The monthly goal for April was to get a piece submitted. It was in service to my great goal of submitting 3 pieces this year. I'm four months in to the year and haven't submitted anything so April was pretty much a do or die milestone in my head. And as normally happens when I think about submitting it was pretty much die.
It is like all of the voices just stop talking to me. They go off into a corner and read their own stories but don't share them. Or they give me small pieces of other stories, not the one that fits the theme for the contest or publisher or where ever I'm am thinking I will submit.
I worked, reworked, stalled, started, stalled again and then finally gave up.
Well sort of gave up.
I gave up on the themed pieces I was trying to write and found a Flash Fiction contest that was 1000 words and that was the only restriction. No theme. No starting line. No pressure. I can knock 1000 words out standing on my head. It's what I do.
Except, you know, when I want to submit the piece. Then it's a struggle.
BUT I did it. I wrote a piece. It's okay. It's not the best work I've ever done, but it's not bad. It's a very me sort of story. Which means that the one person who will really appreciate it has already read it, but it's still going in to the contest vat.
Tomorrow.
I wanted it to sit a day, and that was today. I will re-read it outloud word by word tomorrow morning to try and catch any glaring errors then I will send it off to be judged.
When I win I'll share the link with you all to read it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Momentum...
Have you ever watched rain drops on your window? Or condensation on a drinking glass? Or spray on a shower door? The way a drop will form at the top of the glass and start to work its way down. If it is a lone drop it moves pretty slowly, but as it picks up more and more drops on its way down it speeds up.
This morning after my shower I watched the drops on the door for a little bit. I had done a quick swipe with the squeegee but not a really neat job because I was just going to clean the glass in a few minutes anyway. So there were gaps where there was no water, and spaces where there were pockets of smaller drops, and a few spaces where there was more water. Slowly a drop would start to make its way down the shower glass. I would look ahead to see when it was going to pick up the first few drops on the door. When they wouldn't be a lone drop anymore but a few drops joined together. Then I would wonder how long it would take before the slow slide down the door became a speeding race to the bottom.
It amused me.
But then I started to think.
This is like ideas.
And the space at the top of the shower where one drop is moving alone is like our pre-internet age. You might have had some wacky ideas, but you were pretty much alone in them. You might pick up a few stray drops here and there, but most likely it was a slow ride to the bottom of the glass. Now? No matter what you think you can be joined with more drops that think the same way you do. And then you have momentum.
Good or bad.
I listened to a podcast this morning on how they used a radio soap opera in Rwanda after the genocide to try to unite the country. It was really interesting. The gentleman whose idea it was was a survivor of the Holocaust. He had been studying how such a thing happened and what could be done to prevent it. When Rwanda happened he knew he needed to do what he could to make things better. It was really interesting (Hidden Brain podcast, I highly recommend them all) but one of the things that was mentioned that made me pause was that no political leader starts out thinking about genocide. That it's a process that happens that gets a country there.
There are steps. Or single drops that have to join, to keep beating my metaphor in to the ground. You have to bring a country along with you if you want to accomplish horrific things. Hitler couldn't have just taken office in Germany and said, "Hey, we're going to kill the Jews, and GO!" and have it done. There had to be the conditions for it (desperate financial times, still war torn from WWI) there had to be a population that was easily targeted (Jews in this case, Tutsis in the case of Rwanda) and people had to be walked along a path of dehumanizing their neighbors. But once they gained momentum they were in. Regular people helped round up their Jewish neighbors for the Nazis. Hutus slaughtered their fellow countrymen with machetes wiping out entire villages.
All of those drops joined together and racing to the bottom.
And here we are now. No matter what you think or believe you can find a group online to support you. Conspiracy theories, anti-science on a variety of levels, racist, homophobic...the lists go on and on. Even things that you might not think of as negative, necessarily. At least not at first. How many political groups can you join? And how many of those are actually just a front for "we're better, the other side is stupid" memes? Or religious or anti-religious boards? Watch where you spend your time and who you spend it with.
Jonestown didn't start with Kool-aid. Nxivm didn't brand women on their first day. There are steps. There are buy-ins along the way. They both seemed like good ideas to those that joined, at least at first.
You all know I'm not silent about my opinions. You all also know I have a temper and can go on a pretty good rage rant. But what I've been trying more and more to do is temper it. To show my disgust with what is happening in the world today but not spew more negativity out there. Now, my more conservative friends might not agree. We have a difference of opinion where the negative line is. I don't think pointing out that the president has done something I find reprehensible to be spewing negativity, I think it's trying to keep it from spreading. The whole "this is not normal" stance.
I also am trying to keep from posting on anything public that is really negative. If I post on a public feed it shows up on my friend's timelines. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't. And sometimes I feel like what has been said shouldn't just be left there without an opposing view. I want other people to know that there are other drops out there like them. That it's not all brackish water right now.
So it's a balancing act.
Which leads me to ask you, where is the momentum in your life? What are you focusing on? Where is your energy? Who are you seeking out? Who are you joining?
Pay attention. Look at what you are saying. Look at what you are doing. Make sure you aren't racing to the bottom with a group that you really never intended on joining. Better to be a slowly moving drop of positivity than a flood of nastiness.
This morning after my shower I watched the drops on the door for a little bit. I had done a quick swipe with the squeegee but not a really neat job because I was just going to clean the glass in a few minutes anyway. So there were gaps where there was no water, and spaces where there were pockets of smaller drops, and a few spaces where there was more water. Slowly a drop would start to make its way down the shower glass. I would look ahead to see when it was going to pick up the first few drops on the door. When they wouldn't be a lone drop anymore but a few drops joined together. Then I would wonder how long it would take before the slow slide down the door became a speeding race to the bottom.
It amused me.
But then I started to think.
This is like ideas.
And the space at the top of the shower where one drop is moving alone is like our pre-internet age. You might have had some wacky ideas, but you were pretty much alone in them. You might pick up a few stray drops here and there, but most likely it was a slow ride to the bottom of the glass. Now? No matter what you think you can be joined with more drops that think the same way you do. And then you have momentum.
Good or bad.
I listened to a podcast this morning on how they used a radio soap opera in Rwanda after the genocide to try to unite the country. It was really interesting. The gentleman whose idea it was was a survivor of the Holocaust. He had been studying how such a thing happened and what could be done to prevent it. When Rwanda happened he knew he needed to do what he could to make things better. It was really interesting (Hidden Brain podcast, I highly recommend them all) but one of the things that was mentioned that made me pause was that no political leader starts out thinking about genocide. That it's a process that happens that gets a country there.
There are steps. Or single drops that have to join, to keep beating my metaphor in to the ground. You have to bring a country along with you if you want to accomplish horrific things. Hitler couldn't have just taken office in Germany and said, "Hey, we're going to kill the Jews, and GO!" and have it done. There had to be the conditions for it (desperate financial times, still war torn from WWI) there had to be a population that was easily targeted (Jews in this case, Tutsis in the case of Rwanda) and people had to be walked along a path of dehumanizing their neighbors. But once they gained momentum they were in. Regular people helped round up their Jewish neighbors for the Nazis. Hutus slaughtered their fellow countrymen with machetes wiping out entire villages.
All of those drops joined together and racing to the bottom.
And here we are now. No matter what you think or believe you can find a group online to support you. Conspiracy theories, anti-science on a variety of levels, racist, homophobic...the lists go on and on. Even things that you might not think of as negative, necessarily. At least not at first. How many political groups can you join? And how many of those are actually just a front for "we're better, the other side is stupid" memes? Or religious or anti-religious boards? Watch where you spend your time and who you spend it with.
Jonestown didn't start with Kool-aid. Nxivm didn't brand women on their first day. There are steps. There are buy-ins along the way. They both seemed like good ideas to those that joined, at least at first.
You all know I'm not silent about my opinions. You all also know I have a temper and can go on a pretty good rage rant. But what I've been trying more and more to do is temper it. To show my disgust with what is happening in the world today but not spew more negativity out there. Now, my more conservative friends might not agree. We have a difference of opinion where the negative line is. I don't think pointing out that the president has done something I find reprehensible to be spewing negativity, I think it's trying to keep it from spreading. The whole "this is not normal" stance.
I also am trying to keep from posting on anything public that is really negative. If I post on a public feed it shows up on my friend's timelines. Sometimes I remember, sometimes I don't. And sometimes I feel like what has been said shouldn't just be left there without an opposing view. I want other people to know that there are other drops out there like them. That it's not all brackish water right now.
So it's a balancing act.
Which leads me to ask you, where is the momentum in your life? What are you focusing on? Where is your energy? Who are you seeking out? Who are you joining?
Pay attention. Look at what you are saying. Look at what you are doing. Make sure you aren't racing to the bottom with a group that you really never intended on joining. Better to be a slowly moving drop of positivity than a flood of nastiness.
Monday, April 16, 2018
Take a breath;
A year ago Brent and I went to Disneyland to see the brief return of the Electric Light Parade. I had loved it when I was a little kid but Brent had never seen it. To me it's iconic Disney and I wanted to share the love with him. He's a good sport and wants to do things that make me happy so we went. It was a whirlwind trip. A day and a half in the parks just to see one parade. And to shop for sparkly Disney shirts. It was great.
When I'm on vacation my phone is tucked away in a pocket and brought out for a quick picture here and there. I'm not in touch with my friends like I am when I'm at home. I'm not aware of what is happening. I'm out of the loop. And sometimes that means I miss things.
When our plane landed in Portland I checked in "safely home" and started to read my Facebook feed. Then my messages. And the picture of what I had missed started to fill in. My friend's husband had died. I was still on the plane when it filtered through. When what I was seeing reached the understanding part of my brain. My hand went up to my mouth, my eyes filled with tears and the words that came out where, "the kids, oh my god, the kids are so young." Brent got concerned, then filled in. I just couldn't wrap my brain around it. He was so young. What had happened?
As more and more details started to come out I realized that he had lost his battle with depression. A few days later Jo made a post confirming that was the case. I hadn't even realized he was sick and suffering. Because that's the deal with depression, it gives you a few faces to look at. What I saw when I looked at Ian was a devoted family man. A supportive husband really picking up the slack that happens in a two parent household when one goes back to school. A dad who glowed with his kids. A partner who loved his wife completely. Half of a couple who were surprised, for sure, by their tag-a-long-Charlie baby to go with their two older children, but overjoyed at her as well. This was the picture I saw. And it was completely accurate. He was all of those things. But he also was battling that bastard of a disease depression.
And depression lies. It tells you that all of those things aren't real. And that you don't deserve them even if they were. And so many other horrific things. It's your brain turning against you the way your body does with cancer. And sometimes, just like with cancer, you don't win the battle. And it's devastating.
My attitude about suicide has changed over the past decade. Before that my belief was strictly in the it's a selfish choice to make area. I will admit that. My grandfather killed himself. He was an alcoholic who would stage suicide attempts for attention and one time misjudged the timing. My sister's father-in-law at the time killed himself on the day of my wedding. He did it by drug overdose so it's still unclear if it was on purpose or accidental. Which then gave my brother-in-law the excuse to get coked up for the wedding and make his usual round of inappropriate suggestions. Not being a fan of him anyway, and being 18 my thoughts were more about my wedding than his loss. I will admit to that. It wasn't my finest moment. But again, I was 18 and he was an asshole of the highest order.
So my feelings around suicide were tied to drug and alcohol abuse. Which they often are because a lot of drug and alcohol abuse is tied to self medicating depression. Something I wasn't aware of when I was younger. Now that I am I had to revisit my feelings about suicide. Was it selfish or was it an act of desperation to make the pain stop?
I believe in death with dignity laws. I believe that if you are ill and not going to get better you should be able to end your own life by your own choice. Why didn't I feel this way about depression?
And, to be perfectly honest, I'm not 100% of the way there. I still hate when depression claims someone like this. Because I want it to be treatable. I want the battle to be winnable. And it so often is. I hate the giving up of hope that has to happen for someone to do this. To think the pain will not go away. Because depression lies. You can't trust what your brain is telling you. It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Except when you can't trust that it's temporary and it feels like it's forever. Depression is a dark hallway with no sign of an exit. Until you find one. And I always hold out the hope that everyone suffering will find the exit that leads to life, not an end.
Jo hates it when people tell her how strong she has been this past year. Because she knows she hasn't always felt strong. She's broken down. She's cried more tears than she probably ever thought she could make. She misses him like part of her is gone. Because part of her is gone. And I would guess that she also hates it when people tell her that she is strong because the implication is that he wasn't.
And he was.
So goddamn strong.
People who suffer from depression on a daily basis are heroic. Their brains are fighting them constantly. Their very existence is narrated by a voice either telling them how worthless they are or how they need to be careful because joy is temporary and the dark days are just waiting around the corner. While the rest of us are walking down the street they are slogging through quicksand. It's a challenge on a monthly, weekly, daily, hourly basis to just exist. When you cannot trust your own thoughts, what can you trust? And Ian lived with that. For years. He was a superman in the strength department, if you ask me.
This past year has been the worst of the firsts for Jo and her kids. The year we all suffer through when a loved one dies. The first holidays without them. The first anniversary of their death. And through it all she has reflected out at the world how much they loved each other. What they built together. The family that still holds him in their hearts when they no longer can hold him in their arms. She hates to be called strong, but she is. And the kids are. And inspiring. We go on; even when we don't want to.
And to top off the year of the worst of the first, she has had to deal with the public world not knowing how to talk to her about her loss. Because we don't know how to talk about suicide. Not really. If he had died in a car accident, or from a physical illness we would all have safer areas to speak from. But he didn't. He died from a mental illness. So Jo has had to deal with people who didn't know what to say. How to express their grief for her and the kids. She has had insensitive (dare I say moronic) comments from people and counselors who should know better, alike. I sent her articles to read. It's what I do. Reading information makes me feel better. So I gave her what I would have wanted. And that's really the best we can do. Help where we can.
Today, one year and one day after Ian's death is Project Semicolon day. Project Semicolon brings awareness and help to mental illness and suicide prevention. The semicolon is a reminder that your story doesn't have to end; you can keep going. If you would, please consider making a donation to the project today. Because we all need a little help being strong sometimes.
Help where you can.
When I'm on vacation my phone is tucked away in a pocket and brought out for a quick picture here and there. I'm not in touch with my friends like I am when I'm at home. I'm not aware of what is happening. I'm out of the loop. And sometimes that means I miss things.
When our plane landed in Portland I checked in "safely home" and started to read my Facebook feed. Then my messages. And the picture of what I had missed started to fill in. My friend's husband had died. I was still on the plane when it filtered through. When what I was seeing reached the understanding part of my brain. My hand went up to my mouth, my eyes filled with tears and the words that came out where, "the kids, oh my god, the kids are so young." Brent got concerned, then filled in. I just couldn't wrap my brain around it. He was so young. What had happened?
As more and more details started to come out I realized that he had lost his battle with depression. A few days later Jo made a post confirming that was the case. I hadn't even realized he was sick and suffering. Because that's the deal with depression, it gives you a few faces to look at. What I saw when I looked at Ian was a devoted family man. A supportive husband really picking up the slack that happens in a two parent household when one goes back to school. A dad who glowed with his kids. A partner who loved his wife completely. Half of a couple who were surprised, for sure, by their tag-a-long-Charlie baby to go with their two older children, but overjoyed at her as well. This was the picture I saw. And it was completely accurate. He was all of those things. But he also was battling that bastard of a disease depression.
And depression lies. It tells you that all of those things aren't real. And that you don't deserve them even if they were. And so many other horrific things. It's your brain turning against you the way your body does with cancer. And sometimes, just like with cancer, you don't win the battle. And it's devastating.
My attitude about suicide has changed over the past decade. Before that my belief was strictly in the it's a selfish choice to make area. I will admit that. My grandfather killed himself. He was an alcoholic who would stage suicide attempts for attention and one time misjudged the timing. My sister's father-in-law at the time killed himself on the day of my wedding. He did it by drug overdose so it's still unclear if it was on purpose or accidental. Which then gave my brother-in-law the excuse to get coked up for the wedding and make his usual round of inappropriate suggestions. Not being a fan of him anyway, and being 18 my thoughts were more about my wedding than his loss. I will admit to that. It wasn't my finest moment. But again, I was 18 and he was an asshole of the highest order.
So my feelings around suicide were tied to drug and alcohol abuse. Which they often are because a lot of drug and alcohol abuse is tied to self medicating depression. Something I wasn't aware of when I was younger. Now that I am I had to revisit my feelings about suicide. Was it selfish or was it an act of desperation to make the pain stop?
I believe in death with dignity laws. I believe that if you are ill and not going to get better you should be able to end your own life by your own choice. Why didn't I feel this way about depression?
And, to be perfectly honest, I'm not 100% of the way there. I still hate when depression claims someone like this. Because I want it to be treatable. I want the battle to be winnable. And it so often is. I hate the giving up of hope that has to happen for someone to do this. To think the pain will not go away. Because depression lies. You can't trust what your brain is telling you. It's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Except when you can't trust that it's temporary and it feels like it's forever. Depression is a dark hallway with no sign of an exit. Until you find one. And I always hold out the hope that everyone suffering will find the exit that leads to life, not an end.
Jo hates it when people tell her how strong she has been this past year. Because she knows she hasn't always felt strong. She's broken down. She's cried more tears than she probably ever thought she could make. She misses him like part of her is gone. Because part of her is gone. And I would guess that she also hates it when people tell her that she is strong because the implication is that he wasn't.
And he was.
So goddamn strong.
People who suffer from depression on a daily basis are heroic. Their brains are fighting them constantly. Their very existence is narrated by a voice either telling them how worthless they are or how they need to be careful because joy is temporary and the dark days are just waiting around the corner. While the rest of us are walking down the street they are slogging through quicksand. It's a challenge on a monthly, weekly, daily, hourly basis to just exist. When you cannot trust your own thoughts, what can you trust? And Ian lived with that. For years. He was a superman in the strength department, if you ask me.
This past year has been the worst of the firsts for Jo and her kids. The year we all suffer through when a loved one dies. The first holidays without them. The first anniversary of their death. And through it all she has reflected out at the world how much they loved each other. What they built together. The family that still holds him in their hearts when they no longer can hold him in their arms. She hates to be called strong, but she is. And the kids are. And inspiring. We go on; even when we don't want to.
And to top off the year of the worst of the first, she has had to deal with the public world not knowing how to talk to her about her loss. Because we don't know how to talk about suicide. Not really. If he had died in a car accident, or from a physical illness we would all have safer areas to speak from. But he didn't. He died from a mental illness. So Jo has had to deal with people who didn't know what to say. How to express their grief for her and the kids. She has had insensitive (dare I say moronic) comments from people and counselors who should know better, alike. I sent her articles to read. It's what I do. Reading information makes me feel better. So I gave her what I would have wanted. And that's really the best we can do. Help where we can.
Today, one year and one day after Ian's death is Project Semicolon day. Project Semicolon brings awareness and help to mental illness and suicide prevention. The semicolon is a reminder that your story doesn't have to end; you can keep going. If you would, please consider making a donation to the project today. Because we all need a little help being strong sometimes.
Help where you can.
What change are you making?
Since we stopped eating artificial sugars two? three? years ago, and really got committed to cutting out added sugars last year my daily (sometimes multiple in one day) visits to Starbucks have gone down to monthly. Maybe. Sometimes every couple of months. We just don't care for their regular coffee as much as we do other places and without the flavoring it's nothing special. I like a couple of their tea mixes and that's what I generally go for now. And even then it's maybe once a month. So boycotting them would be really easy.
Like not even a challenge to me to do so. I could make an irate post about them and declare I was never stepping foot in there again and only be out the $25 or $30 loaded on my Starbucks card. I would have to make the decision if not shopping there meant never drinking Teavana tea bought at the grocery store again, but still, not a tough call at all. Boom! Social conscience served!
Except I'm not going to. Because I think calling for a boycott of Starbucks is the wrong thing to do. I think it's a prime example of the left eating itself again.
Yes, I think what happened in Philadelphia was wrong. I think it was due to race. I think the manager and the employees would not have made that call if the men were white. I think this was pretty solidly a case of systemic racism. But I don't think that Starbucks is the system. In fact I think Starbucks has erred more on the side of trying to be socially conscience and making things awkward in their attempts more often than they have stepped into a racism problem.
If you want to boycott every institution that has a systemic racism problem you are going to be hard pressed to find a major American company to shop in. That's what systemic means. We are in a racist system. Don't believe me? Ask a black friend what it's like to go shopping. Ask them if they have ever been followed in a store, or had their credit card REALLY examined, or tried to pay with a $100 bill. Then ask them what store it was so you can boycott it. But be prepared to make a list because I will pretty much guarantee you that it wasn't A store, it was multiple stores. And it's generally not because of the company, or company policies or some sort of POC are bad and you need to watch them line in a company handbook. It's because people who work there have beliefs that they might not even realize they have.
Systemic racism.
So I look at the backlash against Starbucks and I ask, what are you trying to change? What good will a boycott do for you and for the problem? Now if you just cannot bear to shop someplace where a recorded encounter showing the racism took place, okay. That is your call. But I will ask again, what are you trying to change?
You all know I do not subscribe to the "it's not my place to teach you" philosophy that I see so often now. It is your place to teach if you have knowledge that others don't. And it is especially your place to teach if the person lacking in knowledge is asking for help. Starbucks will examine policy, add training, fret over this and do their best to make it right. Because that is the company that they are. Everything they've done shows this to be the case. One store, one set of employees, one clear cut example of systemic racism does not change that. So what are you trying to change by boycotting them?
Do you think that a zero tolerance policy is the only way to go? Then again, I say you are going to have a hard time finding someplace to shop. I don't believe in zero tolerance policies. I don't believe in mandatory sentencing. I don't believe in the clear cut lines of differences. Life is fucking complicated. Situations are rarely cut and dried. I believe that you need to look at each situation and judge it on its own merits. It's harder to do. I will grant you that, but it's what I believe.
It might make you feel better to get some of the anger out of your system by boycotting Starbucks, but what good is it going to do? What change are you trying to make? What progress? Do you really believe that Starbucks is the evil heart of racism? That they are the company you can boycott to make a difference? If you really do and then you follow through, I get it. I don't shop at Chik-fil-a, I don't buy Barilla pasta; I still don't support the Boy Scouts or the Salvation Army. No matter how many other good things each of these companies do, their long standing and repeated acts against the LBGTQ+ community makes them a no go for me. But it's companywide acts. It's donations of company profits to organizations I don't believe in. It's organizational policy. It's companywide, not a few individuals that happen to work for that company. But if this is the place where you make your stand against racism and you really believe that Starbucks deserves your ire, then, of course you should take that stand. But on this one I'm not standing with you.
I think we have deep issues. I think we have big problems. And I think that a company like Starbucks having their own bias pointed out to them, as it has been, and responding by saying we want to fix this, as they will, is a better solution than boycotting. I think the purpose of a boycott, or a protest is to enact change and when the change, or willingness to change, or the recognition that change is needed comes and comes quickly it's a bad idea to say "I don't accept your offer and I will still boycott."
Why? What are you trying to change here?
Are you trying to change a culture or are you trying to drive a company out of business? Are you interested in rehabilitation or revenge? What change are you making? What is the reason for the boycott or protest if it's not to enact change? Why do it?
The left needs to stop with the purity and zero tolerance and no forgiveness routes. Education. Compassion. Understanding. Willingness to change. These are progressive ideals. Moving forward not cementing a position and refusing to budge. Nobody changes if we all refuse to accept an apology and a desire to do better.
Yes, it is our duty to point out when something is wrong. And what happened in that Philadelphia Starbucks was wrong. But it is to our great good to learn from those situations and move forward. To make things better. Isn't that the point?
What change are you trying to make?
What outcome do you think you will bring about?
Don't just shout in the to void; make sure you are listening for the response.
Like not even a challenge to me to do so. I could make an irate post about them and declare I was never stepping foot in there again and only be out the $25 or $30 loaded on my Starbucks card. I would have to make the decision if not shopping there meant never drinking Teavana tea bought at the grocery store again, but still, not a tough call at all. Boom! Social conscience served!
Except I'm not going to. Because I think calling for a boycott of Starbucks is the wrong thing to do. I think it's a prime example of the left eating itself again.
Yes, I think what happened in Philadelphia was wrong. I think it was due to race. I think the manager and the employees would not have made that call if the men were white. I think this was pretty solidly a case of systemic racism. But I don't think that Starbucks is the system. In fact I think Starbucks has erred more on the side of trying to be socially conscience and making things awkward in their attempts more often than they have stepped into a racism problem.
If you want to boycott every institution that has a systemic racism problem you are going to be hard pressed to find a major American company to shop in. That's what systemic means. We are in a racist system. Don't believe me? Ask a black friend what it's like to go shopping. Ask them if they have ever been followed in a store, or had their credit card REALLY examined, or tried to pay with a $100 bill. Then ask them what store it was so you can boycott it. But be prepared to make a list because I will pretty much guarantee you that it wasn't A store, it was multiple stores. And it's generally not because of the company, or company policies or some sort of POC are bad and you need to watch them line in a company handbook. It's because people who work there have beliefs that they might not even realize they have.
Systemic racism.
So I look at the backlash against Starbucks and I ask, what are you trying to change? What good will a boycott do for you and for the problem? Now if you just cannot bear to shop someplace where a recorded encounter showing the racism took place, okay. That is your call. But I will ask again, what are you trying to change?
You all know I do not subscribe to the "it's not my place to teach you" philosophy that I see so often now. It is your place to teach if you have knowledge that others don't. And it is especially your place to teach if the person lacking in knowledge is asking for help. Starbucks will examine policy, add training, fret over this and do their best to make it right. Because that is the company that they are. Everything they've done shows this to be the case. One store, one set of employees, one clear cut example of systemic racism does not change that. So what are you trying to change by boycotting them?
Do you think that a zero tolerance policy is the only way to go? Then again, I say you are going to have a hard time finding someplace to shop. I don't believe in zero tolerance policies. I don't believe in mandatory sentencing. I don't believe in the clear cut lines of differences. Life is fucking complicated. Situations are rarely cut and dried. I believe that you need to look at each situation and judge it on its own merits. It's harder to do. I will grant you that, but it's what I believe.
It might make you feel better to get some of the anger out of your system by boycotting Starbucks, but what good is it going to do? What change are you trying to make? What progress? Do you really believe that Starbucks is the evil heart of racism? That they are the company you can boycott to make a difference? If you really do and then you follow through, I get it. I don't shop at Chik-fil-a, I don't buy Barilla pasta; I still don't support the Boy Scouts or the Salvation Army. No matter how many other good things each of these companies do, their long standing and repeated acts against the LBGTQ+ community makes them a no go for me. But it's companywide acts. It's donations of company profits to organizations I don't believe in. It's organizational policy. It's companywide, not a few individuals that happen to work for that company. But if this is the place where you make your stand against racism and you really believe that Starbucks deserves your ire, then, of course you should take that stand. But on this one I'm not standing with you.
I think we have deep issues. I think we have big problems. And I think that a company like Starbucks having their own bias pointed out to them, as it has been, and responding by saying we want to fix this, as they will, is a better solution than boycotting. I think the purpose of a boycott, or a protest is to enact change and when the change, or willingness to change, or the recognition that change is needed comes and comes quickly it's a bad idea to say "I don't accept your offer and I will still boycott."
Why? What are you trying to change here?
Are you trying to change a culture or are you trying to drive a company out of business? Are you interested in rehabilitation or revenge? What change are you making? What is the reason for the boycott or protest if it's not to enact change? Why do it?
The left needs to stop with the purity and zero tolerance and no forgiveness routes. Education. Compassion. Understanding. Willingness to change. These are progressive ideals. Moving forward not cementing a position and refusing to budge. Nobody changes if we all refuse to accept an apology and a desire to do better.
Yes, it is our duty to point out when something is wrong. And what happened in that Philadelphia Starbucks was wrong. But it is to our great good to learn from those situations and move forward. To make things better. Isn't that the point?
What change are you trying to make?
What outcome do you think you will bring about?
Don't just shout in the to void; make sure you are listening for the response.
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Two Weeks...
I've got two weeks to get a short story written and submitted to reach my April monthly goal which is in service of my yearly goal. I've picked the contest I'm submitting to and have two of their prompts loaded and working in my head and on paper to get a good story. But I'm stuck.
Which is always my problem when I try submissions. Either for publishing in anthologies or books or just contest entries. As soon as I take my work from "Hey, this is a fun thing I wrote in 20 minutes what do you guys that I know already and are bound to be nice to me because you are my friends think?" to "Hey here is something I've actually worked on and polished and think is good enough for strangers who don't have to be nice to me to read" my brain switches off.
My muse goes to her room and slams the door. "YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND ME!" and she stays there until I coax her out with promises of no deadlines, no pressure, no strangers.
But then the side of me that REALLY REALLY wants to hold a book, or a magazine, or a a print out of a screenshot, of something I've written that was published by someone who just thought it was good enough to publish takes over. "Why does she always get to call the shots? She's such a baby!"
Because that's really what it is. Being a baby. Rejection sucks. It just does. And as you all know the only experience I've had with submissions is rejection. And mostly the rejection comes in the form of silence. Not even a form letter saying, "hey, you kind of suck, but cute that you tried" just nothing. Which is the pits.
I've also got my yearly blog goal that needs reached and for some reason I've really been slacking on those as well. Looking forward to next month and monthly goals and it's looking more and more like a Blog a Day in May will return to catch me up. It's so weird really. I love to write. I really do. I love to write fiction and nonfiction and I love to hear what people think about what I've written and yet...
Why do we do this to ourselves? We figure out what we like and what we want to do and how we should be focusing our energy and then we don't. Is it a self worth thing? Like maybe I'm not worth the time to take to write because it is for nothing else but bringing me joy? Cleaning, cooking, taking care of things around the house, those all get priority. And it's me. It's not Brent driving that. If I did nothing by write for 8 hours a day and hired a cleaning person and ate every meal out he would be like, "Whatever makes you happy." Seriously. Which should lessen any feelings of what I need to do. And I SWEAR to myself that it will.
But it doesn't.
A friend of mine posted about a conversation she had with her teenage daughter. She said she did a soul baring breakdown of what she was missing in her life and what she needed to do. Her daughter replied, that she always says that and then doesn't do it. And oh my gosh did I feel that. We tend to know what we should be doing, what our deeper selves are telling us to do. And then we don't do it.
Are we worried about being too happy?
Too content?
Has our culture told us that life is struggle for so long that we find struggle even when we shouldn't?
Or do we feel guilty if we are able to do what we want to when others around us can't? I know I feel this. Brent works. He works hard. At times his job is not pleasant. But he doesn't have the choice to not go. Because I don't work. I took that choice away from him. And I've looked at giving it back to him but he makes more money than I ever could at this point.
Unless I publish a bestseller.
So there is that.
And yes, I know you've read this exact blog from me before, and that's really my point.
I've got two weeks to break this cycle.
Wish me luck.
Which is always my problem when I try submissions. Either for publishing in anthologies or books or just contest entries. As soon as I take my work from "Hey, this is a fun thing I wrote in 20 minutes what do you guys that I know already and are bound to be nice to me because you are my friends think?" to "Hey here is something I've actually worked on and polished and think is good enough for strangers who don't have to be nice to me to read" my brain switches off.
My muse goes to her room and slams the door. "YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND ME!" and she stays there until I coax her out with promises of no deadlines, no pressure, no strangers.
But then the side of me that REALLY REALLY wants to hold a book, or a magazine, or a a print out of a screenshot, of something I've written that was published by someone who just thought it was good enough to publish takes over. "Why does she always get to call the shots? She's such a baby!"
Because that's really what it is. Being a baby. Rejection sucks. It just does. And as you all know the only experience I've had with submissions is rejection. And mostly the rejection comes in the form of silence. Not even a form letter saying, "hey, you kind of suck, but cute that you tried" just nothing. Which is the pits.
I've also got my yearly blog goal that needs reached and for some reason I've really been slacking on those as well. Looking forward to next month and monthly goals and it's looking more and more like a Blog a Day in May will return to catch me up. It's so weird really. I love to write. I really do. I love to write fiction and nonfiction and I love to hear what people think about what I've written and yet...
Why do we do this to ourselves? We figure out what we like and what we want to do and how we should be focusing our energy and then we don't. Is it a self worth thing? Like maybe I'm not worth the time to take to write because it is for nothing else but bringing me joy? Cleaning, cooking, taking care of things around the house, those all get priority. And it's me. It's not Brent driving that. If I did nothing by write for 8 hours a day and hired a cleaning person and ate every meal out he would be like, "Whatever makes you happy." Seriously. Which should lessen any feelings of what I need to do. And I SWEAR to myself that it will.
But it doesn't.
A friend of mine posted about a conversation she had with her teenage daughter. She said she did a soul baring breakdown of what she was missing in her life and what she needed to do. Her daughter replied, that she always says that and then doesn't do it. And oh my gosh did I feel that. We tend to know what we should be doing, what our deeper selves are telling us to do. And then we don't do it.
Are we worried about being too happy?
Too content?
Has our culture told us that life is struggle for so long that we find struggle even when we shouldn't?
Or do we feel guilty if we are able to do what we want to when others around us can't? I know I feel this. Brent works. He works hard. At times his job is not pleasant. But he doesn't have the choice to not go. Because I don't work. I took that choice away from him. And I've looked at giving it back to him but he makes more money than I ever could at this point.
Unless I publish a bestseller.
So there is that.
And yes, I know you've read this exact blog from me before, and that's really my point.
I've got two weeks to break this cycle.
Wish me luck.
Friday, April 13, 2018
Perfect Timing...
She had been waiting for this moment, this exact moment, for years. Not an exaggeration, it had been years. Over a decade. Almost two decades. For this exact moment. He put his hands gently on each side of her face and pulled her to him...
It had been third grade when they met. He had transferred to her elementary school partway through the year. She always felt so badly for kids who came in when the school year was already underway. They had to stand at the front of the class and be introduced and say where they were from. Everyone staring at them. Trying to decide in that few moments if they were going to fit in or not. Were they coming from across town or across the country? Were they wearing the right clothes? Did they have a funny accent? Were they uncomfortable or relaxed? A lot of decisions were made in that moment.
For instance, she decided right then and there that she loved him.
She wasn't sure what it was about him that started that instant longing in her 8 year old heart but it was deep and true and had lasted. Of course there wasn't much she could do about it then. Boys and girls were still almost separate species in the 3rd grade. There was very little mixing unless they were forced to. But she did her best to let him know that she loved him. She gave him two pieces of candy in his Valentine's Day Card instead of the one she gave everyone else. She picked him first anytime she was the captain of a team in PE. She laughed at all of his jokes. She really felt like she had done all she could.
By the time they made it to middle school and the boys and girls had started to realize that maybe blending was a little more interesting than staying separate she felt like it might be time to make her move. The Sadie Hawkins Day dance was coming and she would ask him. They were friends by now. All of that picking and laughing had done its job. He liked her. She knew it. He would talk to her in the halls and they were lab partners in science class. Years of loving him were going to come to fruition at this dance. Her first dance. Her first boyfriend. She doodled hearts in her notebook just thinking about it.
"Hey, you know the dance coming up?"
Wait, was he going to ask her? It was girls ask boys but he was going to ask her? Oh my gosh, just to make sure that it happened, he was going to break the rules and ask her!
"Yeah..."
"Lori asked me to go and I don't know what to wear. You're a girl, can you help me out?"
What? Lori? Lori had asked him and he had said yes? What? He didn't even TALK to Lori! Lori hadn't even gone to the their elementary school so she didn't even KNOW him. Lori? Lori? Really? And you want my help picking out an outfit? What?
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
"Hey, who are you going to ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. Dances aren't really my thing."
He smiled at her, "It's our first dance, how do you know? I know! You should ask Jeremy!"
Jeremy? Really? Jeremy? That's who he thought was a good match for her? Jeremy?
"Yeah, maybe. I'll see."
Jeremy had said yes. He was a really nice boy and they had fun. Really. She even kept smiling when Julie ran over to tell her that Zeke and Lori had kissed and were now going around together. The middle school equivalent of getting engaged. Great. Really great. Lori's first dance. Lori's first boyfriend. Lori's hearts. Great.
Of course as most middle school romances go it didn't last long. Neither did the time with Lisa. Or Rebbie, or Julie. Though Lori stopped speaking to Julie for a full month over it. She had dated Zeke first, after all, but that didn't last when Lori realized she would have to stop speaking to half of the class if she didn't speak to anyone Zeke dated.
He dated a lot. You would have thought that would have cooled her ador for him. But it didn't. Instead she listened to him talk about his latest girlfriend. Endlessly. He was always genuinely shocked that he was going around with someone new. It was like relationships just happened to him. She tried to tell him that he didn't have to date anyone. He could just hang out with his friends. And even if he did take a girl to the movies he didn't have to try and make it exclusive.
Which worked. Sort of. By the time they reached high school he no longer felt the need to go steady with anyone. He dated who he wanted but never for long. He was also very busy with sports and student body government. She was class president and he was her vice president. Freshman year, sophomore year, junior year. They ran that school. She lettered in track and he lettered in soccer. He sang in the school choir and she got the lead in the school plays. And they were still such good friends. He talked to her about everything. She listened and loved him.
And then at the end of their junior year he suggested that they switch student body government roles for senior year. It would look better on his college applications if he had one year as class president. She smiled and thought hard about it. She loved him. She wanted him to get in to a great college. She wanted him to be a success. They talked about it a lot. And then she said, "Go ahead and run for President. I won't be mad."
He was thrilled.
Until he thought about what she said. "Wait, are you going to still run as well?"
"Yeah. We can both run and who ever gets it, gets it."
"But if you run, I won't win."
"You don't know that. You're as popular as I am. You've been VP for three years. A lot of people might think it would be more fair if you were president for a year."
"But if we both run for president one of us loses. And they don't have any position. You have to run for VP so we both have a title."
"If it happens that way, it happens that way."
"But college applications will look at that."
"I have good grades. I have a ton of extracurriculars. And I'm probably just going in state. It won't make a difference."
"So you aren't worried about losing, but what about me? If you run against me, I might lose! I need that extra boost."
"No, you don't. Not really. You could get a soccer scholarship to almost any college you want to. You have decent grades. You have the same amount of extracurriculars as I do. You have nothing to worry about. You'll be fine."
"So you are really going to run against me?"
"Technically, I'm the incumbent so you are running against me."
Their senior year they barely spoke.
She was busy with student body government, yearbook, the senior play and college planning. It turned out that she got offered a scholarship to an out of state school after all and so her plans changed. He got a free ride to his first choice school as well, but he couldn't swallow his pride to tell her that she had been right, he hadn't had anything to worry about. He was a bit of a jerk. But she still loved him.
When they would come home from school on breaks they saw each other at parties. They would smile at each other and drift closer and closer to each other through the night. Like an asteroid in a gravitational pull. She knew one day she would crash in to him. And he would go back to being her best friend. She knew this as surely as she knew she loved him that first day in third grade.
It didn't happen until their last year in college.
When her mother died he came to the house. Tears streaming down his face. He held her while they both cried. They talked about how unfair it was. How cancer was fucking bitch. How life would never be okay again. He apologized for being a jerk in high school.
"I was so insecure. You were always so perfect and I felt like I was running as fast as I could to just keep up. I always compared myself to you and came up short. And so I was a jerk. I made my issue your problem. I have missed you so much."
She gave him a small smile. "I missed you too."
She broke up with her college boyfriend a few months later. What had seemed like such a great relationship now seemed like a cheap substitute for what she really wanted. Nobody was ever going to be Zeke and she just accepted it. She decided to finally tell him how she felt. She called him.
"Oh my god! It's just like when we were kids. I was literally just going to call you."
She smiled. And the smile froze on her face as he told her he was getting engaged. Understanding how short life really is and seeing how much time they had lost being mad at each other had made him realize that he needed to grab every opportunity he could right now. Not later.
His girlfriend hadn't agreed.
So he came home broken hearted. And they shared their grief. Over her mother. Over his girlfriend. Over the lost years of friendship. And they got better. The sun kept coming up. Time passed. They both healed. And their friendship remained. They both found work in their hometown. They saw each other all the time. They double dated when they could.
And now this.
Their 10 Year Reunion.
She had helped plan it. The entire student body government from their senior year got together over a few months and put it all together. Luckily for them Lori had grown up to be an event coordinator. It was a great party. They laughed, they danced, they drank.
They were voted "Class Couple" even though they had never dated. When giving the award Lori read a note that came with one of the votes, "This was written in over and over, you never thought of just Zeke or just Danielle. It was always ZekeandDanielle. So even though you weren't technically a couple, you were a couple."
They had laughed and taken the award. She had said thank you and then Zeke made a speech.
"Danielle has been my best friend for my entire life. Or at least it feels that way. She has been my support, my driver, my shoulder to cry on and my kick in the ass when I need it. She forgave me when she didn't have to. She is my best friend. Thank you for recognizing that."
"JUST KISS HER ALREADY!"
They laughed, "Who said that?"
"WE ALL DID!"
They laughed again. Then Zeke looked at her. Really looked at her. She felt the shift right then.
She had been waiting for that look. This was the moment. Finally.
He stepped toward her and took her face in his hands. He pulled her slowly to him and softly kissed her. She had been waiting for this moment for years. This exact moment.
And it was awful.
He was a terrible kisser.
She'd have to fix that.
It had been third grade when they met. He had transferred to her elementary school partway through the year. She always felt so badly for kids who came in when the school year was already underway. They had to stand at the front of the class and be introduced and say where they were from. Everyone staring at them. Trying to decide in that few moments if they were going to fit in or not. Were they coming from across town or across the country? Were they wearing the right clothes? Did they have a funny accent? Were they uncomfortable or relaxed? A lot of decisions were made in that moment.
For instance, she decided right then and there that she loved him.
She wasn't sure what it was about him that started that instant longing in her 8 year old heart but it was deep and true and had lasted. Of course there wasn't much she could do about it then. Boys and girls were still almost separate species in the 3rd grade. There was very little mixing unless they were forced to. But she did her best to let him know that she loved him. She gave him two pieces of candy in his Valentine's Day Card instead of the one she gave everyone else. She picked him first anytime she was the captain of a team in PE. She laughed at all of his jokes. She really felt like she had done all she could.
By the time they made it to middle school and the boys and girls had started to realize that maybe blending was a little more interesting than staying separate she felt like it might be time to make her move. The Sadie Hawkins Day dance was coming and she would ask him. They were friends by now. All of that picking and laughing had done its job. He liked her. She knew it. He would talk to her in the halls and they were lab partners in science class. Years of loving him were going to come to fruition at this dance. Her first dance. Her first boyfriend. She doodled hearts in her notebook just thinking about it.
"Hey, you know the dance coming up?"
Wait, was he going to ask her? It was girls ask boys but he was going to ask her? Oh my gosh, just to make sure that it happened, he was going to break the rules and ask her!
"Yeah..."
"Lori asked me to go and I don't know what to wear. You're a girl, can you help me out?"
What? Lori? Lori had asked him and he had said yes? What? He didn't even TALK to Lori! Lori hadn't even gone to the their elementary school so she didn't even KNOW him. Lori? Lori? Really? And you want my help picking out an outfit? What?
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
"Hey, who are you going to ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. Dances aren't really my thing."
He smiled at her, "It's our first dance, how do you know? I know! You should ask Jeremy!"
Jeremy? Really? Jeremy? That's who he thought was a good match for her? Jeremy?
"Yeah, maybe. I'll see."
Jeremy had said yes. He was a really nice boy and they had fun. Really. She even kept smiling when Julie ran over to tell her that Zeke and Lori had kissed and were now going around together. The middle school equivalent of getting engaged. Great. Really great. Lori's first dance. Lori's first boyfriend. Lori's hearts. Great.
Of course as most middle school romances go it didn't last long. Neither did the time with Lisa. Or Rebbie, or Julie. Though Lori stopped speaking to Julie for a full month over it. She had dated Zeke first, after all, but that didn't last when Lori realized she would have to stop speaking to half of the class if she didn't speak to anyone Zeke dated.
He dated a lot. You would have thought that would have cooled her ador for him. But it didn't. Instead she listened to him talk about his latest girlfriend. Endlessly. He was always genuinely shocked that he was going around with someone new. It was like relationships just happened to him. She tried to tell him that he didn't have to date anyone. He could just hang out with his friends. And even if he did take a girl to the movies he didn't have to try and make it exclusive.
Which worked. Sort of. By the time they reached high school he no longer felt the need to go steady with anyone. He dated who he wanted but never for long. He was also very busy with sports and student body government. She was class president and he was her vice president. Freshman year, sophomore year, junior year. They ran that school. She lettered in track and he lettered in soccer. He sang in the school choir and she got the lead in the school plays. And they were still such good friends. He talked to her about everything. She listened and loved him.
And then at the end of their junior year he suggested that they switch student body government roles for senior year. It would look better on his college applications if he had one year as class president. She smiled and thought hard about it. She loved him. She wanted him to get in to a great college. She wanted him to be a success. They talked about it a lot. And then she said, "Go ahead and run for President. I won't be mad."
He was thrilled.
Until he thought about what she said. "Wait, are you going to still run as well?"
"Yeah. We can both run and who ever gets it, gets it."
"But if you run, I won't win."
"You don't know that. You're as popular as I am. You've been VP for three years. A lot of people might think it would be more fair if you were president for a year."
"But if we both run for president one of us loses. And they don't have any position. You have to run for VP so we both have a title."
"If it happens that way, it happens that way."
"But college applications will look at that."
"I have good grades. I have a ton of extracurriculars. And I'm probably just going in state. It won't make a difference."
"So you aren't worried about losing, but what about me? If you run against me, I might lose! I need that extra boost."
"No, you don't. Not really. You could get a soccer scholarship to almost any college you want to. You have decent grades. You have the same amount of extracurriculars as I do. You have nothing to worry about. You'll be fine."
"So you are really going to run against me?"
"Technically, I'm the incumbent so you are running against me."
Their senior year they barely spoke.
She was busy with student body government, yearbook, the senior play and college planning. It turned out that she got offered a scholarship to an out of state school after all and so her plans changed. He got a free ride to his first choice school as well, but he couldn't swallow his pride to tell her that she had been right, he hadn't had anything to worry about. He was a bit of a jerk. But she still loved him.
When they would come home from school on breaks they saw each other at parties. They would smile at each other and drift closer and closer to each other through the night. Like an asteroid in a gravitational pull. She knew one day she would crash in to him. And he would go back to being her best friend. She knew this as surely as she knew she loved him that first day in third grade.
It didn't happen until their last year in college.
When her mother died he came to the house. Tears streaming down his face. He held her while they both cried. They talked about how unfair it was. How cancer was fucking bitch. How life would never be okay again. He apologized for being a jerk in high school.
"I was so insecure. You were always so perfect and I felt like I was running as fast as I could to just keep up. I always compared myself to you and came up short. And so I was a jerk. I made my issue your problem. I have missed you so much."
She gave him a small smile. "I missed you too."
She broke up with her college boyfriend a few months later. What had seemed like such a great relationship now seemed like a cheap substitute for what she really wanted. Nobody was ever going to be Zeke and she just accepted it. She decided to finally tell him how she felt. She called him.
"Oh my god! It's just like when we were kids. I was literally just going to call you."
She smiled. And the smile froze on her face as he told her he was getting engaged. Understanding how short life really is and seeing how much time they had lost being mad at each other had made him realize that he needed to grab every opportunity he could right now. Not later.
His girlfriend hadn't agreed.
So he came home broken hearted. And they shared their grief. Over her mother. Over his girlfriend. Over the lost years of friendship. And they got better. The sun kept coming up. Time passed. They both healed. And their friendship remained. They both found work in their hometown. They saw each other all the time. They double dated when they could.
And now this.
Their 10 Year Reunion.
She had helped plan it. The entire student body government from their senior year got together over a few months and put it all together. Luckily for them Lori had grown up to be an event coordinator. It was a great party. They laughed, they danced, they drank.
They were voted "Class Couple" even though they had never dated. When giving the award Lori read a note that came with one of the votes, "This was written in over and over, you never thought of just Zeke or just Danielle. It was always ZekeandDanielle. So even though you weren't technically a couple, you were a couple."
They had laughed and taken the award. She had said thank you and then Zeke made a speech.
"Danielle has been my best friend for my entire life. Or at least it feels that way. She has been my support, my driver, my shoulder to cry on and my kick in the ass when I need it. She forgave me when she didn't have to. She is my best friend. Thank you for recognizing that."
"JUST KISS HER ALREADY!"
They laughed, "Who said that?"
"WE ALL DID!"
They laughed again. Then Zeke looked at her. Really looked at her. She felt the shift right then.
She had been waiting for that look. This was the moment. Finally.
He stepped toward her and took her face in his hands. He pulled her slowly to him and softly kissed her. She had been waiting for this moment for years. This exact moment.
And it was awful.
He was a terrible kisser.
She'd have to fix that.
Friday, April 6, 2018
Use Your Words...
Second Grade:
Her mother held her chin in her hand turning her face back and forth surveying the damage. A black eye and a swollen lip were the worst of it.
"How many times have I told you to use your words?"
She tried to answer but the grip on her chin made it impossible to move her mouth. And besides that everytime she spoke the scab on her lip would reopen and start to bleed. It had been a solid jab. Who knew that Jenny had it in her?
She really had tried to use her words. She knew she was supposed to use her words but sometimes...oh sometimes it was just impossible. Something would happen and she would get mad and she could feel her hands start to itch. The need to hit something or more often someone was overwhelming and then she was off. Her older brothers had taught her how to fight so she was pretty good at it. Of course saying they taught her how to fight made it sound like formal lessons instead of on the job training. But either way she knew how to punch. And how to take a punch too. Even when she wasn't expecting it. She would have to ask Jenny if she had brothers too, and how to throw a hook like the one that caught her eye. It was a good punch.
"Young lady, are you listening to me?"
She nodded. She was listening. Use your words. She heard her mother. She always heard her mother.
Middle School:
She stuffed the dirty shirt in to the bottom of the laundry basket. The mud and grass stains should wash out okay. If not she would make up a story about soccer practice or something. She couldn't get caught fighting again. Her mother had threatened to ground her for a month the next time she was in a fight. She couldn't be grounded right now. Jenny's birthday party was coming up and she would die if she missed it. Her mother thought they were going to have a movie night and slumber party but really Jenny's father was going to take them to a UFC fight. She and Jenny were going to make signs that said, "USE YOUR WORDS" to hold up at the fight. They thought it would be really funny. She couldn't miss it.
She went in to the bathroom to check the mirror for any damage to her face. She didn't think he had even gotten one shot in. She had pegged him 3 or 4 quick rabbit jabs to the body and he hadn't been able to block any of them. Big lumbering bully that he was when faced with someone who not only fought back, but fought better he couldn't handle it. That's why he had resulted to tackling her as she walked away. Knocked the wind out of her, but she was still able to swing a leg around and give him a quick kick in the kidneys. She would have told him to pick on someone his own size, but there was no one his size. That's why he had gotten away with it for so long. Right up until she had found her friend Greg bloodied and missing his new SmartWatch. Now he might think twice before bullying a smaller kid. How was he to know who she was friends with?
"YOUNG LADY, GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
Crap. She guessed she wasn't going to get to go to Jenny's party after all.
High School:
She was sitting in the principal's office. Again. She hadn't been fighting. Not really. She hadn't laid a hand on any one. She just suggested that she might if provoked. That wasn't the same as fighting. That, my friends, was using her words. She was the only one in the room who agreed.
"We have talked about this. You have a history of fighting and we have a strict policy."
She hated strict policies. There needed to be more wriggle room than strict policy allowed. Sometimes people didn't respond to reason and logic. Sometimes they just needed a swift knock in the jaw. Most everyone responded to that.
"Because you did not technically fight James you are not going to be expelled. But this really is your last chance. You have after school detention for two weeks with Mr. McRaney and a weekly appointment for the next month with Ms. Gallagher."
It could have been worse for sure. Mr. McRaney wanted her to join his wrestling team so she guessed he had asked to supervise her specifically to try and recruit her during her punishment. Ms. Gallagher wasn't bad as far as school counsellors went. She pretty much said exactly what her mother did, "Use your words." She could listen to that for four visits since she had been listening to it for her whole life. And if it meant that James understood that no meant no no matter who told him then it was worth it.
College:
She had started boxing. Women's Golden Gloves champion. Not bad at all. It was teaching her to control her temper. Her mother wasn't thrilled with the idea but she was over 18 now and so could choose to do what she wanted. And she wanted to learn to box. She was thinking that she might look in to Mixed Martial Arts too. But what she was finding was that she fought because she had to. Or felt she had to. Fighting for fun wasn't really holding her attention. But it was making her better. Stronger. She did like that part.
And she really liked that she had a reputation as someone not to be messed with. Of course a few people had tried. They always did. People like to measure themselves against others. She was a short measuring stick, but a mighty one. She had a bigger reputation than her smaller frame seemed capable of holding.
Jenny worried about her. They were in seperate colleges and Jenny was afraid that she would get herself in to trouble she couldn't get out of. "You aren't writing checks with your mouth that your body can't cash are you?" She had laughed at that. That would not have been a good use of her words, now would it?
She started teaching a women's self defense class when the boxing and the MMA classes got too boring. She was really good at it.
Motherhood:
"I HATE YOU!" her daughter screamed as she ran upstairs.
"She doesn't really, she's just a teenager. You must have been the same way." Her husband had tried to comfort her. But she had sat there stunned. Yes, she knew her daughter didn't mean it. Not really. But it still hurt so damn much. Much worse than any punch she had ever taken. Now she finally understood the lesson she should have learned.
Use your words. They hurt so much more.
Her mother held her chin in her hand turning her face back and forth surveying the damage. A black eye and a swollen lip were the worst of it.
"How many times have I told you to use your words?"
She tried to answer but the grip on her chin made it impossible to move her mouth. And besides that everytime she spoke the scab on her lip would reopen and start to bleed. It had been a solid jab. Who knew that Jenny had it in her?
She really had tried to use her words. She knew she was supposed to use her words but sometimes...oh sometimes it was just impossible. Something would happen and she would get mad and she could feel her hands start to itch. The need to hit something or more often someone was overwhelming and then she was off. Her older brothers had taught her how to fight so she was pretty good at it. Of course saying they taught her how to fight made it sound like formal lessons instead of on the job training. But either way she knew how to punch. And how to take a punch too. Even when she wasn't expecting it. She would have to ask Jenny if she had brothers too, and how to throw a hook like the one that caught her eye. It was a good punch.
"Young lady, are you listening to me?"
She nodded. She was listening. Use your words. She heard her mother. She always heard her mother.
Middle School:
She stuffed the dirty shirt in to the bottom of the laundry basket. The mud and grass stains should wash out okay. If not she would make up a story about soccer practice or something. She couldn't get caught fighting again. Her mother had threatened to ground her for a month the next time she was in a fight. She couldn't be grounded right now. Jenny's birthday party was coming up and she would die if she missed it. Her mother thought they were going to have a movie night and slumber party but really Jenny's father was going to take them to a UFC fight. She and Jenny were going to make signs that said, "USE YOUR WORDS" to hold up at the fight. They thought it would be really funny. She couldn't miss it.
She went in to the bathroom to check the mirror for any damage to her face. She didn't think he had even gotten one shot in. She had pegged him 3 or 4 quick rabbit jabs to the body and he hadn't been able to block any of them. Big lumbering bully that he was when faced with someone who not only fought back, but fought better he couldn't handle it. That's why he had resulted to tackling her as she walked away. Knocked the wind out of her, but she was still able to swing a leg around and give him a quick kick in the kidneys. She would have told him to pick on someone his own size, but there was no one his size. That's why he had gotten away with it for so long. Right up until she had found her friend Greg bloodied and missing his new SmartWatch. Now he might think twice before bullying a smaller kid. How was he to know who she was friends with?
"YOUNG LADY, GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
Crap. She guessed she wasn't going to get to go to Jenny's party after all.
High School:
She was sitting in the principal's office. Again. She hadn't been fighting. Not really. She hadn't laid a hand on any one. She just suggested that she might if provoked. That wasn't the same as fighting. That, my friends, was using her words. She was the only one in the room who agreed.
"We have talked about this. You have a history of fighting and we have a strict policy."
She hated strict policies. There needed to be more wriggle room than strict policy allowed. Sometimes people didn't respond to reason and logic. Sometimes they just needed a swift knock in the jaw. Most everyone responded to that.
"Because you did not technically fight James you are not going to be expelled. But this really is your last chance. You have after school detention for two weeks with Mr. McRaney and a weekly appointment for the next month with Ms. Gallagher."
It could have been worse for sure. Mr. McRaney wanted her to join his wrestling team so she guessed he had asked to supervise her specifically to try and recruit her during her punishment. Ms. Gallagher wasn't bad as far as school counsellors went. She pretty much said exactly what her mother did, "Use your words." She could listen to that for four visits since she had been listening to it for her whole life. And if it meant that James understood that no meant no no matter who told him then it was worth it.
College:
She had started boxing. Women's Golden Gloves champion. Not bad at all. It was teaching her to control her temper. Her mother wasn't thrilled with the idea but she was over 18 now and so could choose to do what she wanted. And she wanted to learn to box. She was thinking that she might look in to Mixed Martial Arts too. But what she was finding was that she fought because she had to. Or felt she had to. Fighting for fun wasn't really holding her attention. But it was making her better. Stronger. She did like that part.
And she really liked that she had a reputation as someone not to be messed with. Of course a few people had tried. They always did. People like to measure themselves against others. She was a short measuring stick, but a mighty one. She had a bigger reputation than her smaller frame seemed capable of holding.
Jenny worried about her. They were in seperate colleges and Jenny was afraid that she would get herself in to trouble she couldn't get out of. "You aren't writing checks with your mouth that your body can't cash are you?" She had laughed at that. That would not have been a good use of her words, now would it?
She started teaching a women's self defense class when the boxing and the MMA classes got too boring. She was really good at it.
Motherhood:
"I HATE YOU!" her daughter screamed as she ran upstairs.
"She doesn't really, she's just a teenager. You must have been the same way." Her husband had tried to comfort her. But she had sat there stunned. Yes, she knew her daughter didn't mean it. Not really. But it still hurt so damn much. Much worse than any punch she had ever taken. Now she finally understood the lesson she should have learned.
Use your words. They hurt so much more.
Thursday, April 5, 2018
A Little Perspective...
I had company last week and as one does I cleaned house before they got here. Now as many of you know my house is typically pretty clean compared to a lot of places, but I still feel the need to do extra cleaning if other people are going to be staying here. And so I did a last minute sweep of the bedrooms and the bathrooms and tidied up the whole place. I was feeling pretty fat and sassy about the whole thing.
Until...
Well I realized that we are single towel multiple use people so that means I don't have a closet full of bath towels. I have seven. Which is more than enough for the two of us and even more than enough when C comes to stay. But if any of my guests were multiple towel single use people I was going to need to do laundry every day to make sure there were clean towels. Turned out fine, everyone was like us. So I'm good.
Until...
The three people using one bathroom upstairs made the logical conclusion that adding the bathroom downstairs would make getting ready to go much faster. Now, the toilet, sink and floors in the downstairs bathroom are regularly cleaned and had been cleaned before their visit but the shower stall in the back...well...I'm sure I cleaned it when the construction was finished and I must have cleaned it after C and his friends all stayed here when Brent and I went to Disneyland...last April. My horror when I saw Matt walking out of the bathroom and realizing that he could very well have been met with a puff of dust when he opened the shower door was real. Then to find out that Steph had used it first without her glasses so she wouldn't have seen the dirt anyway made me laugh. And cringe.
I just didn't think about it. We never use it. C never uses it. We have a great tub and shower upstairs so the little closet shower is just a thing that I know is there, but not really because I don't pay attention to it. Having guests brought it back to the forefront of my mind and believe me, I cleaned it today and it will get a good rinsing down every few weeks from here on out.
Sometimes we need something to jolt us out of our routines. Something that shows us what we haven't been paying attention to. My other guest and I talked about that a lot. What it takes to shake you from your rut. To actually change your behavior. Bigger things than cleaning a bathroom.
Skippy has had a tumultuous few years with her health. Mentally and physically she hit the wall. Breast cancer will do that to you. Especially being diagnosed at the same age your mother had been, who, oh by the way, died when the cancer came back. It was a wall to run in to full force. Stopped her. And she took the opportunity to make HUGE changes in her life. She looked at what was and wasn't working and decided that she was going to pay attention. It's a big nasty way to get a wake up call, and it would be best for other people who need to make changes to not have to hit that wall first, but for her, the cancer did have a good side.
She's changed her way of eating. She quit smoking. She got unstuck in her feelings about where she was living. She has always traveled but she started doing even more. Smaller trips to go along with the big ones. More things that bring her joy. More things that are good for her. Healthier in body and in mind. Which is great because two years and five surgeries should lead to better things not worse.
We talked about things like eating well. We both avoid added sugar, though she is MUCH better about it than I am. No weekend treats for her. And we talked about how we should have done more earlier but neither of us did until faced with things that forced our hands health wise. It's really kind of crazy. So many of us know what we should be doing, I mean does anyone out there think smoking is actually a good thing to do? But we still don't take care of ourselves the way we should.
We smoke, we drink too much, we eat foods that are not good for us, we don't workout, we don't expand our minds to learn new things, we get in a rut and ignore things that are right in front of us. Like a bathroom shower that hasn't be cleaned in a year. A nagging health issue that we ignore. Or a belief that somehow we are going to be fine even with the smoking and drinking and eating poorly. That somehow we are going to be the little old lady on the news talking about drinking straight vodka all day and smoking Cuban cigars has been the secret to living to be 100.
We won't be.
Look at your figurative bathroom showers today. What is working in your life? What isn't? What do you know you should change but haven't? What do you think you could change to make your life better, healthier, mentally as well as physically? Then don't ignore them any more. Make some changes. Grab life with both hands and live it well. Healthy. Strong. With no dust in your corners.
Until...
Well I realized that we are single towel multiple use people so that means I don't have a closet full of bath towels. I have seven. Which is more than enough for the two of us and even more than enough when C comes to stay. But if any of my guests were multiple towel single use people I was going to need to do laundry every day to make sure there were clean towels. Turned out fine, everyone was like us. So I'm good.
Until...
The three people using one bathroom upstairs made the logical conclusion that adding the bathroom downstairs would make getting ready to go much faster. Now, the toilet, sink and floors in the downstairs bathroom are regularly cleaned and had been cleaned before their visit but the shower stall in the back...well...I'm sure I cleaned it when the construction was finished and I must have cleaned it after C and his friends all stayed here when Brent and I went to Disneyland...last April. My horror when I saw Matt walking out of the bathroom and realizing that he could very well have been met with a puff of dust when he opened the shower door was real. Then to find out that Steph had used it first without her glasses so she wouldn't have seen the dirt anyway made me laugh. And cringe.
I just didn't think about it. We never use it. C never uses it. We have a great tub and shower upstairs so the little closet shower is just a thing that I know is there, but not really because I don't pay attention to it. Having guests brought it back to the forefront of my mind and believe me, I cleaned it today and it will get a good rinsing down every few weeks from here on out.
Sometimes we need something to jolt us out of our routines. Something that shows us what we haven't been paying attention to. My other guest and I talked about that a lot. What it takes to shake you from your rut. To actually change your behavior. Bigger things than cleaning a bathroom.
Skippy has had a tumultuous few years with her health. Mentally and physically she hit the wall. Breast cancer will do that to you. Especially being diagnosed at the same age your mother had been, who, oh by the way, died when the cancer came back. It was a wall to run in to full force. Stopped her. And she took the opportunity to make HUGE changes in her life. She looked at what was and wasn't working and decided that she was going to pay attention. It's a big nasty way to get a wake up call, and it would be best for other people who need to make changes to not have to hit that wall first, but for her, the cancer did have a good side.
She's changed her way of eating. She quit smoking. She got unstuck in her feelings about where she was living. She has always traveled but she started doing even more. Smaller trips to go along with the big ones. More things that bring her joy. More things that are good for her. Healthier in body and in mind. Which is great because two years and five surgeries should lead to better things not worse.
We talked about things like eating well. We both avoid added sugar, though she is MUCH better about it than I am. No weekend treats for her. And we talked about how we should have done more earlier but neither of us did until faced with things that forced our hands health wise. It's really kind of crazy. So many of us know what we should be doing, I mean does anyone out there think smoking is actually a good thing to do? But we still don't take care of ourselves the way we should.
We smoke, we drink too much, we eat foods that are not good for us, we don't workout, we don't expand our minds to learn new things, we get in a rut and ignore things that are right in front of us. Like a bathroom shower that hasn't be cleaned in a year. A nagging health issue that we ignore. Or a belief that somehow we are going to be fine even with the smoking and drinking and eating poorly. That somehow we are going to be the little old lady on the news talking about drinking straight vodka all day and smoking Cuban cigars has been the secret to living to be 100.
We won't be.
Look at your figurative bathroom showers today. What is working in your life? What isn't? What do you know you should change but haven't? What do you think you could change to make your life better, healthier, mentally as well as physically? Then don't ignore them any more. Make some changes. Grab life with both hands and live it well. Healthy. Strong. With no dust in your corners.