Should Auld Aquaintance

I really was resigned.  I would do my best to raise my boys and then I could die. My younger son was 4, so 14 years, maybe one or two more.  The only reason I would wait was that I was sure no one would care about them, like no one cared about me.

I had done everything I knew to do.  I had finished High School, I had pushed myself through two years of community college.  I had lived on welfare and foodstamps, only to see them reduced because of the educational grant I received, the grant that covered child care while I was in class.  But I had done it, yet still I was finding no job that would allow us to live.

I drove my old VW across the desert, 50 miles, to my brother's house.  It was new year's eve, 1981.  My mom had volunteered to watch the boys, encouraged me to stay the night rather than drive back from the party.  Still, the highway was as dark and lonely as my life.  There was this one little light at the end.  A few days before, at our Christmas celebration, I had met my brother's friend.  He had asked me to come.  I was unbelieving.  A guy who didn't seem to be a creep had shown interest in me.

Later, hours into the first day of 1982, we lay together in the dark and made a promise.  We had already talked about our past relationships, began to share the things that had gone wrong.  We spoke the same language, and the promise may not make sense to people who don't.  It was that whatever happened between us, we wouldn't play games with each other.

We were both incredibly broken people, and it made for a bumpy road.  Abused and traumatized, each in our own ways, I struggled though depression and he struggled through crippling self-doubt.  We went through many challenges, often angry and hurting.  But we went through them together.  And we always kept talking.

I have never been able to have the depth and range of conversations, on anything and everything, with anyone else in my life.  Even when we were very angry about something, we talked about how we didn't want to talk about it.  No, we weren't perfect people, but he was my best friend.

Twenty-three years was not long enough.  Twenty three years and two months after our wedding anniversary his big old heart gave up.  I understood; he was so tired.  But even now, over 11 years later, I still miss him more than I know how to explain.

And for twenty-two years we both forgot our anniversary.  We would think of it a week before, or a week after, and laugh about it.  The last year, we remembered.

But always, always on New Year's, we turned to each other remembering that first promise.  We we not perfect, but we never played games with each other's lives and hearts.  We meant it.

Friends have gathered for parties tonight, I had a choice of a couple of different ones.  Some years I have gone, but it really doesn't go well for me.  I wish you all well with all of my heart, and I hope the year brings joys and miracles.  I hope you will forgive me for choosing to spend this night reminding myself that, what ever else I can say about it, I did always do my best to keep my promise.

Angels we have heard

It is something I often hesitate to mention, but I believe in angels.  Well, I'm not even sure if believe is the right word to use; I have occasionally seen and/or heard beings that seem to fit the name.  Not something that you tend to talk to about in everyday circles because people can look at you oddly.

Maybe it's that bit of Irish, or that bit of mountain. Sometimes I know things or see things I have no explanation for.  I could tell you stories, if you really want to hear them, but for now you will just have to take my word for it.  It isn't all the time.  And I'm not any crazier than most people I know.

My point is, I want to tell you about the one I saw last Sunday.  No, not with my actual eyes, though twice in the past when I saw them, it was just for a moment with my eyes.  But sometimes I see very clearly in my head in a way that just feels different and that I have come to respect and take notice of.  Now, it may well be a creative function of my best self or something, but if it shows me useful things, I see no good reason to disregard it.

Now, great scholars have searched scripture and defined angelic beings and really bored my pants off with hierarchies and such.  I'm going to keep it simple. Some angels guard and some carry messages.  I think others just like to sing and dance, maybe they all do.  But they don't run around in wings and halos. Why else would Hebrews 13:2 say " Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." (NIV) if they didn't sometimes run around just looking like one of us?

So I'm sitting, being quiet as you do in a quiet Quaker meeting, with my eyes closed, listening for the Spirit I call God.  I got this odd feeling that someone had come in and sat down across the room from me, even though it was pretty far into our time and I hadn't heard the door open. So I glanced over, and only saw an empty seat.  But when I closed my eyes, I pictured clearly a young lady, just as she got up and came my way.

She could have been anywhere from 16-36, slightly built, with an unruly tangle of bob length curls and laughing eyes.  She was wearing a cute little summer dress in sky blue and pink bias plaid.  She sat down right next to me and kind of put her arm across my back and got close to my ear.  I thought at her "Who are you?" and she kind of giggled and said "An angel, of course."  

No, I didn't hear the actual words out loud.  Do I have to keep explaining this.  Yes I hear voices in my head, no I am not dangerous.  Yes, it has often been quite helpful.  And so, knowing angels sometimes have messages I said/thought "Did you have something to tell me?"

And the angel said "Fear not."  Yeah, just like the angels in scripture. They come and light up the sky and say FEAR NOT! 'cause everyone is, like, quaking in terror.  Pretty cool stuff.  So I waited for what came next. 

But that was it.  She was gone. 

But you know, that is not a bad message.  I'll admit it, I'm pretty good at fear.  Current events don't help that much.  Maybe I need to do some work on that not fearing stuff.  

Now, as you have gone this far down the rabbit hole with me, I might as well take you the rest of the way.  How do you not fear?  Well, being a good little Bible student, I know that. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment." (1 John 4:18, NIV)  

On one hand, this is a very personal message to me, to go ahead and step out on a few things that I have been holding back on because of fear.  I really debated before deciding this was also a message I needed to share, not to tell you but to remind you.  There are so many things stirring up fear right now.  Remember love.  Remember that no matter what fear and evil would try to tell you, you are loved, and you are loved with perfect love, because that which is perfect cannot love any other way.  Fear not.

what is up with my name?

I have heard about body dysmorphia and, more commonly discussed lately, people who feel they were born with the wrong gender.  But I have never felt I had the right name, or at least not that I can remember.  It never felt comfortable on my tongue.  I never liked introducing myself.  I have learned to respond to it, but it has never seemed to be me.

So why haven't I changed it?  I could never think of any name I felt more attached to, that I would like more.  Even my SCA name, as much as I like it, is a specific person, it is not the everyday me.

More recently I have been thinking about my writing, and more specifically, submitting some of my poetry.  I googled my name, and there is apparently some well known math person who has it.  I had considered using a last name that is rumored to have been the name that should have been my name (long story), but I was still stuck with the Paula part.

Paula is meek.  If I looked different, Paula could be a bit exotic.  Paula is too classy for the room, unlike me.

Paula is anxious and insecure.  Paula is a victim.

The past decade or so there has been this second dynamic happening.  People who were my elders, who knew me as a child, have been disappearing into the next great adventure.  And somehow in the process, I started thinking about how my mom used to call me PK.  No one else ever did.  This is what she called me when things were going well, when she was happy and relaxed.  This is what she called me when she was pleased with me.

And I googled PK with my last name, and nothing came up.  It is unique.

So now I'm in a process of figuring out how to go by PK.  Most people call me mom, Grandma, Sadb, or Mama Sadb.  People at work call me Paula; it is right there on my badge.  I haven't talked to anyone else in person since I let this be known and changed it on Facebook.

But thinking about it makes me happy.  PK is more confident.  She has less anxiety, is a little less concerned about precise times and numbers.  She is me, but just a little better.  PK deserves to be loved. I don't know why this name would make such a difference, but it does.

I think I do not know all the differences yet, but I think PK doesn't really care to eat much meat, likes her rock music a little harder, and is more easily bored with TV.  I mean, this is still creative, spiritual, funny/quirky me, but a little more fiesty.

It is a scarey thing, at anytime in life, to decide to go public with some kind of identity change, just because it makes you happy.  I wonder what else I will get bolder about going after.  This could be interesting, I hope that I am brave enough to stay on the ride.

Let it shine

The aunties and the grandmas and the mamas were done in the kitchen, for now. Everyone was fed, and now they were lingering around the table. They had already caught up on family news while they were working, so know they started picking at the remains of this recent election.

And who am I, in this family, in this home.  I am just an old white grandma; my daughter married into this family. I and my daughter are the only white faces. The last thing I want to do is call attention to my presence. I feel that I am being given a gift to hear this conversation that isn't being edited for my benefit.

And I hear the sorrow and concern, so much like my own. I don't want to intrude, but I do get drawn in. And suddenly I feel free to talk about how confused I am by people who would vote for clearly stated hate.

And the elders, they have been there before.  They know about enduring.  But they aren't too elder that they don't pull out their cell phones and send each other email addresses to write to the Mr. Obama, to write to Mrs Clinton.  They will endure, but they will speak.

I will admit now, that I am afraid that I will not live up to my own standards. When I have read the stories from history of those who stood up for the oppressed even sacrificing their own lives, I always wondered "Could I be strong enough and brave enough to stand for what is right?"

And we are the mothers, and we are the aunties.  We are the elder women. I am part of that circle, and I must not fail.

Who knows what changes we will see between now and next Thanksgiving. But I make this commitment, and hope that I have the courage for it.  I will meet hate with love.  I will stand for what is right.  I will not be silenced.

This is the song that has been running in my head the last few weeks, as I have seen the darkness gathering:
   This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine
   This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine
   This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine
   Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Beautiful

A simple enough seeming request. "Upload 3 pictures of you... ONLY you. Then tag more gorgeous women to do the same. Build yourself up, and build others up, instead of tearing you and others down! Share the beauty!!! I tagged you because I think you are beautiful!!!"

I look through my pictures, and I don't find any pictures of only me that I am comfortable putting out there as beautiful.  I keep thinking, someday, I will be a beautiful old woman with all my wisdom carved into my face.  Someday.

I wasn't a beautiful child.  I was chubby and too tall.  My hair always had a mind of it's own, my nose was too big.  And in every picture, my eyes squinched against the sun.

And I stayed always too tall.  I was always in the back row.  I was lanky and awkward.  The cute cloths of my peers never fit right, with jeans too short, or not coming in sizes that went around my wide hips and drooped on my flat butt.

In adulthood I slowly grew heavier and heavier.  I gained glasses on top of all my other shortcomings.

And I know I should see beauty in my face.  I see a beautiful joy in my eyes, but those are not in pictures of only me.  Those are me, caught of guard, with someone I love with all my heart.  Never just me.

There is that voice in side of me that knows that it is just an over critical voice.  I don't meet my own expectations.  I know there are people who look at me in love, and see beauty.  I have tried, but I just don't see it.  It isn't right, but it is true, I do not think I am ever beautiful to look at.

I accept that this isn't right.  We just went through a whole election process and I swear to you I think as much time was spent talking about the candidates looks as was spent on their policies, views, or experience.  We live in a proliferation of cameras and selfies happening on every corner.

So, I will not be showing you my beauty, but I will tell you three things I feel are truly beautiful about me:

I have a tender heart.  Even after all the reasons I have had to become hard and bitter, I still tend to think the best of people and love them more than they know.

I have a generous spirit.  If I had the means, I would be giving gifts all the time. If you came to me right now, my friend, and said you needed something I have, I would most likely hand it to you without regret.

And I have an empathetic spirit.  I feel so strongly with people.  Sometimes when I back away it is because I have been overloaded with the feelings of those around me.  When I say that I feel you, I really do.

So yes, I am beautiful, but not in the ways that a camera can see.  But I also admit that I am blinded by my own cultural context.  So if you are a friend who sees pictures of me, and you see beauty, I would really love to try to see myself through your eyes, I admit, mine have been a little blinded.

Declaration of retreat

This is the way I am, the way many women are. Sometimes I need to talk about something that is bugging me because it helps me get my thoughts straight.  I don't really want anyone to fix it, though I would like to hear if you understand or identify with my feelings.  And if you have been in a similar position, if you have any insight. But please do leave your "should" at the door, don't want it, don't need it.

I feel like I have a troll in my life, and it is stealing a big chunk of my joy.

There is someone who is part of my extended circle, and is very active in many things, and has so many people who just adore her.  And for some reason, anytime she catches me by myself for a moment, manages to say something to me that ranges from passive aggressive to downright snarky and steals my joy about something I'm working on or something I am wearing or some task I felt I had accomplished nicely.

I have no defense against this, none. I am a ponderer, not a giver of snappy come backs. She says her little thing and moves on. Ten minutes later, or maybe the next day I'm suddenly "What the heck was that supposed to me?" and hurt and angry.

It has gotten to the point that I am now avoiding doing things I would usually enjoy, or approaching them with growing anxiety, just because I might encounter this person, might sustain another attack, and walk away feeling angry, hurt, foolish, and completely doubting myself.

And here is where I really don't need the shoulds.  Yes, I know I should just get over it, have confidence, do what I want, not let one person get in my way, confront her.  But those truly range, for me, from impossible to me seeing ways that it could only make the whole thing worse.

And this is what I really have never understood, because this truly is not the first time I've encountered behavior similar to this. How do these underhanded, sneaky, passers out of aggression towards individuals on the side, manage to maintain and seem so nice and whatever else to a group? That has got to be an exhausting juggling act after awhile.

In the meantime, if you see me taking a step back for now, yes there is something wrong. No, I really don't want to name names or try to tell you about it. I understand I'm an easy target in this kind of thing, can't help it, way I was raised and just never grew my skin thick enough.  I admit, it is my flaw, my fault, but the only defense I have ever found is retreat.  So I'm sounding that trumpet now.

The people who live in my house.

In late 2000 my world began to unravel.  Before that, I was a homeschool mom, involved in my church, and my husband had a job in aerospace.  That year, the day before Thanksgiving, he was laid off.  Then on Monday morning he was called back.  Then for a couple of months the rumor mill ground us down.  A big meeting was held to tell people that if they were sill there, they were safe for at least a year.  That year ended up be about a month.

We had never had a lot, sacrificing to allow me to stay home with the kids.  Now we were trying to make it on unemployment while my husband retrained as part of his layoff settlement.  Eventually he was able to work in a DSL call center, making about half of what he had previously been paid.

My daughter was in, 7th-8th grade.  My oldest son had a good job at a wholesale auto auction and his wife was an evening bookkeeper at a retail store and coached kids cheerleading.  My youngest son, I can't quite remember, he was out of the Marines but he was either living with his brother and some other roomates, working fastfood, and in a band with the roommates, or he had just moved to Pennsylvania with half the band.

I mean, we were a pretty average family with kids leaving home and moving on with their lives.

But he financial tensions were mounting and my husband was wanting me to stop homeschooling, put Megan in public school, and find a job.  He was getting rather mean in some of his arguments, and I was trying to sort out my heart. Then 9-11 happened and it felt like the world was crashing in.  I gave in, and Meg went to high school and I got the only job I could find, part time retail.

But we went on and things slowly got better, except...well, once I stopped homeschooling most of the women in my church who I thought were my friends turned their backs on me.  Their kids were, in the long run, even crueler to my daughter at a time when they needed her friendship the most.  I hung in, kept thinking it would blow over, get better, but it got worse.  I had become a stranger in the church I had attended for over 10 years.  When I stopped going, no one even noticed.

But we were pulling it together, Steve was getting raises.  My younger son met and married a young lady from Canada and after a few months they moved out here and he got a good job while they started working on legal residency for her. Meg graduated from High School with honors, and started community college.  Mike and Michelle announced that they were expecting our first grandchild.  My life had changed in many ways, but it was working out.

Then one Saturday 11 lears ago, Steve went in for overtime, had a heart attack, and died.  I was devastated.  Then about the time the baby was born, Mike was laid off, and ended up going into some debt to get by.  He got a job as a county bus driver, but they just couldn't seem to get ahead of the debt. Just over two years after I lost my husband, Mike and Michelle came and asked if they could move in with me before they got evicted because they couldn't cover rent.  I said we had to OK it with the manager, and she said fine, but they just had a tree bedroom open up, would we rather move into that.

This was a minor miracle, the three bedrooms didn't open up very often and to have one available just at that moment?

I think this was what made our new arrangement work.  They weren't moving into my house where I had been the mom, we moved into a different place all together, and we made new rules as adults sharing a place, who all just happened to be family and care about the well being of a certain little girl.

There have been ups and downs and job changes since.  We have moved to a complex around the corner, a four bedroom townhouse with bigger rooms and a two car garage.  Megan met her love and is married now.  Last year Mike and Michelle had a son.  This year Megan and Marcus had one.  And we are still together.

It is very expensive to live in Orange County California, but we lucked out on this place.  Because it is older and can use some remodeling, we are getting it for a monthly rent more like most 2 bedrooms in the area.   Michelle stays home with the babies, and Megan pays her, but much less is she had to pay for outside childcare.  The kids are still everyone's priority.

And yes, we know, 8 people living in an extended family situation like this is not the norm.  We do rub up against each other sometimes, but so would any roommates.  But we all like so many of the same things, share a hobby, and we all love the children.  I really can't imagine not being able to see these babies grow.  I miss my son's family with their daughter, though I understand completely the decision they made to move back to Toronto.

But here is the sad part, we could really use some more space now, at least one more bedroom.  But our family, living together in what has been the norm in many societies for thousands of years, is now considered strange.  In a year or two, when the boys really have to have more space, the only way we will be able to stay together is if we can buy.  Sadly, that would take the biggest miracle ever.
I know life is unpredictable, and I certainly never would have foreseen this, way back in 2000.  Who knows what the next turn in the road will be.  For now, I'm just going to enjoy watching these little cousins who are growing up almost like brothers, and hope that whatever comes next, they can stay close.

But I also need to mention, with all the fear in the world today, another part of this story, another reason I want to hold on tight.  Michelle is Mexican-American by several generations on each side, so their two children are mixed.  Marcus is African-American, And their little boy with his tea dyed complexion and, for now, gray/green eyes, is mixed.  For that matter, my sweet little granddaughter learning French in Toronto is half Filipino.  So I just have to put it out there, no more hate.  My family structure is from the past, but I believe these children can be the beautiful future.  Do what you can in the world to fill it with peace.

No NPC

He said "Make America Great Again" and won.  And I'm not sure it would have made that big a difference in the long run if it had gone the other way.  Most of us know, the rich run the government, and we are all just NPC's to them.

But I have been thinking about what that phrase means to me, when was America ever great for the most people?  I guess we also all know it has ever only really been great for wealthy white male landowners.  All the rest of us have always been NPC's or worse.

But that doesn't mean that there haven't been some things that have been great along the way, things that we could still do to at least make daily life a little greater.

Let's be real, we have been pushed to the limits of busyness.  We need margins in our lives.  I don't mean down time, veg time, I mean a time out from the biased media.  We need time to build and dream and make for ourselves.

If we could know our neighbors a little better, that could build stronger and more peaceful communities, which could be pretty great.  In my Grandma's neighborhood, when the weather was nice, people sat on their porches after supper, or walked up and down the street and visited.  It is harder to hate someone when you know there names, when your kids play together.

Find a way to do something nice for the needy in your community.  I don't have much money, you don't have much money, none of us have time.  But you probably know a place to drop off a few can goods to help the hungry, or a package of socks to a homeless shelter.  Do what you can, you will feel better for it and it might help.

Take personal responsibility.  This is a tough one.  Be the better person.  Be the one with manners, the one who shows respect.  Admit it when you blow it.  Apologize,  make amends.  Don't complain unless you are willing to pitch in and help do the work to fix it.

The great parts have always been when we think outside the box and come up with new ways to get things done.  The great parts have always been when we take care of each other.  The greatest is when we look beyond skin and status and work together to build something a little better for our kids.

And please, more than anything else, lay aside hate.  First do no harm, no violence, no destruction.  Yeah, your pissed off, I get it.  It is hard being an NPC, so start being a fully self directed individual.  My grandkids are counting on you playing your heart out.

Flashback city

This is not a political post, even though it contains references to current political events

I admit that I have never liked Trump.  Never could stand it when his face popped up on a TV screen near me.  Didn't know much about him, he just got on my nerves.  Didn't matter, he didn't really matter to my life.

But now he does, and I can't help but hear more about him as a person, see more pictures, hear his voice and his gestures more. 

Then there were his comments about grabbing women by the...no, I can't even say it.  

I was 11, just starting to fill out.  My uncle lived with us, and he fun.  He actually showed me more affection than my dad, I think he was missing his kids lost in a divorce.  Sometimes he would tickle me, and it was totally innocent, I promise.  But his one day after school, he gave my knee a little tickle and my foot shot out and hit my dad's guitar and a string broke, and my dad freaking lost it.

It was laundry night, and I always went with my mom to the laundromat and helped her.  That night my dad and his bottle went along.  While my mom worked, he made me sit in the drivers seat next to him while he got drunker and drunker and explained to me his version of the facts of life.  He thought my uncle was trying for more, I guess.

He told me the story about how my mom's brother was infected with syphilis and it was covered up by his wife's judge daddy and so he was brain damaged.  As he got drunker, he told me all boys want is to put their little weenies up in me.

And he grabbed me to illustrate where.  Yeah, my dad grabbed my 11 year old privates, and dug in a little just to be sure I knew what he meant.  Breathing fumes and saying a bunch of other stuff that was mostly incoherent, but all beyond scarey.  And when my mom checked in, as practically begged her to let me come in, and she told me I just needed to sit there or it would be worse.

I have seem other men like this in the years sense.  The bar owner where I was a topless waitress for a few months.  The broad hairy chest and gold chains who talked to the women who worked for him like we were trash he picked up by the side of the road.  The strip club owner who would decide to hang out in the office every few months, getting shit faced, and then come out and offer money for dancers to break the law and take it all off.  One night there was an emergency at home and he wasn't going to let me leave, so I quit and walked out.  He busted up the place, the cops were called, and a bunch of the ladies spent the night in jail.

Older men, broad hairy chests, gold chains.  Always arrogant, always grabbing what is not theirs because they think they own it.

Aside from the political stuff, I suddenly realized it when I saw yet another photo yesterday.  When you have PTSD, when you have flashbacks, when you live with this kind of repeated trauma, yeah, I'm never going to be able to separate that out.  I cannot be an impartial judge.  And I really try to be fair, but even writing this, my hands are shaking and my eyes are tearing up.  

I guess it is good to process through this, to work through these feelings.  But yeah, this is hard, so please don't ask me to give him the benefit of the doubt right now, I am not in the right head space for that.

A note on the journey

I interrupt my not regularly scheduled ramblings to bring you this random collection of thoughts.

Someone noticed a change in my social media posts this week, mentioned it to me irl this morning, and I thought I knew what I was talking about, and I kind of did.  But I have been feeling distracted all day, and realized there is more going on.

This is an emotionally complicated time of year for me.  Next Saturday will mark the 11th anniversary of the day my best friend and love unexpectedly exited this life.  It is always a time of reflection for me.

Obviously many things have changed.  I mean, I moved all the way around the corner, live with 2/3 of my kids, have added grandchildren, work full time.  And I still miss him, even though I wished him well on his journey at the time and meant it and still do.  He had a difficult life and was worn out more than his age or visible health concerns would explain.  But I knew him.

And to be honest, in some ways we were both freed from the prison of his negative self image from the abuse he suffered as a child.  And I thought I would write more about how I could love him with all my heart and miss him with all my soul, and let still feel there are some positives.  But then I end up sounding like this is better.  But I don't know, he was in a place of beginning to be more settled in his heart, so I can't predict who he would have been on this side of those same years.

But I know who I am, in this process of becoming more truly myself.  And part of what I am is, in the midst of all this family, feeling very alone.  I'm kind of an oddball, always have been and always will be.  Few people are interested in the range of things I'm interested in.  Few people have an interest in the kinds of long deep conversations that I used to be able to have with my best friend.  No one has time for that.  I don't even have time for that.  That doesn't stop me from wanting it.  Real life and soul cravings are not always compatible.

And here is the other thing about why I'm writing about all this.  There is a part of my that is wanting to back away from some things, stop doing those social parts of my life where I am being irritated by not feeling less lonely.  Thinking maybe if I simplify my schedule and simplify my surroundings I will leave for space and time for the creative aspects I have been neglecting.

Wait, don't get all upset and tell me you would miss me.  I haven't said I'm going to stop showing up.  What I want you to hear is that this is a hard time of year for me, and I am a little emotionally ragged.  If I"m quiet, if I back away from some things for a bit, if I'm not all "in the holiday spirit" please just give me a hug when you see me and give me some space.

Life is a journey.  And even after 11 years, greif is a process.  This may be a bump in the road, or I may be glimpsing a fork in the road just up around this next little bend.  On the other hand, I may just need a nap.  Life is weird that way, and however it works out, the story keeps going.

Words, a power for?

I used to know two brothers, around nine or ten.  They lived near by and played in the group of friends my daughter was part of.  And they fought. All the time.
One day I walked out to hear the smaller one with the quicker wit calling his brother names.  I asked him if he was wanting cry.

"What do you mean?"
"Your brother is bigger, right?"
"Yeah?"
"When he gets mad, he hits you, Right?"
"Yeah?"
"And it hurts, and you cry, right?"
"Um, yeah, I guess?"
"So, why are you sitting there calling him names and making him mad?"

I was thinking about this earlier this week.  I have been thinking about some of the name calling I have been seeing.    No, I'm not talking about the current election stuff.  I'm talking about people talking about the behavior of other people.  I'm talking about labeling behaviors with cool words, sometimes new words, that are popular at the moment.

This is not going to be a popular opinion, but no matter how accurate some of these words are, if you go around using them on people you probably aren't going to get the result you want.

I'm trying to think of a way to give you an example, without calling anyone out. If you have been using some of these terms, I don't want you to hear this as criticism and shut down and get defensive.  But look though your social media feed.  Once you get past the current political stuff, what words are people throwing around that could be read as insulting?

So, some of the words have really been sticking out to me lately.  And what I have been asking myself, is there a better way to address the issues without using words that seem to add to the anger?

At the most extreme end of this, is the idea of carrying my non-violent ideals through to my language.  I believe the words we use matter; they move the story forward.  It is really easy to just use words that are popular and amusing and catchy.  But what I'm asking myself more and more lately, are these words that hurt or heal?  Do these words lead towards peace or more anger and fighting? Do these words help the situation, or do they just make people dig into their positions?

I know, its so cool to be clever and have these trendy phrases to spit out there and be all witty and quick.  And yeah, I'm just an old thinkful introvert that ponders things and sometimes writes stuff about my thoughty thoughts.  It's ok, I get it. I'm not saying you do this, I'm saying I have been noticing it, and I want to not do this.  I want to be careful of the power of my words, and thought it might be something other people might want to think about as well.

Or maybe you really do just like starting fights.

Please stay

Note: this is mostly addressed to my friends in the SCA, but I decided to write about it here, because I can think of other organizations where it could apply.

A friend is sitting vigil today for her elevation to Lauryl, A recognition of the excellence of work in an art form in the Society for Creative Anachronism.  I'm not able to go.  In the nearly 12 years I have been in the group, I have never been able to attend a vigil, for one reason or another.  But, based on my experience after these 12 years, this is what I would say - please stay.

I won't say I don't know any peers who are still active on the local level, but most of the ones I have seen move up are not.  Friends I used to see at even the small local events and demos just aren't around anymore.  People who used to teach classes at collegiums or wars, very rarely do anymore.  I get that you are busy with your order, with Kingdom level duties, with life; but I miss you.

Also, we have newcomers who do not know who you are.  I have always hated when I'm trying to learn something and someone says "You should talk to Mistress such and so." and I do not have a face for that name or anyway to meet them.  If part of the reason for your reward is to help and encourage other's, it is really sad that you just are no longer around to do that.

And the people I have come to love and care about, well, I really hate to even say how it really feels sometimes.  It feels like you have reached what you were working towards and now you are done and moving on.  If you are still involved but only at the higher levels, it feels like we aren't worthy, and maybe we never were.

Stay available to teach what you have learned.  Come hang out sometimes, just to hang out.  Remember that there are people who like you, even though we don't play to your level.  Remember where you came from.  Don't forget us, don't ignore us.  Please come over to play.

Please stay.

Reflections on coming out.

Yesterday was National Coming Out Day.  Several of my friends posted on Facebook, relating their own experiences or some memory.  I am really proud of them for the courage.  But I also have to admit that when I think about myself, there is some confused feelings.

I don't even know if I really have the words to explain.

I hear people talk about knowing when they were really young.  I also was aware of sexual feelings when I was pretty young.  But always, always, there was something in my culture that carried a burden of shame for each and every feeling.  Boys, bad.  Girls, out of bounds.  The feelings of being in my own skin, shut it down.  The hidden parts of my body, nasty, and keep them hidden.

I have felt attractions to a lot of different people and a lot of different experiences.  But I have mostly felt that I never really was given options.  I was given a limited menu, and I picked everything I was offered.  I never knew a way to reach out and ask for something more.

And now I feel it is too late.  I will never know if I would have enjoyed ordering off the menu.  Heck, I can't even seem to get the waiter's attention anymore.

But I just want to make sure my friends know, in case they didn't, that I am all in favor of them being real, being free, and never having to hide all of who they are. All that shame stuff, that has done so much damage to everyone.

And life is too short to wait to love with all your heart.

Someone I used to know

Here is the story.

I think I may have been in the 1st grade.  Back then, children who were young for their grade did not have to wait a whole year, there were half grades.  I didn't know Kim that well because she was a half grade behind and had just moved up from Kindergarten in the middle of the year.  Long blond hair and incredibly pretty, but I didn't really know her.

When she came to the bus stop that morning, she was crying.  Of course, the girls gathered around to ask her what was wrong.  She said that couldn't get her mother to wake up that morning, and that her mother was dead.

She must be lying, just to get attention, right?  They wouldn't send her to school if her mother was dead.

You probably guessed, her mother was dead.  Her parents had gone out drinking the night before and got in an accident.  They made it home, but she was more injured than they knew and she didn't wake up the next morning.  It took me a long time to understand the complexities of adult life that would decide that the best thing to do was take Kim out of what was likely to be a messy process and send her on to school.

That was about the time that my dad had finished remodeling our house, and started his home repair business.  For a number of years he did everything from handyman type jobs to room additions, mostly in Pacific Palisades and Malibu.  Yeah, that Malibu.  Kim's dad was a painter, so my dad started hiring him for some of the jobs.

Kim's house was about 3/4th's of the way on that mile long walk straight up hill to the bus stop.  On the days Kim's dad worked, I would get a ride while my dad picked him up, then walk the rest of the way with Kim.  She would also walk home that far with me in the afternoon.

Her dad didn't work with my dad for very long.  My dad said he was unreliable because of his drinking.  It was years before I realized how ironic this was.  But my dad was a pretty functional alcoholic, with his pint of vodka under the truck seat and his cooler of beer on the job site.  But he was harsh on men like Kim's dad - bar drunks, who couldn't get up in the morning.  Drunks who would hurt people they loved.

My dad had no clue how much he hurt me, how often he scared me, how crushed and broken I was by his verbal attacks and unpredictable temper.  He had no clue that I would spend the rest of my life, whenever things were going well, with the sense of dread that everything is about to go horribly wrong.

So, I walked with Kim and felt sorry for Kim, but she never felt sorry for herself. She had her grandpa, "Pop Pop", and horses. Her home may have had a certain amount of chaos, but it also had a really sturdy foundation of love.

A few years later they moved to the other end of the canyon and we didn't hang out together anymore.  Our interests, friends, and half-year grade difference kept us going our separate ways.  Then the flood happened and we moved far away.

But I thought of her over the years.  I thought of her as I went through the chaos of my dad's disintegration.  I thought of her sometimes as I went through some healing processes from that and other trauma.  I hoped she was doing well.

You can criticize social media all you want, but I am thankful for Facebook.  It has gotten me back in touch or gotten me word on people I never thought I would hear from again.  A few years ago, through a group for kids who grew up where we grew up, we reconnected.  We still didn't have much in common, but I was glad to know she was happy, still had horses, and had a good family life.

Today, There was a post on Facebook that she has passed away.  It didn't give any details, but it isn't really important.  Like I said, we weren't really that close.
But tears came to my eyes: sadness, gratitude that I was able to know, regret that I didn't have a chance to visit with her in person at least once.  I also can't help but feel the tears were a bit selfish, it is always hard to hear that a kid you grew up with is gone.  Kind of draws you up short and says "pay attention."

And I don't know her family or friends, good chance I won't be able to make it to the memorial.  But I wanted to tell that piece of her story that I held in my heart. It is also a piece of my story, and now I am done.

Old memory, new thoughts.

I was thinking about a long ago friend today.  I really only knew him for a few months, but it was during an intense time in my life.

The summer I turned 20 I was living outside the back gate of Eglan AFB in the panhandle of Florida.  My 1st husband was in the Air Force, my baby boy was going on 2, and I was angry.  Very angry.

My husband had decided he needed more fun in his life, and had moved out to find it.  In desperation, I complained to his commanding officer and he was forced to move move me in with his newfound room mate and go to counseling with a base chaplain.  I won't go into all the gory details of the things I did to try to get even with my husband, and the story of singing with the chapel choir at the Vietnamese refugee camp is a story for another day.

Anyway, he ended up being required to live on base while I was renting a crap apartment and working as a topless cocktail waitress just outside the back fence of the base.  And I was introduced to this gay guy that lived in a falling down house near by.  He became my son's babysitter, and my friend.

This may seem unlikely, but we really had a lot in common.  We both were in difficult life situations because of overbearing and controlling fathers.  I was the blacksheep for getting knocked up and was forced into a marriage I really knew was not a good idea.  He was the blacksheep for being gay and a druggy, way more drugs than my meager experiments.  Turns out that when you are raised by a bipolar alcoholic, control issues can take a lot of the fun out of getting high or drunk.

So, I have this strange memory of us sitting and talking about our lives for hours.  I don't know when we had time, I had a lot of other things going on.  Maybe it was just that we clicked, and we shared so intensely it just felt like hours.  He had this big question that haunted him, was he really gay or was it just a way to really hurt his high level Air Force officer father?  He was also shocked that I had never tried cocaine.  So he proposed an experiment.

Now, I know what you are going to say, it was all a scheme.  I have tried to explain bits of this story to a few friends in the past, and that is about as far as it gets, that it was just his game.  But really, it wasn't like that.  We were really friends.  But the idea was that he would get us some cocaine so I could try it, and he knew how it affected him, so we could try it out and see if he was really gay.

This was the mid '70's and I was having anger one night stands several times a week.  This was really not that big a deal.

So, yes, he really was gay, and I hope I put his mind at rest.  Before the end of the year I was back in Orlando, working as an erotic dancer.

I wish I could remember his name, I can sure remember his face.  I hope he is out there somewhere tonight, settled somewhere nice with the love of his life, happy. But that was the '70's, we had no idea that there was this virus waiting to pounce just a decade later.

And here's the thing, I'm happy for my LGBTQ friends who have more freedom to love who they love. I've been getting to know a whole range of people in their 20's, even 30's, who grew up without as much angst about sexuality.  I know it isn't across the board, and a lot of it probably has to do with living in California, but they are just so so aware and so accepting of whatever relationships work best for themselves and their friends.

Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been different if I had had those same understandings, those same freedoms.  I feel like my days of being able to experiment and try out new things over; the opportunities just aren't there.  There are questions that will most likely go unanswered for me; questions I didn't  even know how to ask at the time.

I hope that this freedom only continues to grow.  People need to be able to be themselves.

rusty hamster wheel

Warning; I'm about to be real honest about something that may be hard to hear.

It is no secret that I am fat.

There are a lot of things you can be and keep it a secret, but being fat isn't one of them.

I understand things about why I am fat that people don't like to hear; genetics, depression, and the slow suicide of not caring.  And I am a product of my society. I know fat makes me ugly and undesirable.  There have been times in my life that being undesirable have made me feel safe.

Now it makes me sad.

I am also enough of a product of my society that being older makes me feel ugly and undesirable.

Sometimes I think I would like to have another relationship; to once more feel the quickening of my pulse, to share gentle caresses, to...

But I'm fat and old and ugly and hideous and no one could possibly be attracted to me.

And if someone showed interest, I would think they were either some kind of pervert or trying to get something from me, and as I don't have anything worth anything, it is back to them being some kind of pervert.

And so here is the thought that runs across my mind from time to time.  Because I pre-reject myself do I put out vibes that are guaranteed to repel any interest in my based on, say, my sparkling wit or easy laughter.  Or just my kindness.

Because you don't have to tell me, unless you just can't help yourself, I know I am an intelligent, creative, kind person.  I am not hard to please, and I am near great in ways you will probably know.  Because I also have a broken truster and it is really hard for me to let people get close enough to know.

And it makes me sad.

It is a vicious circle.  It is a rusty hamster wheel of a circle squeaking in my brain.

Because there is a part inside of my that still feels desire, that still wants and dreams and sometimes feels attraction, knowing the whole time that it is surely impossibly out of my reach.

And I try to cheer myself up and give myself pep talks and say "you never know"
but I know.

And now you know that I know. So you can stop wondering.

While I'm at it, food podcasts I like

Another well represented subset of podcasts I enjoy are centered on the subject of cooking and eating.  Like yesterday's post, please to share if you have a favorite I have missed.  I am just going to talk about these in the order they show up in my feed, so alphabetically.  I'm not going to post links, as I believe they are all very easily searchable.

America's Test Kitchen Radio
I listen to many podcasts that are also radio programs. I love having this ability to hear these shows on my schedule.  America's Test Kitchen is probably known to many home cooks, more likely as a TV show.  I really don't know what I like the best about this show, the taste comparisons, the product and gadget reviews, or reports on food trends.  This and more is all presented by interesting and personable hosts. Sometimes there are repeats of segments or whole shows, but that is true of many of these more professionally produced podcasts.  Still, this is usually the one I listen to first on Monday mornings, and it helps get my work week started right.

Fork Report
This is a local radio show that airs on Saturdays on KFI.  Neil Saavedra (sp?) has been a long time producer and sometimes host on the station, and I have enjoyed his work for many years.  I also sometimes like to listen to The Jesus Christ Show that he does on Sunday mornings, but only in bits and pieces, now and then. He is a little too orthodox for me.  This food show, however, is a favorite. He offers hints, food news, and cooking ideas like the other podcasts.  In addition, he talks about local restaurants and food related events.  He often has guests from the SoCal area bring in food and drink which he samples and comments on during the show.  There are occasional remote broadcasts as well. It should be mentioned that Neil is a big Disneyland fan and an annual passholder, so he includes the culinary news from the happiest place on earth.

KCRW's Good Food
This podcast covers some of the same news as the other ones I listen to.  It also talks about some of the same events and local eateries as the Fork Report.  What distinguishes this one for me is, first, it's focus on stories of global changes and our food supply and, second, on local and sustainable food.  I enjoy that they include a weekly trip to the Santa Monica farmers market and often talk with local chefs and vendors about what is in season and how to use it.

The Splendid Table
This podcast from America Public Media is hosted by Lynne Rossetto Kasper, of the beautiful, full, fruity voice.  Some ot the stories are the same, some of the guests are the same as are likely to show up on the other two public radio shows I have mentioned.  I think she does more call in questions, and she has a wider, even international, audience.  There are two particular segments I really enjoy that are unique to this show.  One is almost every week, Road Food with Jane and Michel Stern.  They have their own website, and have been traveling the highways and byways of America for years, eating in every out of the way place you can imagine.  I love to hear their take on regional specialties, and if I ever get to take a major (or even a minor) road trip, I will be looking at their website for places to try.  The other less frequent segment is when Lynne plays Stump the Cook with a call in audience member.  They tell her some ingredients they have, and she can add a few more, but only if they actually have them, and then she describes what she would make with them.  Often she will have a guest foodie as well as the audience member commenting on her idea and then if they say they would consider cooking and eating it, Lynne wins, cheers all around.  This suits my way of cooking; not "here's a recipe, go get the ingredients" but "this was on sale, what can I do with it."

So there you go, hope that makes for some tasty listening.

Some podcasts I have been meaning to mention

When I first walked away from the Sunday Club I used to attend, I thought I would find another club.  But every time I thought to visit another one, I felt sick to my stomach (can you say PTSD?).  Then I got this incredibly boring and repetitive job and discovered the wonderful world of podcasts.  Today I want to talk about three, in particular, that helped me walk though this changing time in my life.

The first one I found was the Into the Wild Podcast. http://freebelievers.com/podcast/into-the-wild
Darin Hufford was just as angry and fed up as I was.  Eventually he went through changes and I went through changes.  I don't listen anymore, but I won't say anything against it.  I don't highly recommend it anymore either, but I need to mention it, because it was what I needed for a time.

Because of mentions on Into the Wild, I discovered The God Journey.
http://thegodjourney.com/
Wayne Jacobson and Brad Cummings have talked though a lot of ideas and seasons over the years I have been listening.  They talk honestly about getting to know a God who really loves us, without all the religious expectations.  I hesitate to say too much about who they are, what they have done, and what they are known for.  If you choose to listen a bit, I would like to to not come with too many presuppositions.  But, in case you were wondering one way or the other, they do come from a Christ centered place, but without a lot of the uptight BS, just a lot of freedom and love.

There used to be a God Journey Forum that I participated on for a time.  Because of some of the interactions there, I met a few people that I only know online, on Facebook now, but who I truly treasure.  Everytime, I think I have gotten everything from this conversation that I can, something new starts unfolding for me.  It truly is a part of my ongoing journey.

Another podcast that had a good long season with me, but has somewhat fallen to my way side is Beyond the Box.
http://www.beyondtheboxpodcast.com/
If you are interested in unpacking some complicated theology, especially about ultimate reconciliation and non-violence, then I would recommend that you listen through  some of the older episodes.

If you have been reading this blog or my other one, (http://beloved-heretic.livejournal.com/ ) then you know that my spiritual journey is ongoing and not exactly inside the walls.  This being said, if you know of a podcast that you think might interest me, please do let me know.  I'm still working that boring, repetitive job.

Last Thoughts?

Jesus once said this thing, no I'm not going to go look it up and quote chapter and verse, but it was about letting today's trouble be enough for today, don't worry about tomorrow.  We never know what is going to happen tomorrow.  Truth be told, we barely know what is going to happen with our next breath.

You never know when the conversation you are having with someone is going to be the last time you ever see them.  But we can't run around saying goodbye like it's the last time.

And so I fight a mighty battle.  Against myself.

I feel how I move slower than I used to, and more things hurt.  I hate that I am more sensitive to temperature extremes, bad air, and strange foods.  I don't stand up well from low places.  I am just not as bendy.  And I don't see any of this getting better.

But that doesn't mean I need to give up.

For example, I have started really working at poetry again.  It feels deeper and more meaningful than ever before in my life.  But every single stupid time I stand up and share it, I fight the battle.  I'm too old, I'm irrelevant.  What do you think, old lady, that you can get pack the years?  But the years are what I have, that is where the meaning comes from.

And I also find myself battling this idea, was that the last time and I didn't know it?  Will this be the last time?

Was that the last time I will ever be loved?

Was that the last time I will ever go to Disneyland?

When I go on this next camping trip, will this be the last one?

And the hard part is, some of these things might be true.  But I need to now worry about it.  I need to let today's troubles be enough for today.

Years ago, a friend of mine put it another way.  "Most people have one foot in yesterday and one in tomorrow, pissing all over today."

So, today I have been resting a bit, laughing a bit, thinking a bit.  Babies smiled at me, I did some sewing.  I wrote the first draft on a poem.

And tomorrow?  Tomorrow will come with its own worries, I'm sure.

Reenactment vs. Recreation - politics and art in the SCA

A huge word storm erupted among some of my SCA friends this last week.  That is only one way some of this has been cycling through my awareness lately, just look at my last post.

And a new friend from a very different direction who does Roman re enactment made a small comment, no offence intended, that the SCA doesn't care about accuracy.  My reply is that some people do.

The official literature of the SCA will say that what we do is re-creation.  We do pre 1600 European centric history, without all the unpleasant things like plague and inquisitions.  But the C does stand for Creative.

And this is where the word storms blow up.  There are many talented artisans seeking higher level awards (or sometimes surprised by higher level awards) who pursue very serious scholarship in the name of doing their chosen art in the most historical way that is modernly possible.  And as we are an educational non-profit, this is to be greatly appreciated and encouraged.

On the other hand, there are members who as passionately pursue participation for the fun of it.  There are a number of geeks and gamers, equally interested in history and fantasy, who just want to have fun.

Sometimes these two groups rub each other the wrong way.  It should also be noted that there are people how totter the fence on this one.

Where it gets ugly is when they start calling each other names; things like boring, war bunnies, anal, party animals....

And I feel really torn each time this argument breaks out again.  I really greatly admire the level of scholarship with which some people apply themselves.  Sometimes I get really interested and dig pretty deep, but I just don't have the time and resources to go be as disciplined and complete as some our wonderful scholars are.  Also, I live this stressful life; I need fun.  Sometimes I can hear a well researched and perfectly period performance and be .... bored to tears even while appreciating it.

I am a creative person, it is in the very nature of my brain to color outside the lines.  With the wrong color.  And so I am one of those that uncomfortably straddles the fence.

But here is the thing, we need feet on the ground.  We need memberships and site fees.  We need volunteers to do any of the things we love, even if we don't always love the something.

We are Anachronism, something out of it's proper time.  We are Creative, we have to be to pull of the Anachronism.  But before that, we are a Society.  We are a community, a tribe, a corporation.  We are geopolitical groups and households. We are families by birth and chosen families.  We are smart and silly and stubborn and irritating and socially awkward and nobel beyond belief.  We need each other to make this work.  We need to serve the dream, our dream, in a way that doesn't turn it into somebody else's nightmare.

These are my own views, don't blame the management.  But I love you guys, I really do.  The day that you stop challenging me to dig deeper and think harder and try something new, I will be out of here.  The day that it is more work than fun, I am out of here.  Life's too short, and getting shorter all the time from my point of view.  But hey, lets see if we can figure out gentle ways to communicate, especially online, so we can last another 50 years.

Resolving conflict caused by competition for recognition in social group dynamics, or STFU

There was some drama this week among my medieval hobby friends.  I didn't see it, I don't need to see it.

A few weeks ago another friend from this same group told me about something.  I only had it from one point of view and didn't know who had talked to her, but I wanted to rise up, do something to right the wrong.

Every.  Single.  Social.  Group.  Every one, from the churches I have been involved in through office politics.  People say mean thing to each other, compete for recognition, get hurt and turn into martyrs.

And often I feel like I want to come to the defense, be the champion, somehow turn the tide and make the world a better place.  I am not one for quick comebacks, though.  I'm also and introvert.  By the time I figure out what I want to say, the moment is long gone or I think better of it.

But I do ponder and write about stuff.

And I do get angry and hurt sometimes myself.  This is what I have observed.  Some people are just really good at pushy self-promotion and kissing up to the right people.  And they are really good at not saying the nasty little mean things in front of the people who they are trying to impress.  It's us powerless shlubs that get the mean remarks.  And they are really good at not saying it in front of anyone else.  And so my friend feels helpless, and I feel helpless.

And we give up.

We give up doing something we enjoy because it is not worth the fight.  It is unfair, but these people always win.

Now, this just sounds like a whiny rant, but I have another point.

Most of these people who are so hurtful, I don't think they really hear themselves, I don't think they know how hurtful they are, I don't think they know any other way to play the social game.

I didn't know another way to handle the conflict and the hurt feelings.  But I saw another way last weekend.

I was in a business meeting of a Quaker group that I have been attending, a group that practices silence.  An issue was brought up. and someone expressed displeasure at something, and people started getting defensive, and it could easily ended in several people walking away carrying a lot of self-righteous hurt and anger, over a really small thing.

Then the person appointed by the group to keep things on track abruptly said "Let's go into silence."  And we sat in silence, and...  Thought?  Listened for God?  Reflected on the words that were said?  And after a bit, one person spoke, then another.  They reflected care for the person who brought up the problem.  They reflected a willingness to find a resolution.  They reflected that the person who used to handle this issue was no longer with them, and was missed, and the sadness over that.

Instead of blaming and competing and criticizing, people listened to each other, showed caring and respect for each other.

I don't know what the long term results will be, but I think there is something very powerful in not being so quick to have all the snappy answers and comebacks.  I think the honorable behavior that my medieval group, the professionalism in my workplace, the love of God my former churches desired; I think they could all benefit from sometimes just listening and reflecting before speaking.

I know that harsh words and escalating anger are not taking us any place good. I hope we can try to learn a different way.

It Was Supposed to be Better by Now - We were supposed to be better.

Mid 60's in a small town in North Carolina, I went to the pool with some kids from my grandma's neighborhood.  It was unfiltered, something this California kid had never seen.  It was also segregated, I found out that day.  On Friday the pool was drained and cleaned and refilled so it was sparkling clean on the weekend.  Saturday through Wednesday, as it grew slowly greener and mossier it was whites only.  Thursday was the day for the colored's.  Little hot black kids hung on the fence the day I went.  I never went back.  I didn't have words, I didn't know how to express the confused feelings in my heart.  I just didn't go back.

It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and MLK was already a martyr. We marched and we voted and we picketed for civil rights.  And we all said things were getting better.  And we knew some people still wanted to live in a segregated world, but they would learn, we would grow, it would get better.

In 1970 just before I started High School in small town Florida in the middle of the first year it was integrated, a friend of my dad's told me a little of the town's history.  No blacks lived in Ocoee.  They chased them all out years ago.  Burned a church down, with the people inside.  Now they were bussing black kids in from the next town over, things were getting better.  So much better that there was a cross burned on the school grass that spring.

Things were getting better, I mean, I remembered the Watts Riots.  We were getting better, it would never be that way again.  Yet, decades later, I cried as I watched South Central burn in the wake of Rodney King.

I can go into an electronics store by myself, with money in my pocket, ready to buy a computer or a TV, and be completely ignored, cannot even get anyone to talk to me.  If I want to get my questions answered I have to take one of my adult children, and even though I ask the questions, the answers are addressed to them. I walk in with my black son in law, and from the moment we walk in the door, they are trying to help him.  In the meantime, I think I could walk out with my pockets full.  And no one would even see me.  But of course, it's the same rules for everybody.

He stopped off for a soda one day, on the way to a friends house, and he was detained by the police, held in front of the store on the busy street where a lot of people know him.  Heck, even one of the cops knew him, because he is one of those social guys that has friends everywhere.  But he fit the description of someone who had robbed the store the day before.  The description was "a tall black man wearing jeans and a dark t shirt."  They checked him out and let him go, only took an hour or so.  Good thing one of the cops knew him.  But yeah, it's getting better, except when it isn't.

People are saying the only difference now is the cameras.  We see more, we know more.  The beatings and the violence are harder to keep secret.  We are supposed to be getting better.

And you want to nitpic over the wording of a slogan, or the definition of a word. I guess that is easier than talking about what is actually happening.
 
How can we actually make things better?  How can we be better?

Can you please stop arguing and start listening?

I know you, white person, you person who looks a lot like me, you person who has struggled in the economy the last few years, you person who just wants a safe neighborhood, who just wants to take care of your kids.  I know you are worried about your way of life.  You see the popular media thugs based on the real life problems that have been created by an oppressive system, and all you see is a threat.  Please can you find a way to learn about the real problems, to know the real people.  Can you think about your actions, your votes, your voice; are your choices helping or hurting?

Don't be afraid to talk to someone who looks different than you.  Do you think what they want is any different?   I know open dialog won't solve everything, but denying that it is happening doesn't solve anything, either. We have to try.

I have to believe that we can be better.  I have to believe that it can get better.

It Was Supposed to be Better by Now - another word

When I started writing this series of posts, it was sparked by a conversation between friends on Facebook.  I never expected, while I was writing through my thoughts, that we would be see the tragic violence and loss of lives the last few days.  My heart is aching.

Make no mistake, I believe in nonviolence.  Even while I admit the our world is filled with violence, my heart's cry is that someday, somehow, we can grow up and learn better ways to deal with each other.  Growing up means that we are willing to recognise that we still have things to learn.  I have things to learn, I absolutely admit that.  It wasn't that long ago the I really disagreed with the way the word racism was being redefined.

Language changes, though.  We add words, we drop and shorten words, and we change how we use words.  You can chose to insist on your definition and continue to have conversations that are filled with misunderstandings, or you can chose to learn the new usages and have conversations that just might make advances towards healing, justice, and peace.  I can only give you the information, you chose your own adventure on this one.

The simplest definition of racism, the one I grew up with, is that it is the belief that your race is superior to another race. It was often used synonymously with prejudice.  Now, that definition still does not make it a positive word, but it leaves open the concept of reverse racism.

But the newer usage and definition of racism add this; it only applies to a dominant culture.  In the United States, white is still the dominant culture.  A white person can be a racist.  A minority person may be prejudiced, they may be bigoted, they may act out their forced role of the oppressed in angry and hurtful ways.  But the response of a minority culture to the oppression of the dominant culture is not defined as reverse racism.

Now, you may not think that whites are still the dominant culture.  I get that. Balances have been shifting, and that is uncomfortable sometimes.  But one thing that really is certain in life is change.  You can embrace it or fight it, but it is still going to happen.

Still not convinced we are the dominant culture?  Look at the entertainment you enjoy.  Think about the characters in the movies and TV shows you watch.  Who are the good guys and who are the bad guys?  Yes it is changing somewhat, becoming slightly more balanced, but whites still dominate the power roles. Whites also dominate in big business and politics.

I know, stereotypes exist for a reason.  So let's think for a minute about one of those stereotypes; the black gang.  Hardcore violent, drug dealing, pimping, blinged out.  You know it well.  Now, I'm not going to say that gangs don't exist, but are they really as dominant and taking over as the media portrays?

More important to our conversation, why do any gangs exist.  Well, for a start, gangs have always existed.  Groups of people have always formed alliances to protect their tribe, village, or other symbol of safety.  There were such alliances in medieval Europe.  We know about those other, overused media stereotype gangs; the mafia and chinese tongs.  Sometimes gangs are called Board of Directors, Membership Committees, or militia.  Gangs protect what is ours to make sure it stays ours.  Sometimes we do that by illegal means, sometimes by legal, more often someplace in between.

And as an aside, one more word about movie and TV stereotypes.  I'm sick to death of the "sassy Mexican Maid" and the "perky red-head computer geek girl." I'm tired of the predictable sitcom redo of  "A Christmas Carol" or the "lets have a fake family crisis" where we review every episode so far.  I'm sorry all you writers, producers and directors, I think you are being lazy.  How about trying to be original.

And so when Jesse Williams stood up and talked about some of the very real racism in this country at an awards show, he was speaking about the organization he was being honored for. He spoke about an organization working to advance civil rights. He specifically spoke against violence and for education within the black community.

And now there are people trying to get him fired from his job.  He is and actor on Grey's Anatomy, one of those rare shows that breaks stereotypes and portrays all kinds of people of all kinds of backgrounds, races and orientations, being intelligent and dumb and messing up and making amends and being human.  All being very human.

I could try to make this fit together, but I'm still raw today.  Humans are out there, arguing and nitpicking and effing shooting each other, and we can't even agree on language.  If our assumptions are challenged,  we cant even try to listen and understand before we begin to reject and argue.

We were supposed to be better by now.

It Was Supposed to be Better by Now - Friends

Studies have been done.  No matter what we may think, we have more positive feelings about people who are like us; and the strongest, first cue is if they look like us.  Psychologists speculate that this is a survival instinct; people who look like us may be part of our tribe, people who don't may be dangerous strangers.

But we are more advanced than that, we can reason our way out of this.  The problem is, first impressions are still powerful.  At some point, to form friendship outside your tribe, you are going to have to be uncomfortable.

Now, the standard line is, "But I have friends who are ______."

So, can we talk about that a little bit?  White person to white person?

I'm not going to say what I have heard over the years.  I'm not going to ask if you go to each other's homes.  I used to hear that and feel all kinds of guilt, but the truth is I'm an introvert with social anxiety, and I hardly ever invite people over and I'm always uncomfortable going into other people's space.  We all have different personalities on this one.

The real question is this; is your friendship the same as it is with your friends of your same race?

Do you tell the same jokes?  I am not asking if you tell jokes about race sometimes.  Some of these jokes poke fun at racist assumptions.  But will you tell that same joke, if it is otherwise appropriate to the occasion and your sweet old aunt isn't there?  Or maybe you are just a known a'hole and sometimes you just tell inappropriate jokes to anyone.  My son is like that; he will acknowledge that he shouldn't tell it, then go ahead and tell it - to anyone.  And he will take the crap for it. But he still has a rainbow of friends, because he really does treat everybody the same.

Can your friend who is a different race be themselves around you?  Can you be yourself around them?  Can you comfortably hang out, talk about your dreams, cry on each other's shoulders?  Can you mess up, apologize, and move on?

Are they only your friend as long as they do not make you uncomfortable?  As long as they do not act too ______ (black, gay, religious, geeky)?

If you really want to grow and become the best human you can be, then sometimes you have to be uncomfortable.  Sometimes you have to listen to things you don't want to hear.  Things that maybe show you the world in a different way.  Sometimes, you need to be able to hear difficult truths about yourself.  Been there, done that, it is hard sometimes.

In the end, though, you have to value the honesty.  If you can't speak honestly and hear honestly, then they are not your friend.  At most, they are a close acquaintance.

BTW, I have to say this uncomfortable thing.  If you don't have friends like this of another race, but you do have sex fantasies about a particular race and try to hook up with them, that is not the opposite of being a racist.  That is having a kink.  People who have a kink know that they need to be discreet in finding a partner (partners?) to share that with.  If you are not being discreet, you are being creepy and can expect rejection more often than not.  That is not being a friend, either.

Housekeeping note:  I have a busy evening tomorrow and will not have time to write and post, so I will have to skip a day.  I have at least two more concepts  I want to explore on this subject.  If you have any questions at any time I would love to hear them, just understand I will be honest in my opinion.  Also, if you feel I have missed something, please do speak up.  This goes double if you are not white and feel I'm say something wrong.  I know that I am not perfect and that I cannot possibly understand it all, so I treasure your perspective.

I really want this to be a conversation towards getting better.

It Was Supposed to be Better by Now - Freedom

Happy 4th July!  Let's have picnics and barbecues, listen to bands and watch fireworks!  Let's celebrate freedom!

"But the American Revolution happened so long ago, why does it even matter anymore?" said no American ever.

"But slavery was so long ago, and my ancestors never had slaves." said more white people than you can shake a sparkler at, and I get the concept, but I want to take a few minutes, today while we celebrate freedom, to talk about why slavery still matters.

I'm not going to go look up things and link them, you probably wouldn't read them anyway.  I'm sure you know how to use Google if you really are interested.

I know you have heard it, those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it.  You may think slavery would never happen again, but slavery is happening now.  No, it isn't legal, but it still happens.  There are still people who think it is perfectly all right to own a person who they see as a lower status and treat them anyway they wish.

But also, legal slavery was not as far in the past as you may think.  Mauritania didn't abolish slavery until 1981.  They didn't make it a crime until 2007.  Let that sink in for a minute.

That is less than a decade ago.

But we are talking about racism in the United States, where slavery was abolished after the Civil War.  That was a long time ago, right?

My Grandmother was born in the 1890's.  She told me stories about traveling by covered wagon from Denton, Texas to Oklahoma Territory to live in a log cabin. She knew older relatives who were alive during the Civil War.  She had a great aunt and uncle whose farm was burned down over their refusal to own slaves.  No, she wasn't a first hand witness, but she knew first hand witnesses and I knew her and I'm still alive.  Does that bring it a little closer for you?

And yes, other minority groups have faced discrimination and slavery in other times and places, and even in the US.  I could talk about my Irish ancestors.  We could have long discussions about other countries as well.  Here is the difference, and one of the reasons it still matters; you can't just look at me and tell my great-great grandpa left Ireland starving, faced discrimination, and married a Native American.  I'm an average American mutt.  So is my son-in-law, but his skin color says that some of his people were most likely slaves in this country and, whether we like it or not, this has limited some his opportunity.

But there is another way the long term effects of slavery still matter.  It's funny how we have no problem understanding the long term effects of inherited wealth. We know that kids who grow up in upper class homes are much more likely to attend university and have successful careers and good incomes.  But we don't like to talk about how hard it is to break the barriers of poverty.

America is the land of opportunity; work hard and you can do or be anything. We all love a good, rags to riches success story.  But you really need to understand, the really big jumps are rare, and even small steps are really hard.  Slavery and some of the broken promises of the emancipation set many people up to live in poverty, the kind of poverty that is almost inescapable.

My dad grew up on a dirt road in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The dirt road he lived on climbed up a bit of a hill, took a dip, then ended at a bigger road, less than a mile.  It was paved by the time I visited as a child, but it was still the poorest white neighborhood in town.

My Grandma's unpainted house with very limited indoor plumbing was near the bottom.  Some of the houses on that part of the hill had been rebuilt, newer and nicer, some hadn't.  There was a little store up at the dip, and the neighborhood kids would walk up there for candy and co-colas.  Some of those houses up there were scary.  You didn't want to look at the people sitting on the porches.  They didn't like outsiders much.  But walk just a few steps farther and there were wrought iron fences, broad lawns, and some of the most beautiful southern mansions I have ever seen in my life.

Old slave quarters and shanty towns and factory towns.  Later, large complexes of public housing.  American black ghettos.  Impoverished urban areas dominated by the descendants of  slaves and those who escaped.  The aftermath of slavery didn't just leave poverty, it helped create "those" parts of towns. It made it easier to segregate and isolate.  It made it easier to devalue and provide less public services, which makes these areas more vulnerable to natural disasters and crime.  Ask New Orleans.  Ask LA.

"Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave,
O'r the land of the free"

Celebrate our country and our freedom today.  But please, please be brave.  Be brave enough to really open your eyes and to tell the truth about what freedom, who's freedom, you celebrate.

It was supposed to be better by now - words

"Why do we have to keep talking about this?"
"I'm so tired of hearing about this."
"So, anyway..."

It has gotten better, there are laws, so why do we have to keep talking about it?

Five years ago, your spouse beat you every day, now he only beats you once a month, so what is your problem?  It's better and the law is on your side.

Is that too harsh? Sorry.  But here is the truth, if you are, like me, a white person, you don't get to say when we are done talking about racism.  You can decide if *you* want to stop talking about it.  You can also isolate yourself from the real world and only have white friends.  Totally your call, that is part of being white.

If you aren't white you don't have that luxury, because the real world won't let you forget.

The young professional black man I know that was turned down on an Air Bnb reservation, and he is pretty sure it is because of the color of his skin, though he can't prove it; he get's to say when we have talked about this enough.

The mom who has to teach her son how to behave if stopped by a cop while doing nothing, just so he won't be beaten or shot, and then prays every time he walks out of the door; she get's to decide when the conversation is over.

The intelligent, educated, dark skinned young man who goes to apply for a job and is always offered manual warehouse positions; he has a stake in this conversation.

Do I have to go on?  You see the stories everyday.  Girls who get singled out for dress code violations when the only difference between what they are wearing and a student not in trouble is the shade of their skin.  The person who is followed by security every time they walk into a store, the person who is told they can't be a ______ because they don't have the right look.  If you are tired of hearing about it, just stop and think a minute about how tired they are of having to live it.

The conversation needs to continue; because while it has gotten better in many ways, it still is not good.

Because it is a conversation, I want to spend a few minutes on some language I will be using as I continue this series.  I want us to be clear, be on the same page, and I also always want you to be able to join the conversation, so I would like to hear if you have opinions on these terms beyond what I am now saying.

My parents both grew up in the south, so they grew up with the "n" word.  I will not use that, and I really don't want to hear any justification you may have for it. I have heard them all and in my opinion none of them are sufficient for the inherent disrespect in that word.

The more polite word, as they were growing, was colored.  There was a period of time when this was used in polite company by people who would still use the "n" word in private.  When I was a very young child I was taught that negro was proper, and colored was acceptable.  These are both still part of the name of some respected organizations.  They are no longer considered appropriate and I do not use them.

When my family moved from a small, hippy friendly community in California to a small white town in Central Florida the first year they were forcefully integrated, I learned about violence, anger, fear, the existence of the Jr. KKK, but also about who gets to decide.  My school held a vote about what term is acceptable, and the white students didn't get a vote.  The decision was "black", and I have tended to use that term since.  In formal writing, and if the term fits, African-American is prefered, and I will sometimes use this, but it is clunky.  I have checked in with a couple of my black friends, and they said that black is still fine. I try to make it a rule to call people what they want to be called, and I prefer to call my friends by their name.  But when you are talking about this subject, you need a general term.  Any of my friends who are not white are welcome to tell me if they have another preference. They get to decide.

Another word that I think confuses some people in my age group that I may use is privileged.  I understand your confusion.  When I was growing up this meant kids born into money.  This was kids in big houses who went to private schools and had ponies.  Now it means people who have some advantage over other people, usually just because of some accident of birth, but sometimes earned.

Now, you may be saying that you aren't privileged.  You have had to work hard for what you have.  You didn't grow up rich.  But think for a minute about the things children and young adults need to succeed in school and job training.  Did you have healthy food, clothing, a safe place to live?  What was your school like? Were the books up to date?  Think about transportation, the availability of extracurricular and enrichment programs.  Think about the number of successful adults in your life, did you get help and guidance in continuing to higher education or job training?  Add into this, the biases that cause one job candidate to be chosen over another.  This is the way I will be using the term, if it comes up.  I know everything is not always easy, that is not what we are talking about. We don't all face the same degree of hard.

And maybe we need to find better ways to talk about all of this.  Maybe none of these terms are the best.  But guess what, to find a better way to talk about it, we have to keep talking about it.  I know it is uncomfortable sometimes, but it isn't all about you, and we need to be better.

It Was Supposed to be Better by Now

A few years ago I went to the home of my son-in-law's family for Thanksgiving. There I met two little boys, cousins I think, somewhere just a bit beyond toddlers.  They were so cute, as they bounced around and showed off some new little handheld video games.  I watched them with the delight I always find in children just being children.  And then suddenly I felt the weight of the world.

The news had been filled, at that time, with the controversy over the police shooting of a young black man.  And this had led to the fast and furious exchange of memes and blogs and arguments about violence against and violence and crime within the black community.  And I looked at my daughter, with all her joy in her marriage to her African-American husband, and I looked around the room at his extended, educated, professional family.  I looked at these two beautiful, bright boys, and I wondered about their future survival.  I looked back at my daughter, knowing her desire to have children, and I wondered about the challenges that any children they have might face.  And it wasn't that it was a new line of thinking, but it suddenly just all felt a lot more personal.

I step cautiously into the discussion of racism, but some recent conversations have pushed me to begin to write about some of what has been in my heart since that day.  The caution I feel is my recognition of my whiteness.  I don't pretend to be able to really understand, and I would not presume to speak for any of my black friends or family.  But, I have spoken out some of the words of what I have seen, and what I think, and they say I get it.

I have lived through so many decades of this conversation.  Even when I was young and didn't have the words or the voice, I had feelings and thoughts beyond my ability to express.  And I have the heritage, stories of parents and grandparents transitioning through historic historical times and changing attitudes.  We are our stories.  We are our family's stories.

And I have this, I have my grandchildren.  I have two grandchildren who are half Mexican, one who is half Filipino, and now one who is half African-American. All of them are beautiful and bright and hold my heart in their hands.  I don't know if my voice can or will make a difference in the conversation, but I have to try - for them.

Because, it was supposed to be better by now, we were supposed to be better by now.

I don't know how long this will take, but I am going to try to write everyday, until I say what I need to say.  Please, if you find value, if you want to add to the conversation, I want to hear your voice.  And if you feel inclined, don't hesitate to share my words.  Thank you for caring enough to listen.

It's complicated

I'm going to try very hard to express something, but I expect I may fail.

There is this thought (or this group of thoughts, but really I'm only going to talk about one aspect for now) that I have been having for quite a while.  But the way conversations seem to go lately, unless you are fitting a certain definition, and using a particular terminology, there are people who are are going to get offended.  My purpose is not to be disrespectful to anyone.  I'm not pretending I know some great truth.

In fact, what this is really about it that I don't know.  And the horrible tragedy in Orlando last weekend got me thinking about it again.

The way society is, you have to be pretty clear that there is no other way you can stand to live with yourself to come out as gay.  I mean, there are a lot of people who think it is no big deal to treat you terribly.  There are people willing to kill you.

But I also know more young people than I have ever known before in my life who are expressing some preference other than gay or straight.  This makes so much sense to me.

So imagine a bell curve.  Up there at the top of the curve, those are the people who really completely only are attracted to the opposite gender.  over there on the extreme left are the steady 10% who are completely only attracted to the same gender.  Over there on the extreme right are the people who really aren't attracted to either gender.  Can you picture that?

So that means that there are quite a few people on those slopes, one way or the other.

Now, when I was growing up and learning about sexuality, the only thing that was openly acknowledged was that great "normal" center part of the curve.  If we ever felt some attraction to the same gender, say a spark towards a close friend or something, those feelings had to be backed away from really fast.  That way was the dark tunnel of "perversion."

I really hate the term "bi-curious" as it feels really disrespectful to me.  But at some point, we need to start realizing that sexuality is really complicated with a very wide range of healthy expression.  And how do you know for sure where you fall on the curve, if you haven't ever been free to follow a feeling and experiment?

For example, there were a few times when I was young that I was in a situation with a female friend where I felt attracted, but it was quickly shut down.  Now I know more young people are feeling the freedom to explore those feelings.

But then we have to label that, and we want the labels to be precise.  We need to know who is part of the community.  We need to know who to hate.

And then we get all the societal and religious crap thrown in.  And if you are afraid you will be targeted because of who you are attracted to, who you love, then if you aren't so much one way that you don't have a choice, you are going to tend to conform to what is safe.

If people don't feel safe to explore the full range of their emotions and attractions, how will they ever be able to grow and mature?  How can we really know ourselves?  How can we really love if we always have to pretend a bit to fit in?

Like I said, this isn't just coming to my thoughts because of the events of the last week.  And I seriously am not trying to make this about something else.  All I'm really trying to say is, I grew up in a strange and complicated world and sometimes I feel really confused.  I think a lot of people feel confused.  I hope we can figure out how to be nicer to each other and work out a better way to figure this stuff out, because sexuality really is complicated.  But being a decent human being shouldn't be.