WHEN YA GOTTA GO...

🎶 It's the end of the world as we know it... 🎶

No, I'm not talking about politics this time, although the same could be said.  

I'm talking about public restrooms.

There is a newish thing happening in the world.  It is the all-gender restroom.  My first experience was at SeaTac airport.  I saw the sign and noticed men and women entering and exiting a very large restroom together.  I walked in and sure enough, men and women were lined up at the sinks dutifully washing up after using a stall in a long line of stalls with floor to ceiling doors -- a nod to a bit more privacy than those 3/4 walls and doors around traditional stalls.  I stood up straight, shoulders back, and strutted right in as if this was no big deal.  

And truly it isn't, is it?  We are all human beings fully aware of the bodily functions of our sister/brother humans.  Using these "everyone welcome" restrooms is a bit like using a traffic circle -- everyone keeps moving, no long lines for anyone (it was always the women waiting in those lines since we could not just walk up to a peeing trough together.)  Plus, the whole male/female divide is much more fluid than we've ever chosen to recognize.  I love the diversity/inclusion vibe.

Until...

Let's just say, big public restrooms are one thing.  Smaller, old school stalls in a two-stall very cozy restroom are another.  How to be delicate here?  I found myself in rather urgent need of a restroom in a local restaurant (maybe it was the spicy sauce?) so I was relieved to find the "all gender" restroom empty.  But just as I pushed the stall door open, a rather handsome young man came through the door and entered the stall next to me.  What to do?  I had a debate with myself that went on way too long.  Do I just let it rip?  Or do I sit and squeeze until he left.  I am a 73 year old grandma which grants me some license in the "who gives a shit?" (LOL) department, but I'm still sensitive enough to my own ego and right to privacy to not want the guy to smirk as he recognized my shoes as I walked past his table on my way back to my own seat.  I waited, uncomfortably, assuming he was wondering what silent shenanigans was happening in the stall next door. Whatever.  Choose your embarrassment.  

Would it have mattered if this was a "Women's Room"?  Yes and no.  One still doesn't want to share personal smells and sounds that are better experienced in private, but the Sisterhood seems more understanding of these things somehow.  We know what our bodies do and that they are not always well-behaved.  I've heard the urgent cry of "Anybody out there got a tampon?" more than once.  We get it.  I'm here for you, sister!

Another (age-old) dilemma of shared restrooms is the toilet seat problem.  In single space restrooms it just galls me to find the seat up.  I am immediately pissed off and judgmental about the entitled, selfish prig who couldn't be bothered to put the seat down like a considerate person naturally would.  I have to rip off a bit of TP to protect my fingers from touching the (gross) seat to put it down so I can use the toilet.  Sheesh. 

Recently after a restroom stop at our fave coffee shop, I re-joined Hub at our table with my complaint and he pointed out how sexist my rant was.  "Well, what about men?  We have to touch the seat to put it up after women use it to sit.  Unless you want us to pee all over it."  Grrr..logic!  Fine!  So what is the seat etiquette?  

Can we take a vote?  Pass a law?  No...that doesn't seem to work.  I know!  I'll be the Dictator in charge of the Department of Toilet Seat Usage in the new administration and we will just do it the way I like it!  Men will raise the seat to pee, and lower it again before leaving the room.  The norm will be seat down.  Just like it should be.

Also, no matter who uses the toilet, the whole TP issue needs to be addressed.  It seems I'm in the minority when it comes to leaving a "tail" of TP hanging below the metal holder in order for the next person to have an easy time grabbing it.  No one enjoys sitting there spinning and spinning the roll feeling for the end of the the TP which seems to stick to itself in there not unwinding until one has nearly given up and left to drip dry.   What's so hard about leaving a little tail of paper hanging down?  

Or if possible, leave a little art.  My housecleaners are so creative about folding of blankets, doing Kleenex box art, and TP roses.  So now when I'm out in the world, and when it's possible depending upon the type of TP holder,  I've taken to creating TP roses too.  It's the little acts of kindness that will see us through.

At least that's the view from here...©

LYRICS: It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine: R.E.M.

ELECTION 2024: TAKE A MOMENT

Let's all just take a moment.  

Let's just take a moment to think about what we've done.

Let's just sit in the time-out chair and contemplate bad decisions and horrific consequences. 

Let's just contemplate what the punishment will be for such an act of irresponsibility.

Because what our country did on Tuesday was indeed a very bad, irresponsible, consequential thing.

My thoughts are a cacophony in my head.

My emotions are such that if I let them all out I might be scooped up off the street and taken somewhere for my own protection, and yours. 

So I sit here.  Breathing.  Feeling my body on the chair.  My fingers on the keys.  My eyes on the screen.  Just breathing.

When the outrage, confusion, sadness, disappointment, dread, and despair rise to the surface, I breathe.

When I question how could this have happened,  I breathe.  

When I wonder how just over one-half the voters in our country could choose such a vulgar, racist, misogynist, ignorant, fascist-leaning, convicted felon and all around despicable human being to be the leader of the United States of America, I breathe.

When I type those words, and realize that once again a strong, experienced, intelligent, articulate, caring woman lost to the very worst man, I can barely breathe. 

When I wonder about the future, especially for this country in which my granddaughters will live their formative years, I wonder how their lives will be impacted by a citizenry that elects the very worst man and continues to relegate, by any measure, more superior women to the sidelines of true power, I breathe and mourn.

When I stop and wonder all of this, I realize that my position of age, whiteness, and privilege will shield me from the immediate and most terrifying actions promised by this President-elect.  As a woman I know something of being marginalized, something of discrimination, but I don't personally know the horrors of racial, or ethnic, or gender diverse, or sexual orientation, or  poverty-based dehumanization.

What I do know is that marginalized people have always had to sit and breathe; feeling the rage, sadness, fear, and dread.  We have always been pushed aside, our skills and gifts ignored. We have always watched as the unqualified and unforgiving have risen to power. We have always been blamed for anything the powerful didn't like.  We have always breathed through it; sung through it, danced through it; wailed through it; and sometimes found some deep well of strength to rise up against it, maybe gaining small victories and some large.  It is the story of power and privilege and this country in many ways exemplifies that ethic.  So why am I surprised now?

When I think about hope, I remember that some time ago I gave up on hope.  It is just an empty exercise in wishing for an outcome that may never materialize.  I still have aspirations, desires for things to be different, and I might try to take some action toward that end.  But hope?  I allowed myself hope in this election.  I am reminded that hope is folly and I try to breathe through my tears.  

We have often heard the inspiring words, "We are better than this."  No, we are not.  This is exactly who we are.  All across the country, across many demographics the majority of the voters in this country voted against democracy and decency.  We are now not unique in the world, no longer that "shining beacon".  We are just like any other country that has flirted with and committed to a right wing populist autocracy. I can't breathe.

The breath alerts us to our inner state.  Under threat, the breath is fast and shallow readying for action: fight or flight.  Or we hold our breath in shock and overwhelm: freeze.  We recognize safety by noticing a deep, slow, steady breath, allowing us to rest and renew.

So, here is what I will do for awhile, after all the work of the campaign season ending in disappointment.  I will breathe deeply and slowly.  I will find safety.  I will rest and renew.  I will spend my days being cared for by Hub and him by me.  I will gather with family and friends, go for walks, read a mystery novel, binge some mindless TV, create something lovely to give away, take care of my body and my heart in nourishing and nurturing ways.  

Is there enough breath in this nearly 74-year-old body to keep going for as long as it takes to get to work again: to save democracy, to see a woman I can support become president, to live in a land that is truly compassionate and allows freedom and opportunity for all?  I don't know.  But today there is.  Today I breathe.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photo Credit:  Internet...it's going around and I don't know the originator.