What’s in a name?

So, I laugh at myself a lot.  Everybody else is going to laugh at me, so why not join in?  I do and say silly things…and it’s funny.  So why not laugh?  Sometimes I will randomly remember something I did or said that was dumb or funny and I will laugh about it.  Today I remembered something silly that I did over 25 years ago…and I laughed.  So I decided to share.

I was very involved in church at the time and had some very strong opinions.  One of those strong opinions was about “Taking the Lord’s name in vain”.  So when they moved a new coworker into the desk behind me…and she was, well, not so sensitive to these things…I was a bit stressed.  Every time something frustrated her, she would say “Jesus Christ!”  Well, needless to say, this was very offensive to me at the time.

I ignored it at first, hoping that she would relax a little.  But it kept up.  One day I tried to gently tell her that I found this offensive and wished that she wouldn’t say it.  I got an earful about her right to say whatever she wanted.  While I was frustrated, I believed she did have a point.  Free country, and all that.  But it still bothered me. 

Using her own logic - that she had a right to say whatever she wanted - I began to break down the argument.  I asked her why she would say someone’s name just because she was frustrated.  Why didn’t she say “Ronald Reagan!” or “Lucille Ball!”  I tried to make a joke of it so that maybe she would see my perspective a little and try to stop.  Unfortunately, this only made it worse.  She told me I was ridiculous.

So I decided to live up to her assessment…and be ridiculous.  One day I got frustrated with something on my desk and said “Jessie Gonzales!”  To which, she replied, “What?”  I said, “Oh, nothing.  I’m just frustrated.”  I did it again later and she said “What?  Why do you keep saying my name?”  I told her that she says “Jesus Christ” when she is frustrated and based on her arguments with me, it seemed to make her feel better…so I had decided to say a name when I was frustrated too.  So I picked HER name.

Within about two days, she was so annoyed that she said she was going to talk to our supervisor if I didn’t stop saying her name.  I told her I would stop saying her name if she would stop saying His.  She was livid and told me again that I was ridiculous.  I just smiled at her and nodded in agreement.

I added “Oh, Jessie!  That is not what I meant to do!”, and “Well, Jessie Gonzales!  I can’t believe that happened!”  At least one time, she got mad enough that she got up from her desk and stormed away.

I’m not sure what she said to our manager.  Or what our manger said to her.  But after about a week of this, she got real quiet and stopped saying pretty much anything while at her desk.  I still asked her every day how she was…and I still greeted her and was as polite to her as ever.  But she didn’t talk.  True to my word, I stopped saying her name when she stopped saying his. 

A few months later, she quit and left the company.  I don’t know if it had anything to do with me or our issue.  But still to this day, I laugh about this ridiculous situation.  I wonder if she ever remembers this story and thinks “That bitch was crazy.”  I kind of hope she does.

Terror...at the hair salon!

I am not a hugely private person.  I’m pretty much an open book.  If there’s something you want to know about me, ask.  Chances are, I’ll tell you more than you wanted to know.  People who know me, know all the basics…like the fact that I’m totally in love with my grandbabies, I love Bon Jovi, I love costumes and dressing up, I love Halloween, and I love to host gatherings.  These are things everyone knows about me. 

There are, however, a few things that are not common knowledge unless you know me really well.  One of those things…is how much I hate to go to the salon.  Now…I do love to go get mani/pedis with a friend or with my S/O…I enjoy talking and laughing while we get our nails pretty.  But going alone?  I hate it.  I hate the awkward conversation with the nail tech and sitting there feeling weird when they are not talking.  I hate when they have full conversations in other languages and I have no idea what they are talking about.  And I hate how long it takes.  It’s just not fun or relaxing for me.  And don’t even get me started about hair appointments.  Oh, how I hate going to the salon for my hair.  I hate worrying that they are not going to listen and then they will cut all my hair off or make my bangs too short and I’ll look like a twelve year old.  I hate worrying about them adding services I didn’t ask for and then charging me extra.  I hate how they ask questions as if they are interested in you but they don’t actually listen to the answer or offer any information about themselves.  It’s just awkward and I hate it.

All that being said…I decided that I really wanted my hair professionally colored before my wedding.  I searched Groupon and looked at local hair salons…but that hatred of salon visits just kept me procrastinating.  Finally, I asked my friend Kari about her stylist.  Her hair always looks fantastic and I’ve seen other friends on Facebook who go to the same stylist and their hair looks amazing too.  So I asked for the info.  The stylist’s name is Meredith and she seemed to know a lot of the same people I know.  So I took a shot and made an appointment.  

I was dreading the appointment.  But at least it was a salon inside a shop in Deep Ellum that I had always wanted to see anyway…so maybe that would at least make it a little better.  So off I went to see Meredith at her shop in Dallas Pinup.

I walked in the door to find this adorable woman with peacock colored hair sitting at the counter and she asked if she could help me.  I told her I was there to see Meredith and she said “Great!  I’m Meredith!”  Her face lit up with a smile…and it was genuine.  All the way to her eyes.  A real smile.  A real person.  Not a robot hair stylist giving a standard fake greeting.  Great start!  She showed me to her salon and it was ADORABLE!  Unlike other salons…she didn’t immediately usher me to a chair and start putting a smock on me like it was an assembly line.  She sat down across from me and we…::gasp:: talked.  We talked about ourselves for a few minutes.  Then she asked what I was looking for.  I felt welcomed and like she was actually interested…not just in getting me done and out the door.  

Then she did something else amazing.  She listened.  She listened to everything I had to say about what I wanted and why I was there and how much I hated the salon and what I worried about.  And for those who don’t know me…well, I can be a little loquacious.  Ok, I a lot.  But she listened anyway.  Patiently.

Over the next three hours or so – she did my hair and helped customers in the shop.  I came out and talked to the customers too, and she didn’t mind.  We laughed and talked to each other and to the random people that came in the shop.  It was fun!

I admitted to her that I had been hacking away at my own hair for months because I hated the salon.  Instead of chastising me for this…she told me I did a surprisingly good job and it was not nearly as jagged and hacked up as I thought it was.  She recommended products for my hair…but didn’t push any sales on me.  She did exactly what I asked…and didn’t try to push any other services on me.  When I asked her questions about herself and her life…she answered fully.  She shared.  She didn’t give me short, one sentence answers.  She actually shared things about her life.  I felt like I was making a friend…not just getting my hair done.

At the end of all this…I had this beautiful hair color that I absolutely loved.  And I had just had the best salon experience EVER.  I left feeling happy and relaxed and confident.  And the next time I need a salon service, I will instantly think of her and want to go back to her.  This is what a salon visit should be like.

That being said…if you need a hair stylist…do yourself a favor, take my advice and go see Meredith.  She is just lovely.

Here is the information from her business card:

The Unruly Dame

Meredith

Online booking 24/7 at www.vagaro.com/theunrulydame

meredith@unrulydame.com

text only (469)534-9684

instagram@theunrulydame

It’s funny…as a society, we are supposedly becoming more accepting.  We are calling out bullies and insisting on equal treatment.  There’s this huge war on “rape culture” and “body shaming” and “white privilege”.  And you know, I want these things to stop.  I don’t want people being picked at or made to feel bad for their size, income level, sexual preference, color the of their skin…or any of these other things. 

However, there’s a new breed of bullying going on in the world.  It’s those PC police who are just waiting for someone to make a comment that even remotely touches one of these buzz word filled, hashtag word concepts…so that they can attack.  There are a few people out there who have taken up their cause and they don’t even realize that they are now the bullies.

They attack you and make you feel like a lesser person for stating an opinion that vaguely reminded them of their big PC cause.  So they jump on you and immediately throw all their buzzwords and hashtags at you – when you really are not even close to doing what they are accusing you of.

I took a picture of a woman in a store one day because I thought her outfit was hilarious.  I posted it with my giggles.  I was immediately attacked for “shaming” this woman – when all I was trying to do was laugh about an outfit I found funny.  But the PC Police couldn’t wait to jump on me about it.  Here’s the thing.  I was not mean to this woman.  I didn’t say anything bad about this woman.  And I even cropped the picture so that her face could not be seen…because I was not trying to make fun of her or be mean to her…I was simply saying that I found her outfit funny.

I’ve been known to wear some crazy things.  I’ve been known to walk into a department store or drugstore in my Halloween costume or in my renaissance faire garb…because I needed something and didn’t have anything to change into.  And I fully expect people to see that and laugh.  That’s ok.  It’s funny!  Take a picture and post it and say “Look at this woman in CVS in her blue wig and crazy makeup.  She looks like a nut!”  Go ahead.  I did look like a nut.  I’m glad I gave you a laugh.

The fact is…things are still funny in the world.  Saying that they are funny is not “shaming”.  Stating an opinion on how someone should dress in a particular place is not “shaming”.  It’s stating an opinion.  This is not bullying.  The bullying is when the PC Police attack you for stating your opinion.  Especially on Social Media where you created your own page specifically that you COULD speak your mind. 

The thing is, the people who jump on you about these things rarely take the time to actually find out what you mean or to consider that you were merely stating an opinion.  They are so absorbed by their cause and fighting for it…that they go completely overboard trying to “correct” others.  But guess what?  By telling that person they are not allowed to voice their opinion…you are doing the SAME THING you are angry at them for.  You are shaming them for speaking their mind.  ::gasp::  Do you want to be the pot or the kettle today?

I’m all for becoming a kinder, gentler species.  I’m all for supporting people in doing their own thing and not being shamed for it.  However, the next time you DEMAND that someone not speak their opinion of something because they don’t understand it or see it the way you do, stop and consider who is being the bully in that conversation.  Because it might be you.

Max

It’s good to be able to laugh at yourself.  Trust me, I do it all the time.  And the older I get, it seems like the more I have to laugh at myself about.  One of those things…is raging hormones.  Especially during that one week called PMS week.  My hormones – and thus my emotions – are out of control!  What does this mean?  Well…it means that everything makes me cry. 

Today’s episode of laughing at myself…comes from the night where I had insomnia and stupidly decided to watch a movie called Max.  SPOILER ALERT!  Stop reading if you haven’t seen it and don’t want it spoiled.

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Max is about a Marine Dog who gets traumatized by his handler’s death and cannot go back into the field to work.  We first see his trauma when he almost tears up the floor of the church during the funeral trying to get to his handler’s casket.  I think that was the first time I lost it.  Max runs up and barks at the casket, draped in an American Flag, and then whines and lays down beside it.  And boom…I was in tears.  From here, we see the story unfold of the handler’s family taking the dog in because otherwise he is going to be put down because he can’t work anymore.  They go to pick him up and the only person he doesn’t seem to want to maul…is his handler’s little brother.  ::sniffle::  I immediately anthropomorphize the dog beyond reason and decide that this is because he can see a resemblance and because they smell alike because they are brothers.  Shut up, it’s my logic….it doesn’t have to be true.  Anyway…the brother is kind of an angry, bratty, punk teenager when we get started.  He acts like he doesn’t want or give a crap about Max…or anything else.  He’s a mad at the world teenager.  I snapped at him several times for this.  “You little brat.  Be nice to that dog.” 

Over the course of the movie, the brother bonds with the dog.  The next time I really lost it was the scene where the family leaves Max in a cage in the backyard and goes to the 4^th of July parade.  And as they sit and watch the fireworks begin…I yell at the TV…”Max is traumatized by loud noises!  Oh my god!  You have to go home and comfort him you stupid brat!  Oh god, he must be so scared!”  And I’m crying at the TV and crushing my Sherpa blanket in my tiny hands in my frustration.  Just as I yell this at the TV, you see this fact dawn on the face of the teenage boy and he gets up and starts running.  He tries to take Max in the house but Max is terrified and won’t come out of the cage.  I yell at the boy again, “Just get in the cage with him!”  He listened.  The kid gets in the cage with the dog…and for the first time, Max snuggles up to him for comfort…and I suddenly have my hands over my face, crying. 

Then we have the storyline where the bad guy comes around and Max barks and growls at him.  And later when the bad guy has a gun, I sit up angrily in my recliner, tiny hands balled into fists, and yell, “Don’t you hurt that dog, you bastard!”

Through the rest of the movie, there are shouts and cries from me:

“Good boy!”

“You better be nice to him!”

Poor baby!”

“Good dog!  Good dog!!!”

“Oh, that’s a smart boy!”

The father in the movie is kind of a jerk.  He lets the bad guy convince him that Max turned on his handler…so he wants to put Max down and he aims a gun at the dog…but mom and little brother stop him.  Still…you can see the anger on his face and how much he hates the dog.  Then all the bad happens…and dad is taken hostage by the bad guys.  Lots of things happen…dad is trying to get away…he has a gun…and here comes Max straight toward him.  He aims the gun at Max but something stops him and he kind of cringes…Max flies right by him and jumps the bad guy – who was behind dad and about to get him - and saves Dad’s life.  That’s right, jerk!  He saved you!  Max comes over to Dad and licks his face and that look of realization comes over dad’s face…he was wrong about Max.  For sure.  This was not enough for me.  I was angrily yelling at the TV…”Tell him he’s a good boy!  You tell him he’s a good boy, god dammit!  He saved your life!  Good boy!”  He didn’t listen…but he did pet Max.  Max understood.  Yes, he did.  Shut up, this is my story.

In the end, the bad guy comes after little brother with a gun.  They are on a train trestle with a giant, gaping hole above a creek.  Here comes Max!  He jumps the bad guy and the two of them go through the hole and plunge to the rocky creek bed below.  I slam my hands over my mouth and more tears spring to my eyes.  We see the bad guy lying motionless at the bottom….with Max lying motionless on top of him.  I can’t breathe.  The next thing I see is a headstone in a cemetery…and I wail.  “No, no, no, no…” I tell the TV.  Then I see the name.  It’s Max’s handler’s grave.  And little brother is talking to him.  I can still barely breathe.  Where is Max?  Brother talks…then I hear it.  I hear Max whine.  And my fists go in the air with a victorious “Oh!  He’s ok!  Good boy!”  Little brother thanks big brother for Max and tells him he loves him.  He and Max go off into the sunset.  Well, in my imagination, there was a sunset.  But it was a happy ending and Max lives and gets the bad guy.  Now there are happy sniffles and it’s three hours after my usual bedtime but I stop to love on my cats before I go to bed.

I spent 85% of this movie crying, yelling at the tv, or with my hands over my face in terror.  But it was worth it for the happy ending…and for all the laughing I get to do at myself as I tell this story.  Laughing at yourself is healthy.  So is a good cry sometimes.

Good boy, Max

The fine line between defending people and being the PC Police

I am pretty much always stunned when someone says that a comment I have made is racist, bullying, shaming, insensitive, etc.  I am none of those things.  At least I have always tried not to be.  I was raised in a series of small towns full of rednecks and racists and small minded people.  As a teenager, I started to look around at these people and decided this was not who I wanted to be.  Just because I was surrounded by people who did not like other races or sexual preferences…did not mean that I had to feel that way.

I haven’t used racial slurs in over thirty years.  Unless I was quoting someone else or had specifically explained why I was going to use a particular word.  I have not used slurs about LGBTQ Community folks in almost as long.

As I have grown up and met all kinds of different people, I have learned about different kinds of people and what they have gone through and tried to learn to be sensitive toward these things so that I am not hurting people’s feelings, even by accident, by using certain words.

Am I perfect?  Hell no.  Am I always PC and never say anything offensive?  Hell no.  Do I make mistakes?  All the time.  It’s called being human.

Here’s where I have a problem.  At what point does all this Political Correctness and Sensitivity cross the line?  At some point, there is going to come a time when we cannot speak to each other at all because everything we say is going to offend someone, somewhere.  At some point, people are going to become so thin skinned, that the entire surface of the Earth is going to be covered in eggshells and none of us will be able to leave the house.

I will no longer be able to laugh at clowns because what if some people CHOOSE to wear their makeup that way?  That’s their choice and their right!  I can’t jokingly call my best friend “whore” (as we have done for years) because there might be a woman nearby who was forced into prostitution and she will get her feelings hurt.  I can’t laugh at the man wearing the hat so big that he had to turn his head sideways to get through the door because he MIGHT be poor and unable to afford a better hat.  It’s just too much.

If I am out in public in my bathrobe…it’s funny.  People are going to take my picture and laugh and possibly post that picture on the internet.  Will I be embarrassed?  Probably.  But geez people…it’s funny.  We all do things that are embarrassing and other people laugh at us.  For god’s sake…I worked at a Renaissance Festival for six years.  Do you know how amusing people find it that I am wearing couch fabric in the middle of a cow pasture in Texas pretending to be from 16^th century Europe?  It’s funny!  Big deal.  Now…would it be ok for someone to come over and beat the crap out of me because I wore my bathrobe out in public?  No.  But to laugh at something that’s obviously odd?  What’s wrong with that?

I’m all for having a more sensitive world.  I’m all for ending racism, sexism, and discrimination in general. I’m all for letting people live their own lives and be who they want to be (as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else).  Marry who you want to marry.  Use the bathroom you feel comfortable in.  Wear what you like to wear.  I don’t care what color your skin is or what god(s) you believe in.  If you treat me with respect, I will treat you with respect.

If I do something ridiculous – laugh at me.  It’s funny.  If I wear something you think is crazy – laugh at it.  You have a right to your opinion…just like I have the right to wear my crazy outfit or do something ridiculous.  But let’s not go SO FAR into this politically correct, overly-sensitive world that we forget how to laugh.  Laugh at yourself…laugh at your friends.  We are humans and do dumb things and it’s funny.  Let your freak flag fly and if someone laughs at you…let them.  Understand that everyone has a right to their opinion and to live their life.  You being a weirdo might have been the best part of their entire day because you made them laugh.

Stop trying so hard to police everyone else for their language.  Worry about yourself.  If I have said something that offended YOU personally, come talk to me about it face to face or at the very least via a private conversation over email or the phone.  If you are my friend, know me well enough to know that I don’t purposely hurt or offend people.  So if you think I’ve done that, come talk to me about it.  But before you do…ask yourself if I have really done something that has hurt someone else or if I am just amused by things I see in the world.  Understand that there is a difference.  Understand that if we continue to take this PC thing too far…we are going to live in a miserable world, without laughter, and without humor because everyone is so busy being PC or policing other people.

As a friend of mine recently said, “Go find a real injustice and champion that!” 

You can’t make the world perfect.  It will never happen.  Pick your battles before the whole world becomes nothing BUT a battle.

When you get it...maybe leave a giggle?

Fresh powder gleams atop the peaks as evening arrives

A blank slate upon the ground

A world of my own, alone

Here I shall rule

The night air screams through the trees and my heart

And I fail to contain my thoughts, regardless of my valiant effort

Be not invaded, be hidden from their sight

Assume the propriety expected of you

Keep your face a mask of mystery…

Let there be confusion no more!

Set it free. Liberate thy soul

I can contain my heart no longer

Release my spirit, emancipate my heart

Be gone and the way be shut

I cease to be concerned

With the opinions of others

Allow hell its’ fury

I never feared it in the first place

Odd how the space between us

So lessens the weight of my plight

And the chains that held my heart still

Are shattered and fall away

The moment of my awakening has come

I shall rise above and conquer my fear

No restrictions upon my existence…I AM.

Set it free. Liberate thy soul

I can contain my heart no longer

Release my spirit, emancipate my heart

Be gone and the way be shut

I shall claim my place

I shall not be moved

Allow Hell its fury!

My energy builds and spreads to everything in reach

My essence rains upon all things that I survey

It is here that I truly realize

This is my place in the world

Nothing can change that

Set it free. Liberate thy soul

My heart shall no longer be moved

Release my spirit, emancipate my heart

The woman you knew is no more

I claim my place

Before all who may see

Allow Hell its fury

I never feared it in the first place

-Lynn Victory

Venting

Yeah…I’m gonna vent.  It’s angry…it’s negative…feel free to ignore.
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Yesterday was a crap day.  And I’m angry.  I’ve been angry for a while now.  Because I’m tired.  I’m tired of a lot of things.  I’m tired of being punished for having a work ethic.  By punished, I mean that I’m really tired of having a different set of expectations put on me because I actually work hard and do what I’m asked…while the slackers with no work ethic are allowed to slide by doing the bare minimum.  I’m tired of being treated differently.  I’m tired of being singled out in negative ways.  I don’t mind standing out in a crowd because I’ve done something well…but it sucks when that is taken for granted and it becomes what you’re EXPECTED to do when others don’t have as much expected of them.

I’m tired of know it all jackasses trying to tell me what to do or how to do it, especially when they have half the experience that I have…and no authority over me whatsoever…and last but certainly not least…WERE NOT ASKED FOR THEIR OPINION.

I’m tired of watching people get HANDED all the things I worked my ass off to get because they don’t want to have to work for it.  So they whine and cry and “poor me” and make people feel sorry for them and get handed things instead of having to earn them.  They get to work half-ass, part time jobs and then play the rest of the time…while I work my ass off for everything I have.

I’m tired of cry baby, whiny assed, entitled people who don’t appreciate anything they have and want everything handed to them.  I’m sick of people complaining constantly about tiny inconveniences when there are people in the world with ACTUAL problems.  I’m ready for these people to get over themselves and realize that if they want something, they should go work for it…not cry and stomp their feet until someone gives it to them.

I’m tired of being involved with a group where not everyone is treated the same although it’s claimed that they are all equal.  I’m tired of some people getting to do things that others don’t and lame ass excuses are made as to why.

I’m sick of being patronized and spoken to as if I’m an idiot or somehow a lesser human being.  Particularly by people who have a tiny bit of power and let it go to their head.

More than any of this…I’m tired of being angry and disappointed.  I’m tired of watching people get away with acting like idiots so that I get angry.  I’m tired of being disappointed by people’s actions and poor behavior.  It’s just exhausting.

I am trying really hard to let things go.  I keep chanting “Not my circus, not my monkeys” so much that it feels like it’s permanently etched in my brain.  But it’s just frustrating.  I don’t want to be angry anymore.  I’m trying to figure out what to do.  I’m trying to figure out how to fix it.  At some point, hopefully I’ll be able to make some changes and things will be better.  Until then, I just have to keep trying.  But I am just SO tired.

On Words of Comfort

I am always fascinated by the things people say to comfort each other in bad times.  Things like “She’s in a better place” or “He is not in pain anymore”.  Things that are meant to comfort you…mostly because people don’t know what else to say and they know that no matter what they say, it’s not going to make you stop hurting.  Yet we still say the comforting things.  And I appreciate any comforting words that have ever been said to me in a time of sorrow.  No, they didn’t stop my pain but they made me feel loved and comforted and cared for and I really think that’s the point.

Now…when it comes to death, Christians truly have some lovely sentiments to comfort each other.  They talk about how the loved one is now “In Heaven” or “in the presence of the Lord” and sometimes “on a puffy cloud with a harp”.  These are all lovely images and comforting words and I have always enjoyed hearing them and hoped that they really did give comfort to the person hearing them.

As an agnostic, it doesn’t really hold a lot of meaning for me because I just don’t believe in any of that.  But I like the idea of it…and I like the thought of someone being comforted by it.

Thinking about all this today brings a couple of stories to mind that I felt like sharing.

For the record, I have not always been Agnostic.  There was a time when I tried very hard to believe everything the bible said and live my life as close to those guidelines as I could.  It was during this time that my grandfather died.  I was heartbroken.  I cried so hard at his funeral that I thought I was going to make myself sick.  Everyone was there with the comforting words about how he was “with the Lord” and “no longer in pain”…but none of that put a dent in the pain I felt about never seeing him again.  What finally brought me to a place where I could breathe again…were the comforting words of my son, who was three years old at the time.  We had just come out of the church and were getting in the car to drive to the cemetery.  I couldn’t get my seatbelt on and couldn’t get my keys into the ignition and nothing worked because my hands were shaking and my eyes were flooded.  My beautiful, blonde boy looked at me with his giant blue eyes and asked, “Momma, why do you crying?”  And I tried really hard to calm down and find something to say that wouldn’t scare him.  So I gently told him, “Baby…momma is sad because Papa had to go away and I’m not going to see him again for a long, long time.”  He looked at me then with knowing eyes and all the confidence his little face could hold…and he said to me…”But Momma…Papa’s in heaven, dancing with the angels.”

Now I don’t know if he heard this from someone else…or if this was just what he thought…but I had my first moment of comfort over the death of my beloved Papa.  I sat there and stared into the face of my sweet child…and an image popped into my head of my grandfather…dancing the jitterbug with a flushed faced angel, whose wings were whipping about as my Papa spun her across a dance floor made of clouds.  And for the first time in a few days, I laughed.  And I said “That’s right, baby...Papa is in Heaven, dancing…with the angels.”  And suddenly the keys fit into the ignition and the seatbelt worked and I could see to drive us safely to the cemetery.  I still hurt…and there were more tears on the way…but at that moment, I felt peaceful in that funny, and so very perfect image…given to me by a three year old…  And whether I believe in Heaven or angels or not…I still think of my Papa dancing with the angels.

A few years later, I had a moment where I needed some words of comfort for someone else.  It was an incredibly awkward moment with a complete stranger.  For those who don’t know, I am an actor at a Renaissance Festival.  A couple of my characters are devout Catholics so I occasionally have the opportunity to use some of these lovely, comforting words about Heaven.  At the time, I was playing a character whose husband had died.  When she spoke of him, she spoke wistfully and crossed herself.  On this particular day, I was talking to a patron and mentioned this husband and how much I missed him and “God Bless his soul”…etc…and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand.  I felt like the most terrible person in the world at that moment and I had no idea why.  She composed herself and leaned in and whispered raggedly to me that her husband had recently died.  I don’t know if she realized it…but when she said this, her hands reached out toward me.  I took her hands and proceeded to tell her that I was so sorry for having brought up that painful subject.  She just nodded at me.  I was in agony over this.  I was here to entertain this woman, not make her cry.  In that second, I remembered something I heard at the funeral of my very young cousin who had died from Cancer.  And I found myself saying these words to this woman in an effort to comfort her and try to undo what I’d done.  In a very soft British accent, I repeated the story I’d heard so long ago.  “My Lady, please forgive me.  I am so sorry for your loss.  You know…we are only the garden.  You see, our God is much like us.  When he has an important guest to dinner, he wants the most beautiful flowers on his table.  So He comes to us, His garden, and makes his selection.  He must have had a most important dinner to have need of such a lovely flower as your husband.  How honored he must have felt to be chosen to grace our Lord’s table.”  I imagine I had the most pleading look imaginable on my face at that moment.  I wanted nothing more than to comfort this woman.  She looked up at me and the look on her face was a look of surprise.  She smiled at me and said “Oh, how beautiful.”  She squeezed my hands.  “I had never thought of it that way.  You have just made my day.  Can I hug you?”  I threw my arms wide and said “Oh, yes please!” and it was my turn to get teary eyed.  She hugged me very tightly and when she let go, she was smiling.  “Miss….” She began and I filled in the blank with “Emma”.  “Miss Emma,” she said, “that is the sweetest thing anyone has said to me.  Thank you.  Thank you so much for that.”

I was smiling like my face was frozen and it was everything I had not to cry.  “It was my pleasure, My Lady”.  She squeezed my hand again and told me she was going to go find her daughter.  I told her I hoped she had a wonderful day and we parted ways.  I had to go backstage for a minute and get my head back together.  But I will never forget the look on her face.  I like to think it’s what I looked like when my son laid his little revelation on me in the church parking lot so many years before.  That moment of comfort in a few simple words of comfort.  That moment when you can breathe.

I recently attended the funeral of my boyfriend’s grandmother.  She was a lovely woman with a sassy wit and an infectious smile.  At the service, the officiate said something that struck a chord with me.  He said “We have not lost her.  We know exactly where she is.  She is in Heaven.  Something can’t be lost if you know where it is.”  I smiled at this.  What a lovely sentiment.  More of those beautiful and comforting words for those grieving the death of a loved one.  Words that make you stop and think.  Words that give you at least some small comfort in your sadness.  Those few little words that let you breathe again…when you feel like you will never breathe normally again.

It’s a beautiful thing that we, as humans, have such a strong desire to comfort each other.  To take away the pain of another.  That we don’t want those we love to suffer.  I find it interesting and lovely that to find the true light in humanity, you need only look in the darkest of places.

Color me shocked

I decided the other night that I really needed to color my hair.  It was only an hour and a half before I should be in bed…so I decided I had better do it quick.  I went and got the box from under the cabinet and dumped everything out and separated it.  I opened the instructions so I could get the plastic gloves out.  I opened one of the bottles…then realized I should probably actually put the gloves ON.  So I took off my rings and dropped them on the counter and put the gloves on.  I proceeded to mix everything and apply it.  Well…for the record, I’m doing all this for the first time in my new house.  So I was more careful than usual about getting hair color everywhere.  My bathroom usually looks a bit like a murder scene after I color my hair.  But this time I was pretty careful.  I cleaned up the few little dots I had gotten on the counter and boxed up the unused product.  I was pretty proud of myself.  Later, I rinsed and conditioned and all that…and with a towel on my head, I went back over to the countertop and reached to put my rings back on.  But there was only one.

I wear two stainless steel rings.  Each has the name of one of my grandchildren engraved into it.  I could find B’s ring…but not A’s.  So I moved things around and looked for it.  Then I proceeded to tear my bathroom counter apart and look down the sink and crawl about on the floor.  No ring.  Then it occurred to me that it might have fallen into the hair color box.  So I opened it up and gently pulled out the container of unused hair color and looked down into the box…and then I dropped the bottle.  My previous pride regarding how clean I had kept the bathroom melted away as I looked down to find hair color sprayed across my tile floor.  It was all over my legs, my foot, the floor, the cabinet, the WHITE bath mat, the shower door….OMG…it was everywhere.  I let out a stream of curses so very unladylike that a sailor might have raised his eyebrows at me.  I was so angry.

I went and got cleaning supplies and got everything up except one tiny dot that had stained the closet door…I guess I’ll have to paint that.  I crawled about the floor scrubbing the tile and moved the bath mat and got it all cleaned up.  And still no ring.

Frustrated, I grabbed the hair color box, which was now filled with unused product which had leaked out of the now broken applicator bottle.  I was afraid it would drip on my way to the trash can, so I took the bottle and rinsed it in the sink.  As I did this…it made a very odd noise.  I quickly took the applicator lid off and looked inside.  There was A’s ring.  INSIDE the applicator bottle.  I had apparently dropped the ring INTO the bottle when I took them off.  I apparently mixed the hair color and applied it…all with the ring inside the bottle.  I dumped it out and rinsed it…and it is perfectly fine.  No stains, no damage.

I could not have come up with this story…or done this again…in a million years.  I want to say that if I hadn’t dropped the bottle and made a mess, I might not have found the ring…but I really believe I would have at least shook the bottle and found it…but I don’t know.  That is seriously the craziest thing that has ever happened to me while coloring my hair.

I hope my granddaughter likes my hair color.  I feel like she was part of the process.  Get it?  Process?

Nevermind.

On being a gentle whisper.

A co-worker of mine retired recently.  I signed her card and went to her retirement gathering and made silly jokes and hugged her.  But when I got back to my desk…I realized that I had things I wanted to say to her.  So I sent her an email:

“When I first came to [this job], like with any job, I was nervous because I tend to be an outcast at every job I have because I have some eclectic tastes and habits…but you made me feel very welcome and at home here and I will always be grateful for that.  You have such a loving and sweet spirit and I am so glad that I got a chance to know you.”

She sent me a lovely reply:

“One always hopes that they make a good impression with people as they travel through life.  I never think that I do much.  You have helped me understand that it is sometimes the little things that mean more than originally thought.  Thank you for being a friend and coworker.  Best luck in your future.”

It struck me that this lovely woman really did think that she didn’t do anything memorable or have any effect on people’s lives.  And it reminded me of myself…because I thought that for a long time too.  So I immediately wrote her back again:

“You and I are cut from very similar, if not the same, cloth.  We don’t make the huge, sweeping gestures…so we belittle the impact we make on other people’s lives.  But after some time, you realize that those little things all eventually add up…and we make impressions on people’s hearts that they never forget.  I’ll take that over a grand gesture any day.”

Now don’t get me wrong…I love the people who make grand gestures and do huge things.  Everyone who tries to do for someone else is appreciated by me.  I love generous people.  I just also want the people who do the little things to realize that they too make an impact on people.

I was a wallflower in school.  Only a few friends and never really part of a group.  I walked away from high school thinking that nobody there would ever remember me after a couple of years.  15 years later, I got an email from a girl in my class who told me all about how she never forgot how sweet and friendly I was to her and how I always made her feel welcome and as if she always had a friend in me.  I never thought she and I were that close…but I liked her.  And I just never realized I’d left any kind of impression on her.  I was so happy to find out that I did.

A cousin of mine that I always loved but never really had a lot in common with…came to my bridal shower a few years ago.  We played a game where you had to pick some candies out of a bowl and for each candy you had, you had to “say something about the bride”.  When it came her turn, she talked about how much she loved me and how much fun we had as kids and how she loved what a good person I was and that she was so glad we were family…and she cried through the whole thing.  This touched me so deeply that I still tear up any time I talk about that moment.  I had no idea that I’d had that effect on her.  I thought I was just her annoying, younger cousin.

Past coworkers have told me several years later that I inspired them to do something just by being myself and doing the things that I did that were different from everyone else.

Another cousin told me that I had inspired him to love certain kinds of music that he really enjoyed and that he’d picked it all up from me…and I had no idea he even knew what kind of music I listened to.  But he said I brought that music into his life and he thanked me for it.  I never even knew.

So…yeah.  These little things that you do…whether it’s a purposeful thing you did for someone or just living by example, you never know who you might be inspiring or encouraging or leaving a strong imprint on.  The little things matter.  Do not belittle or discount the things that you do for, or share with, other people.  They count.  And if you are lucky like I have been, someday those people will tell you about the impression you left and let you know that you added something to their life.  For me, there is nothing more rewarding.

Toddlers and technology

You’ve probably all seen the hilarious picture of the little three year old boy on the phone with his hand on his face in “face-palm” position…with a funny little quote that says something like, “No, Grandma. Listen, double click the Chrome icon…”

It’s funny…because it’s so true. Children today are introduced to technology the minute they are born. They grow up with it and if their parents and grandparents do not keep up, the next thing you know, you have a three year old giving you tech support.

Fortunately for my grandson, his “Meme” (that’s what he calls me) is not completely technology impaired. I possess a smart phone and a laptop computer and even a game console. Admittedly, I only play one actual video game…and primarily use the game console as a blu ray player…but I do have it. I am not a tech geek. I cannot do all sorts of cool tricks with my technology or upgrade my system and I can’t take my computer apart and rebuild it or anything like that…but I am, at the very least, reasonably “tech savvy”. I understand the basics. Just don’t ask me about The Cloud…because that still confuses me.

Anyway…my point is that my grandson will not have to explain to me what an icon is or tell me how to navigate that new-fangled gadget…or how to access, as my dad once called it, “That there internet thang”. He may have to help his great grandparents with these things, but not Meme. Although - it would not surprise me if ten years from now there is some new toy my grandson has to teach me how to use. At just under two years old, he has figured out how to get into his mother’s smart phone, find her contacts, and call people based on their picture. He recently called me at work via “Face Time” and proceeded to smile at me a lot and then hang up. It was one of the highlights of my day. Another highlight of the day was telling his mother that he did it because she had no idea.

He knows how to run his little thumb across the smart phone and scroll through pictures. He knows which ones are videos and how to make them play. He knows how to find games he can play. And he loves to just push buttons until he has made an utter mess of your phone and deleted contacts and changed settings to the point where YOU can barely use your phone. I generally keep my phone hidden when he’s visiting. It’s easier than telling him no…because dear lord, that adorable little face…

Anyway…recently, my daughter and grandson came over to the house to visit. As usual, I spent most of the evening trying to keep him entertained because he is inquisitive and wants to play with everything and touch everything. I try to keep things put away but he always finds something he should not have. He is obsessed with phones – which he calls “mones” – and computers and remotes. He wants to play with them all. Anything with a screen or buttons…he is drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

His parents recently bought the new X Box with voice control. Thus he went and stood in front of my television and commanded “Bock on”. (Box on) When my daughter explained this to me, I almost fell over laughing.

When he arrived on this particular evening, I hid my phone and turned off my laptop and closed it, in hopes that he would ignore it…no such luck. He got up on the couch and opened it and closed it a couple of times. Since it was turned off, it did not respond. He tapped a few keys, still no response. He opened and closed a couple more times…and then ran his tiny little finger over the mouse pad. I just shook my head in amazement…my mother does not even know how to get my laptop to turn on. Fortunately, he couldn’t find the power button so he never actually got it to turn on. Bored, he put it aside and went to find more things he could touch. At one point, he found my game system controller. I saw him pick it up…and he got that look on his face that makes you picture a little cartoon light bulb appearing over his little blonde head. He took it over to the couch, climbed up, pulled my laptop back into his lap, and opened it. He pointed the game controller at the laptop screen and commanded “bock on”. Needless to say, this did not work…but the fact that he put those things together, made me both crack up laughing and also marvel at his little thought process. “Holy crap,” I thought to myself, “my grandson is a genius.”

He may have also recently stuck his head between the bathtub and a bannister post and gotten stuck there, causing his mother to have to butter his head to get him out…but technologically speaking, he’s still a genius.

A friend of mine recently posted an article on Facebook talking about one of the popular memes going around.  It is a series of lovely little pictures that say something to the effect of “If you can’t accept me at my worse, you don’t deserve me at my best”.  The article goes on to say how this statement gets taken out of context and seems to assume that you can be as crappy a person as you like…and that if people love you, they should accept it.  “Deal with it”, some of them say.  The article is quite insightful and is titled, “If I can’t accept you at your worst, then maybe you should stop being so horrible.”  It’s so true!!!

 

On the one hand, I agree that everyone has bad things about them and everyone has bad days, etc.  If you love someone, you should accept that they have a few bad habits or not so great qualities…provided these are things they at least attempt to work on.  The fact is…no amount of my loving you is going to make it ok for you to be a serial killer, rapist, masochist, narcissist, or other incredibly nasty things.

 

Everyone has flaws…and the people who love them…love them despite those flaws.  However, people usually know they have flaws and they at least make some sort of effort to be better.  At the very least, they try really hard to make sure that their good outweighs their bad.  So that whole  “If you can’t accept me at my worst…” thing…comes with a caveat.  People should acknowledge this.

 

Oddly enough…the day before I read this article…I was thinking something very similar and thinking about writing it down.  Reading that article nudged me enough to actually get it done.

 

There’s another popular little meme thing that gets posted on Facebook a lot.  It has different variations of text.  The most recent one I saw said, “You are allowed to terminate toxic relationships.  You are allowed to walk away from people who hurt you.  You are allowed to be angry and selfish and unforgiving.  You don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself.”

 

Now…let’s see…I agree with what the writer was probably thinking…but I think this takes it a bit too far…and I think it misses a golden opportunity to present the other side of the coin as the article mentioned above did.

 

Yes.  You are allowed to terminate toxic relationships.  Of course you are.  However, you should also be aware of whether or not you are causing any of the toxicity of said relationship and work on not causing it in future relationships.

 

Yes.  You are allowed to walk away from people who hurt you.  Just remember that the people you hurt are allowed to walk away from you too.  So try and remember to be forgiving of the things about others that you would want them to forgive about you.

 

Here’s where I think this one hits a curb.  “You are allowed to be angry and selfish and unforgiving.”  I think that the writer MIGHT have meant…that you are allowed to appear this way from the eyes of the person you are walking away from.  Because…in any other situation, would you tell someone it is “ok” to be selfish or unforgiving?  Probably not.  So yes, I think it’s ok to be viewed by someone else as selfish and unforgiving because they are not looking at themselves and how much they have hurt you.  But I don’t think that being hurt by someone is an excuse to actually BE selfish and unforgiving.

 

The last sentence says “You don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself”.  Well…to some degree, this is true.  You do not OWE anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself…unless what you are doing to take care of yourself directly affects them.  Then…I think a little explanation might be in order.  Additionally…if you have to walk away from someone because they have become a toxic relationship for you…make sure they know.  It may not help…they may not learn from it…but make sure they know.  Chances are, the person who got angry enough to write this…told the person they were walking away from…a thousand times.  So no, you do not owe that person anything.  You have to do what is best for you and what is best for your health and sanity.  However, put these things into context.  Make sure to look at yourself when you are boldly proclaiming these statements. 

 

Allowing yourself to let go of toxic people?  Make sure you are not one of them.

Allowing yourself to let go of people who cause drama in your life?  Make sure you’re not the one creating (or exacerbating) the drama in the first place.  There is no such thing as a “Drama Magnet”.  If you’re constantly surrounded by drama…look in the mirror…because you might be the dramatic one.

 

All that being said…please don’t think that I’m saying that every situation is the same or that it’s always your fault too.  Relationships are generally about two people…and they are rarely completely one-sided or completely one person’s fault.  What I AM saying…is to constantly take a look at what you are adding to the relationship…and while you’re getting rid of those “toxic people”…be aware of your own shortcomings and make sure you’re not one of those toxic people someone else is trying to let go.

 

On clutter...

I spent the majority of the first 18 years of my life living in hovels.  My dad had a hard time keeping a job and my mom tried her best but daycare just doesn’t pay well.  So we could never really afford a house big enough for all of us.  There were a couple of times we got to spend a few months living in a house that had a room for everyone…but not often.  Most of the time, we ended up in a two bedroom house.  My brother and I would get our own rooms and my parents would sleep in the den/living room.  There was always “stuff” everywhere.  My dad is a bit of a pack rat.  Well…let me rephrase that.  He WAS a bit of a pack rat…now he’s more of a “hoarder”.  But that’s another story.

Also, just so this makes sense, I wasn’t like those kids who grew up in one house during their entire or childhood…or even two houses…or three.  If I sit and think for a minute…I can remember living in ten different houses between the ages of 5 and 18.  This does not include places we lived before I was 5 years old…because I can’t remember back that far.

My point here is…I spent my life living in a mess.  Our house could never be clean because there was never any room for everything.  So there was always “stuff” everywhere.  Stacked in every room…on every surface…in every corner…there was stuff.  It was not organized, it was not neat…it was always a mess.  Add to that…that many of the places we lived were old…and ended up being infested with roaches.  So, many of the places I lived during my childhood…had bugs.  Not all…but many.  It wasn’t because we were dirty.  We kept the kitchen clean…kept the trash out…kept food put away…the houses were just old and we often lived in the country.  There was one house that we even had an exterminator come and treat…but the bugs just came back.

Most of my life I avoided having friends over because I didn’t want them to see what the inside of my house looked like.  I was embarrassed.  I had a few friends that I eventually got close enough to that I would let them come over…but it was still hard for me…especially when I had been to their nice, clean homes.  It was a hard way to live.

When I got out on my own, one of the things I promised myself was that I would never live like that again and I would never make my kids live like that.  I never wanted my kids to be embarrassed to have a friend over.  I am not the cleanest person in the world…I never really learned how to clean properly so I struggle…but I have never gone back to living the way I did when I was growing up.  Thus, it’s pretty important to me now to keep my house at least relatively clean and uncluttered.

I do have some pack rat tendencies.  I’m very sentimental…and growing up poor will make you turn into a bit of a collector.  You want “things” just to have them…because you didn’t have them before.  Things that comfort you and make you feel happy.

The key is to avoid having so many things that you can’t see the floor in any room of the house.

Basically, every day is a struggle for me to keep my house clean and uncluttered.  I’m relatively organized by nature but it’s very difficult to organize when you don’t have a lot of space.  So I try to think of new ways to keep things organized and neat even though I don’t have the room to do it the way I really WANT to do it.  Some days I wish I could hire someone to come in and organize it all FOR me and then I could just attempt to maintain it.  Alas, services like that are not cheap…and would probably require more of my time than I have to give.  But it’s a nice dream.

Someday…in a perfect world…I will live in a house big enough that it has a place for everything so that everything can be in it’s place.  My house will be neat and clean and organized all the time.  And I will sit on my front porch swing, with a drink in my hand…and watch the pigs fly overhead…