For Murphy

It's been a week today. This evening, actually, if I want to be picky. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like last year. Either way, I'm sitting here drinking coffee, and picking a scab on a wound that's already trying to heal. I owe him that much. I owe him much more, but it's a debt I can never repay. Murphy was the center of my universe for 12 years, and now he's gone. I feel like a piece of my soul died with him. I know that more than a few of you understand completely. You are the people who have kept me afloat this week, and I love you for it. We are not casual pet owners, but dog (and cat) people. Many of us have built our lives around our animals in one way or another, and have devoted a great deal of time and attention to our understanding of them and our care of them. We get it.

I can't speak for everybody, but for me, I've often been closer to the animals in my life than the people. They are more honest; they "say" exactly what they mean. They aren't afraid to share their affection for you or to ask for what they want or need. They aren't afraid to give, either, and do so tirelessly. I've always been around animals, from the time I was very little. It's a central part of who I am. Now, for the first time in 26 years, I just have me to worry about. I'm not happy about it. For 26 years I've had a baby to take care of, then a kid and dogs, then a kid and dogs and horses, then a kid and dogs again, and then, for the last few years, just my dog needed me. Murphy has seen me through the loss of two other dogs, having to get out of horses for financial reasons, a horrific relationship, quitting smoking, a major move, my daughter's teen years, and finally my daughter's adulthood and independence. That's a hefty chunk of my life. He was my rock, the thing that kept me anchored no matter who came and went and no matter what else was going on. He provided that consistent companionship, and caring for him was a steadying influence on me. So now, folks talk to me about freedom, but it feels like anything but. My dog friends get it: "Use this time between dogs to your advantage" is the message. That I get. But freedom isn't the right word. It's more of a Janice Joplin/Bobby McGee kind of freedom, the line in the song that says "Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose". For me, it's not freedom, but a shallow kind of emptiness; meaningless days stretched out in front of me without purpose. I know that it will sound odd coming from somebody who is probably the most awkward, reclusive person on the planet, but it's connections that give life meaning. Everything else is secondary. And my powerful connection to animals has always been central to my existence.  

Murphy taught me a lot about dogs and myself, too. He was "that" dog. The one that humbles you, that knocks you out of your comfortable ideology and expands your way of thinking. He's the one that gives you a choice: Change your ingrained assumptions, or fail. He was attacked by an off-leash dog when we first moved into town, and it was the beginning of a very trying two years of rehab. When you live in a situation where you literally cease to have any control over outside circumstances the moment you step out your door, it changes a lot about how you can and can't handle things. Endless advice from folks who's entire protocol is dependent on controlling any and all outside influences becomes entirely useless. Add the layer of blame that inevitably comes with failure (despite impossible circumstance) and you have a formula for all manner of bad. I wish more trainers understood that. But being in that situation creates priorities: Keep my dog safe, keep me safe, keep others safe, and do the best we can. I read on a web board somewhere that a woman was upset that she was being sued by a neighbor because her 80 pound German Shepherd bit a child. She thought it wasn't her fault "because you can't expect a small woman to be able to hang on to an 80 pound German Shepherd". You're damned right you can, and that absolutely IS the expectation. I was never going to be *that* person. Moving to town made me all too aware of the crappy boundaries people have when it comes to dogs, and it made Murphy's rehab take much longer than it otherwise would have. It also meant I was very aware of my responsibility to control my own dog, since nobody else was.  Our safety meant I used a prong collar on Murphy to mitigate the strength differential. I lost friends over it (no, seriously) but Murphy's needs and Murphy's success were my priorities, not bending to ideologies of others. It was the first time I lost friends for putting my dog first. So be it.

I've known Murphy his whole life. I loved his parents and his grandparents, and he himself was loved before he was even born. People gave me grief because he wasn't a rescue. But he was born to be healthy and strong, and to have a great temperament. There are never any guarantees with living beings, but by being careful and conscientious, you can stack the deck in your favor. So we did. I heard about how unhealthy Dobermans were supposed to be, how unstable their temperaments were. But I knew better. Murphy lived to be 12 years old without ever having a breed-related issue. He got his CGC when he was a cheeky, nine-month-old puppy. He never bit anybody. He never snapped at children. In a world of good boys, he was the best. I made sure to tell him that every day. I can look back on Murphy's life without regrets. He ate fresh food and had a healthy diet that was carefully researched and balanced just for him. He had a lot of training, which for him was fun, one-on-one time. He knew everything, and a trained dog is a free dog. He used to go hiking with me. He ran around Shelburne farms with me, off leash. He traveled with me. He hated water, he didn't swim, and he didn't like the beaches here in Vermont. He LOVED to run on the soft, white sand on the beaches in Florida though, and he had opportunity to do just that. We played fetch at the park until we were both ready to drop (and sometimes Murphy would be left covered in mud!), and we would go snow shoeing. Sometimes, Murphy would jump on the back of my snowshoes to get out of the deep snow (he was no fool!), and I would do a (not) graceful face-plant. Only if there were people around to see it, though. We had a couple of memorable (and public) moments involving ice and squirrels, too. Murphy had a sense of humor, for sure. But I always made sure that he had plenty to do, and plenty of time to rest as well. When he started to slow down, we adjusted. I let him choose the pace. He spent hot, muggy summer afternoons snoozing in air-conditioned comfort. We changed his diet to accommodate his changing needs. As his ability to exercise diminished, his toys, games and treats became more important. We made sure he had plenty of all. He was walked everyday, brushed everyday, and had his teeth brushed everyday. Every morning, I told him he was beautiful. Every night, I told him that I loved him before we fell asleep. When folks ask "would you have done anything different if you had known it was his last day?" I can truthfully answer "no". I cared everyday. Every single one. Murphy wasn't a rescue dog, but he was a healthy dog who never knew a single day of fear, of loneliness, of being unloved. If I had a one wish for dogs, it would be that they all could be so fortunate. I think it's as important to support people who actively promote that ideal as it is to support rescue. The point is the well-being of the animals, always.

I saw it coming, but I didn't. Some of you know what I mean. Murphy was a 100 pound, 12 year-old Doberman. The fact that he existed was kind of miraculous, and I knew that every day with him was a gift. His well-being was prioritized right up to the end of his life. When an aggressive dog moved in down the hall from us and kept going after Murphy (twice very memorably, and requiring animal deterrent), we decided to move. We tried everything else first because we had lived in our home for 10 years, but it became clear that nothing was going to be done and we didn't really have a choice. It took weeks to prepare, and a grueling few days to execute, but we did it. Murphy was safe, and our new place an upgrade from where we were. It took a couple of days to settle in, to unpack, to put up shelves. And finally, last Wednesday, I woke up knowing we were done, and I was in total celebration mode. I was messaging a friend to that end and getting ready to pour myself a glass of wine when I saw that something was really wrong with Murphy. He couldn't get up. Over the last few months I had noticed some potential spinal degeneration, and he had vet appointment scheduled. But even that very day, everything was normal. He went for his walks, he ate his meals, just like any other day. And then suddenly, he lost the ability to use his hind end. My daughter's boyfriend was here, and the two of us tried to lift Murphy, to help him to his feet. Murphy couldn't stand at all. My daughter came home, and I called Tommy. Tommy was a boyfriend for ten years, a friend for even longer and the owner of Murphy's parents. He helped deliver Murphy into the world, and handed him over to me instead of insisting we sell him for some real money. He's always been an "animal first" kinda guy. His heart was as broken as mine. Tommy and Taylor (my daughter) carried Murphy, on his bed, to the back of my station wagon. We drove to the emergency vet. They put him on a stretcher, and laid him and his bed on the floor of a room. Taylor stayed on the floor with Murphy from the moment we arrived. We were all there. Taylor, Matt (my daughter's boyfriend), Tommy, and my dear friend Debbie even showed up, too. He was a very popular pinscher. Tommy and I knew the prognosis wasn't great from the moment we saw that Murphy couldn't stand up. The vet confirmed it. No matter how much money we spent or how much we did, there was no good outcome.

I don't remember much beyond that. It's funny how our minds work. I remember my daughter losing it because it's so odd for her. I remember saying goodbye to my best friend at 9:45. I remember my dear friends being there. I remember crying hysterically on Tommy's shoulder. I remember waking up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by familiar things, but with someone important missing. I never did have that glass of wine. I know it sounds odd, but it still hurts too much to drink. It's been a week. One week. I still feel oddly disconnected from everything. I went for a walk in my old area just for some grounding and familiarity, but all I did was cry. Maybe I needed to. I might for awhile. I know how this goes. I have the Chase Away 5K this Sunday, and my daughter and I will be there. I feel like every step forward that I take is a good one. My friends are amazing people. The support and kind words have meant everything. I don't say that casually or lightly. I love you guys, more than you can ever know. And now, there's nowhere to go but forward. I'll take Murphy with me, always in my heart, always a part of me, wherever I go. I'll love you forever, big guy.

Pain and Letting Go

Photo: Allie Brosh*

I did a big purge last week, and it felt pretty good. I don't mean the murdery kind with looting and whatnot, I mean cleaning out things I don't need. For somebody who doesn't really 'get' materialism, I sure do hang on to some stuff. Mostly what I've been hanging on to was dog stuff. It's one of the very few things that I'll spend real money on. Just ask my dog; he's wearing a nice coat made just for him, and I'm running around in holey sweatpants. Priorities, don'tcha know! I even cleared out Murphy's things that he doesn't use anymore, so wow!

 I've had 5 dogs in the last 25 years or so, most of them at the same time, and they had a lot of stuff. For some reason, I couldn't make myself let go of it. And a few days ago, it was like a revelation: I don't need to keep that stuff anymore. I wish that thought had occurred to me two moves ago, but better late than never.

 I get why there are certain things I hang on to. Scarcity has been a real thing and a big thing. Anything lost wasn't easily (or ever) replaced. That's part of it, but no longer relevant. The other bit is emotional: "But that belonged to________! How can I get rid of that?" But the truth is, I was there for the good parts, I got to spend time with my critters, and they'll never be forgotten. The rest is just stuff. Sure, keep a little something. But I don't have to keep ALL of it! So I gathered it up and donated it to somebody with a rescue who could make real use of it, and where it could do some good for some living critters. I feel lighter!


 It has often been a challenge for me to let go that way. I've experienced a lot of loss, and I suppose it was my way of hanging on in the only way I knew how. But the longer I live, the less I need that stuff, and the more confident I feel in the depths of those connections and the memories of those real and awesome experiences. Keeping 'stuff' is a little like building a monument to pain; a focus on loss and what's missing instead of the bigger, more important parts.

 Pain is part of life; EVERYBODY'S life. It's certainly been a part of mine. But what do I want to do with it? Do I want to make it the central pillar that I construct the rest of my life around? F*** no! I want to acknowledge it, experience it, and move through it, knowing there is something on the other side. I want to learn what I need to from it, and then heal. I recently watched "Nanette" by Hannah Gadsby (Highly recommend! Very Powerful!) and there was one line that she said that really stood out to me: "There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself" And boy, she isn't kidding! But that means you don't stay broken! And I'm NOT a broken woman anymore, and haven't been for a looooong time. Not everybody seems to have gotten that memo.

 Okay, so this took a turn as it often does. I guess that's what my blog is for :-) But full disclosure: Parts of my life really hurt right now. There's nothing I can do about it. I'm having to be very 'Serenity Prayer' about some things, and it's hard. I know I can always resort to what my shrink calls "the Nuclear Option"(publicly publishing the truth of an ugly situation I'm involved in), but it isn't who I am. I would certainly be vindicated, but at what cost? Ergo, accepting the things I can't change, and trusting life to sort it out. It always has, so I have to have faith in that.

So like my purging of all the dog stuff that I don't need, I'm purging the unhelpful emotional weight that I've been carrying around. I don't need it. Letting go doesn't change time or experiences, or negate anything good or valuable. It just allows to me to focus forward on things that are positive, loving, nurturing and healing. Sometimes that's all we can can do.

*This photo came from one of my favorite blogs! It can be found here: Hyperbole and a Half: Boyfriend Doesn't Have Ebola. Probably

Gun Violence

I was going to call this post something else, something a little less incendiary.  But I'm very much about telling it like it is whenever possible, and the title is apt. It's been another rough week. Another week of partisan propaganda, another week of circular arguments, another week of kids begging our government to do something, another week of protests planned. My friends and family know very well what my personal feelings on this issue are, what my opinions are, and what I believe. I will get to that in a bit, too. Just a little. I'm realizing though, that if this is a problem we want to solve (and I often have to wonder if there are some who like things just as they are), we need to get beyond our opinions, thoughts, feelings, political biases and personal beliefs. We need to understand that any proposed solution that falls into the ban guns/more guns box, is a non-starter. It's the argument we have Every. Single. Time. It gets us nowhere, it will ALWAYS get us nowhere, if for no other reason than each of these proposals (in their many incarnations) fails to consider the values and priorities of enormous groups of people. I don't like that idea because it means I don't get what I want, either. But there it is. This isn't about a party getting their way, it's about solving a problem that really needs to be solved.

Party politics hasn't been the only issue, but it's certainly been a major contributor. What we've failed to do is study this issue objectively, and it's something that really needs to be done ASAP. It's been difficult to do so because of legislation put in place to block that and to block funding that supports it. It's a situation that's outlined fairly well in this article: What's Missing From the Gun Debate  
Once upon a time, the NRA used to be a reputable American institution. They were about firearm safety, and about protecting rights. This is no longer the case. Please understand that I grew up in a rural hunting culture, and watching the decline of the NRA was like watching a trusted friend become a murdering psychopath. I mention this only for context. Without a doubt, somebody is reading this and assuming "brainwashed libt***". Sorry, no. I'm not going to fit into any of the neat little boxes you've been told to believe in, so don't bother trying. I'm just not very suggestible. But try to look at this objectively, if you can. The latest propaganda put out by the NRA isn't just alarmingly Orwellian and irresponsible. It's dangerous, outright lies directed at people who are less discerning about what they will believe, and inclined to act on the misinformation provided. The NRA knows EXACTLY what they are doing. On the upside, as their message has gone more and more off the rails, their membership has dropped. Last year I looked into the specific numbers (and I encourage you to do the same. It's a much better use of time than arguing with what you don't want to hear!) and the percentage of Americans who owned guns was somewhere around 40%. Of those folks, only about 5% were NRA members. This may have changed since last year (check it out! I will share non-partisan links if you find them!)  Money HAS to be an issue here. And here is a big ol' question for ya: How does a lobby that represents such a small fraction of our population have more power over our government than the people who elected that government? And why aren't we losing our collective sh** over that? Because we should be!

I wouldn't be me if I didn't try to breakdown some of the proposals I've heard on social media. In the ban guns category, the most popular suggestion is to ban "assault rifles". I won't personally go into detail, but I will share this Wiki page with you: Federal Assault Weapons Ban  As with anything I post, if you don't trust the source, don't bother arguing with me about it. Do your own research. Learn some things. One of the unfortunate things about semi-automatic weapons (besides their obvious kill efficiency) is the ease in which they can be converted to automatic (which is illegal). They were designed to be easy to convert, and conversion supplies/kits/instructions are legal and readily available. This isn't by accident or oversight. IMHO, this needs to be addressed NOW, at the very least. I have friends who love their semis and are responsible with them. I've said I don't have a problem with these folks having them. But right now ANYONE can have them, right down to the dude arguing with the carrots in the grocery store (to be fair, that could be me on any given day as well, lol). That's not okay. The other popular suggestion is to ban guns entirely. That is a non-starter, what with the whole 2nd amendment and all. (Having said that, I wish people showed equal concern for the other amendments. Just sayin'.) And see above re: values and priorities of large groups of people.

Popular on the more guns side of the argument is the idea of armed guards at schools. The problems with that are many: There was an armed guard present at our most recent mass shooting, and that didn't stop it. In fact, there are armed guards at banks that still get robbed, in malls where items are still stolen and violence still occurs, and we've had presidents shot and/or killed SURROUNDED by highly trained, armed protectors. Personally, another issue for me is the normalizing of violence. This is a just me, opinion thing here, but I don't want to live in a culture that surrounds it's children with guns, or needs to. In my opinion, for a developed country, that is a HUGE fail. In the same category is arming teachers. I don't know who YOUR teachers were, but none of mine was Rambo. (I'm trying to imagine my gentle, elderly humanities teacher drawing down on an angry teenager with a semi-automatic. Yeah, not so much). Most of my mother's teachers were nuns. They could be scary, but seriously? Here's the biggest problem with that though: TEACHERS don't want that. You are asking them to be willing to commit suicide as part of their job description. We already have enough trouble finding and keeping good teachers, this expectation might just eliminate the profession altogether. We have made education so low on the priority list that we already have trouble funding schools, even to the point of providing basic supplies for the students. But now we suddenly have funds for tactical training and weapons? Um, huh?

Okay, here's the bit where I get personal. I don't want more guns. We have a huge issue with gun-related violence in this country, to the point we are uniquely violent within the developed world and getting more so. It's shameful. Having said that, I understand that it isn't just a gun problem. It IS a gun problem in that access is essentially unlimited. But there are other contributing factors, too, and I believe that we can't put all of our focus on one, single thing. We need to be willing to look at all the issues, and we need to study the issues in real time. In my fantasy world, lobbies no longer get to use money to influence policies. Our government is clearly a sh** show, let's DEAL with that. Taking away the financial influence would be a productive step in the right direction. We need to keep tabs on the folks who stockpile weapons. I don't mean 'Uncle Joe Hunter" with his cabinet full of hunting rifles. I happen to think a lot of 'Uncle Joe'. He's a decent guy, a good friend and neighbor, and he just wants to go hunting with his friends come November. I'm talking about the angry, paranoid guy who thinks his lack of impulse control and his anger management issues make him AWESOME. This guy won't take responsibility for his own behavior. He's an entitled, giant toddler who thinks everybody better tip toe around him, or else. And he loves to collect weapons and brag. THIS guy needs to not have guns. We have to find a fair and logical way to make sure of that, while leaving 'Uncle Joe' to do his thing. I don't have the answers here, really. I'm just a heartsick person who can't take any more of this sh**. I just know that the only way we are going to fix this and have a country worth living in is to want to solve the problem, and to want that more than we want to "win".

Disconnect

If you know me at all, you know that I am much more comfortable in the realm of thought than I am with feelings. My ability to think things through and mentally pick things apart and make objective assessments has been a really powerful survival mechanism for me. It's true that sometimes my thoughts get away from me, but usually because of feelings. Ergo my discomfort. Feelings always seem to be something that happen TO me, something I don't have much control over. They range from warm and pleasant, to intense and unstoppable. Sometimes those feelings are a tidal wave that turns my life upside down. But what choice is there, really? I spend time on my computer, using the internet as a buffer, as a way to disconnect. Sometimes the internet is a compassionless and ugly place.

For the last couple of weeks I've felt as though I was walking around with my heart outside of my body. I don't run from my feelings because I don't have any, but because I do. The human suffering in this world doesn't go unnoticed by me, the losses don't go unmourned. Whether those losses are natural and at a distance, whether they are needless and directly effect someone close to me, or whether they are the result of gratuitous and thoughtless violence. There have been a lot of them, and the cracks in my carefully constructed, personal armor are widening and visible. I know what it feels like to suddenly have the rug pulled out from under you with catastrophic consequences for you and your loved ones. I know all too well what loss feels like. Having said that, I would like to take a moment to express gratitude for the security I currently enjoy and the loved ones my life is blessed with. As a friend recently said, "Life can turn on a dime." It's a fact I know all too well.
 
I had occasion to go back home recently. It was for a funeral, but as I embraced my old friends, the people who shaped my childhood, I realized how much I missed them; how much I miss living in the real world, even when it's painful, or chaotic, and even messy. In spite of this realization, I need desperately to retreat and process. The world has been a painful place just lately. But that isn't new. Today I'm supposed to be at the Chase Away 5K. I'm on the planning committee, and it's a cause near and dear to me. I've never missed a year. But I've got nothing left. So I do what I do to heal. I do this, and I walk/run.

Sometimes, It's about running TO something instead of from it. About being in the moment. Sometimes it's my own desire to overthink things that gets in my way, so I run. I allow my thoughts to fall away, and focus on the thud of my footfalls and the rasp of my breath. I revel in the ache of working muscles, and the trickle of sweat at the small of my back. I always take the detour through the woods. Where the path dips over the brook, I speed up; I run down one side and up the other until I feel like my heart is going to burst. And then I stop and I listen. I feel the wind and the sun on my face. I hear the brook and the birds. I am reminded of my own humanity, that we are all flesh and bone, animated by spirit. We are a part of this world and each other. Any harm we do affects it all. But by the same token, any good that we do ripples outward indefinitely. That's the part I need to hang onto. I need that constant reminder, a connection with the gritty and real. I give myself time to watch the squirrels and enjoy the earthy redolence of fallen leaves, and I let it all go.

Culture Shock

Papa and I in our canvas 'tennisses'

I'm sick again. This never happens. I almost never get sick. This winter hasn't been particularly harsh, and I can't ever remember a time when I took better care of myself in terms of diet and exercise, and yet here it is. I do get it though. I've been having nightmares pretty regularly too, and the tone of them is always the same. Sometimes the dream is about people I love joining a cult that does terrible things. Sometimes it's about people I love having friends that kill and torture people, but they have no issue with it. In my dreams, I always try to talk to my loved ones, and they either answer me in a foreign language and then laugh when I don't understand, or they tell me I need to get over it. Sometimes during these conversations there's screaming in the background. Sometimes it feels like I'm in hell and I can't find the way out. That feeling stays with me into the waking world sometimes, when I remember what the world is now. That's why I'm writing this. I won't stop getting sick until I acknowledge that what I really am is heartsick. What I feel is disconnected, because they changed and I didn't, though they think it's the other way around.

There's all this talk about going back to 'what was', but that's not the direction we're going. We're going in a direction that is as anti 'what was' as it is anti progress. I know what it's like to grow up in one world, and suddenly find yourself in a world that you don't really fit into anymore. I grew up in a small town. I knew and loved everybody. I would ride my bike to the library and know who lived in every house on the way. I always had quarters in my pocket (courtesy of my grandfather) so I could stop at Mr. Alberghini's store for a chocolate bar or some peanuts. If I picked up the mail on the way home, I always made sure to say "Hello" to Mr. McIntyre at the post office. There were dirt roads, farms, cows and horses. There was a roving pack of dogs that spent their days together (our dog was one of them), and who all were home by dinner time. I used to have brand new, homemade hats and mittens to wear to school every year. The town was overrun by kids riding bikes and horses every day in the summer. I went to church every Sunday and to catechism, and sometimes the priest would have dinner at our house. I sat on the front porch in a rocking chair watching it rain while my grandfather sang "Pennies From Heaven" (our family liked to sing), I played pick-up softball with the neighbors in the summer, sometimes until the sun went down. I was a girl scout, and learned to care for the planet and our natural resources. I was in 4-H and learned how to take responsibility for my animals. I learned that no man is an island, and that we are part of a community and in that way are responsible for each other. I watched westerns with my grandfather, and I wanted to be a cowboy (or an Indian. Either one, as long as I got to ride FAST) We went ice skating in the winter. We had a phone with a cord, and if you wanted a private conversation you had to sit at the top of the cellar stairs and talk quietly. We used to wait until it was dark, and then play hide and seek or tell ghost stories. I rode in the back of pick up trucks, my long hair usually in a ponytail and covered by a bandana. I went to drive-in movies and drive-up eateries. I remember when TV would end the broadcast day at midnight.

Back then, kindness and respect were the norm. We didn't have to legislate it or talk about it, because it was just a part of life. People who had respect for themselves treated others respectfully. It's just the way it was. It was part of the fabric of everything I knew. I said "Thank you" to my school bus driver and the lunch ladies every day. I always called folks who were older than me "Mr.", "Miss", or "Mrs." unless told to do otherwise (still do), out of respect. My grandparents weren't just real Republicans, they were real Christians. They always put people before money, and they were generous. When somebody needed help they were there if they could be. Most of the neighbor children had at least one toy fixed by my grandfather, or a boo boo tended to by my mom or grandmother. I learned that 'fiscal responsibility' meant spending carefully, and taking good care of things so that they would last a long time. That way, you'd have the money when you needed it for something important, like people, especially family. I learned that when you help somebody you do it without strings and without need of recognition. My grandparents helped me a lot financially, and they would refuse repayment (Nana: "I'm not taking your money. Do I look that cheap?"). But we grew up understanding that we were very, very fortunate to have the money, and that not everybody was. The lesson was that, as adults, we should be just as willing to share our good fortune with others should we also be so blessed. We also learned to love everybody. We didn't have to like them, but we did have to love them. We learned that it wasn't our place to judge other people, and that hating others was like poisoning yourself. If I came home talking smack about somebody (rare), my grandmother would say something like "Nevermind! You just worry about you!" I didn't really know anything about gender equality issues because my mom did whatever the hell she wanted, and didn't feel any need whatsoever to explain herself. It was through teachers and school that I learned how "scandalous" that was and how difficult my mom's path really had been. I admired the hell out of her because I saw the toll it took sometimes, but she kept on going.

Compared to the world I grew up in, the world I live in now seems cold, crass, tactless, selfish and often cruel. And it's getting worse, on purpose. I think it's part of why I have such a hard time with the current version of the Republican party. I'm an Independent, but will admit to leaning heavily to the left by default. I go where my inner morality takes me, and much of that morality was shaped by my grandparents who helped to raise me. My grandparents were REAL Republicans, when it was the party of the people, of workers rights, of empowerment of the individual through fair and ethical employment, and of fiscal responsibility. If you had asked them which party was more important, they would tell you that they both were important in order to create balance. I was too young to really grasp the specific political beliefs of my grandparents, but I knew and respected their personal values, and have tried (and continue to try) very hard to emulate those values in my adult life. I have to wonder what they would think of today's political climate. I know a lot of wonderful, decent people who still support the Republican party by default, despite it's departure from the party's real values. I have often wondered how that's possible. But I heard a story (parable, tale, whatever) the other day that sort of explained it for me. I can't remember where I heard it (TV?), but it was about how to boil a frog.  As the story goes, if you drop a frog in boiling water it will simply jump out and be on it's way. But if you put the same frog in cool water and turn up the temperature very gradually, the frog wont realize it's being boiled. Kind of a gross analogy, but you get the point. We've slowly, so slowly, given ourselves over to financial priorities. We have reality TV and cable news keeping us complacent and entertained. We've allowed ourselves to be divided and conquered for profit. And I'm so damned angry. I remember 'great'.  Great was ethical, kind, respectful, reasonable, inclusive, and GOOD. It was humane and careful and responsible. That's not where we're headed, not at all. And those good values I grew up with are being erased and made a mockery of. The truly Christian values I was raised with are being twisted and used to punish and hate. We're being sold an enormous lie and we are just going along with it, selling out what's important and to our own detriment. No wonder I feel sick. I wish there was a way I could shake people awake and remind them of who they are, but I don't know how. We're boiling. We're boiling like crazy, and people are cheering about it.

Poverty and Homelessness

A work in progress

There has been a lot of talk among my friends about poverty and homelessness lately. It has all been really constructive, positive and loving "What can I do to help the cause" sort of talk, and it's all good, but it's brought up a lot of things for me that I still really struggle with. Once upon a time, I thought some time and distance would fix the emotional wounds that are caused by poverty and homelessness, but I suppose it isn't that simple. Yes, I have been on welfare. My daughter and I have been homeless twice. We couch surfed so we were lucky, but luck is relative, I suppose. I grew up thinking, no, believing with my whole heart, that God never gives you more than you can handle, that adversity makes you stronger, that if you are polite and kind and do the right things, then bad things can't touch you, and that family will always be there for you. I believed that our lives are as positive or negative as the choices we make, but that we always had a choice. I know better than all that now. I wish I didn't, and maybe that's why I don't really talk about it, but if I can make just one person understand, or if I can take the self-hatred out of someone else's experience, then this difficult and painful disclosure is worthwhile. Sometimes things do the most harm if they're allowed to fester below the surface and never allowed exposure to the light of day. And it IS a new day, but nothing can erase what we've been through.

Poverty is one of those things that's extremely misunderstood. There's this idea that there is a solid safety net, that a person has to err egregiously to find themselves struggling financially, and boy, if you end up homeless,  then certainly you must have done SOMETHING to deserve that. I'll tell you what I did: I had a child. Even though it was the best, most positive and straight up honorable thing I've ever done with my life, it meant I was automatically living below the poverty line. I didn't get any child support. It happens. I hadn't finished college yet, so the amount of money I could make was negligible. I depended on welfare and the money I could make either working at home (I was a sculptor) or at jobs I could bring my child to. My grandmother helped me out a lot for awhile and we were okay, but then she died. My parents tried to help inasmuch as they could too, but the whole structure of my family had dissolved and my personal safety net was gone. Then, everything changed.

I won't get into all the details because they are tedious. But the reality for the average poor person looks something like trying to pay $800 worth of bills with $600 every month. Month after month. It fluctuates up and down periodicity depending on what you yourself are able to make (Congratulations on your new job. You are now losing your food stamps and have less money to work with.) I had a lot of nice things (I'm so lucky to have had good stuff to start with. I'm so lucky I came from a good family). I had to sell a lot of them at ridiculous prices, but at least I had them to sell. I was even able to start a business boarding dogs, and we did okay for awhile there too. But the thing about limited resources that is the most terrifying is the inability to absorb the impact of other peoples' decisions. You are quite literally at the mercy of people who care more about the bottom line than they care about you, or more about who knows what. I just know that when my basement flooded (the landlord had removed the pump before I moved in. I couldn't afford one of my own), my landlord got married and moved away, leaving her son in charge. He didn't take care of the basement (as promised), he didn't bring back the pump. When holes rotted through the floor and toxic mold grew in the walls, my daughter and I started getting sick (just get a spray bottle with bleachwater) and finally the place was condemned. It's what you can expect when the rent is "affordable", unfortunately. We couldn't find another place.

My parents rallied, my boyfriend at the time and his mom did too (Not my boyfriend anymore, but I still love them both). The plan was a house for my daughter and I, and an expanded business plan. I had this. I had people. We were going to be okay. We had it all worked out. And then we didn't. At the last minute, everything fell apart (My own family doesn't believe in me. I must be a terrible person). We scrambled to find something, ANYTHING. But rents are high and sometimes on purpose. Gotta keep the riff raff out, ya know. We lost our home and my business in one fell swoop.

There's something about packing your things when you know everything is going into storage (I can't believe this is happening). There's a disbelief (This can't be real) that goes with it until those final moments (at least my dogs are okay in my friend's kennel). It feels like a train is coming, and you're tied to the tracks. It feels like like screaming for help in a dream where nobody can hear you. And worse, your child's fate is inextricably tied to yours. It's what you think of in that moment when you load up the last of your things on the truck (I'm so lucky to have help moving my stuff), the moments when you are putting everything you own (at least I have stuff and a place to keep it) into a storage locker; your bed, your child's bed, your books and your child's toys. Then that slam of the door sliding shut on your whole world, and the click of the lock.  But the worst moment is that one when you get in your car (at least I have a car) and your child looks at you, and all you can think is "What do we do now?" (Oh God, don't cry. If ever you needed to hold it together it's now. Do it. Be strong. You failed. You failed. You're a failure. You failed your child, so you better HOLD IT TOGETHER YOU LOSER.) It's weird that life just keeps going. I'd bring my daughter to school, fortunate that she had that stability (Thank you, B&T), then go to the kennel to take care of the dogs (I'm so lucky to have a safe place for them), and search day after day for a place to call home. I would go pick up my daughter after school (Act normal. Keep it together. Nobody wants to hear about your embarrassing problems. Failure Failure Failure. Don't forget to smile. All these people get to go home and have dinner. They get to relax and go to bed. I wonder if they know how awesome that is.)

A lot of people have a lot of misunderstandings about poverty and homelessness. There's so much propaganda floating around out there that's very enticing. If you believe the poor are okay, you don't have to do anything. If you think the safety net works, YOU are off the hook.  If you believe that the poor and homeless did it to themselves, it allows you the triple advantage of 1) getting to pass judgement 2) getting to feel 'better than' and 3) you have the opportunity to feel good about turning your back on other human beings. I think very few people would knowingly do that, but the misinformation that's spread around has made poor-bashing acceptable and normal. It's disgusting. If you seriously believe that there is any advantage to being poor, I strongly encourage you to be in touch with local organizations who deal with poverty issues. Or, you know, talk to poor people. Perhaps even more important, set aside your personal bias and LISTEN.

Having said that, some of the LEAST understanding people I have ever met are social workers. Some are amazing, some just want to get through the day, but there are a surprising number of them who just want to talk down to you, talk at you, tell you how to live your life and talk to you about choices. They have the right intentions, but they are coming from their own place and not that of the client. They can't relate at all but they think they understand perfectly. It's a very dangerous combination, and likely the source of the perpetuation of misinformation so prevalent in the media today. They dispense a lot of advice that folks don't want or need and really can't take. To be clear, the REAL choices are: Food or rent, food  or gas, food or electricity, food or cleaning supplies, and when it gets toward the end of the month, food for me OR for my child (obviously a no-brainer). If I had a nickel for every person who wanted to talk at me about my "budgeting issues" or similar subjects (you just have to learn to be POSITIVE!), I would have had no more financial problems. My biggest budgeting issues were that I didn't have enough money, and lacked a magic wand.

So what DO the poor need? The short answer is more money. It takes a shocking amount of time and energy to wake up every day wondering how to feed you family, and to traipse about (if , in fact you are fortunate enough to have the ability to traipse), all over town to access random services, hoping to piece together enough money to keep the light on. It's energy that would be much better spent elsewhere. No matter what Fox "News" and their ilk say, nobody wants to be poor, poverty isn't lucrative, there is no advantage and nobody is doing well on subsidies. NOBODY. Pardon my French, but that is bullshit. I tried to come up with a better word, but there isn't one. On the rare occasion that somebody attempts fraud, they are caught and prosecuted. The second thing people need is opportunity. People who have opportunities take them so for granted that they can't even kinda understand that they aren't available to everyone, or conceive of how different life might be without them. It makes a huge difference when mommy and daddy pay for your education and sign off on all the big purchases so that you can build something positive for yourself right from the get go. It changes everything.

The other thing to remember is that homelessness isn't the problem, it's the symptom. If ever there was proof that the poor weren't getting what they need to help themselves and stop being poor, it's the alarming rate of homelessness. Homelessness happens when you have done everything you can do and it doesn't work, and have asked for help that doesn't come. It's a point of utter helplessness and hopelessness. I can't speak for everyone, but for me it was that moment when I realized that everything I believed in was bullshit. It was the moment when I knew to whom I mattered, and to whom I didn't. I realized that God most definitely gives you more than you can handle, and when it happened something broke so profoundly inside me that I've never been the same. Over the years I've worked hard at gluing all the little pieces together, but I don't think I'll ever be the same. I'm seriously agoraphobic. I mean, seriously. The panic attacks are so embarrassing, but it is what it is. I get nosebleeds whenever I get correspondence from my landlord, even though it's always benign. So no, adversity doesn't always make you stronger. Sometimes it fucks you up irrevocably. But I'm working on it. Even so, I can't help but believe it happened for a reason. I have yet to discover what that reason might be, but I'll know it when I see it.

It's over for us now, the 'living it' part. My daughter is an adult and we share household expenses. But every time I hear somebody trash the poor I get angry, because they are trashing me. Every time somebody disrespects and dehumanizes the homeless, they are dehumanizing me, and worse, my daughter. Those families are us, those children are my child. Anybody can end up there. It took me years of scraping and clawing to forgive myself for the sins that I was held accountable for but never actually committed, but I did do that much. I believe in myself, but very few others. My cynicism was well-earned. I wish I smiled more, that I was calmer and less emotional. I'll get there. In the meantime, I will always defend and advocate for those who can't do it for themselves, because I know they can't. I won't judge because nobody can be harder on a person than they are on themselves. But mostly because I understand that sometimes, people don't need a lecture or a pep-talk; what they need is real, tangible help.

Father's Day

Photo: commons.wikimedia.org

Yesterday, all social media was a veritable smorgasbord of Father's day gratitude and wishes. While I'm grateful as hell for my step-dad, and my grandfather was the best dad ever, it's not my bestest day ever. Interestingly enough, my daughter doesn't jump for joy on Father's day either. I like to think that I'm far beyond my past experience, that we make our own future in spite of ourselves. I will always believe that we choose who we become, and that at a soul level nobody can influence who we choose to be. We are in charge of ourselves.

It's tough, though, to overcome some ideas. If, in your experience, almost every man you know has lied, cheated on you or bailed out entirely, trust is not wildly abundant. I dislike my mistrustful nature, it's something I struggle with and am trying to overcome. But at the same time, it's pretty difficult to dismiss a lifetime of experience. I wish so much that I could have provided my daughter with something better, a different understanding, but you can't make people be compassionate, connected or responsible, even when they appear to be all those things (well, as long as they are getting what they want, anyway).

I was already feeling somewhat bummed out when a friend posted an aggressively ignorant (and over-the-top offensive) comment about "lazy single mothers". I won't use the language I would like to here, but I hit the delete button pretty quickly yesterday. If a person can believe for a moment that a single mother has the luxury of being lazy (job, no job, either way), then that's a special kind of ignorant. The kind that doesn't take into account the MAN who is 50% of the equation. Women make mistakes. Some of us start our lives believing only the best in people. We believe the words we are told, we believe "I love you" means just that. Sometime we make ourselves sick believing it, we so need to find that human compassion in another person. Is it OUR fault then, that we were lied to? That we were left holding the bag? Please, explain to me how? How is it our fault that we can't read the deception when someone lies with sincerity to our faces? Should we just assume all men are cheaters and liars, then?

I won't do that. I won't judge an entire group of human beings based on the egregious behavior of a few (unlike my ignorant "friend"). All the same, the things I've learned stay with me. I have learned that if I want it done, I have to do it. That in a pinch, I can count on me. I have learned not to give my trust away. Now it has to be earned. I have learned that my strength and resourcefulness is unlimited. I learned the hard way. Unfortunately, so has my daughter. I know what it's like to fall on my face while others thrive at my expense.

We're okay, my daughter and I. Better than okay because we're careful and smart. Neither of us is the sad "If I don't have a boyfriend I'll just die" type. I feel sorry for those women, always depending on a man to define who they are. I love that we can stand on our own two feet. I learned how to do that from my "lazy single mother". The one who raised two children without child support (I only raised one child without child support), and yet still managed to give us her time and her love. She didn't run our father down, but told us the good things about him so that we may feel good about all parts of ourselves. Our "lazy single mother" encouraged all our endeavors, even if it meant working more hours to support them or finding more hours in an already-too-short day to make things happen. She did it all with a sense of humor (she wrote her master's thesis on the health benefits of having a sense of humor) and in spite of the struggle our house was warm and full of laughter. She never said "you can't do that, you're a girl". We believed we could do anything, because she showed us we could.

So, to my aggressively ignorant "friend", and to those dads who are whining about single moms getting Father's Day cards, deal with a dose of reality, if you please. While I'm certain of the value of a good dad, there are many of us out there who know that sometimes, men bail. We women won't take the blame and we DO deserve the credit for picking up the broken pieces of the family left behind.

The Cult of Newer is Better

Photo: wallpapers.fansshare.com

Some days I feel old. I know I'm not, really, but things can change rapidly. Some things that went away come back again. It feels like I'm constantly dealing with some update or another with my electronics. You know, the ever-shifting landscape of the average, first-world Joe's life. I'm not that old, but in many ways the world is a completely different place from the one I grew up in and was prepared for.

Okay, let me be clear; I am very much like Sheldon on the Big Bang Theory. I don't handle change well, I love my routines, I'm socially awkward and I have a 'spot'. While I look forward to happy changes, the unhappy ones (or even the neutral ones) are generally devastating and send me reeling for some time.  Hell, even happy changes that I've sought out and pursued can take a long time to assimilate and accept. Having said that, I think I do okay. I like new information, I love to learn new things and I love to study the hell out of the things that interest me. New information is brain-fodder; it keeps the flames of intellect extra flamey (which is sorely needed) and sometimes new IS better. Having said that, I know all too well how fads and trends come and go, so I try to apply common sense and a bit of objectivity to all new endeavors. I think the older you get, the more this approach makes sense. Unfortunately, you can't really apply this to electronics.

One example of things that have changed a lot for the better is dog training. There was the popularity of the Koehler method, then we had The Woodhouse Way, and of course, we cannot forget the Monks of New Skete. Each one of these systems had strong advocates (some still do), a closed-minded adherence to method over all and almost a cult following (sound familiar?). Each was based on experience and learning theory. Things changed for dogs when John Fisher came along. To this day, if I could be said to have a dog-training guru, it would be this fellow. He was the first one who said "Hey, wouldn't this work better if we tried to understand what motivates dogs and tried to understand them a little better?" The first dog-training book I ever bought was "Think Dog" and it was awesome :-) He introduced the reader to pack theory, the idea of positively-motivated behavior change, how food/nutrition can influence dog behavior (he advocated Eucanuba), and how a dog's behavior could be positively influenced by the right combination of Bach flower remedies. And he was the SHIZIT. I'm not saying that with sarcasm either (in spite of the fact that most of what's on the aforementioned list is largely irrelevant now), he really was the best. I even still have a set of Throwing disks. When Mech recanted everything we knew about pack theory, Mr. Fisher didn't just go away with his tail between his legs. He did what no well-known dog trainer has ever done before or since: He admitted he was wrong, dug into the research some more, and came away smarter and better for it (and WE benefited greatly for it too, as did our dogs). These days, the owner gets blamed, the dog gets blamed, EVERYTHING but the method gets blamed. 'Cause, science (and everybody knows we've never applied science to animal behavior until just now, of course). Speaking of, I think it would be interesting to do a study to determine how many systems involving living creatures of ANY kind are actually infallible. I'm guessing not many. It's a sad commentary on egotism, but highlights what a special sort of man John Fisher was. Mr. Fisher was more interested in the dog in front of him than in promoting a specific protocol, and for that he will always have my respect (even though he passed away some time ago). Most importantly, he changed the system for the better, and then he changed it again. I'm noticing a cultish sort of trend occurring around training theory again, but I've been around long enough to understand how this works.

Speaking of things coming around again...so, rope halters for horses! Yup, they made the rounds in the 70's. I even remember seeing the ads in the old magazines. They were touted as being "the cool and lightweight alternative". They fell out of favor because they were kind of dangerous and irritating to the horse's face. Now they're back, and they have knots. We put them on, connect a heavy rope, and then SHAKE the rope to get the horse to...I'm not sure what. Then we call it natural.  This is one of those things that falls into the category of "things Kristel doesn't know enough about to speak from an educated viewpoint", so I can only opine based on observation. Is Natural Horsemanship a humane alternative to 'cowboy breaking'? To tying a horse to a sturdy post and flogging it until it gives in? Saddling it up and riding it until it stops fighting? Ah, yeah. I think that goes without saying. But as an alternative to a centuries-old system that always put the feelings of the horse first, always left the horse's temperament and personality intact and never put the horse at risk of physical or psychological damage? Not so much. There are hacks in all systems, and lots of different ways to get the job done. I guess my point here was "Hey, rope halters are back? Didn't we already decide we didn't like those? Maybe we forgot. Part of getting old is that we forget a lot of things, then somebody repackages it and markets it as something new and we get all excited again. C'est la vie.

What set off this mini-tantrum? You're going to laugh. Seriously. It's simple: My computer updated itself. It does it a lot, it does so without my permission, and every time it does it I just want it to go back to the way it was. Sometimes, new is better. I know this, as highlighted above. Sometimes, it's complicated as hell, and new for the sake of new is crazy-making. Sure, I took a computer course in college. It was MS Dos. How many of you even know what means? I don't know what that means. My I-pod is now obsolete and I can't play Dragonvale anymore. Do you know how upsetting that is? No, you probably don't. You probably have new ipods, or ipads, or you don't give a rat's furry bottom about dragons. I miss my dragons. The solution is to get a new device (which is totally what they intend!!!) but then I have to learn how to use it. It reminds me of the time I found my mother sitting on her couch in a quiet house, staring at a basket full of remote controls that was sitting in her lap. When i asked her what was wrong (she looked mildly distraught), her response was "I just want to watch channel 3, and I don't know how". I know how you feel, Mom. I'm right there with you. I know the demoralizing pain of having to ask my child to sort out my electronics. It shouldn't have to be that way. As fun, innovating and interesting as new information and new things can be, they are much easier to take when I seek them out. They are far less appreciated when they are thrust upon me.

Lost and Found

Photo: www.wikipaintings.org

I've had more than a few conversations and circumstances this weekend that reminded me of the past. For the most part, I look back with fondness on my childhood. School was tough (though I did well academically and was treated well by other students) but everything else was pretty great. The older I get and the more familiar I am with the world and people in it, the more grateful I am for such a nurturing and grounded start in life.

One of the cool things about social media has been reconnecting with all those sweet and familiar faces that were such an important part of my youth. Best friends from childhood, people I went to school with and even folks I didn't know all that well but took for granted. I cherish what social media allows in terms of seeing how all these wonderful people have grown up; I love sharing their successes, seeing their children and being a part of their lives even if only in cyberspace. I know some people view it as some twisted sort of competition (I've seen countless memes alluding to that) but I don't. I think we all get to win, and that we are doing just that in our own unique ways. Sometimes I miss those times, the innocence and simplicity, so much it hurts. There have been some really tough days in the not-so-distant past (or more accurately, not-distant-enough past!) when I believed that all my best times were behind me. That all I had to look forward to was struggle, and that all that was good had been taken from me in one way or another. Pretty darned dismal way to think, I know. But when you're mired in what feels like an inescapable muck, it isn't hard to go there. There were days when I felt like somebody had pushed me down a hill and I just couldn't seem to stop falling.

Okay, before I go any further (and bum the hell out of everybody in dramatic fashion) let me first acknowledge that have boat-loads of hope for the future, I am an optimist, an idealist and an unrealistic-as-realist :-) Even so, I could never quite shake the feeling that something valuable had been lost; like some intrinsic piece of me was damaged and gone forever.

But here's the thing: No, it isn't. It's all still there. Just because it isn't happening now, doesn't mean it didn't happen. I know that's probably a big "DUH" but it hasn't felt like one. The truth is, nobody (not even time) has the power to rob me of all the beauty, wonder and joy I've experienced. It's all mine, and its mine forever. Even my scars are mine; they don't require permission, validation or approval to exist. I may have lost things, some of them very meaningful, but the experiences, the love and the connections are untouchable. undeniable, indelible. Knowing that (and I mean knowing) has shored me up and helped me to develop a sense of purpose and strength that I can use to create a future that I'll like very much. Everything that came before is a foundation that I can build the rest of my life upon. All this time I've been looking for solid ground, only to find that I'm standing on it already.

Cool beans :-)

I couldn't resist posting a video of a song that some of us remember fondly! Not my video, but very well done :-)

Home

Photo: www.simplypsychology.org

Things have been pretty righteous lately. It's sort of proving the rule that where you look, you're likely to end up. Fortunately for me, the last few years have been fueled largely by a disproportionately ambitious set of expectations. And you know, things seem to be headed pretty much in the direction I had envisioned. Who knew? All this time I thought I was being realistic, when it turns out that it's UNREALISTIC goals that get the job done. Cool beans.

So what's it really all about? For me the thing I want most is home. I always thought my sister and I would be old ladies together, living in quaint, adjacent houses, planting gardens, having horses and sitting on the front porch shelling peas (which for some reason I can't quite remember I've always called "hucking") while gossiping without malice about the goings on in our universe. Interestingly enough, my sister wants that too. It's a life we were once able to take for granted (well, not the 'old' part so much), and neither of us has ever really felt at home since. The irony? We tried it once, and failed miserably due to unforeseen (and ghostly) circumstances. I wrote a book about this utter failure, and it may just be the proceeds from this book that gives us the opportunity to try again. Karma is a funny thing. Okay, sometimes Karma is funny in a way that's NOT so funny, but sometimes it has a twisted sense of humor that is legitimately laughable.

If anybody in this world deserves to have some good home-related Karma come their way, it's my sister and me. After we lost our original home, it has been one series of crazy events after another re: our housing. We have been through ghosts, ice storms, flooding out, rats, mice running over the silverware, irresponsible/uncooperative/unpredictable exes, flaky roommates, a tornado, people simply changing their minds about renting, near-misses around home ownership, homelessness (yes, twice), irrational land-people (I had one fellow tell me I couldn't have boys over. I was in my 20s), insane rules followed out of desperation, and generally a constant and unwavering sense of threat in one form or another around housing. Oh, and let me make clear that this was all due to no fault of ours.

If you will refer to the little chart above, you will see that shelter is relatively important, especially if you'd like to do something with your life besides worry about shelter. And hey, I don't know about you, but I totally would!! And it's looking like the day when having some real choice around this issue might be sooner than I originally anticipated. So what does home look like?

Well, first of all, see above re: old ladies hucking peas. That's part of it. Gardens, land, horses...that's part of it too. But what home really feels like is a place to call mine, to finally put down my roots again. Home means not being at the mercy of others for your most basic of needs, not ever having to worry or wonder if/when the rug will be ripped out from under you. That last is really hard to describe to those who haven't experienced it, but is perhaps the most compelling.

Home is a fenced yard for my dog, a porch to sit on and watch the rain, the smell of flowers and freshly-mowed grass. It's a sense of belonging that can't be threatened. It's everything.

Grateful

Photo: en.wikipedia.org

Yes, I know the photo is of "grapefruit" and has nothing whatsoever to do with being "grateful", but it's a device. "Grateful" is one of those words I habitually misspell (I want it to be "greatful", which is like "grateful", but with aspirations) and the word "grapefruit" is how I remember to spell it correctly. Just work with me here. Trust me, it's a good device, and furthermore I couldn't find a single photo of "grateful". But I digress...

As always this time of year, I'm struggling to maintain a cheerful demeanor.  I love the season, but it's incredibly painful too. Last year was okay because our mom visited from Florida between Thanksgiving and Christmas and it really took the sting out of it, but it's back to the crushing longing for home and family this year. Oh, I have a place to live. But a place to live and home are two very different things. If you don't know the difference, you can consider yourself a very lucky individual. I haven't been "home" for a very, very long time. No visit from the parental units this year, so it's back to Koto's for a Japanese Christmas for us.

Okay, well, this can go one of two ways: I can succumb and just melt into a pile of gelatinous goo until after the new year (tempting!), or I can take a long hard look at all of the things the past year has given me, the pretty terrific people in my life, and the things I have to look forward to, none of which are dependent on having a magical holiday. I think I'll take what's behind door #2.

I've had a pretty incredible year. I had my book published, at long last. The way it happened was pretty cool too; the right opportunity came up at exactly the moment I was ready to go. How often does that happen? And the feedback has been pretty awesome! I think most writers have moments of doubt. I know I had more than a few days of thinking that everything I wrote that day was useless garbage. Most often, the next day it all seemed okay, but in the moment I was convinced that every word sucked. The reviews have been pretty great too. So far, so good, and if I get a bad review I can handle it because of all the great ones I have to fall back on. I even had my picture in the local paper, which was a pretty neat experience too :-)

The thing I am most grateful for though (and considering what an anti-social being I am it may come as a shock) is all the people who have supported me and buoyed me to where I am now. I have a long way to go yet, and it's my own initiative that I need to rely on for that, but I am overwhelmed by how many people supported me through this journey thus far: friends, family (mostly) and even complete strangers have been there, promoting, encouraging, buying my book, liking my fan page, and generally just being THERE. It's meant the world to me, and I'm still in awe. I've become very used to "Little Red Hen-ing" it (please note there is no political nonsense implied by this statement) for the most part and with rare exception, so the overwhelming support and positive feedback has been...just wow.

THAT will be my focus. Yup, I'm still going to feel sad. But I'm so grateful to have had (and to have) people in my life who were/are so amazing that it hurts this badly to miss them. I am grateful to have hope for the future, to know what "home" really means, and know that someday in the not-too-distant future I will finally be able to put down roots again and feel like I'm home. It's what I'm working my derriere off for!

So THANK YOU, dear folks, for helping this lumpy, middle-aged Weeble along her path. My gratitude is sincerely eternal:-)

On that mushy note, I leave you with a mushy video (I've become a video embedding MACHINE). It's a song that makes me cry because it reminds me so much of my dear grandfather and his wonderful tenor voice, but it's a good memory, and it means Christmas to me:

The Power of "Sorry"

Whenever I hear that word in my head, it always sounds like the Canadian pronunciation 'sore-y' :-) I can't help it. I used to like playing the game and have heard it shouted that way over and over again. I only bring it up because it's a word that I've been hearing a lot lately, and I think folks can easily misunderstand the power of this word. It's not a magic elixir, or some kind of tonic that allows a person to miraculously forget all. If accepted though, it IS the beginning of a healing process, and that's a pretty powerful and wonderful thing. Let me tell you a story that helps to illustrate what "sorry" is and isn't capable of:

When I was in high school, a friend of mine NAILED me in the shin with a field hockey stick. I mean, she really clocked me good. She hit me so hard that it damaged the area and left a permanent dent in my shin. She said she was sorry, and of course she really meant it. She had no intention of hurting me and I knew it. I readily accepted her apology, even while I was writhing in pain on the wet grass. Accepting her apology didn't mean she didn't hurt me like crazy. It didn't mean that I wouldn't be scarred for life. I STILL have a dent in my shin. It will always be a part of me now, and I've accepted that and moved on. I don't look back on my friend with anger. I no longer have any emotion whatsoever about that event. It was simply something that occurred that I don't think much about anymore. But that doesn't mean it never happened or that the scar is suddenly gone. it is what it is.

So when I think of the kinds of transgressions that generate an "I'm Sorry", I think of them in a similar light. If I forgive you, you are absolutely forgiven. It doesn't mean I didn't feel the pain and it doesn't mean the scar disappears. It just means that some things are more important and that I've moved on. I don't think you can really expect much more than that from anyone.

Jarring

Photo: en.wikipedia.org

I think I may be going through an over-sensitive period of time in my life. Either that, or circumstances are conspiring to converge on a singular point in time with the express aim of making me profoundly uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong: I am on the verge of success. No matter what happens or how it ultimately plays out, I am about to be a published author. That is reality. No matter how much money is involved or how much criticism I might receive (which is 'none' on both counts, currently), I have accomplished that much. I am proud of that, especially in light of the obstacles I have needed to plow through to get there.

I love writing. In person I don't express myself frequently or well. I have difficulties with emoting. Part of it is vulnerability, I do realize this, but part of it is that I just don't know how without sounding like I have some form of Tourette's. It is what it is. Sometimes I come across as unfeeling though, and that has been to my detriment. But on the rare occasion I express emotion, I have often been told that "I shouldn't feel that way because"...fill in blank, or "It could be worse so consider yourself lucky", so why bother? And why give people the tools to hurt me, anyway? Any one thing might not touch off this little crisis of confidence, but when they pile up a bit (which they sometimes do...what IS that?) it can feel like a football tackle. Metaphorically, of course. Well, mostly. But I'll get to that.

I love the people in my life. I usually feel loved, too. No small accomplishment considering how isolated I am, but I'm fortunate to be surrounded by good people. Sometimes I feel left out, and sometimes I feel left out and lied to. And sometimes people I care about unwittingly promote viewpoints that are actively harmful or insulting and they are so far removed (read: lucky, fortunate, etc.) from the reality of others that they can't even see HOW their opinion is harmful and insulting. How do I handle that? Most of the time I keep quiet. I know these folks are good-hearted people and just don't know any better. Lately, I can't keep quiet. I didn't go so far as to say "That point of view might make YOU feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it kills dogs" or "Pretending to be poor for a couple of weeks and writing about how awesome you were at it is insulting to folks who are actually struggling and don't have the choice", so kudos to me for having at least that much restraint. I'm working on it. Yeah, I know. It's MY behavior I need to worry about, nobody else's. Someday when I have the resources, I will actually be able to DO something about the things that drive me bananas and not just whine impotently to myself.

I was going over these sorts of thoughts in my mind the other night, sitting at a red light in my car and listening to the radio. My thoughts were a gazillion miles away (it's a real number, I swear) when WHAM; I was rear-ended by some dirtbag. We were at a busy intersection, so when he came swaying up to my window, smelling of booze, I told him to pull ahead, out of the traffic (and under some lights). What he did instead was just take off. It was jarring. It was jarring on both an emotional and physical level. Yes, my car is damaged. No my insurance won't cover it (all I can afford is liability). So now, I will just drive around in a broken car until whenever. Thanks dirtbag, for slamming into me, for hurting me and breaking my sh**, and failing to take any responsibility for it at all. I know, I "shouldn't feel that way", so I'll just do what I usually do and lick my wounds by myself, and put the rest of it 'in the vault'. You can just go about your life slamming into people and taking no responsibility for it whatsoever. Lucky you. Okay, that got a little deeper and a little more 'inclusive' than I intended, but it is what it is.

Okay, that concludes this pity party for one. Onward and upward!

When Things Go to Hell

A beautiful sunrise for you all:-)

What a week, eh? As I write this, the police have already killed one of the suspects in the Boston Marathon bombing and are in hot pursuit of the other. And it's not the only tragedy of the week. This post is not about tragedy though, so I'm not dwelling there or getting into all the reasons why we should be fearful or sad. I think human beings are far too aware of that already. I'm more interested in how we can react positively to these tragic situations. In that light, I would first like to offer my love and condolences to all those lost and injured, and their loved ones. While it's always a good idea to forget our sorrow, people should never be forgotten.

I have been largely impressed by the role of social media this week, and incredibly impressed by my friends. Social media has helped to keep people in touch with each other, and positive, loving posts have been passed around relentlessly; far more than fearful and ugly ones. One of my favorites has been a quote by Fred Rogers: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." The quote became so popular that it made the news.

And people DID look for the helpers, and BECAME the helpers in droves. Humanity at it's worst was offset completely by an overwhelming and heartwarming show of humanity at it's most-loving best. And the media actually reported the positive! I LOVE that when a small minority tries to impose their ugliness on the world, the world responds with ever-increasing kindness and love. That's what I will take away from everything that happened this week. I will use these tragic events to strengthen my faith in humanity and to increase my love of same. Imagine how powerful that sentiment can be as it ripples out and touches us all, encouraging everyone to do the same. It seems to be where most of us are at, anyway. I understand that it's more difficult for some.

I think of it like panning for gold. If you simply eliminate the focus on things that cause pain and heartbreak, you will be left with everything good. That's what you keep and take with you. The more you practice "panning", the more adept you become at sifting through and eliminating the scurf. I will admit that at times, it really IS work, but it's worth it.

So today I offer you my faith and love, and I promise to put that energy forward into the world on behalf of those who have suffered. In that spirit I have found a photo a beautiful sunrise for you all, to remind you that no matter how bad the storm, the sun always rises again to bring us light, life and hope:-)

Full Moon

I'm no astrologer, but long-time interest in astrology has given me enough insight to know that the full moon symbolizes endings and completion. I'm not sure that that notion has ever been more true than now. The last few weeks have kicked some a** (sometimes via my loved ones) in terms of endings and good-byes, life-altering changes, burned bridges and some not-so-happy surprises. And it isn't the first time.

I have noticed over time that, as much as I resist change fervently, it occurs without warning and without the courtesy of awaiting input from me. That's life. Without change there could be no improvement, no forward movement. Without endings, no magical beginnings could ever occur. It would all be the same, all the time. Comforting, maybe. Stimulating, invigorating, the stuff of being alive? Not so much. I love that my age has provided me with at least some ability to be philosophical.

The pain of loss evaporates over time. I have learned that much. As much as we try to cling to the threads of memory, most of the details dissipate like smoke over time. At first we panic as we cling to them, but it's a natural process. We HAVE to let go or we don't heal. The more we do it, the better we get at it. It's how we eventually can look back and smile when we remember those we've lost. Even when those losses are by choice and not forced by death we can sometimes have those moments of happy memory.

Mourning is easy. It's not something that we think about and must orchestrate. It takes us over and takes us down. All we have to do is succumb to it until it allows us to surface once again for air. That's when the real work begins. The work of rebuilding the life destroyed in the wake of loss. Like any journey, it begins with one step, and then another. Sometimes those first steps are shaky and uncertain, but become more and more deliberate as the road ahead opens up before you. This is the important part. Deciding who you want to be and learning how to be in the world without your loved one.

And you really DO get to decide. With every end, a new beginning. With winter's passing comes the spring. How timely to think of it that way. As painful as things can be, eventually the sun comes out again and it can feel like seeing it for the very first time. It will warm your face and make you smile and remind you how beautiful life is, right now, and how much is out there waiting for you. You can do this. You've done it before and it just made you stronger and smarter. All will be well again, I promise.

For my loved ones who have suffered so much the last few weeks...