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.