How Safe is Your Space?

I was going to write about Safe Spaces on Tuesday then Monday night the fire alarm in our house went haywire so I was up at midnight with the house literally yelling FIRE at me which I was like, I just wrote about free speech and how yelling Fire! shouldn't be covered so I thought maybe don't cover safe spaces today just incase the full moon is bring some sort of weird ju ju to the proceedings...

Yes, that opening paragraph was a lot but it's the way my head was going on Tuesday so I felt like you should get the raw footage. 

So instead I thought about writing about an encounter I had when I decided to get my toe nail polish changed.

And then I realized..."fuck me...this is a safe spaces story."

So I let it sit for a few days just to show the Universe it can't tell me what to do!

(yesterday was going to be cancel culture so I guess I cancelled the Universe for a day, which let's be frank, is about how long cancelling someone lasts)

Anyway...

I was planning on getting a pedicure on Tuesday. The shop we normally use is near the old house which is a bit of a drive but there is a shop right at the end of our street so I figured I'd check them out. Then I dropped the car charger on my foot so no pedicure for me. But I am going to need to wear open toed shoes for awhile so I was back to really needing a pedicure. Decided to split the difference, get a polish change and check out the new shop at least partially. 

One of my core personality traits is I give the compliment. I do it to people I know and to strangers. Everyone likes compliments. Even if they make you a little uncomfortable in the moment (trust me, I get it, it's taken me years to learn how to say "thank you" instead of discounting the compliment) later on when you think about it you know "I do have great shoes." or "This is a lovely color on me." or "My hair does look fabulous." But, as most of you know, I'm also not overly social. I'm not shy, like Brent and Katie, I will talk to strangers, but I'd rather not talk for long. I usually give the compliment as a fly by or when I know I'm leaving or they are. 

For instance Sunday at breakfast there was a family seated near us and the mom was wearing a really cute dress. I did not tell her it was a really cute dress until we were leaving. I didn't want that awkward rest of the meal space where either one of us felt like we needed to chat. But I did want to let her know that she looked really cute. 

So Tuesday...I'm waiting in a short line to see if they have time to change my polish and there is a woman at the counter who has gorgeously tanned skin. The kind of tan that you know she works on to get that way. She was wearing little white shorts to really emphasize the tan. So I let her know as she was leaving. "You have gorgeous skin tone. Really lovely."

And...

You know how I say if you are going to be an activist, if you are going to be mouthy, if you are going to stand up to authority you need to know you can take a punch in the face? Well if you are going to be a compliment giver to strangers you need to be ready for the onslaught. Especially if, like me, you are cursed with FFS, Friendly Face Syndrome. Strangers tell me their life's story. Even when I don't give them the opening compliment. But when I do start it I know what could be coming. And oh boy...

I pretty much knew instantly that I might have made a mistake. This was her reply (or at least as much as I can remember): "I cheat. I go to B'Tan to make sure I've got a good base layer. And then yesterday I was on the river for like 6 hours and I did get burned, but it fade quickly because of that. As soon as I got home I took a cool shower to draw the heat out and then I buy from Costco these really big containers of coconut oil and I use that on my skin. I really shouldn't be out like that in the sun because I have Lupus," (cue horrified look on my face with me starting to say, no you shouldn't! but not being able to get out any words before she went on) "but I do it anyway. I also have rheumatoid arthritis and osteoarthritis so I just want to make sure I'm moving all the time while I can. I told myself I'm 50 so I need to do what I want and not be so worry about anything else. I was born with Klinefelter Syndrome, that's where you have both masculine and feminine parts and traits, and it comes with a whole host of health issues so I just want to make sure I do what I like to do. And I go to the gym everyday."

(she took a long enough breath here for me to get in.)

"I understand that. I have arthritis as well and I keep moving so I can keep moving, it's really important." 

Then the woman who had been next in line was done so I could take my turn and I thought our encounter was over. She left with a wave over my body, "Well you look great too so keep it up! When you are 50 you will be glad you did!"

I just smiled and told her to have a good day. 

Then went and took a seat to get my polished changed. 

I hadn't be there long when the door opened and she came back into the shop. She had messed up her nail getting in to her car and needed it fixed. Then decided that while she was back she'd just have them take her toe nail polish off as well and plopped down in the chair next to me. 

Oh it's one of those encounters. 

And I was well and truly stuck. So I settled in for the ride. I know where she vacations, what she does on those vacations, I know all about her slipstream camper that she refurbished herself in a steampunk style. She showed me pictures and it's really adorable. I listened to her for about a half hour as she talked about SCUBA diving with sharks in Hawaii, SUP in Alaska and all over the world really. She's very active. Especially since she's 50. She told me her age a lot. And I love it. I mean you all know how I am about aging. We need to be joyful in it. Fifty is nifty!

She mentioned how different things are now than when she was a kid and I agreed. She said, "Well you're Gen X like me right?"

And I said, "I am. I'm actually older than you are."

"Oh you are not."

"I am, I'll be 54 next month."

I love that moment and hope that I will be like my mother and get it for my entire life. The one of disbelief. The you look so good for your age. I know I do. I know it's vain and shallow and I did nothing to earn it. My parents both looked younger than they were, it's just genetics. And not doing anything to really fuck that up. I mean if I had kept smoking and kept trying to tan my skin to her shade I would look like a fruit roll-up by now, but I didn't so I look younger than my age. 

When she had run out of things to keep her in the shop and I had subtly mentioned I would be running a lot more errands after I was done with this stop she said her farewells and left again. The woman doing my toes smiled and told me I was a nice lady for listening. I told her we all need someone to listen sometimes. 

And that's really it. She needed someone to listen. 

I had a lot of things I would have liked to ask her but didn't. The first thing being does she always lead conversations with the fact that she has Klinefelter Syndrome? I mean, I assumed she was trans. Even before she turned around and I was just admiring her skin tone I suspected she might be. So why does she put that out there right away? Safety? Separation from other trans folx? Hoping that someone who might be a trans bigot would be more understanding if they knew she was born with both male and female aspects? If I were friends with her instead of just a friendly face I would have asked. 

I also would have asked her how safe she felt traveling in her camper by herself. And on cruises and on the river. That's been my biggest fear for Katie. Will she be safe? But what would it tell me if she said she had been safe, or hadn't?  Nothing really. 

But I didn't talk much. Supportive noises mostly. A few shared stories about Hawaii and Alaska. I told her about a friend's daughter who does stand up paddle boarding on rapids and how amazing that is to me to watch, especially since I couldn't even stand up the time Brent and I tried it. 

It was a tidal wave of information from her. A series of photos off her phone she shared with me. And bright red toe nails to finish the visit. 

And, like I mentioned, later when I was thinking about it, it was a safe space story. 

In the blog before this one I mentioned the blog I wrote a few years ago about safe spaces and how I don't really believe they exist. There is always something unsafe lurking. And how I don't believe they should exist in the academic realms, at least in the we never talk about uncomfortable topics realm. But I do know that it's important to feel safe. To have moments where you feel like you are going to be okay.

To have moments where you interact with a stranger who doesn't treat you oddly because you have Klinefelter Syndrome. 

I give the compliment. I'm prepared to get hit in the face with a lot of information when I do. And I try my best to take it all in and be that moment in someone's day that is pleasant. That is safe. 

I am a safe space. 

Aint that a bitch?

New Theme!

This week's theme will cover: Trigger warnings, safe spaces, PC, woke, cancel culture and other things that a certain type of conservative twists to mean something bad and a certain flavor of liberals use to beat other liberals up with.  

I wrote about safe spaces and trigger warnings a few years ago. Mostly that old blog is still my opinion now. I think you need to be able to defend your ideas and know why you hold them, so banning all speech that is not what you believe is a bad idea. I know at the time the push was from liberal colleges banning conservative speakers who were pushing pretty awful ideas. The thing is that banning them from speaking didn't stop those ideas from spreading, it just fed into their victim narrative. It ended up giving them another platform from which to spread their bad ideas. "They are so worried about what we have to say that they won't even allow you to hear it!" Ooh...that sounds like something fun to hear!

I thought at the time it was a bad idea. Debate them. Show why it's a bad idea. Sharpen your own ideas and reasoning. But banning speech is almost always a bad idea. Yes, I do have areas where I abandon this stance, the whole yelling fire in a crowded building line. There are things that if you choose to say them, you should face consequences for that. Calls to violence, inciting a riot. But for the most part I think that free speech is too important to hamper. Though it's government interference that we are speaking of when we talk about the right to free speech. Governmental consequences, banning speech and books by government control is where problems lie. Personal consequences are different. You are never free from consequences of your speech. 

But right now we are seeing the right pulling in the force of the government to curtail speech. You are seeing schools being stopped from teaching about racism. You are seeing teachers told not to talk about LGBTQIA+ issues. Or if a student tells them they are in the rainbow they have to tell parents. You are seeing Governor DeSantis waging a tax war with Disney for objecting to the "Don't Say Gay" bill. Even though the Supreme Court decided years ago that corporations were people and had freedom of speech as well. These are clear violations of the Constitution. But as we now have a court who makes decisions based of the law of "because I can" there is little hope that anything will be done about it.

I am going to revisit a lot of those original thoughts separately this week. Updating what I think now on some of it, touching on how it's all been weaponized as well. But today I'm going to talk specifically about trigger warnings. 

I mentioned in that blog a few years ago that I appreciate when friends warn me that a movie has vomiting or hand injuries because I have a really hard time with those. They make me nauseated. For different reasons, but still, ick. But a lot of entertainment and think pieces come with a whole list of trigger warnings now. Does it deal with rape? Does it deal with suicide or suicide ideation? Is there questionable language? Is there smoking? The list of trigger warnings is long. And people will for sure jump in your shit if you don't include them. 

I do not include them in my writing.

At least not in my fiction. 

I sort of feel like maybe I should put a general trigger warning on the description of my blog, or on my Facebook page for my blog. "Trigger warning: I won't give you one."

Because trigger warnings ruin the story. The way I write my fiction pieces I don't want you to know right away what I'm writing about. For instance if yesterday I had opened the story with a trigger warning about suicide the whole story would have hit differently right from the start. I wanted that to be a reveal. The fact that her grandmother had killed herself and then why. I want you to come on a journey with me, I don't want to spoil my own story. 

You know how I feel about spoilers. Very triggering...

It's hard to write the way I do if I'm worried about posting trigger warnings. Or worried about triggering people in general. I write a lot about death. I feel like once you've been reading me for awhile none of that is shocking, but at the same time I have had people reach out to me asking why I didn't warn them. Well, because I didn't want you to know.

And I do know that that means for some people my work can be really disturbing. And I'm sorry about that. But only a little. I am sorry that they felt discomfort and were upset. But I'm not sorry that my work can sometimes be disturbing. I think, for the most part, I'm actually a pretty optimistic writer. Even if it's a story where the main character ends up having been dead for 30 years and just didn't realize it. Or if the story is about getting ready to sell the house that your grandmother died in. I am not for everyone. Hell, I'm not for most people, but that's just it, I'm. I am. This is my writing. My place. 

My space. 

And it's not always safe. 

And it never comes with a trigger warning. 

And I'm not likely to change that. 

The Planning Type...

The walk through with the realtor had gone well. She didn't think it would be hard to find a buyer, even in the slowing market. 

"Your grandmother took wonderful care of this place."

"She did. She was very particular about things."

"Well you can tell. Lovely home. So clean and well maintained. And these high ceilings? Gorgeous. And all one story is very hard to find. I think you'll be happy with the offers."

"Thank you. We are, as they say, motivated to sell. We'd like to get everything wrapped up here before the summer heat really starts. We just aren't used to it anymore."

"I understand that. I'll send over the paperwork this afternoon and if it all looks good I can have it listed by tomorrow."

"Perfect. Thank you."

The photographer joined them in the living room. "I think I've got everything I need. Really good light today so they should come out nicely without much editing. Love what she had done in the bathroom with the tile."

The look of horror on her realtor's face almost sent her into a fit of inappropriate giggles. Her realtor grabbed the photographer's arm and almost ran to the front door.

"Yes, well, we're good. I'll talk to you later, thank you so much for the opportunity to help you sell your grandmother's property."

"No, honestly, thank you. We are glad to have someone we can trust."

The realtor and photographer were ushered out.

She walked back to the master bathroom and tried to look at it with fresh eyes. 

She understood the photographer's reaction. It was lovely. The tile in the shower area went from floor to ceiling which made the room look even bigger than it was. The ceilings were at least 10 feet high. The paint in the room was the same color as the veining in the tile which gave it all a seamless look and feel. It would probably be a big selling point. 

The thought of her grandmother on a ladder hanging protective plastic sheeting made her shake her head. You could have fallen and broken a hip. She then had to laugh. Well, yeah. I guess she could have just broken a hip...

The plastic had been hung with painters tape. Multiple rows of tape to make sure the sheets would stay up but wouldn't mar the paint on the ceiling when they were taken down. Though by the time she got to the house one of the walls of plastic had fallen in on itself. 

The rest was easy enough to pull down, and her grandmother had been right, it didn't mar the ceiling at all. 

Her grandmother was a very particular person who took excellent care of her things. 

She found the letter on her grandmother's desk. It was on top of all of the important paperwork. That's how it was labeled. A stack of paperwork with a sticky note on top, her grandmother's once beautiful flowing handwriting now a little shaky around the loops, "Important Paperwork." And on top of that the letter. 

It was the official letter from her doctor's office denying her the palliative care she has requested. She was 95 years old. The cancer wasn't going away. She had a limited amount of time left and she wanted to go on her own terms. Before the pain was too great, before she was nothing more than a body in a bed with a constant drip of morphine in her veins. She was a very particular person and that was not what she wanted.

But her doctor had denied her the care she requested. 

Instead of a gentle death surrounded by her family she took care of everything herself. In her tiled shower stall. Surrounded by plastic sheeting. 

She wondered if her grandmother's doctor felt good about his decision. If he still felt like he had done the right thing. He had the ability to help her grandmother leave on her own terms, gently, easily, surrounded by love, and instead forced her to stay, in pain, deteriorating until there was nothing left.

Or at least tried to force her to stay. 

She hoped the house sold quickly. She hoped there were more people like the photographer who did not know what happened in that beautiful tiled bathroom. And she hoped that telling her grandmother's story would make a difference for someone else. 

Let people leave peacefully on their own terms. You cannot force someone to live, but you can help them die with grace and dignity. 

She placed her hand on the cool tile of the shower...

"I am so sorry, Grandma."

Time To Go...

Everyone has embarrassing coming of age stories. Starting your period when you weren't expecting to and bleeding through your outfit. Having a random erection right as you needed to stand up and walk to the chalk board. Having your voice crack in the middle of presentation. A giant zit blooming on the tip of your nose just in time for class pictures. 

She had a few of those and also the bonus stories that only other necromancers understood.

Hers were, luckily, much tamer than some of her cousins' stories. She got the spirit portion instead of the physical portion. No dead pets sitting at her bedside after digging themselves out of the back yard grave. That was how her mother started. It's actually so common that she wondered why any necromancy family would have a pet. 

But it was typical for necromancy powers to come to full bloom during puberty. The surge of hormones seemed to flip the switch from, well, dead to Dead. 

Her first few encounters were with older spirits. Ones who had made their peace with staying in this realm for a little, or a lot longer. They were the ones who enjoyed watching humanity pass through the ages. The ones who didn't feel a need to see what was the next life as they liked it where they were. And they really liked to chat. Among her normie friends she was the only one to start having invisible friends at age 13 instead of 5. 

And she really didn't count it as cheating when they helped her on her history exams, just for the record. 

She was grateful for those easy encounters and their stories when she had her first traumatic experience. Not traumatic for her, though some of them were, but meeting up with the spirit of someone who died traumatically and suddenly and hadn't really been prepared. Sometimes a sudden death is met with quick understanding, sometimes it's met with just terrified confusion. 

She was 16 and at a slumber party. They were telling ghost stories and trying to scare each other when she saw him. The 19 year old brother of her host. Who was away at college so couldn't possibly be standing in the hallway. He was standing with his back to them, not moving. She got up mumbling something about using the restroom and went to talk to him. As she approached he turned toward her and she could see the damage. His face was a bloody mess. Part of his scalp had be severed and was hanging loosely over the opposite ear. He was staring at his hands which were covered in blood as well. His or someone else's she couldn't tell. 

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I'm Sherri. I'm a friend of your sister's and there's a slumber party happening. Can you tell me what happened?"

He blinked slowly. Blood flicking off his eyelashes as he did. She tried not to flinch away.

"I don't know. I mean, the last thing I remember was Pete and I were headed to the movies. I... PETE? WHERE'S PETE?"

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Or technically she reached out and put a hand where his arm appeared to be. There was nothing physical there to touch. Just an image she could see, and an energy he could feel. "Pete isn't here with you. I don't know where he is."

"We were in the car. We were...oh god...the light. The truck wasn't going to stop. We could see him coming but it was too late. He wasn't stopping...he..."

"He hit you."

"I don't remember. I don't know. I didn't feel it. But, look at me. And how did I get here? I couldn't have driven here. Or flown like this, they wouldn't have let me on a plane like this right?"

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry." She ran her hand up and down his arm. Sending as much soothing energy toward him as she could. 

His breathing slowed. The panic in his eyes started to recede. "I'm, I'm dead, right?"

"Yeah, you're dead." She didn't know how to put it more gently, or even if she should.

"So why am I here?" She watched as the wounds on his face healed. The blood on his hands started to disappear. He now looked almost exactly like the senior picture that was hanging on the wall behind him. His face a little more mature, but not much. 

"You didn't know where else to go. This place, this is home. You knew you'd be safe here."

"Now what? What's next?"

"That's up to you. You get to decide. Do you want to stay around here, watch your family, your friends? Do you want to travel this world and see anything? Or do you want to let go, move on, leave?"

"If I leave where do I go?"

"I don't know. I only know that some people leave and some people don't. But if you want to leave I can help. And if you decide to stay you can always find me later if you change your mind."

The phone started to ring. 

"I don't want to rush you but I have a feeling that phone call is going to mean the end of this slumber party so I'm going to be going home soon. You can find me there, or I'll be around here sometimes as well, checking on your sister."

"No. I mean, no, don't go yet. Do you have time to help me? Now? I mean, I don't want to stay. I want to go."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn't need to close her eyes, but she didn't like watching when they left. "Okay, put your hands in mine, hold them tightly for a few seconds, and then just let go."

She felt him leave. It was like a breeze against her face. 

"Oh well done!"

"Graciella, I didn't know you were here."

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop in just incase you needed a little help. These cases can be a little different than the old souls you've helped in the past. Sometimes they get a little belligerent. Helps to have someone who really understands to talk them down if they get difficult."

"He wasn't difficult. Just confused."

"And you handled it all brilliantly."

The sounds of sobbing reached them. "Oh dear. I always hate this part. I'll see you around, sweetie. You did good, know that."

And with that Graciella was gone. 

She soon wished she could go too.

It was easier to help the dead stop living than to help the living deal with death. 

Staying...And Leaving...And Staying...

I'm sure my parents must have fought with each other. They were married for over 60 years, they raised a lot of kids, some of them more difficult than others. They both had tempers but different flavors. My mother was a quick short fuse. She would get mad, spark at you, then was over it. My father was a slow long burn. It took a lot to get him mad but once he was mad he didn't get over it quickly, if at all. 

They also came from very different backgrounds. When we were visiting my mother the year she died she told us a story about her mother reacting to someone basically calling my father's family white trash. Now they, by definition, probably were, but my grandmother was having none of it. "Marshall is a lovely boy, very responsible, I'm proud that Ruby is going to marry him." It made me think highly of my grandmother and gave me more of an insight into my dad as well. I knew he had been the responsible adult in his family from about the time he hit double digits, his dad was an alcoholic and my grandmother was a bit of a mess but in a totally different way. Dad worked and supported the other kids. My mother grew up on a working farm. Her oldest sister was the favorite child and was treated as such. She and my Aunt Dorothy talked about resenting it, but dealing with it. 

Different backgrounds so they had to have fought. At least at first. 

I came into their lives when they had already been together for 16 or 17 years. By the time I have very many memories at all of them as a couple it was at least 20 years into their marriage. They had figured some things out by then. But still...we were broke. Everyone worked a lot. All of the time. And, as I mentioned, some of us were challenging kids to raise. 

But I never saw them fight. Ever. 

So my assumption was that a good marriage was between people who never fought.

Yeah...well...

Brent and I got married at 18. I always said I had the worst of my parent's blend. I was a hot head with a short fuse who held a grudge. Brent's parents fought all the time. For fun. Arguing and being snarky to each other wasn't a bad thing, it was their way of communicating. They didn't take it personally. I was not used to this type of communication. At all. And for Brent his actual angry stance is leaving the room. He doesn't want to say something he can't take back. He doesn't want to ever cross that line, since it was crossed in his house growing up and he hated it. That didn't work for me. I wanted him to argue with me, hash it out and move on. It took us awhile to figure out how to balance it. 

It still is a challenge at times, not going to lie. But now I know that he's not giving me the silent treatment when he's angry (and to be clear it's not even angry at me, it's frustrated with the world and he doesn't want to take it out on me) he's not punishing me, he's protecting me in the best way he knows how. 

I know that now. 

But when we were first married it would just make me angrier. And then it would shut me down. I stopped telling him when things were upsetting me. I figured it was on me to figure it out. My parents never fought so clearly we should not fight. And because I knew this, it was up to me to swallow down anything that might lead to a fight and just deal with it. 

Which works really well. 

I mean, it doesn't. Not at all. 

There were two times in our marriage that I knew for a fact it was over and one more where I wasn't sure, but it didn't look good. Brent might have more or different times. But I have three.

And all three started from the same place and were due to not dealing with an issue but just pretending it would go away. In fact I could make a case for the second and third times being directly related to the first. Because I never, we never, dealt with the problem. You can do that with some things, and you can't do that with others. It's tricky sometimes to figure out which type of problem is which. 

The first time was about 8 years in to the marriage. Brent had just gotten out of the Navy. He hadn't found a job yet and we were living with my parents. I had gone back to work through a temp agency and we were at a company Christmas party. I wanted to dance and he wouldn't. I thought, "If someone asks me when I knew my marriage was over, this will be the moment." Sounds horrible right? That I would mark the end of my marriage because he wouldn't dance with me? It wasn't the dancing. It was that I felt like he didn't love me anymore. That he didn't want to spend time with me. That he resented me. He was so angry all the time and I just couldn't deal with it. 

Did I mention he had just gotten out of the Navy, hadn't found a job yet and we were living with my parents?

See, when we were planning on him leaving the Navy everyone was getting these great jobs with great pay. We could leave, I could still stay home with Katie and we would have more money and no more 6 month cruises. Then right before he got out the economy tanked. Bottomed out. Instead of a few weeks with his parents as we decided where to go, we ended up living with them for a month, then up to Albuquerque to live with my folks so I could get a job easier. The whole reason Brent joined the military was so he could support us. So we could get married and stay together. His parents had told him it was a mistake and he needed to go to college so he could have a real career. Now here we were, and Brent felt like a failure. He had no job, unemployment and detachment pay were going to run out, I was back at work, we were living with my parents. 

Looking back I can see this all really clearly. I can also see that there was absolutely nothing I could have done to make it better for him. I couldn't come sweeping in from the future and let him know that in a couple of weeks he was going to interview with Intel through their veterans hiring initiative and get a job that would lead to a "real career." That he wasn't anywhere close to being a failure. That his wife didn't view him as such even right then, she was just getting quieter and quieter because she wanted you to not be angry. 

But at the time? I was just hurt. I didn't understand why he was so angry. I mean, I obviously knew it was hard, but I grew up broke. I grew up in a family where everyone worked. Where if someone was laid off, someone else picked up an extra shift until things got better. It was fine. Brent viewed it as a time he wasn't holding up his end of the bargain and I just wanted him to see it was our burden not his. But since I couldn't talk to him about it, I just kept pushing those hurt feelings down until that moment when he wouldn't dance with me at a party and I thought, well that's it then. He doesn't even love me anymore. 

Then he got the job with Intel, things started to get better financially and that stress lifted. 

But we never talked about it. I never told him how much it had upset me to be shut out like that. I just squashed it and resented it. 

Fast forward a few years and he is working and going to school to get his bachelor's degree. It was hard. I worked full time, he worked full time and went to school. It was such a stressful time. Then finally we were at the end of it. A break! We got transferred to Colorado Springs which was less expensive than where we had been living in Oregon and I would be able to go to part time work and we could take a breath.

Then the house in Hillsboro didn't sell. I hated Colorado Springs. And Brent went back to school. Again. I can remember the phone call when he told me he wanted to get his Master's Degree. I told him I understood that it would help him at work but that I really needed at least a year breather before he did it. There was a long pause then he let me know he had already signed up for classes.

Now, again, looking back from where I am I can see it all pretty clearly. It was a program through work, just like his bachelor's degree had been. An opportunity to get an advanced degree without the college debt. A chance to further his career instead of stalling out at the level he was at. I was working part time so I had the space in my schedule to pick up the parenting slack, and honestly I was already handling most of that since he was working 70 hours a week or so. It was too good to pass up and I would clearly see that. 

I did not. 

I do now, but I did not at the time. I was furious. I was living in a city I hated, stressed about the expense we took on having the house in Hillsboro not sell for so long. Trying to shuffle Katie around to all of her extra curricular activities and doing it all by myself. The whole reason I didn't want to have kids until he got out of the Navy was that I didn't want to be a single parent and it felt like he was asking me to be a single parent. But, it was already done. So I swallowed it down and took care of things.

With a huge dose of resentment. 

And he was stressed during that stretch. I was clearly tense the whole time, he was working insane hours and going to school. Katie was having some adjustment issues (odds are she was picking up how tense I was and reflecting it through her own behavior). 

Then I told him I wanted a divorce. 

He was not expecting it. 

He had just gotten transferred back to Oregon. He was this close to finishing his degree. Life was finally going to relax again. And I wanted out. 

As soon as I asked I regretted it. 

I knew it was a mistake and that I didn't want to be without him. I just didn't want to be in the life we were currently living. It was too hard. I was too miserable. I wanted him, I just didn't want that. 

He took me back. But we didn't deal with the issue. We didn't talk about all of it. I took the blame since I was the one who asked for a divorce. I carried the guilt of shattering his trust that I would always be there. I made promises to change some things I was doing but took all of the fault. 

With a lot of resentment.

Oddly enough, that didn't work.

It took a few years for it all to blow up again, but it did blow up again. I have the worst blend of my parent's tempers; short fuse long grudge. I had never worked past the first round of hurt from ten years earlier, and now I was trying it ignore all of the shit I had piled on top of that. 

But that last time? When it really looked like we might not make it through? Because I had already left once, I knew if I left again it would be for good. And I knew that I didn't want to leave. Not really. I wanted to fix what was broken between us and stay. So we did something weird and talked about it. What we each needed from the other. What worked and what didn't. And then we did the work. The little and big things that are important to each of us. We know what works and what doesn't for the other one and we try to make sure we are doing the right combinations. 

Because even when things were bad, we still liked each other. We still had a good friendship. And when you are looking at losing your best friend as well as your spouse? Well you do what you can to not have that happen. And to do it without resentment.

That's the key. 

My parents never fought that I know of. So I never learned how to do it well. I just learned how to keep quiet and resent the fact that I wasn't getting what I needed. I don't recommend that. 

We still argue, not often, but it happens. He still leaves the room when he's mad. I still would rather hash it out and move on. But now we both know that there are some things you can just let slide, and some things you need to deal with.

And he's still my best friend. 

And I will always be grateful he took me back when I left. And I will always be grateful he did the work with me when I stayed.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

New week, new theme! Staying and leaving. 

"We hold these truths to be self evident..."

Brent tuned in to NPR this morning to hear their annual reading of the Declaration of Independence. He really felt like it would be good to have a reminder. A connection. NPR did something different this year instead. They spoke with a descendent of Sally Hemings and Thomas Jefferson about the "all men are created equal" portion. What that meant at the time. How it has been used since then. 

It was an interesting listen and I recommend it. 

It's very strange to be contemplating leaving the United States on the Fourth of July, but here I am. 

We talked about it when Trump was elected. That maybe it was time to go. Who wants to live in a country that would elect someone like that? And who knew all of the damage he would be able to do in four years? We went as far as looking into what it would take to immigrate to Canada. Get a work Visa to move and be able to stay. 

Then we decided not to. We decided to stay. Why should we leave? It's our country. We should stay and continue to support those people and causes we believe in and vote to make the changes that are necessary and hold on. It's a Republic for as long as we can hold on to it. We decided to hold on to it a little tighter.

And now here we are five years later looking again at if we stay or if we go.

We've seen the damage that four years of Trump did. We had an attempted coup. We have an activist Christian Nationalist Supreme Court that for the very first time in our nation's history took rights away from a group of people. Not just denied rights, which the court has done in the past, but actually took something that was considered a settled right away. And they are signaling that they are not done yet. 

We are losing our country. It's being dug out from under us. 

Five years later, we are even more worried. And it's not abstract worry this time. Hundreds of anti-trans bills have been proposed and passed. Trans people are the big bad of the Republican party. They are bringing out all of their old greatest hits that they used against communism, people of color, gay people, and those scary liberals. They found a new target to focus their hate. And then added back in the old targeting of gay people and people of color, and people who believe it's wrong that in one of the richest countries in the world we have people who are starving while we have people with so much money they can pretend to be astronauts with real spaceships. 

So what do we do?

The debate is the same. Do we stay and continue to fight for what is right? Not right with a capital R but right as in morally right. Not the kind of morals dictated by misinterpretation of an old religious text, but the kind of morally right that you know is true because it's self evident. Self. Evident.

And trust me I know that even being able to contemplate leaving is a huge privilege.  

There are people who cannot leave. Who cannot even temporarily leave a conservative state for medical care let alone a country to live somewhere else. 

And because of those people it feels right to stay. To continue to fight. To continue to vote and donate and speak out. 

And we live on the West Coast in a liberal enclave so really how bad will it get?

The court is taking on a complete dismantling of our voting rights next term. Looking at handing over who wins and who loses not to any sort of popular vote, everyone gets to vote, system but to a small handful of people who can just declare a winner. So voting, which has always seemed like such a tenuous way to gain freedom is now even more limited. 

The court is taking away the separation of church and state. They are more and more using religion to dictate laws. 

The court is taking away any sort of regulatory powers. You know how your food and water is safe? Well...

The court is right now performing a coup. A take over. Minority majority rule. And Rule is the right word. There is no interest on the Right for voting by the majority, because the majority doesn't follow what they want. Rule by strength, punishment, a police force that cannot be held responsible for excessive force. This is where we are. This is where it gets bad. 

So how bad will it get where we live? 

How bad will it be for our daughter? 

Do we stay and fight or do we leave for safer enclaves? For ourselves and for a path for her?

It's a weird thing to be contemplating on July Fourth, but in a way it's completely appropriate. After all the Declaration of Independence doesn't start out with "We hold these truths to be self evident..." It starts:

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America, When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

It might be time to dissolve those political bands. 

Rotten to the Core...

Wrapping up the core theme for the week! And as promised I'm going to talk about why I identify more with the villains than I do the princesses. 

There are a few parts to it. First off as someone who thought for a few years that they wanted to act, villains always have the better parts. They get the better lines. They get the more dramatic scenes. They are just more entertaining. Check off one for the villain. 

On the flip side of that heroes tend to be boring. Or at least traditional tales of them are. Part of that is that we hold our good guys to rigid roles. First off, most of the time, good guys are guys. The heroes. If we do make a woman the hero we are being "edgy" or in today's parlance "woke." So male for the hero. I'm out. But also we force them to be perfect. If they have any failings at all we strike them from the hero book. Nuance isn't strong with the hero story. Not if you start there. 

You can be a villain and have a redemptive arc and become a hero. People love that shit. 

But if you are a hero most likely people are going to dig around until they find something awful about you so they can turn you into a villain. 

Watch the way the internet works. It's just this dynamic on fast forward. WE love you! Oh my gosh you're the greatest! (dig, dig, dig) OH MY GOD! IN THIRD GRADE HE RUBBED A BOOGER ON AN AMERICAN FLAG! BURN HIM!!! And done. 

But if you started out knowing that in third grade he was a booger rubber and now he's Captain America? What an arc! Even though it's the same fucking story. 

Villains get more leeway. Check another one off for the villain. 

Of course that only matters if you want to become the hero. I never have. I mean, I want to make sure I'm helping those that need help. People I went to high school with (when I was at my meanest and scariest) will tell you I was a pretty strong proponent for the underdog. If you were a bully you were in my sights. I have never been a believer that if you ignore a bully they will stop. All that happens if you are ignoring the bully is you get hit on your blind side. And I also don't think you should always stand up to the bully. Remember when I talked earlier about being hit in the face? Bullies will hit you in the face. If you aren't able to take that hit, and to hit them back, then you need to either walk away or find yourself a villain. 

Ta Da!

I'm also not nonviolent at all. A seemingly big requirement for heroes. If they are violent it's a last resort and causes them great concern. Hmm...well...I've talked about this before. I think there are people who could use a good ass kicking, or more.

I don't believe in the death penalty only because the State gets it wrong more times than it should. Zero being the correct number of times you should get that sentencing wrong. It also becomes State sanctioned premeditated murder. I'm not in favor of it. I don't think people who did not intend on ever killing someone should be tasked with the process. I think the weight that executioners have to bear is too much. Unless they enjoy it and then it's a different problem.

But not being in favor of the death penalty doesn't mean that I don't think some people should die. If there was a way to make sure it wasn't abused, some way to take the other side of the human toll out of the procedure, then I would say for sure we should have a death penalty. And I would expand who all it would pertain to. The recidivism on child molesters makes it very difficult for me to believe in rehabilitation in that instance so if we could know for sure who would reoffend and could not put the burden of their death on someone else then death penalty for sure.

But there isn't a way to do that so I say lock up certain people for the duration of their lives and call it a day. 

Check another one off for the villain. 

And as most of you know I have a particular affinity for Maleficent. I mean, how can you not like her? She's a gardener, she's an animal lover, she's got a great fashion sense. I was already a fan when I met someone with a gorgeous Maleficent tattoo. I commented on it and she said Mal was her favorite because unlike other villains with convoluted stories Maleficent just wanted to be invited to the party. She said once people heard her reasoning she was always invited to every party. 

Check another one off for the villain, I mean, that's a great line. 

Of course I don't want to be invited to the party. Or well, I do. I just don't want to actually go. So it's a good reason to add to my list. 

But if you look at my other reasons look at Aurora. She falls in love with the first dude she meets (common in the princess oeuvre), she is has no agency at all, and she can't even get a good nap in without someone disturbing her rest. She's boring. 

Maleficent? Not boring. She can turn into a dragon after all. And she's strong enough that the curse she lays on the family can't be lifted, it can only be modified and she still just bided her time knowing that they wouldn't bother actually keeping an eye on the princess for the one day in her life they needed to. I mean, honestly, you lock her away in the woods for 16 years but bring her back and don't watch her on the day the curse is supposed to be activated? What? 

The new movies bug me. At least the first one. One of the things I like the best about the original cartoon it's that there is no back story. Maleficent is named MALEFICENT for goodness sake. She didn't need a reason to become "evil" or mad at the fucking King. She is who she is and should be dealt with accordingly. I hate stories where there has to be a rape (or rape analogy) to turn a woman into a villain. There are so many shitty things that can happen to someone that it's just lazy story telling and reductive to women in general. 

But it's not just Maleficent. When we watch TV the number of times Brent shakes his head and says, "Is it bad that she reminds me of you?" is very high. Alice in the Luther series was one that he thought should probably really worry him more than it did. We agree that I deserve credit for every time I don't go on a psychotic rampage and burn down the world. The times I use my powers for good instead of evil.

And that's really it. 

I get painted as the bad guy by a large number of people because I don't follow the traditional rule book they would like me to. I don't believe in your god or your religion (any of them), I don't believe in your limitations and rules (I'll follow a rule if I see it as reasonable, but I'm not a rule follower by nature), and the piece that gets me called a lot of names; I am not quiet. I speak my mind. I don't just hope for the best. And if someone needs popped in the mouth I'm okay doing it. Actually popping them in the mouth or more often doing it verbally. I will shut your shit down. 

I'm a bad guy...duh. 

And I'm really comfortable with this. 

This morning a friend of mine commented on a blog from earlier this week and it reinforced that she gets it. She sees me. She is one of those that I've let in more than others. We don't stand in the same place in the world but we stand in the same way, if that makes sense. If she hears you are struggling she doesn't send thoughts and prayers; she'll pray for you and buy you a hot meal. One of those Christians who actually follow their own rulebook. I have a few of them in my life. I think if your religion makes you a better person and motivates you to do good things it's a good choice. It's not the choice for me but it works for her and for others around me. 

Today this is what she told me:

"Warriors don’t spread peace, love and light along the way. You, my friend, are a warrior. You don’t back down from a fight and you don’t compromise. I LOVE that about you. We don’t always agree 100% but you are one of the few people whose perspective and opinions matter to me, even when I have the “yeah, buts…” 

Standing firm for what you believe in does not mean you are evil. It doesn’t make you a villain. Our society has forgotten that submitting and compromising doesn’t create lasting peace - some times peace can only come on the blade of warrior’s sword.

And I will take this opportunity to recall that the Biblical analogy to the sword was the word."

I am comfortable being the villain, but I agree that being the villain doesn't always equate to being evil. 

But sometimes it helps. 

Kidding.

Maybe. 

Now excuse me while I go polish my sword.