and gifted (TAG) class did a unit on ancient Egypt. Every Thursday, we would do activities together, and we were also given time to work on our independent research project. We were all assigned topics based on our interests. I remember one girl had makeup from the time period, and her friend had clothing. Another person had pyramid construction, while others had the construction of temples and the Sphinx. The list goes on; everything was covered. Me? I had mummification. It was a good fit…in the daytime. At night, however…*shudder*…I had nightmares for weeks! They all centered around the process for removing the brain. I would sleep in this twisted, sprawling manner because I did not want to make it possible for an embalming mummy to come and place my body into the necessary stiff and straight, cross-armed position.
 
I felt so much shame about this because I did find the topic interesting and could talk about it enthusiastically, and none of my classmates seemed to be struggling. And yet, every evening, my stomach would be filled with dread. Wednesday nights were the worst because TAG met the next day. The very, very, very worst night was the night before our field trip to a museum that contained a real mummy. I don’t know if I slept at all. But I do know, once I saw the mummy, and all the other displays, my nightmares began to decrease noticeably. They didn’t go away all at once, but actually seeing one in real life was a definite transition.
 
 
 
 
]]><![CDATA[A Nurse Was Executed Two Days Ago]]>Mon, 26 Jan 2026 13:50:37 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/a-nurse-was-executed-two-days-agoThis is for White folks because Black folks know it already. At least my main message.

Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse for the VA, was murdered by ICE on Saturday in the streets of Minnesota. The videos, if you’ve seen them, make that apparent. The federal administration is claiming it was justified because he was carrying a gun. Never mind that it was licensed. Never mind that it was holstered the whole time. Never mind that his actions and body language were occupied with care and concern for others, as opposed to aggression towards the officers. Never mind that that attitude contradicts every other argument made about the Second Amendment I’ve heard in recent years.

It got me thinking about a podcast series Radiolab did a while back about each of the Amendments. In the one about #2, it tells about how the 2nd didn’t get much attention until the Black Panthers did a legal, militia-style march on a government building in, I believe, California. (Please forgive me. I didn’t look up the story to get the specifics, but I believe I have the gist right. See the link above for the full podcast.) When folks saw those young black men with their rifles lined up on the steps looking serious, they were ready to ban all the guns!


​That’s when the NRA got started. They began defending the right to bear arms not because they supported the Black Panthers, but because they didn’t want the actions of the Black Panthers to get the guns of law-abiding white folks taken away, too. That set the stage for where we are now. Look at how white people with guns at home are viewed versus black people with guns at home…

Also, to be clear, the Black Panthers were putting on a show of power to threaten the systems of oppression that needed to be overthrown. It was an act consistent with their other protests and programs around the country, like the school breakfasts in Chicago. Rhetoric like “they’re getting ready to shoot white women and children in their beds!” is fear-mongering nonsense made up by the systems of power they wanted to dismantle.

So, no, I’m unfortunately not surprised that I haven’t yet heard any vocal 2nd Amendment defenders speak up on Alex’s behalf. Guns were only ever meant for the right people.

]]><![CDATA[Completely Zonked and Sleeping Soundly]]>Mon, 15 Dec 2025 20:54:50 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/completely-zonked-and-sleeping-soundly​I really have been sleeping the past couple of months. Since the time change. More often than not, I’m out well before 9, and awake around 5:30. I still have days that I am extra draggy in the afternoon, but I haven’t had any blatant neuro-spiciness since this sleeping streak started.
 
Part of me wonders if I should be worried, since I’m pretty much no good for anything after 730pm. But, really, steady and consistent sleep? I’ll take it!

​I think this has basically been a season of healing. The ghosting bullshit and its aftermath took an emotional toll. (20/20 vision, anyone? The work-related one is now completely addressed and put to bed, but I’m still undecided on the friendship. I’m irritated at the idea of him sitting and “contentedly” avoiding the world, and also want nothing to do with it.) The combination of these two situations happening simultaneously certainly stirred up a fun reflection on similar patterns, situations, and circumstances in my life. It was a joy of a mind game, let me tell you.
 
Health-wise, there was the recovery of having a more neuro-tastic October, and the wind-down of a medication change. And I’m in my mid-40s. Who knows what else is going on?
 
It’s also colder and darker, which are my favorite sleeping conditions.
 
All of this is to say, I don’t think I should be worried about sleeping so much, should I? I’m alert during the day and beginning to be able to walk/run/workout a little more than I was. Sleeping harder for more hours isn’t something in my condition should worry about, right?
 
Right??
]]><![CDATA[Renaissance Woman]]>Fri, 21 Nov 2025 17:22:33 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/renaissance-woman​That’s me, a Renaissance Woman. I am a Renaissance Woman. I’m not claiming Leonardo da Vinci's level of genius, but how else can you describe someone who takes on the number of different things that I do and does them with success? 

​Let’s consider just a sampling from the four years since I moved to Arkansas:
  • I taught GED to court-ordered adolescents.
  • I ran a 50K and won first in my age group.
  • I made a wooden lamp, a crochet cardigan, a stuffed pig, a chameleon, & a ghost, along with multiple hats, all from scratch.
  • I ran a theater camp hosted at the Kennedy Center. Twice.
  • I had a bumper year of butternut squash that included one that won the biggest prize at the county fair.
  • I conducted professional job interviews with sound engineers.
  • I learned to play Magic: The Gathering and Dungeons & Dragons.
  • I wrote dozens and dozens of fictional stories, nonfiction articles, and highly professional emails.
  • I continue to gain more experience working with kids who are struggling.
Picture
This is a ginger root I grew from grocery store ginger. I also made homemade ginger beer from my own ginger bug as part of my experiments in home fermintation.

​This may sound boastful, and perhaps it is a little. That’s not my motivation, though. My true goal, if you haven’t guessed, is to boost myself up. I’m grappling with the long-term effects of some recent blows to my psyche and the old insecurities that were stirred up as a result. (See “Ghost Stories;” I may or may not update later.)
 
More immediately at hand, however, is I’m feeling way outside my comfort zone as a running coach and as an art teacher, while simultaneously knowing I can do it. I don’t have to be the best, I just need to be. Right now, though, I feel disengaged and tired. It’s frustrating because the desire is there. I’m just not sure I’m adequate. I have so many gaps in my knowledge and experience.
 
But I’m a Renaissance Woman. I know how to try and make mistakes, and show others how to try and make mistakes.
]]><![CDATA[The Man I Saw Running]]>Tue, 28 Oct 2025 13:34:01 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/the-man-i-saw-runningAs I write this, our country is in the middle of a government shutdown where huge numbers of people are about to lose their SNAP benefits. Also, health insurance benefits are about to increase dramatically, mine included. I’m trying to wrap my mind around the implications of all that, while trying to sort through my options for steadier employment that won’t interfere with my Art Teacher job or my health. I have a lot of leads and a lot of thoughts.

So, today I’m going to share an anecdote from the summer of 2011. Obviously.

One day, I went on a walk in Tower Grove Park. It was a hot and sunny, heat-advisory sort of afternoon, and not many people were out. I liked having the place mostly to myself and kept to the shadier parts of the park. Utterly lost in thought, I emerged from a narrow path thickly lined with shrubbery to find myself completely startled by a man running.

Now, I was so in my head, I would have been startled to see anyone at the moment. A close friend, my mother, even a squirrel. This particular man happened to be black and very fit. My impression at the time, based on the way he held his very muscular arms while running, was that he could be a boxer. And when I gasped in startled surprise, I also startled him.

In response, he immediately spoke and made calming gestures to show he wasn’t a threat. I always knew he wasn’t. I was just a flaky lady who lived in my head, spazzing out a little while being forced back into reality. I tried to convey that I was just startled by the presence of anyone and knew he was fine, but I was so embarrassed, I left pretty quickly.

Afterward, and still to this day, I was really struck by how quickly he assumed I was afraid of him. I’ve wondered how other white women have reacted to him in the past when, to me, he seemed like a cool guy. Even before the calming gestures. One of the most illuminating parts for me is that right after it happened, when I shared it with a couple of friends, they were reluctant to believe that he was wary of me being afraid of him. They were sure there had to be other explanations. Ones that fit their worldview.

That experience has played a key role in helping me hear other people as I’ve learned more about prejudice, racism, and other hard things. It’s important to take the story of another’s experience seriously. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I agree. Eye-witness testimony is unreliable, and facts can get skewed. However, that happens because emotional impressions are strong, and those don’t come from nowhere. Additionally, when thousands and millions of people are telling the same stories, that adds a powerful level of validity.
​
Right now, the prominent stories aren’t about white women overreacting in parks. They’re about people worried about keeping access to food, jobs, education, and healthcare. Sounds pretty valid to me.]]><![CDATA[Ghost Stories]]>Mon, 20 Oct 2025 20:16:00 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/ghost-storiesSince August of this year, I’ve been ghosted twice. First, by a close professional relationship. More recently, by someone I believe (or believed?) to be a friend. I feel both cases are just kind of those confusing things that happen, but happening twice is worrisome.


​​Going chronologically, I stopped hearing from my business colleagues around two months ago. I was 1/3 of the leadership team for a startup company. I was naturally on the edge of a lot of communication because the other two were in the same location, while I was remote. Sometimes, and with increasing frequency, it felt like I was left out intentionally. This was addressed a few times – as recently as July – with some improvements, but they never held. Keeping things very vague, this most recent silence coincided with a change in our website hosting service that caused me to lose access to my work email. I felt good about not reaching out to address this known problem.
 
Proceeding as if we are done feels like the natural path. While I really wanted us to succeed, I’ve been looking for a clear end to the limbo for a while. Now I’ve got it!


​The friend ghosting me is more…ugh. We'll call him Peter. I guess it happened the last Saturday in September, although I didn’t realize for several days more that that was the last time I’d heard from him. We usually text daily; mostly memes, songs, shenanigans at work, assorted nonsense like that. But he just stopped. It isn’t uncommon for Peter to skip a few days if he’s busy or something, but this was different. Then, I had that seizure (see the “Setbacks” portion of this post) and, after that, I didn’t have it in me to figure out what was going on with a grown man who’s incredibly eloquent and gifted with words, yet refusing to use them.
 
I really don’t know what happened. Two days earlier, we had a great night when our team won trivia. All I can think of is that in the final messages, he sent a video I didn’t love, and I made a stupid joke in response that didn’t land. In retrospect, I can see that situation striking nerves and leading to miscommunication.
 
Peter openly admits he’ll go out of his way to avoid conflict. While I’m not particularly confrontational, I absolutely know the benefits of facing and addressing unpleasant and difficult things. Many of the best and most important experiences of my life have come from facing the hard thing. (See the examples in this post, especially #4. Yes, this Peter is the Peter from #3.) I understand needing to work up the courage to face something, but I don’t understand making the intentional choice to miss out on that goodness.
 
My analytical side wants to delve into all of our interactions and fix things, but that is not for me to do. That’s taking on work that belongs to someone else. I’m only responsible for what I know. I think I will low-key reach out to him once I finish something I’m behind on completing. Peter knows I’m making it, and I am generally someone who finishes what I start. Anything beyond that is up to him.
 
Overall, I am okay. When it comes down to it, neither the personal nor professional ghostings surprise me, but I am incredibly letdown. These were all individuals I trusted and still do care about, but they have now chosen not to know me. The direct sting of bad news hurts, but this vague poison of avoidance harms…

]]><![CDATA[Who Built the Table?]]>Tue, 14 Oct 2025 14:53:30 GMThttp://dorothyjeanrice.com/blog/who-built-the-tableMaking space at the table is a common analogy for inclusivity, and, honestly, one I never gave much thought. To me, it seemed obvious. Of course, everyone should be welcome to the discussion of important decisions. I took it for granted that it was a table of infinite size, and thought it was silly that anyone would be excluded. If I imagined any table at all, it was similar to the one described towards the end of CS Lewis's Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the incredibly long one loaded with a surplus of food for all.
 
The first time I gave any real consideration to the power dynamics of table space was while listening to an interview during the spicy times of Ferguson, MO, in 2014, after Michael Brown was shot. In it, the woman being interviewed pointed out that it’s one thing to get space at the table, but who built the table? Why won’t more white leaders accept invitations to black events and learn what’s already being done?
 
I feel naïve and ashamed to admit this, but it hadn’t even occurred to me that there could be more than one table. At the same time, it made perfect sense. Who built the table? It’s such a simple question. I started thinking about different stories and events I knew in the context of this reframing of the table metaphor. The person who “built the table” unquestionably has the balance of power in their favor. They get to set the rules and issue the invites. Tables have limited space and allow for exclusivity.

It also explains why a group with a powerful table would be resistant to accepting an invitation from another group. A real-life example of this also comes from Ferguson’s spicy times.
 
Michael Brown was shot in August, and the Grand Jury decision wasn’t made until the week of Thanksgiving. The entire space in between (and a while after) was full of tension. Understandably, folks were concerned about Halloween. It was proposed that the town sponsor a Trunk-or-Treat so the kids could have a safe and fun time. One respected Black Leader in the town reached out to the white Mayor and told him their community program had a well-established and well-attended Trunk-or-Treat and suggested they combine forces. The Mayor, who had a history of butting heads with this leader and was enjoying the attention of the national spotlight, declined. He chose instead to set up a separate town Trunk-or-Treat. I feel like it was at a competing time, but I can’t say that with confidence. However, I do know its attendees were predominantly white.
 
In other words, because the Mayor didn’t want to compromise and sit at another table for a minute, he missed the opportunity to help create a unifying event during a very divisive time.
 
My source? The wife of the Leader was one of my closest colleagues and a woman I respect immensely.
 
In conclusion, I’ve come to realize that’s why so many people in power ruin good things that don’t hurt them: they can’t stand other people having tables. If someone else has a table, then they have the ability to say I can’t join, and I can’t stand that.
 
Talk about insecurity.
​
I’ve been thinking about colonization and other invasions through the lens of this metaphor. True, it’s an oversimplification. But it’s also true that a family happily eating unique foods at a large table would piss off a fully selfish and insecure rich kid.
 
What is fascism but destroying other people’s tables?
​
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