"YOU PEOPLE"

I just got referred to on Facebook as "you people" -- as in "You people will believe anything" in rebuttal to a comment I made on a friend's post agreeing with her dismay about the immigrant crisis where the current Administration has decided it's just fine and dandy to take children from their parents who are crossing the border and send them to "shelters" or foster homes out of state without having any plan for reunification.  When I objected to the responder referring to me as "you people", with a request for civility, she in turn responded with a laughing face emoji.  That about sums up the political discourse these days, doesn't it?

I looked up her profile, of course.  Scary to find out she was a Journalism major at WSU.  But I know for a fact (my son is a grad) that for many students the Minor over there is in "party", so maybe her semester on fact-checking was negatively influenced.  (See?  It's contagious!  Now I'm being the catty bitch!)

Here's what I've noticed about the conversations around the most recent national crisis under this Administration:  Even those who generally try to remain calm and objective, civil and respectful, are losing it.  When you are talking about vulnerable children and vulnerable adults and policies that are designed to hurt people as a deterrent to seeking refuge or asylum in this "land of the free", people get surly.  Plus,  there is the cumulative effect of one outrage after another that we have been living with for two years.  (Yes, I date it back to the 2016 campaign).   How much more can we all take?  Some days it is damned hard to find a glimmer of hope, to keep smiling through the pain.

I try to keep the very worst of my swearing, berating, and "puttin' a hurt on 'em" fantasies to myself.  In public discourse I try to remain calm and factual.  Problem:  Facts have somehow become subjective and open to question, like with this morning's FB nemesis.  She absolutely does not believe what every single reputable news outlet is reporting about these kids being removed and relocated with no plan to reunification.  How can you even have a discussion about this policy when what we see with our own eyes is deemed 'fake'?  I even cited that I worked in foster care for 10 years, have friends who still work in foster care and who actually have kids in their programs from the border crisis and they state that they have NO IDEA when/if/how these kids will get back to their parents. Her response was the laughing emoji.

My response was to "hide" my friend's posts for 30 days.  She has far too many supporters of this president who are being rude and stupid on her newsfeed.  I get sucker punched by them when I try to engage in even a small way.  Plus, why does she keep these people around?  I just looked and see she has 770 FB friends, which is far, far too many.  When I see that many FB friends, I tend to stop interacting because I don't trust the friend list to really be vetted for true friendship.   Nobody has that many true friends.  Cull that list!

Anyway, after that early morning upset, I ran across this extended edition of James Cordon's "Carpool Karaoke".  https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=61&v=QjvzCTqkBDQ  I couldn't stop smiling.  The antidote to fury and dismay is joy.

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

SUCH A NASTY WOMAN

Last night, as I watched the 3rd and final presidential debate of this election season between Hillary Clinton and "He Who Must Not Be Named", Hub almost made me turn it off.  

I found myself on the verge of a full-blown panic/anxiety attack.  I felt cold all over, heart-pounding, literally shaking from head to toe as I listened and watched the Republican Candidate for President of the United States lie and bluff and bluster and bully his way through yet another public appearance, yet another debate with the most qualified person to ever run for the office of President, attempting to discredit and demean her with name-calling and lies.  Ask anyone.  The fact-checkers and decent people everywhere have it all well-documented.  His indictment comes at the hand of his own words and actions.  

I admit that his vitriol hits me most deeply because he is aiming it at a woman.  Women understand what it feels like to be demeaned in a million subtle ways.  And some of us remember what it was like to fight to try to overcome the personal and institutional discrimination that plagued us for centuries....and still does, actually.  To see it rear its most ugly head on the debate stage is to quake with fear and loathing; has our progress all been an illusion?  How can any sane person support him?  How can any SANE and SELF-RESPECTING woman support him?  It baffles me.

When he called her "such  a nasty woman", tears sprang into my eyes.  Hub reached over and took my hands, reminding me I was only hearing "words, words, words" and that the next President of the United States was on that stage -- that's progress personified.  

He suggested that the guy on the stage reminded him of the evil creatures in Harry Potter -- the Dementers.  Remember them?  

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

—Description of Dementors  http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Dementor

Seems to be an apt description.  

As for calling her "such a nasty woman", the Twitter Universe and Facebook are lighting up this morning with women everywhere claiming the moniker as a point of pride.  November 8th:  Nasty-Fest 2016!  I'm in!  And I'll wear my Suffragette White for good measure!

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

IT ALL SUCKS

I don't have any patience today for being politically correct or writing to a specific sensibility or coming up with a lesson or feel-good ending to this post.   I'd just like to rant for a moment....

DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY SUCK!!!  I can't remember a day in the past 6 weeks that I haven't felt miserable for at least part of the day; haven't cried and hated myself; felt frightened and panicked.     It's all so familiar:  I've had anxiety and episodic depression since I was about 4 years old.  These Twin Demons are old enemies who bully and torment me periodically.  It's such a relief when they leave for their Underworld Retreat (likely resting up for the next assault).  But back they come, often out of the blue for no goddamn good reason at all, even though every single goddamn time I try to figure out "why?"

Now don't get yourself all caught up at this point and start recommending I "see somebody".   I've seen many somebodies over the years; have popped the pills and worked my ass off through debilitating withdrawal to get off the pills; have sat in support groups; amassed a huge arsenal of weapons to help ward off the worst of the attacks, but this one has sent me reeling.   Hub is my rock and my support, but even he may be tiring of the whine and tears at this point.  I know I'm sick of me.

So, where did this come from?  Here are the "whys" that are up for me this time:  Seven months ago I lost a community that was central to my life; a community I had devoted my time, talent, and treasure to for many years, with a vision that sustained and motivated me to work my ass off.  It all came tumbling down in a hurtful and ugly way and I left.   I'm not a quitter -- don't think I've ever quit anything before that I'd made a commitment to -- but swimming in a toxic river just cuz I know how to swim doesn't make the water cleaner.  It just pulls me into a dangerous eddy where either I have to fight my way out to survive or surrender to the never-ending swirl of sameness.  Nope. Not gonna do that.  Some think those who left this community have "taken the easy way out".   That opinion couldn't be further off the mark or more hurtful, given the pain some of us have felt over this whole debacle.   I wish them well and actually those there seem to be happy and content; apparently things are as they want them to be.  I just can't be one of them.

Simultaneously, my brother endured a seven month relapse and ugly decline due to cancer.  He died a little over a month ago.   I am the only living member of my original family and I am sad and scared as I look in the mirror and see the wrinkles, the sags, the gray hairs.   Every twitch and twinge gets self-diagnosed as cancer or a heart attack (the killers in my family), and every forgotten name is evidence of dementia (another scourge I watched my dear, strong, capable, rock of a mother succumb to).   The list of feared ailments grows by the minute.  And there is always in the back of my mind those episodes of unexplained fainting I had a few years ago.  If they couldn't tell me why and fix it, I know only too well it could happen again as it did then out of the blue.  What if...I'm home alone with my grandbaby?  Driving my car?  Walking down a flight of stairs?  Oh, I can "what if" myself into oblivion, but my greatest fear is that some harm would come to my little Jewel while she is in my care.  I almost can't breathe just thinking of it.

So, what to do?  I've got a doctor appt tomorrow and will likely be referred to Behavioral Health where I will sit and yammer on to a therapist who will want to put me on meds again and I will refuse and then s/he will be frustrated at my lack of "compliance".  Screw that.  I've also been Googling "mindfulness meditation" classes in the area, believing that form of meditation to be best suited to this malaise.  I just need more direction and training and a firm commitment to "just do it".   I'm motivated and found one class about 6 blocks from my house.  Never knew that.  Thank you, Jesus.  (Or was it Buddha?)  Will keep up the Yoga and treadmill commitments, take a week off from Granny Nannying to get a bit of a break from that responsibility, spend time with my supportive, funny, compassionate friends who remind me who I am when I forget.  I will try to be gentle and compassionate with myself, but really a hallmark of the disease is a marked lack of self-compassion.

This is all so ugly to admit. A goal I always set for myself when the Twin Demons aim to beat the crap out of me (so I don't devolve into a bedridden bundle of angst and soggy tissues) is to do "one brave and courageous" thing a week.  This week it's to hit "publish" on this post.   I guess by revealing this struggle I hope to demonstrate commonality with someone out there who might feel better in their own battle with the bullies, knowing they at least are not so alone in the shit-storm.   If the Twin Demons haunt you too, you know how all-consuming and crazy-making it feels and how much you hate it.   Yep, this sucks.

Now, wasn't that fun?  Oh gosh...Don't worry!  Be happy!

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

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE HIGHLIGHT REEL

I'm on vacation.  I promised myself I would lay off Facebook while I'm away this time, but I lied.  I can't do it.  I love Facebook.  I love keeping in touch with my friends and family, catching the news of the day, finding the silly and the sublime that is Facebook.  I've been posting photos of our trip, of course, although not quite as many as I usually do.  How can you miss me if I won't go away, right?

Son Two tells me Facebook is the "highlight reel" of everyone's life and I get what he means.  Rarely do folks post photos of themselves looking, acting, and feeling rotten.   I actually appreciate it when they do, since for me Facebook is a community and I love it best when it's interactive and honest.  But then, I keep my " FB Friends" list pretty well cleaned up to include people I care about and am willing to be honest with -- no old high school rivals, horrible ex-bosses, or former boyfriends I'm still trying to impress.

But I guess I'm guilty of the "highlight reel" thing too.  I don't usually post photos that make me look fat (it's the photo, it's not me!) and I pick pretty, fun things to display -- none of me sitting in construction zone traffic, getting pounded to the sand by a rogue wave, or lying in bed for several hours with a headache.  (Also part of Hawaiian adventures!)

I was thinking of this as we've traveled around the island on this trip.  I wondered if all the people I saw in less than total "Aloha Spirit" were also posting "highlight reel" coverage of their trip?

There was a young couple at the pool, she in a lounge chair reading and he walking toward her with a Mai Tai and a Pina Colada.  He reached out to offer her the Pina and she was having none of it.  In fact, she was pissed, a dark scowl on her face as she berated him and told him she DID NOT WANT that!  Hub and I observed this with some consternation and amusement -- telling ourselves the inside story that:  A) he was only being nice and she was a bitch; B) he'd been drinking all day and she was sick of it and trying to dissuade more of the same.    Whatever the story, she got up and stormed away while he chugged the Mai Tai and half the Pina.  Post that!

Then at the Kauai Coffee Company, crowded with coffee connoiseurs tasting every conceivable roast and blend, I saw a woman of about 70 literally stomp her foot and declare to her friend, loudly, "He just pushes my buttons and I CAN'T STAND IT!"  I noticed a man of about the same age turn and glare at her.  Another moment of wedded bliss, I thought.  Post that!

At the snorkeling beach yesterday I sat on a shady bench on the lawn watching Hub navigate the warm, blue sea observing the underwater life (I don't like to put my face in the water...but I'm working on it) when a man of about 50 joined me, but immediately sat on the far end with his back to me.  Not interested in casual conversation, I assumed; fine with me.  Soon a woman joined him and since he grabbed her butt, I figured he knew her pretty well.  They began to talk and before long he became quite animated.  It was weird, since they were right next to me, but maybe it was the wind, waves, and the fact that they were facing away from me, but I couldn't make out a word he was saying.  But boy was he mad!  He was on a rant about something that had to be expressed with great arm waving and swearing because literally the only words I could hear, since he placed his emphasis there, was f*#k, f*#king, f*#k!  And "never again!"  He was not mad at her...she was a sympathetic listener, but boy, something had riled him up!  Post that!

Yesterday, back at the pool, an attractive young couple sat facing each other on the edge of their chairs, she holding about a 10-month-old little boy on her lap.  They were engaged in what seemed to be an intense conversation.  As I walked by I saw him lean forward and interrupt her to say, "Look!  Let me spell this out for you!"  I wanted to smack him and feared for the role modeling he was providing for his son.  I hope she told him to shut the f*#k up, but I kept walking, so don't know how their drama ended.  Still, post that!

I guess my point is, "highlight reel" or not, real life comes along on vacation with us.   I'm just glad Hub and I are so compatible at this point in our marriage.  We've grown closer this trip rather than more irritated.  Rest assured, when we are smiling in those Facebook posts, we really mean it.  And for that, I'm truly grateful.

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

CHOOSE HOPE

This morning, watching the spectacular sunrise, I find my emotions walking the tightrope between despair and hope.  Life is so precious and so sad.  It's hard not to sound like a cliche-writing hack when one contemplates the fleeting nature of this human existence.  So, I'm not going to put many words to the swirling emotions I am feeling, shared by a community in shock and grief.

You've likely heard.  Our community was the "top story" yesterday across the nation.  Another school shooting, this one ten miles from my home, in a neighboring town where many of my friends live, where their children go to school, where some of their children go to that school.

I went to a candlelight vigil last night at our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship.  We sang songs of comfort and strength, lit candles, held each other in love as grief washed over us.

This morning one girl is dead; the boy (who was by all accounts a popular well-liked athlete and leader) who used a gun on his classmates, and then himself, is also dead.  One boy is in serious condition, one boy and two girls in critical condition in area hospitals.  For all of them I feel such sorrow; for their families I feel such anguish; for all of us I feel such pain, numbed by disbelief.

And numbed by the almost commonplace nature of the event.  Our local first responders were remarkable -- but then they had trained for this.  The school teachers and students themselves were remarkable -- but then they had trained for this.  We now train ourselves for how to react to school shootings, so common have they become.

I won't go on my rant, my deeply-held belief that our national fascination with readily available firearms is partly to blame.  I know it's complicated -- not long ago another small local community endured the stabbing death of a student at school.  I know it's complicated -- funding for mental health services is so often on the chopping block when it's time to balance the budget.  I know it's complicated -- we model violence as conflict resolution for our kids with entertainments like video games, TV dramas, and outrageously gratuitously violent movies; we model it in our real-life wars and even with the specter of angry discourse in our political debates where anger and fear and intractable positioning seem to be the order of the day.

Still….what I see mostly around me everywhere are people of good intentions, who love their families, work hard, laugh together and want to find peace, happiness, and meaning in their lives.  This we share and this we must elevate to a cause for celebration of our shared humanity, even in the face of tragedy.

I won't fall into despair.  I choose hope.

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

UPDATE:  One of the girls in critical condition died October 26, 2014.  Her parents chose to give the gift of life to others through organ donation.  And the grief goes on….

UPDATE:  On October 31, 2014, the other girl in critical condition died.

UPDATE:  On November 6, 2014, the shooting victim who was wounded, but recovering, went home from the hospital.

UPDATE:  On November 7, 2014, the last victim who had remained in critical condition died.

ANGRY YOUNG MEN

Last post I revealed that I am a football fan.  I realize not all my friends share this passion.  Some detest it.  Most on the basis of the waste of time, money, and energy spent on a sport that is so physical that there is almost never a game when one or more players doesn't sustain an injury.  There are, thankfully!, new and stricter rules for tackling and protocols in place about evaluating concussion-related injuries and ensuring adequate recovery time before returning to the field (not on the same day, for heaven's sake!)  Still, I know it is a rough game.   It is a game that I was so afraid of when Son-One wanted to play in 8th grade, that I refused to sign the permission slip.  So Hub did.  Hub, who played in high school and college until a knee injury sidelined him.

So, what am I to make of this game I am enjoying so much?  Why do I suspend my usual non-violent tendencies in general to embrace this pastime?  Well, I think it goes back to childhood memories, as I noted in my last post, of sports being a fixture on TV in our home.  I think it goes back to teen years of watching my boyfriend, Hub, on various fields of play.  I think it goes to raising boys who were rambunctious and sports-crazed and sitting, again, at various sports venues to cheer them on. I think it is a vicarious projection of my own inner competitive nature, deeply buried, yet able to come out as a fan.  I think it is the sense of community in joining in the rally around the home team.

Yet…After the game on Sunday in which we won, at the last second, on a defensive play by our star cornerback, Richard Sherman, Sherman was the "go-to" guy for the first sideline interview.  He immediately launched into a rant about his offensive counterpart on the other team and a boast about his own prowess.  I cringed.

He is known for "trash talking", but those across the country don't also know the side of him we in the hometown know of his personal story: a straight A student taking AP classes in the gang-infested neighborhood of Compton CA,  graduating from Stanford,  and developing into the best player of his position in the NFL.  No easy feat.  They don't know how articulate, funny, and friendly he is when he's not 30 seconds from having made the play of his life against his arch-rival.   So, since Sunday, his ill-timed and wrongheaded "interview" has been in an echo chamber of media attention.  Our Quarterback, Russell Wilson, who is relentlessly upbeat, positive and articulately soft spoken has nearly disappeared from view.  He's usually the upfront guy.

Football is a testosterone-fueled game.  It is a game in which "playing with a chip on your shoulder" is used as motivation to do well.  Many players on the Seahawks were passed over or picked late in the draft by many teams before landing in Seattle.  Richard Sherman was drafted in the 5th round -- 23 players at his position picked in front of  him.  Russell Wilson was a 3rd round pick.  Doug Baldwin, the Hawks wide receiver, was an undrafted free agent and is also having a standout year.  All have said they are out to prove their worth…prove to those who overlooked them that they missed out on something special.

Is this "anger", this desire to prove themselves, something to deride or to celebrate?  And when they show their worth on the national stage, having just reached the game that is the pinnacle of every football player's career, the Super Bowl, do we begrudge them a bit of a boast?

Well, I do wish Richard had toned it down just because I knew the firestorm of judgement and controversy it would create.  I appreciate Russell and Doug for the their more soft-spoken joy of accomplishment.  But that's just me and my Scandinavian heritage.  If the underdogs wanna do a bit of howling and growling, I guess that is their due.

The lesson I have learned is that making a snap judgement about a person's "class" or "character" in the heat of an intense moment, without benefit of the fuller story of a person's life, is also ill-advised.  Let's all pause,  no matter the situation, and let the emotion pass.  Then, let's get on with the sport of life --  hard-fought, well-played, and full of celebration.

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

LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE PIPSQUEAK!

Old people stereotypes include the curmudgeonly old lady waving a cane at some kid or an old man shouting "Get off my lawn".  I am that curmudgeon.  But like all of us, I feel justified in my ire.

I'm squabbling with the local newspaper circulation department.  It's been going on for over a month now, since the paper was sold to another publisher and our long-time delivery guy decided to pack it in, since he had to drive so far to the new distribution center to gather up his store of papers in the middle of the night for early morning delivery.

He was a gem; I miss him.  He would tuck little typed notes (typos, questionable grammar, and misspellings, notwithstanding) into the paper whenever he went on vacation to let us know we'd have a substitute and he hoped all would go well in his absence.  In December we'd get a holiday card from him with a note about it being his pleasure to serve us.  The cynical may have seen this as a thinly veiled plea for a Christmas tip, but I just thought it was a sweet, old-fashioned thing to do.  And I always sent him a hefty tip anyway, because he truly deserved it.

Our house is on a hill.  We have a steep driveway and about 1/3 of the way up a set of 15 cement stairs arches up to a short sidewalk, then 8 more stairs to our front porch.  It's a work-out, as our visitors can attest.  Our former delivery guy somehow managed to get our paper, without fail, to the top of those 15 stairs and onto the sidewalk along the front of our house.  I thought that was remarkable.  I never expected porch delivery and would have compromised with just getting it on the stairs somewhere.  But he always had it all the up and easy to grab -- even on those rare winter mornings when the whole driveway and stairway might be covered in snow.

So, the new guy….the first 2 weeks I went on a morning scavenger hunt as he seemed to unclear and inaccurate about where to toss the paper from his moving car (that's my best guess as to the silly places I found my paper).  I called to issue a little complaint and offer some helpful hints.  Circulation said they'd pass my comments on.  I was super nice and understanding of the learning curve of a new driver.

The next week I found my paper at the very top of my driveway outside the garage door.  Not the most obvious place (not at our house, anyway), but acceptable.  So, I thought, OK…new plan.  Fine.  But one morning I went out to find that the guy had had a bit of trouble backing down our steep, narrow drive and had veered off into the azaleas, smashing a couple to the ground and leaving tire tread in the drive where he must have had to spin his wheels to get traction with all that shrubbery he was dragging along holding him back.   I made another call, recommending that coming all the way up our driveway was treacherous and unnecessary.  I was pretty nice about the azaleas.  I'm an understanding and patient person, in general.

Every day since then, the paper has barely made it onto our property.  The guy must have decided he was jinxed by the azalea episode and now won't set his wheels or feet anywhere closer than dropping the paper out the window as he drives by.  I've called on this unacceptable practice twice now.  For a few days this week he did manage to toss it up the drive in the vicinity of the bottom of those 15 stairs and I was ready to live with this, thinking it is good exercise.  But this morning, again, I found the fat Sunday paper hovering just at the property line between driveway and street.

Last time I called I was not so kind and asked for a call-back from the delivery supervisor.  Never heard from him. I also made a modest threat that I might have to cancel my paper.  But I know I don't want to.

I love sitting down with the morning paper.  I've been a home delivery subscriber since 1982, when we moved into this house.  I don't like reading the on-line version (which they just announced will become a subscription and not free anymore).  But I am at the mercy of a confused, stubborn, lazy delivery guy and it pisses me off.  I don't like feeling ignored and helpless.  And I realize I'm just talking about a silly little newspaper….

I realize there are huge systems in place these days that ignore the truly helpless and my little foray into the relatively trivial abyss of this situation is more comical than tragic.  Still.  Some morning I might just lie in wait to wave my broom at him as he does his shoddy drive-by.

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