Ya’ may have guessed that I have quite a bit of time on my hands these days. Oh sure, I still have a schedule to keep – but I knew I’d have to come up with a plan when I realized I was describing a trip to the bank and the grocery store as “a journey”. (I’m exaggerating – but only slightly.)
So while I’d just picked up a few books over the weekend that I still hadn’t begun to read, I found myself suggesting to Karin that we head to a bookstore for a browse and a coffee. As far as she’s concerned, this is the same as suggesting we go to Cancun for the weekend. I was suggesting a glorious 90 whole minutes with no one screaming “Mom” at her, and she was more than ok with this idea.
As usual, I found myself in the Biography/History section of the store. This particular location works well for me – it’s next to “Classics”, in case I want to move in that direction, and only a few steps away from “New Releases”. I can feel retro and current all at once. (Simple pleasures, people. Simple pleasures.)
After the checkout counter, I headed to the coffee area. My book buddy was, apparently, reminding herself that there were bigger sections than the “Childrens Corner”, so my hot chocolate and I started to enjoy some quality time over my new read.
I was deep into a paragraph before I realized that the distant “buzz” I was hearing was my Blackberry. When I looked to see who was calling, it was … strangely … Karin. “Uh – did ya’ get lost?” was how I about to answer the phone, but I didn’t have time to say a word. “Do NOT look to your left but you are soooooooo being checked out right now by a guy that I swear is *just*your*type*.” “Great", I said. “Meanwhile, did you want a coffee while I wait for you?” “Don’t say that!”, she hissed. “He’ll think you’re talking to a guy” – and she hung up.
“Hey – I’d recognize that voice anywhere. How are you, Beautiful?” he said, as he kissed the top of my head and sat down. I’ve made a point of not running into Greg during my many trips to Stanford in the past few months. I know how it feels to run into someone who you’d like to have more than a friendship with, knowing that’s all they’d ever want with you. “Well hi there", I responded. “I’m here, yanno? I still have boobs that are tryin’ to kill me.” (I’m still working on that response when asked by someone who either (a) knows my medical situation or (b) is very involved in my medical situation. Greg is a surgeon at Stanford and is one of the folks on a board reviewing my treatment options. I don’t really know how much to read into such an easy question. I WILL get the point of being able to say “fine – and you?” but I’m not there yet.)
We caught up on a few things and then, with timing that only a long-time friend can have, Karin swooped in with a fairly realistic sounding “Wow – imagine running into YOU here!” to me, while staring at Greg. Quick introductions were made, polite conversation briefly ensued and Greg gave up his chair so that Karin and I could catch up – since we clearly hadn’t seen each other in so long.
“Don’t be such a stranger, ok?” he said, as he left. “I miss our musical conversations at 3am.” “Yeah, I’ll bet. You’re just glad that I’ve stopped leaving my slippers in your car", I responded as he strolled away.
The ride back with Karin went a lot like this: “So he’s a surgeon … at Stanford?” “Right.” “And you’ve …uh …well, not 'gone out' really but ... um ...?” She was at a loss for what she wanted to ask. “We were part of a group that went to the earthquake anniversary breakfast, and the same large group that took a day trip to Disneyland", I finally volunteered. “Uh huh. So … what’s … what’s wrong with him?” “Not a thing – not one blessed thing at all.”
It went like this for the 25 or so minutes back to Karin’s home. I finally just said “Yanno sweetie, I’m happy. It’s not easy, it’s not perfect, it’s not smooth, it’s not without hiccups but I AM happy. Why would I mess with that? Isn’t “happy” what we all wish for?”
Well – isn’t it?
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Just plain goofy
I’ve mentioned it before … I am local to my home, as in “have lived in this 8-mile radius since I’ve been able to walk”. (I can’t account for the first 6 months of my existence, but I’ve been informed by those who would know that we lived in “the city” just to the South of “The City”.)
So it’s common practice that I’ll be driving and will wave to my best friend Karin, who is driving in the opposite direction. It’s VERY common for my Mom to say “and then, during errands, I caught up with Karin at the store". I see my Junior High School teachers all over town, wait in line for my mocha behind folks I’ve known for decades, etc. The small town that suffocated me so while I was growing up now provides much comfort as an adult.
I’ve also found myself behind either of my parents while darting around town. As they’ve updated their vehicles to more popular makes and colors, it gets harder for me to recognize their cars from a distance. I’m NOT being pretentious, I’m being honest.
My dad’s best friend also has a basic white pickup truck but it’s got a VERY unique feature. Because of his line of work, he’s laughingly referred to as “Big Bad” and, in a nod to the nick-name, he had a cartoon of “The Big Bad Wolf” customized onto both doors, the hood, and the tailgate. It’s quite a site, seeing this grown man, in his late 60’s, driving around with a cartoon on his car. It’s not nearly as grabbing a site as what his wife did to her new yellow VW Beetle, named “Tweety” because … yes, she had “Tweety Bird” painted on the hood and both doors.
You may be wondering why I referred to my father’s current truck as I did two paragraphs up. My father is intelligent, inquisitive, has a great mind for science and was one of the first individuals in all of the SFFD to get his HAZMAT responder license. He has a light and quirky sense of humor – AND a lightening flash temper. But he drives a goofy truck.
I submit to you proof.
So it’s common practice that I’ll be driving and will wave to my best friend Karin, who is driving in the opposite direction. It’s VERY common for my Mom to say “and then, during errands, I caught up with Karin at the store". I see my Junior High School teachers all over town, wait in line for my mocha behind folks I’ve known for decades, etc. The small town that suffocated me so while I was growing up now provides much comfort as an adult.
I’ve also found myself behind either of my parents while darting around town. As they’ve updated their vehicles to more popular makes and colors, it gets harder for me to recognize their cars from a distance. I’m NOT being pretentious, I’m being honest.
For years, my mother’s every day car was “Glo”, a 1967 Karmann Ghia that was beeeeeright yellow in color. It is fully restored and it’s VERY easy to spot from oh, about 2 miles off. Not so with “Natasha”, her beige German tank, which is a lovely but undistinguishable ride around these parts.
When my father was driving “Fred”, the faded green 1966 Chevy Pickup, I was able hear him coming around the corner on his way home to have enough time to clean up whatever mess I was in and act nonchalant as he walked through the door. His current every day vehicle is a white pickup truck and I think it speaks for how VERY basic it is in apperance that I have no clue as to who the manufacturer is of the goofy thing.
My dad’s best friend also has a basic white pickup truck but it’s got a VERY unique feature. Because of his line of work, he’s laughingly referred to as “Big Bad” and, in a nod to the nick-name, he had a cartoon of “The Big Bad Wolf” customized onto both doors, the hood, and the tailgate. It’s quite a site, seeing this grown man, in his late 60’s, driving around with a cartoon on his car. It’s not nearly as grabbing a site as what his wife did to her new yellow VW Beetle, named “Tweety” because … yes, she had “Tweety Bird” painted on the hood and both doors.
You may be wondering why I referred to my father’s current truck as I did two paragraphs up. My father is intelligent, inquisitive, has a great mind for science and was one of the first individuals in all of the SFFD to get his HAZMAT responder license. He has a light and quirky sense of humor – AND a lightening flash temper. But he drives a goofy truck.
I submit to you proof.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Eve and Adam
The ongoing discovery of the differences and interactions between women and men just fascinates me. Take, for instance, the following conversation …
Location: The Garden of Eden restaurant
Characters: Female who we’ll call “Eve”, Male who we'll name “Adam”, and Bartender, whom we’ll dub “Snake”
Setup: Eve and Adam are waiting for their table to be ready at the Garden of Eden. They are passing the time at the Garden Bar, and making polite conversation with Snake.
Snake: So possible transportation trouble, eh?
Adam: I’m sure it’ll be fine, Eve. Really – I’m sure it will all work out. (Adam has sensed that Eve is extremely worried about her recent transportation issue and, looking to reassure her, he places his hand on her knee, which makes Eve smile. He's pleased that his presence calms her. He is, after all, THE MAN.)
Eve: Well, I really hope so. I mean – I could be stranded at that long stretch of road between the groves and the farmland and gosh, that would really be a problem. (Adam watches as Eve says this, wondering if this is Eve's way of asking Adam for help, should she find herself stranded.)
Snake: Oh – so then you know the garden?
Eve: Not nearly as well as I should. I’m not from “here” specifically – but yes, I’m native to flower beds portion of the garden. (Watching Eve say this makes Adam wonder what she's been smoking. Adam knows damn well that Eve has never spent any REAL time in the flower beds portion of the garden. Is she trying to confuse the Snake - or Adam?)
Adam: Well you’re not really native to the flower beds portion of the garden, right? (To Snake) She’s actually not from that area of the garden. She’s more from the forest areas of the garden. (Adam returns his hand on her knee, to let Eve know the he is not at all worried about where she considers herself "from". He accepts her "as is".)
Their table is ready and so they go on to have a lovely meal, followed by a nice apple tart.
Later on that evening, while Eve tosses and turns, Adam sleeps soundly knowing that he has, once again, helped Eve figure out the answers to the tougher questions in life. It is not where you're from that matters, it is where you are going.
Adam awakens the next morning believing that Eve MAY actually be worth loosing that rib over after all.
Adam and Eve
The ongoing discovery of the differences and interactions between men and women just fascinates me. Take, for instance, the following conversation …
Location: The Garden of Eden restaurant
Characters: Male who we’ll call “Adam”, Female who we'll name “Eve”, and Bartender, whom we’ll dub “Snake”
Setup: Adam and Eve are waiting for their table to be ready at the Garden of Eden. They are passing the time at the Garden Bar, and making polite conversation with Snake.
Snake: So possible transportation trouble, eh?
Adam: I’m sure it’ll be fine, Eve. Really – I’m sure it will all work out. (He places his hand on her knee, which makes Eve smile.)
Eve: Well, I really hope so. I mean – I could be stranded at that long stretch of road between the groves and the farmland and gosh, that would really be a problem.
Snake: Oh – so then you know the garden?
Eve: Not nearly as well as I should. I’m not from “here” specifically – but yes, I’m native to flower beds portion of the garden.
Adam: Well you’re not really native to the flower beds portion of the garden, right? (To Snake) She’s actually not from that area of the garden. She’s more from the forest areas of the garden.
Their table is ready and so they go on to have a lovely meal, followed by a nice apple tart.
Later on that evening, Eve reflected on Adam’s apparent need to be right. His absolute willingness to correct Eve about her own story of creation – in front of a total stranger (and a snake, no less) - left Eve wondering about Adam’s self-image. Perhaps Adam felt that he needed to remind Eve and Snake that he was, in fact, "THE MAN". Snake *did* have that lovely way of moving about the trees, and he had that very cool tongue thing going on and, while it was true that Eve was not flirting with Snake (and Adam KNEW this), she did talk to Snake quite a bit, which possibly irked Adam. Plus Snake and Eve also had the garden in common, which was more than Adam could claim, as he’d been created elsewhere.
Or perhaps, Eve thought as she drifted back to sleep, Adam was just being a pompous, know-it-all jackass. Yes, clearly that is why God made Eve second – to work out the problems with “Human v1.0”.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Beware, the savage jaw of 1984
I quote the above Bowie lyric, only because I don’t know of any songs that talk about the “savageness” of 1987. 1987 was a year after I graduated – and it was the year I was to be married to my high school sweetheart, move away from my small town, maybe start a family. It was amazing to me that of the 6 girls, I was the first to be engaged. I was the least attractive and the least experienced. I spent my time working on my personality which, as it turned out, made me the best catch. Go figure. 1987 was to be a banner year in every way. I’m here to tell you folks that it was, for some very incredible reasons. My sweetheart turned out to be an individual who was anything but “sweet” and proved in ways unimaginable that he had no heart whatsoever.
As it unfolds, 2008 is turning out to be a banner year in its own right, and for very similar reasons from 21 years ago.
In 1987, I was indestructible. I was wide-eyed and wild-eyed. I danced hard – and often. I laughed … often and hard. I listened (notice I’m not saying I “heard”). I played often and hard, worked hard, lived hard … and I curled up and I cried. Hard. Often. And it took me maybe four years or more to realize that I, thank GOD, learned. A lot.
But more than two decades later, I wonder – have I forgotten those lessons? Is that why I’m forced to repeat this class?
I find myself making the EXACT same mistakes as that wild-eyed teen – or, at least, making it easier for me to be in a similar circumstance as her. It’d be too easy to place blame, but my expectations were set so many years ago by the one person I counted on MORE than myself – who was too afraid to stand by me. So I find myself making it simpler for those near to me to walk away – so that I can say “see? I told you this was too much and I knew you’d let me down. But don’t worry – I’m a big girl. I’ll handle this alone. Again.” Where’s the prize in that? What is … wrong … with my wiring that I expect to be let down? There’s no gratification to be had when it happens. I have no “gloat” of being right in that. And yet – I don’t honestly know the strength of those around me and don’t feel I have the right to put them through this (as though this were something I signed up for). How very gracious and self-serving of me. (Insert eye roll here.) No need to beat me up over this – I already have on my boxing gloves.
I recall sitting at the Red Carpet Club at O’Hare – likely waiting for Scott and/or Andy to arrive. I took out a journal and, feeling overwhelmed by life in general, on December 13th, 2006 (yes, I looked it up), I wrote out some guidelines for myself. There are some gems to be found in this list of 13 notions – including “be responsible to yourself” (notice I don’t say “for” myself –but “to”), and “celebrate and cry whenever necessary, even the stupid stuff”. My two favorites though are these: “Be as strong as you can, as tolerant as is needed, and as patient and kind as you feel you deserve.” And “what if you succeed?” Knowing I cannot conduct a rewrite, I’d like to add an insert mark ... “What if you don’t let others help you succeed?”
Reverting to my 19-year-old self, I seek familiar ways to find answers to questions that linger. She would go to the Coast, day or night, Winter or Summer, and stare blankly at the water, sometimes for hours, enduring – possibly enjoying - the cold and gray. Today, that seems fitting. Look for me there.
As it unfolds, 2008 is turning out to be a banner year in its own right, and for very similar reasons from 21 years ago.
In 1987, I was indestructible. I was wide-eyed and wild-eyed. I danced hard – and often. I laughed … often and hard. I listened (notice I’m not saying I “heard”). I played often and hard, worked hard, lived hard … and I curled up and I cried. Hard. Often. And it took me maybe four years or more to realize that I, thank GOD, learned. A lot.
But more than two decades later, I wonder – have I forgotten those lessons? Is that why I’m forced to repeat this class?
I find myself making the EXACT same mistakes as that wild-eyed teen – or, at least, making it easier for me to be in a similar circumstance as her. It’d be too easy to place blame, but my expectations were set so many years ago by the one person I counted on MORE than myself – who was too afraid to stand by me. So I find myself making it simpler for those near to me to walk away – so that I can say “see? I told you this was too much and I knew you’d let me down. But don’t worry – I’m a big girl. I’ll handle this alone. Again.” Where’s the prize in that? What is … wrong … with my wiring that I expect to be let down? There’s no gratification to be had when it happens. I have no “gloat” of being right in that. And yet – I don’t honestly know the strength of those around me and don’t feel I have the right to put them through this (as though this were something I signed up for). How very gracious and self-serving of me. (Insert eye roll here.) No need to beat me up over this – I already have on my boxing gloves.
I recall sitting at the Red Carpet Club at O’Hare – likely waiting for Scott and/or Andy to arrive. I took out a journal and, feeling overwhelmed by life in general, on December 13th, 2006 (yes, I looked it up), I wrote out some guidelines for myself. There are some gems to be found in this list of 13 notions – including “be responsible to yourself” (notice I don’t say “for” myself –but “to”), and “celebrate and cry whenever necessary, even the stupid stuff”. My two favorites though are these: “Be as strong as you can, as tolerant as is needed, and as patient and kind as you feel you deserve.” And “what if you succeed?” Knowing I cannot conduct a rewrite, I’d like to add an insert mark ... “What if you don’t let others help you succeed?”
Reverting to my 19-year-old self, I seek familiar ways to find answers to questions that linger. She would go to the Coast, day or night, Winter or Summer, and stare blankly at the water, sometimes for hours, enduring – possibly enjoying - the cold and gray. Today, that seems fitting. Look for me there.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Happy "creation day" to Jake
Today Jake, my "weekend" car, is 8 years young. He (and I) both passed our big 4-0 this year (his in mileage, mine in years). I like the idea of my having Jake around in 10 ... 15 ... 20 years. What I really like is that, save for Matt (of "Karin and Matt") and various valets, I am the only person who has driven him ... and that's on purpose.
I am the youngest child in my family, so hand-me-downs were a way of life when I was growing up. Just because we didn't HAVE to use coupons and shop sales and such doesn't mean we didn't. In fact, my most favorite bike EVER was a mishmash of the pieces of many other bikes - purple frame, bright yellow knobby tires, blue banana seat ... oh yeah, it was a sexy beast.
Jake was my first brand new car ever. (Thus far, he's my only brand new car.) I purchased him during the silly-con dot.com days of way too much money and fun ways to blow it years. I remember the first time I saw a Miata on paper. It was an ad in a magazine and I was working with another secretary in a large company. I pulled the page out and taped the ad directly above my Mac SE-30 (which should tell you how long ago this was) and thought to myself "someday". Now keep in mind - at the time, there were Corvettes and Jags and far fancier cars around. But there was just nothing on the market that struck me like the looks of this car. It was pure and true and fresh and cute but gutsy.
My favorite Aunt, "E", had a lil' green sportscar for quite awhile when I was just a kid. And she was - hands down - cool. She was single, had a great apartment, a job that allowed her afternoons off, an adorable cat, this beautiful car, and was always smiling. When she'd visit my folks for dinner or just to hang out, my sister and I would even get along with each other. As an adult, I realized that "E" was also seriously lonely, and had a string of unsuccessful relationships and got her heart crushed over and over by men who wanted her to be something she wasn't cut out to be. I knew I didn't want her job, that I could never duplicate her apartment, could likely get my own adorable cat but I wanted that car.
Instead, I got a Chevy BelAir. Then a VW Bug. Then a VW Rabbit. Another VW Rabbit. A third VW Rabbit. ("Kill the Rabbit" became a popular song in my house.) A Ford Ranger. A Chevy S-10. A Mazda Protege. All (save for the Protege) were hand-me-down cars. Most were from a firefighter connection through my father. The Protege was purchased used from a Mazda dealership where I spent about 10 minutes staring at the Miatas on the showroom floor, telling myself "what the hell - go for it" before I wised up and did the intelligent thing.
A few years later, when I decided that the intelligent thing was to buy my dream car, I went to the dealership armed with more years of knowledge on this make of vehicle than any of the salespeople had. A woman buying a sports car shouldn't be all that unusual, but I was still put off by one thing. During the freeway test-drive, the salesman pointed out that the passenger-side airbag could be turned off to allow for a child car seat. I glanced over at him, and I saw that he was seriously telling me this - as 'tho this were a minivan. I turned and looked at him full in the face. "Oh yeah - I could see this as being a GREAT car for the baby-on-board set."
Since that time, save for one issue with his gas tank, Jake has been no hastle. Sure, there've been a few bulb replacements here and there, but he has been a care-free, happy part of my adulthood. And he makes me smile. Alot. Which may explain my favorite Aunt's sunny disposition, too.
I am the youngest child in my family, so hand-me-downs were a way of life when I was growing up. Just because we didn't HAVE to use coupons and shop sales and such doesn't mean we didn't. In fact, my most favorite bike EVER was a mishmash of the pieces of many other bikes - purple frame, bright yellow knobby tires, blue banana seat ... oh yeah, it was a sexy beast.
Jake was my first brand new car ever. (Thus far, he's my only brand new car.) I purchased him during the silly-con dot.com days of way too much money and fun ways to blow it years. I remember the first time I saw a Miata on paper. It was an ad in a magazine and I was working with another secretary in a large company. I pulled the page out and taped the ad directly above my Mac SE-30 (which should tell you how long ago this was) and thought to myself "someday". Now keep in mind - at the time, there were Corvettes and Jags and far fancier cars around. But there was just nothing on the market that struck me like the looks of this car. It was pure and true and fresh and cute but gutsy.
My favorite Aunt, "E", had a lil' green sportscar for quite awhile when I was just a kid. And she was - hands down - cool. She was single, had a great apartment, a job that allowed her afternoons off, an adorable cat, this beautiful car, and was always smiling. When she'd visit my folks for dinner or just to hang out, my sister and I would even get along with each other. As an adult, I realized that "E" was also seriously lonely, and had a string of unsuccessful relationships and got her heart crushed over and over by men who wanted her to be something she wasn't cut out to be. I knew I didn't want her job, that I could never duplicate her apartment, could likely get my own adorable cat but I wanted that car.
Instead, I got a Chevy BelAir. Then a VW Bug. Then a VW Rabbit. Another VW Rabbit. A third VW Rabbit. ("Kill the Rabbit" became a popular song in my house.) A Ford Ranger. A Chevy S-10. A Mazda Protege. All (save for the Protege) were hand-me-down cars. Most were from a firefighter connection through my father. The Protege was purchased used from a Mazda dealership where I spent about 10 minutes staring at the Miatas on the showroom floor, telling myself "what the hell - go for it" before I wised up and did the intelligent thing.
A few years later, when I decided that the intelligent thing was to buy my dream car, I went to the dealership armed with more years of knowledge on this make of vehicle than any of the salespeople had. A woman buying a sports car shouldn't be all that unusual, but I was still put off by one thing. During the freeway test-drive, the salesman pointed out that the passenger-side airbag could be turned off to allow for a child car seat. I glanced over at him, and I saw that he was seriously telling me this - as 'tho this were a minivan. I turned and looked at him full in the face. "Oh yeah - I could see this as being a GREAT car for the baby-on-board set."
Since that time, save for one issue with his gas tank, Jake has been no hastle. Sure, there've been a few bulb replacements here and there, but he has been a care-free, happy part of my adulthood. And he makes me smile. Alot. Which may explain my favorite Aunt's sunny disposition, too.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Terms ... redux
On March 4th of this year, I posted the following:
Do so - by all means please do so. Again - I like the idea of being introduced to other sides of my one-sided coin.
Feel free to post with your name, if you'd like. Especially if you want to engage in a dialogue, 'cause I may wanna comment back.
Feel free to post anonymously, if you'd like. Especially if you just wanna float your idea out there, without reason or judgement.
Know that either way, I do read the comments here - and I do ponder them. (For instance, one of the french responses included the word "sheep", which was a head-scratcher ... but I *did* read it.)
This is a small lil' world - and y'all have at least one thing in commen ... me. I promise you that no one is more protective of their aquaintences, friendships, or families than I. If I have anonymous commentators who wanna know who the other anonymous commentators are, too bad. On other boards, I may be just a participant. But this is *my* playground, and you're in *my* sand.
(For what it is worth, I don't even know enough about this tool to figure out who my anonymous folk are - and I'm ok with that. You should be, too.)
'nuf said.
What I'd like for this to NOT be:More than 6 months later, I stand by that - but would like to add terms for those that post comments:
This will NOT be a blog about my health - mental or physical.
This will NOT be a blog about the state of my heart - good, bad, or otherwise.
This will NOT be a blog about my personal life, 'tho obviously I will make comments that draw directly from those experiences.
What I'd like for this to be:
This will just be an observational journal ... a view from above ... my random braindumps for me to consider and, because we all believe our ideas to be publish-worthy, maybe start a commentary or dialogue elsewhere ... as in "you're wayyyyyyyyyy off base" or "yeah, me too".
I'm willing to be told that I'm wrong, that I'm misinformed, that I'm biased or absolutely dead off because it will introduce me to other suggestions or ideas.
I'm willing to fall to grace.
Let's see what happens ...
Do so - by all means please do so. Again - I like the idea of being introduced to other sides of my one-sided coin.
Feel free to post with your name, if you'd like. Especially if you want to engage in a dialogue, 'cause I may wanna comment back.
Feel free to post anonymously, if you'd like. Especially if you just wanna float your idea out there, without reason or judgement.
Know that either way, I do read the comments here - and I do ponder them. (For instance, one of the french responses included the word "sheep", which was a head-scratcher ... but I *did* read it.)
This is a small lil' world - and y'all have at least one thing in commen ... me. I promise you that no one is more protective of their aquaintences, friendships, or families than I. If I have anonymous commentators who wanna know who the other anonymous commentators are, too bad. On other boards, I may be just a participant. But this is *my* playground, and you're in *my* sand.
(For what it is worth, I don't even know enough about this tool to figure out who my anonymous folk are - and I'm ok with that. You should be, too.)
'nuf said.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Le coeur a ses raisons ...
... la raison ne sait dont rein.
I got a call on Saturday afternoon that resulted in my spending Saturday evening (and Sunday morning) with my sister and her girls, who also happen to be my nieces. My sister and my mom are playing similar shitty roles in similar shitty plays – as they get to watch their sisters deal with similar shitty circumstances. As someone who prides herself on being observant, I noticed that if one were to assign parents to my sister and I, as in “who is more like whom”, she would be my mom and I’d be my dad.
My sister and my mom are both far more fragile than my dad and I. They have, in their lives, both willingly put themselves in situations where they are damn near guaranteed to be somehow disappointed. And yet, they do this over and again – not from lack of intelligence, but in an overwhelming display of belief of goodness in the world. I envy them, right up until the disappointment plays out. And then, because we are family … because we’re also friends … because this is what we DO, my father and/or myself help them to their feet again, with no mention of "I told you so" because … what good does that do anyway? I don’t know that I wanna be in a world where a belief of goodness in humanity is something to be mocked.
My father and I are the harder members of the family. We’re the "go-big-or-get-outta-my-way" teammates. We give big. We laugh big. We love big. We smile big. We FEEL big. But we also have long memories of who disappoints us, and getting off that list takes patience and persistence that most people just don’t have. We – my dad and I – have very few really close friends – but those that are just have to barely mention a desire, need, craving, or problem before we’ll lend whatever we can to assist. When we are hurt, we generally don’t reach out at all. We close up as tight as oysters, working on the irritating piece of sand, before we can spit it out as the pearl we’ve made it out to be – the lesson learned. (I hate to brag – but that’s a DAMN nice metaphor. Feel free to use it.)
Soon, I suspect, that most of my friendships – both casual and close – will be tested. Decisions and actions that I’ve made will be questioned, and people will either walk away shaking their heads in disbelief and disappointment, or they will decide that things that make me happy don’t necessarily need to make sense. It won’t easy, on either side of the equation, and I don’t MEAN to make waves, honest. I’ll respect the reactions of these folks, too – because that is what friends do.
The quote at the start of my babble today is from Blaise Pascal, who also gave us such gems as "Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves” and “I maintain that, if everyone knew what others said about him, there would not be four friends in the world”.
My title translates, loosely, as "The heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of."
I got a call on Saturday afternoon that resulted in my spending Saturday evening (and Sunday morning) with my sister and her girls, who also happen to be my nieces. My sister and my mom are playing similar shitty roles in similar shitty plays – as they get to watch their sisters deal with similar shitty circumstances. As someone who prides herself on being observant, I noticed that if one were to assign parents to my sister and I, as in “who is more like whom”, she would be my mom and I’d be my dad.
My sister and my mom are both far more fragile than my dad and I. They have, in their lives, both willingly put themselves in situations where they are damn near guaranteed to be somehow disappointed. And yet, they do this over and again – not from lack of intelligence, but in an overwhelming display of belief of goodness in the world. I envy them, right up until the disappointment plays out. And then, because we are family … because we’re also friends … because this is what we DO, my father and/or myself help them to their feet again, with no mention of "I told you so" because … what good does that do anyway? I don’t know that I wanna be in a world where a belief of goodness in humanity is something to be mocked.
My father and I are the harder members of the family. We’re the "go-big-or-get-outta-my-way" teammates. We give big. We laugh big. We love big. We smile big. We FEEL big. But we also have long memories of who disappoints us, and getting off that list takes patience and persistence that most people just don’t have. We – my dad and I – have very few really close friends – but those that are just have to barely mention a desire, need, craving, or problem before we’ll lend whatever we can to assist. When we are hurt, we generally don’t reach out at all. We close up as tight as oysters, working on the irritating piece of sand, before we can spit it out as the pearl we’ve made it out to be – the lesson learned. (I hate to brag – but that’s a DAMN nice metaphor. Feel free to use it.)
Soon, I suspect, that most of my friendships – both casual and close – will be tested. Decisions and actions that I’ve made will be questioned, and people will either walk away shaking their heads in disbelief and disappointment, or they will decide that things that make me happy don’t necessarily need to make sense. It won’t easy, on either side of the equation, and I don’t MEAN to make waves, honest. I’ll respect the reactions of these folks, too – because that is what friends do.
The quote at the start of my babble today is from Blaise Pascal, who also gave us such gems as "Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves” and “I maintain that, if everyone knew what others said about him, there would not be four friends in the world”.
My title translates, loosely, as "The heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of."
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Me, too
Considering how I usually blather on, this will be short and to the point.
I do it, too.
Mis-read written things, I mean - or, more accurately, I misread "tone" into e-communications. In fact, I do it alllllllllllllll the time.
I'm referring to my post yesterday - when I wrote: "I've been involved in more miscommunications ... because the person on the other end of the computer ... was in the wrong frame of mind and read what I didn't write."
Well fair is fair - I've also been in the wrong frame of mind and read what was NOT written to me.
And yes, the view from my glass house is just LOVELY, why do you ask?
I do it, too.
Mis-read written things, I mean - or, more accurately, I misread "tone" into e-communications. In fact, I do it alllllllllllllll the time.
I'm referring to my post yesterday - when I wrote: "I've been involved in more miscommunications ... because the person on the other end of the computer ... was in the wrong frame of mind and read what I didn't write."
Well fair is fair - I've also been in the wrong frame of mind and read what was NOT written to me.
And yes, the view from my glass house is just LOVELY, why do you ask?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Say what?
I’ll bet you have heard this expression (or something like it): It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.
For instance, let’s say that you know an individual that you’ve worked with for many years. You know this person – we’ll call him “Bruce” - well enough to realize that, outside of work, you’d never hang out with him. In fact, you know Bruce well enough to think “wow – Bruce is kinda annoying.” So Bruce tells you at the water-cooler that he’s interviewing for a different job and asks for a letter of recommendation from you. You hesitate … you don’t really like Bruce, after all, but you have a chance to help him to leave, right? But you want to keep your integrity intact. How do you do this?
Well it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. You write the following email:
I can honestly say that no one could do this task quite like Bruce.
Bruce’s contributions to the department have made a significant impact
and his absence will be deeply felt. I have no doubt I will read of the
accomplishments of Bruce in no time at all.
There – now that wasn’t so hard right? After all, you were telling the truth. A blow-hard like Bruce will, no doubt, be sending you emails of all the fabulousness that he’s done in his new job so you will read of his accomplishments. Bruce gets his letter and glows with pride and you don’t have any lost sleep.
Communicating effectively is 99.62% about tone and facial clues and .38% about actual verbage. Don’t believe me? Well you would if you could hear and watch me rattle off those statistics. I’ve been involved in more miscommunications over the past three years simply because the person on the other end of the computer (and that’s important so we’ll come back to that) was in the wrong frame of mind and read what I didn't write.
How does this happen? Well easy – there are more ways to e-communicate than ever – text messages, chat rooms, group boards, email, instant messaging – and each time you write literally ANYTHING in these modes, the receiver reads, in their heads, what you’ve written, but IN THEIR OWN TONE. (I don’t mean to “yell”, sorry.)
The thing is that some of these are very instant types of communications – so when I write “*omg*" in a chat room, that could read as “the cat just meowed and it was funny” to someone or “the house is on fire” to someone else. It really depends on what their circumstances are when they’re reading it. Even “*sigh*”, a commonly used term in chats, can be VERY loaded when read. Is that “*sigh*, I’m bored” or is it more of a “*sigh* WhatEVER! I’m tired of trying to explain myself and you're probably too dumb to get it anyway” or “*sigh*, I’m checking to see if you’re still there”?
Hell, even something like “you’re welcome” can be the most misleading thing to read at the wrong moment. When read in a good mood, “you’re welcome” means that you’re being thanked for a job appreciated. Not in a good mood? That “you’re welcome” just became “you coulda thanked me, you useless prick. Next time just figure it out for yourself, loser.” This is how online flames are ignited.
Anyway, I’m sure that anyone could have figured this out. You’re welcome.
For instance, let’s say that you know an individual that you’ve worked with for many years. You know this person – we’ll call him “Bruce” - well enough to realize that, outside of work, you’d never hang out with him. In fact, you know Bruce well enough to think “wow – Bruce is kinda annoying.” So Bruce tells you at the water-cooler that he’s interviewing for a different job and asks for a letter of recommendation from you. You hesitate … you don’t really like Bruce, after all, but you have a chance to help him to leave, right? But you want to keep your integrity intact. How do you do this?
Well it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. You write the following email:
I can honestly say that no one could do this task quite like Bruce.
Bruce’s contributions to the department have made a significant impact
and his absence will be deeply felt. I have no doubt I will read of the
accomplishments of Bruce in no time at all.
There – now that wasn’t so hard right? After all, you were telling the truth. A blow-hard like Bruce will, no doubt, be sending you emails of all the fabulousness that he’s done in his new job so you will read of his accomplishments. Bruce gets his letter and glows with pride and you don’t have any lost sleep.
Communicating effectively is 99.62% about tone and facial clues and .38% about actual verbage. Don’t believe me? Well you would if you could hear and watch me rattle off those statistics. I’ve been involved in more miscommunications over the past three years simply because the person on the other end of the computer (and that’s important so we’ll come back to that) was in the wrong frame of mind and read what I didn't write.
How does this happen? Well easy – there are more ways to e-communicate than ever – text messages, chat rooms, group boards, email, instant messaging – and each time you write literally ANYTHING in these modes, the receiver reads, in their heads, what you’ve written, but IN THEIR OWN TONE. (I don’t mean to “yell”, sorry.)
The thing is that some of these are very instant types of communications – so when I write “*omg*" in a chat room, that could read as “the cat just meowed and it was funny” to someone or “the house is on fire” to someone else. It really depends on what their circumstances are when they’re reading it. Even “*sigh*”, a commonly used term in chats, can be VERY loaded when read. Is that “*sigh*, I’m bored” or is it more of a “*sigh* WhatEVER! I’m tired of trying to explain myself and you're probably too dumb to get it anyway” or “*sigh*, I’m checking to see if you’re still there”?
Hell, even something like “you’re welcome” can be the most misleading thing to read at the wrong moment. When read in a good mood, “you’re welcome” means that you’re being thanked for a job appreciated. Not in a good mood? That “you’re welcome” just became “you coulda thanked me, you useless prick. Next time just figure it out for yourself, loser.” This is how online flames are ignited.
Anyway, I’m sure that anyone could have figured this out. You’re welcome.
Monday, August 4, 2008
We Don't Need Another Hero
This weekend it was reported that actress Christina Applegate has breast cancer. Which woulda been crappy enough if that’s how it was announced. Instead, the headlines read things like “Applegate Ill”, “Christina’s Brave Fight” … you get the picture. The news sources are practically writing up her obituary when describing who she is and what she’s done in all of her 36 years. Nice – I’m SURE that she just loves reading that. Show of hands – did you know that Christina is on a current show? Can you name it? Do you know which network carries it? Do you watch it? Do you wanna bet that show gets an incredible boost in ratings this week? Don’t you think that, as an actress, Christina would prefer being acknowledged and appreciated for her acting skills vs. being displayed by the media as the “amazing cancer-fighting actress” that they’ve already started to prep her to be?
As it is, I can’t tell you how much of a non-fan I am of Lance Armstrong, and it’s really not even his fault. He’s an amazing athlete in his field, I’m sure. (Full disclosure - I’m not a “biking-sport-race-fan” type person.) And his doctors helped him through a particularly nasty cancer, it’s true. But combining those two “achievements” (using that term loosely) doesn’t make him any more brave, heroic, or admirable than the person sitting next to you in the Cancer ward of your local hospital. What he’s done since his recovery is very nice, don’t get me wrong – but he’s still just a guy who found a tax-shelter that supports a health issue he’s VERY interested in, yanno? I’m sure he still thinks nasty stuff when the driver in front of him won’t turn right on a red light. And that should be alright – but we don’t allow ourselves to believe that of him. Nope – Lance is a nifty guy *always*. He was a nifty guy when his marriage didn’t work out and he left his family. He was a nifty guy when his ex-girlfriend was diagnosed with cancer and he called her to say some version of “wow – sucks to be you”. He’s always just a swell guy. It’s not very fair – or realistic - to hold someone to that standard twenty-four, seven.
Society has this NEED for heroes. We, as a body, want to elevate those that meet or exceed certain requirements, be it in political office or sporting, music or entertainment venues, and hold them up as the ultimate in their field … they are what we all hope to aspire to be. But I promise you that Christina and Lance would have been just as happy to be “just” an actress or “just” a cyclist.
Sadly, the only thing that society craves more than heroes are targets. As fast as we can elevate one person to impossible heights, we’ll find three to push off and watch them fall to the ground so that we can examine, in the publicly-available microscope of “the press”, each flaw, every crack, and any possible “difference” in order to crow, laugh or ridicule. How else could we possible feel better about the ugly mess that our own lives have become but to find someone in worse off shape to point out as "well, there ya' go. That's what happens."
So while Christina, Lance, and the rest of “the club members” may be viewed as being especially brave, strong, courageous, spirited, plucky, and/or gutsy (words I've all been told, btw), just remember that they not only put their pants on one leg at a time, but they have their “I don’t want to get out of bed” days just like everyone else.
They just get more press when that happens.
As it is, I can’t tell you how much of a non-fan I am of Lance Armstrong, and it’s really not even his fault. He’s an amazing athlete in his field, I’m sure. (Full disclosure - I’m not a “biking-sport-race-fan” type person.) And his doctors helped him through a particularly nasty cancer, it’s true. But combining those two “achievements” (using that term loosely) doesn’t make him any more brave, heroic, or admirable than the person sitting next to you in the Cancer ward of your local hospital. What he’s done since his recovery is very nice, don’t get me wrong – but he’s still just a guy who found a tax-shelter that supports a health issue he’s VERY interested in, yanno? I’m sure he still thinks nasty stuff when the driver in front of him won’t turn right on a red light. And that should be alright – but we don’t allow ourselves to believe that of him. Nope – Lance is a nifty guy *always*. He was a nifty guy when his marriage didn’t work out and he left his family. He was a nifty guy when his ex-girlfriend was diagnosed with cancer and he called her to say some version of “wow – sucks to be you”. He’s always just a swell guy. It’s not very fair – or realistic - to hold someone to that standard twenty-four, seven.
Society has this NEED for heroes. We, as a body, want to elevate those that meet or exceed certain requirements, be it in political office or sporting, music or entertainment venues, and hold them up as the ultimate in their field … they are what we all hope to aspire to be. But I promise you that Christina and Lance would have been just as happy to be “just” an actress or “just” a cyclist.
Sadly, the only thing that society craves more than heroes are targets. As fast as we can elevate one person to impossible heights, we’ll find three to push off and watch them fall to the ground so that we can examine, in the publicly-available microscope of “the press”, each flaw, every crack, and any possible “difference” in order to crow, laugh or ridicule. How else could we possible feel better about the ugly mess that our own lives have become but to find someone in worse off shape to point out as "well, there ya' go. That's what happens."
So while Christina, Lance, and the rest of “the club members” may be viewed as being especially brave, strong, courageous, spirited, plucky, and/or gutsy (words I've all been told, btw), just remember that they not only put their pants on one leg at a time, but they have their “I don’t want to get out of bed” days just like everyone else.
They just get more press when that happens.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Ramblin' randomness
* The phone folks that deal with claims all seem to have great senses of humor. When I call them to tell them I won't be filing a claim for a fender-bender that I caused, even 'tho my car suffered far more damage than the Camry in front of me, they ask me why. I tell them that I LIKE my car having bruises - it makes those around me nervous. My guess is that not many people call them in HAPPY moods. I like that I make 'em laugh.
* I've carried off a surprise something to various nation-wide households in the past two weeks. I'll be done by August 5th. Knowing who glances at these scribbles, I can FINALLY write about feeling kinda nifty for having done this. Yay, me.
* How could I have failed to plan for my down time of unemployment? How did I miss that I'd be sitting on my sizable butt waiting for the hiring manager to return from sabbatical "sometime" in August and not think "Hmmmm - wonder what I'll do during that time?"
* Filing for unemployment in my state means I need to tell them about the past 18 months of employment history. That'd be one employer for me - a company I was at for 6 years and 4 months. My state wants to know my wages from said employer. HOLY CATS!!!! Sure, I have that at my fingertips ... Anyway, I found it (thank you, tax team!) and ... wow, that's a hell of a number.
* Why did TMobile drop FaceBook onto my Blackberry? I'm a little outta that age range, aren't I? Note to self: Visit TMobile tomorrow and ask them who their target useage market is. Find out if it includes cougars.
* On paper, I'm a bit of a mess. The basic facts are that I'm over 35, unemployed, live with my two cats in an apartment, and have Cancer. So does my Aunt. So does my Cousin. So does my Mom.
* That last factoid is news to you, I know. I'm not gonna talk about it, except to say that she's fine - it's skin-related, on her face, has been removed, it's not the first time, and again she's fine. That is all - moving on.
* My dear father, who calls me to tell me FASCINATING crap like "those goofy hens of mine got out last night" or "you'll never guess what we had for lunch the other day" didn't call me in advance of his annual fishing trip to Alaska. This was his first out-of-state trip since his heart attack last year and the reason he didn't call me the night before he left was he was nervous. I know this NOT because he told me so - but because I am his kid and I'd do the same thing. He's returned home safe and sound (with LOTS of fish), and we'll talk this weekend about everything except his health.
* Those who want to know me should get to know my family first. I'm like this because of them.
* Is it ok that I called myself a cougar?
Happy Friday to you. It's now 2:35pm and time for a Hot Chocolate. Be good, take fun - have care.
* I've carried off a surprise something to various nation-wide households in the past two weeks. I'll be done by August 5th. Knowing who glances at these scribbles, I can FINALLY write about feeling kinda nifty for having done this. Yay, me.
* How could I have failed to plan for my down time of unemployment? How did I miss that I'd be sitting on my sizable butt waiting for the hiring manager to return from sabbatical "sometime" in August and not think "Hmmmm - wonder what I'll do during that time?"
* Filing for unemployment in my state means I need to tell them about the past 18 months of employment history. That'd be one employer for me - a company I was at for 6 years and 4 months. My state wants to know my wages from said employer. HOLY CATS!!!! Sure, I have that at my fingertips ... Anyway, I found it (thank you, tax team!) and ... wow, that's a hell of a number.
* Why did TMobile drop FaceBook onto my Blackberry? I'm a little outta that age range, aren't I? Note to self: Visit TMobile tomorrow and ask them who their target useage market is. Find out if it includes cougars.
* On paper, I'm a bit of a mess. The basic facts are that I'm over 35, unemployed, live with my two cats in an apartment, and have Cancer. So does my Aunt. So does my Cousin. So does my Mom.
* That last factoid is news to you, I know. I'm not gonna talk about it, except to say that she's fine - it's skin-related, on her face, has been removed, it's not the first time, and again she's fine. That is all - moving on.
* My dear father, who calls me to tell me FASCINATING crap like "those goofy hens of mine got out last night" or "you'll never guess what we had for lunch the other day" didn't call me in advance of his annual fishing trip to Alaska. This was his first out-of-state trip since his heart attack last year and the reason he didn't call me the night before he left was he was nervous. I know this NOT because he told me so - but because I am his kid and I'd do the same thing. He's returned home safe and sound (with LOTS of fish), and we'll talk this weekend about everything except his health.
* Those who want to know me should get to know my family first. I'm like this because of them.
* Is it ok that I called myself a cougar?
Happy Friday to you. It's now 2:35pm and time for a Hot Chocolate. Be good, take fun - have care.
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