This is 40?

This is 40?

Technically I have 1 day to go but who’s counting right? Heaven knows I’m not. It’s not like it isn’t like it is 17 hours and 54 minutes. 40 is just a number. It’s just a number.

Why do people say that? 18 was just a number but we celebrate it. It is the entrance into adulthood. You get to vote. You become responsible for your own actions legally. 21 is just a number but it’s the number on your license that allows you into bars and allows you to purchase those taste libations that make the end of the day so much sweeter.

When you look down at the scale and see your weight, those are just numbers, right? Yet society places a huge (ignore the pun) emphasis on that number. In fact your worth as a person can blindly be judged by that number.

How many sexual partners you’ve acquired over the years is just a number. The number of marriages/divorces and relationships are all just numbers. The numbers of offspring are all just numbers but society keeps track. And all of them are held accountable and we are measured against them. Yet when a woman bemoans turning 40, everyone says, “It’s just a number.”

I had to handwrite this blog out first yesterday because I have to limit the time I stare at a computer screen. My eyesight sucks and it hurts. IIH is definitely taking a toll on my body. It’s rare and as such you have to be your own advocate and educate doctors who may not know about the disorder. I absolutely hate that it has slowed me down. It’s a pain in the ass. Not literally, because the pain is behind the eyes and in my head. Ha! I kill me.

Life throws a lot of curve ball and at times it seems as if I’ve left my bat in the dugout. I get tagged over and over. I’m not going to lie. In recent months I’ve gotten low. Really low. Probably lower than I have ever been and that old familiar demon has reared its ugly head and drags me under. Each day it is a struggle to break the surface and paste on a smile. I find myself cocooned in solitude and I have no one but that insidious being. The people I want and need the most are thousands of miles away and I reach for the phone but stop because I feel like a burden.

That’s how depression drowns people. The anxiety side makes you fearful of reaching out. You worry about EVERYTHING. No matter how inconsequential it might seem to someone else, anxiety blows it up. The absolute worst thing to say someone with anxiety would be, “Calm down, it is no big deal.” It is always a big deal. Every hushed conversation is about us and it is always negative. Every shut door is about us and it is about how bad we are at something.

But c’est la vie. That is life. Que sera sera.  At the end of the day we all have our own demons. We are all fighting our own battles. All we have is our wits and each other to cling to and support.

So as that clock ticks closer to 40 I’ll have moments of despair where I evaluate my position on the field of life. I’ll take stock of everything I’ve been through and where the next 50 years will take me and at the end of the day I can say this with all certainty. I love myself much more now than I did at 18, 21 or even 30.

I like who I am. I have a lot of scars, inside and outside, that tell stories of what I have been through. All the lessons I’ve learned over 40 years reside within me and some have actually stuck and I have remembered them so as to not repeat them. I’m kind. I’m funny. I’m very empathetic. I’m smart and witty. I’m beautiful inside and out.

Yeah that number on the scale needs to creep downward alongside with the number on the tape measure around my waist but it, like my mind, is always a work in progress.

The number of friends in my life may be less this year but the ones in it are the ones that I know are meant to be. They are the ones that have been there through thick and thin and are worth their weight in gold. So welcome 40. Let’s see what adventures await us!

Love, Life and Losing a pet: Professor Chaos

UPDATE 10/1/2015


Last night we had to make the very hard decision to let Chaos go peacefully. I came home from work and it was very obvious that the disease had progressed extremely rapidly. The neurological signs were present. She wasn't in pain but she was not herself. Making that decision wasn't for us...it was for her. We were with her until the end. I will always love her.


Last night I had a dream that brought incredible comfort to me. I was there in the vet's office crying over her. She was ragged and thin. My dad appeared above me. He was the fat, happy Stan the Man dressed in his overalls with a red t-shirt. He had a toothpick in his mouth. He said, "Red...you know I don't usually do cats. But I'll take good care of her for ya."
He reached down and picked her up. As he did, she changed from the sickly kitty into the ferocious, bitchy Chaos who ruled our lives.
Then they were walking down the gravel road off at the house back home. Leroy and Jack were on his left jumping and prancing to his left and she was on his right just prancing. She looked back with that saucy grin. Her coat was thick and full. She was all filled out. Dad did the Stan wave and they went off.
My heart filled with joy and I slept. I'm still sad and lonely but I know he's got her.

Professor Chaos –

I am going to admit, first and foremost, that there is no way I’m going to get through writing this without a bare minimum of twelve tissues. I’ve been a crying wreck since yesterday. An absolute crying disaster because I do not cry prettily, I’m not a dainty sniffler. I’m not a dew eyed waif gently dabbing at the corner of her eye as she sighs. No, I’m a wracking sobber who blows out gobs of snot and has red eyes swollen shut. I blast my emotions on high volume normally and with grief I ratchet that bitch up to a 100.

Professor Chaos is dying. Okay you melodramatic asses, everyone is dying and we have been doing so since we first drew breath from our mother’s womb. I mean she is dying of a disease. She was diagnosed yesterday with Feline Infectious Peritonitis. It’s a coronary virus that is surprisingly common but is not commonly active. There are two forms, wet and dry. Wet has a shelf life of about 3-5 days when it becomes “active” because it involves an effusion of fluid in the abdomen and chest cavity. Essentially the cat cannot breathe and smothers.

In the dry form the cat has a host of other symptoms and will eventually develop the wet form or will develop neurologic problems. It can take time though. Once diagnosed, the disease may progress between weeks or it may take a year since the symptoms are quite vague. The waiting game is horrible.

I hate the waiting game. I hate that I love this cat so much. I hate that I have to be the one to force food down her every night and that she looks at me as the bad guy for forcing medicine into her. I don’t get to be the cuddle one. I have to clean her face up from the nutritional paste and try not to think about how much I’m going to miss her.

I want to delete every single picture of her and pretend that I hate her. I want to look at my bank account and get mad at all the vet bills and think about how expensive all these treatments and visits are and how it is impacting our lives. I want to hate her. I want her to turn up her nose at me and go to Dave for petting. I don’t want to see how cute she is and I don’t want to feel how much my heart breaks at the thought of her not being on my bed acting like a little Arctic Fox pounding at her toy moving under the covers.

I want to banish every bit of light that kitty ever brought to my life. I want to forget that she is my first kitten that I loved. I hate that she is ripping me apart. I hate that a 6lb kitten has taken my heart and that when she dies, that piece is going to be gone. I hate that. I want to hate her and I can’t and that sucks.

Is this like losing a loved one? No it is not. Losing a pet is incredibly different. It is a different kind of pain. I can see people around me today at work looking at me with this look on their faces. A look that says, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a cat.” No. She is not JUST a cat. She is MY cat. Some people can be pet owners and have a pet. I’m not a pet owner. She is my family, just a furrier member of my family, so yeah…it is a big deal to me.

Will I recover from this? Yes, because that is what we do with life. But I have a long road ahead with lots of sadness. This illness can be brutal. It can be quick or it can be lengthy. All I can do is pray that she never suffers and that I can make sure she is taken care of and pampered.

I wish I could hate her. It would make this easier. But I don’t. I love this little kitty. I love that she is bitchy. I love that she never wakes up pretty. I love that she looks ratchet quite often. I love her. When she is gone I will continue to love her. I don’t know if I’ll ever have another cat. I can’t think of that right now because all of my love is focused on her. So I’ll continue to feed her every night. I’ll wash her face like a momma cat and I’ll give her medicines and bundle her up. And I’ll pray for a miracle.

 

Respect! R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Respect

 

Hello there kats and kittens it is me, your brave and fearless leader back to let you know that I am alive and well. Well and alive. The birthday month has been progressing quite nicely…okay…so not as nicely as I wished but you can’t have it all.

Today’s topic is Respect. It is one you should know all about if you are above the collective age of 18. I tend to not concentrate much time beneath that age simply due to the fact that it isn’t a very common trait to possess. As you age, you should wear respect like a badge of honor every single day. First the deodorant goes on and then you layer on the respect.

Simple.

 

But wait…you knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, now didn’t you? Respect is a tricky little beast. You give respect but do you get it in return?

My parents, especially my father, really impressed upon me, and my sisters, the fundamental right of respect being given to elders. I still keep that mantra close to my heart. I am not the type of person who insists that respect be earned first. That is simply not how it is done. Nothing pisses me off more than to hear some worthless curmudgeon and slattern insist that: You want my respect…gotta earn it. And I cannot even go into the depths of irritation when I see a teenager actively disrespecting others.

Forget that jazz. That is NOT how it goes. It works on the same premise as a smile. Don’t see a smile on someone else’s face? Then give them yours.

See how easy that was. Yep easy as pie.

But wait… it really doesn’t end there. No, for the bargain price of a few more minutes of your time I am going to let you in on something I have recently learned!

You have to command respect. And you have to do it far more often of people who should readily give it to you but far too often do not. Your friends, and or family, can often be the ones that respect you the least.

I get that the world is crazy and our time is spread thin. We all suffer from time constraints in some way. But I had to recently learn, the very hard way, that I was not being respected. At all. And it was by someone who I loved dearly. I still love her but I had to walk away from a friendship more than a decade long. I couldn’t allow myself to be treated so badly. I was investing time in a friendship that was not being returned and to be honest…it hadn’t been returned, or returned well, in  several years.

But I didn’t respect myself enough to walk away. I kept allowing excuses like: “I’m such a horrible friend”, or the popular, “I suck” to reel me back. It. HURT.

It hurt a LOT. I would call and there would be no return call. (I can call my insurance company and at least they return a call. )

I would text. And it would go days before a response. I am bothered by the no return call but it isn’t as bad as the not replying to a text! Come on…wtf…a text can be read or sent any time of the day!

So I sat down with myself, talked to my sister and realized that respect was missing from my life. Sasha brought up the fact that I, generally, take quite a long time before someone runs out of chances with me. And she is right. I tend to give people I like quite a lot of leeway. But I’m too old to keep doing that. Some things have to be nipped and not receiving respect is the big one that I am no longer ignoring.

I was not being respected and I was not respecting myself enough to walk away.

And so, with a heavy heart and an equally heavy soul, I walked away. I didn’t try one final outreach. I didn’t try one final text. I didn’t try one final message. I just walked away.

 It was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. It hurt.

And then I realized things really hadn’t changed much because I had been disrespected for so long that the silence meant nothing. Somewhere along the line I had become a last resort of sorts. I was only needed on this person’s time and never on mine. I would get the call and/or text when she needed to talk about something. The only time I was outreached OTHER than that was if she thought there was something wrong in my life like marital problems etc.

Do you know what the real problem was? Respect.

Ask me if I miss her. Yes.

Ask me if I want things back like they were. NO! I can’t and I won’t.

The excuses and the passive aggressive statements? Nah…I’m good.

Let me give YOU some advice. Respect yourself. Respect others. Treat your friends like they matter.

If someone takes the time to call you then you should CALL THEM BACK.

Do not be a douche bag and do NOT ever use the excuse, “I’m a horrible friend/person” because you know what? If you do that then it is a self fulfilling prophecy.

The moral of this story is to wear respect each and every day. Remember that politeness, charm and respect are all wonderful accessories that make you stand out among the crowd. Wear them proudly!

Free At Last

Media Justice

 

Hello my kats and kittens! It has once again been a while since I last posted a truly profound blog (and profound is just my way of thinking that I'm important to you and you view me with respect) about anything that flitters through my mind at that particular time. This post is a little bit different and it has weighed heavily on my mind for weeks. Please bear with me if I ramble.

It should come as no shocker that I am a fan of writing. I love it in any form. Meme’s, texts, emails, blogs and articles. It is a fantastic medium and a bastion of communication. However…I’m truly jaded by the media. In any form.

Let me explain and then I will get into the nitty gritty of our conversation. We are having a conversation, right? You with me? Good.

In my lifetime to date I have witnessed the death of true journalism. Journalism itself is a truly remarkable thing to read about and I have graciously provided you a link so you might peruse it yourself. The start of journalism, and the subsequent evolution into realism, was to create a medium of communicating facts, verifying these facts and using objective methods. The problem that revealed itself over time was that writers will always be biased in some form. It is human nature.

The problem I have with media today is the demise of any form of objectivity and the birth of “sensationalist journalism.” Wading through articles, even accredited news reports and not simply the fly by night websites, is that bias has completely overtaken journalism. If I were to point out one specific nature of these hostile takeovers is the use of adjectives, adverbs and pronouns.

So far in this blog I have intentionally used certain words to lead you towards a feeling. And that feeling, that I have hopefully accomplished, is that of a gloom cast over media.

You should know me by now so it should come as no real shock that I am targeting a few specific examples of truly biased media reporting that has made complicated situations even more difficult to have enough information and simple facts.

I’ve purposely steered clear of posting anything to do with the Ferguson case. It is a complicated, convoluted and twisted example of a situation where wording can change the entire light of a very divided issue.

I don’t know if Wilson acted in self defense. I don’t know if Brown was innocent of struggling or assaulting a police officer. As a thinking adult I should have an opinion about the case. When racial inequality, or a controversial death, issues are presented then you MUST find an opinion about at least some aspect of the case. It is imperative that you do because that is where we begin open dialogue to make positive changes to our society.

My problem with finding that middle ground so I can begin forming a cohesive opinion is that the adjectives, adverbs and pronouns thrown around by “journalists” are simply thrown in to make readers, listeners or watchers completely biased.

Let me provide you with an example:

The child was murdered in an unprovoked attack. The white police officer gunned down the  black teenager as he tried to comply with the officers demands.

Now let’s look at a different example:

Officer Wilson found himself in a life and death struggle as the suspect, after resisting arrest, reached into the officer’s vehicle in a bid to grab the officer’s weapon.

See the power of wording? It dramatically changes how you and I react to the statements. The words are leading us towards a dramatically unbiased opinion. And that is my problem with the entire racially charged issues where a death has occurred.

I don’t know what happened during that struggle and the subsequent loss of a life. You don’t know it either because we were not there and there has been no article or televised discussion where it has not become a racially divided issue.

Sensationalist journalism has become the norm. Is the Ferguson case a racial case or is it an unprovoked attack (on either party)? It is both. It is a tragic affair that has people of all the colors of the rainbow finding facts that one color racially profiles and suppresses the rights of another color. And that is wrong on so many levels. When we keep labeling ourselves then we can’t identify with others of different identities. We, as a society, have largely lost empathy for others due to a lack of unbiased facts.

Look. I’ve seen so many statistics thrown up on social media, which I know is ironic since I am using social media as a platform for my own view, that twists and turns racially charged incidents and thoughts into a miasma of dividing based on skin color.

What saddens me the most in the current race wars is that we are not making changes in our way of thinking because we are being lead without really examining why we think the way we do. Yes. I know that there are people who claim to see right through the issue into the heart of the matter. But you don’t. I don’t. I want to truly think that as a rational adult I can view a situation without placing a “color” on it and thinking more as a humanitarian but I find myself grappling back into the labeling of a person.

“This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."…” And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"”

 

That is one of the greatest speeches ever written. It is a speech of oppression that leads into the promise that through peaceful demonstration and education, all men (women) will one day be equal in the sights of others.

We can’t do that yet. But I have hope that we one day can throw aside the adjectives, adverbs and general labels that are attached to each and every one of us. Describing our physical looks to another isn’t racism. Racism is judging the character of a man without unbiased information. Racism is denying another person life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness through equality, empathy and understanding.

I’m not naïve. I know that there will always be a dividing line between individuals based on something. But you know what? I can hope. I can try to do my part by showing my daughters that we need to focus on facts and ignore sensationalism.

So I leave you, my dear friends, with my solution. Educate the next generation because we are already biased whether we want to believe it or not. We must force ourselves to leave that bias behind as we teach our children to look past skin color, income level, sex and religion. We must teach our children and future generations to look beyond the past and learn to ignore labeling so that true equality can be gained. We must find some way to set aside our differences so we can become a society of uniqueness and empathy for all humankind. Then we can cry out, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty (or whatever you believe in), we are free at last!”

Masks, Monkeys and Throwing a Frake

For the first time in my life I’m struggling to write what I am feeling. This is the fifth time I have started to write and it seems as if each version gets erased. I desperately want to let everything inside me out onto paper and yet…I falter. I read the words and it isn’t what I want to say. So let’s try again.

Life has walloped me lately. It has not been anything big. But it is a lot of little things that have just added up and I crashed this week. I crashed hard.

Let’s take it back a few steps. By now you know that I’m pretty much an open book. It is just how I have to operate. I spent a large portion of my life hiding behind masks and I had to learn how to live without them because they were killing me. They were smothering anything that was ME behind a façade that was not me. I had a smile on my face and a crack running straight down through me. So now I have to be an open book. It works for me. I am very transparent. If I’m upset then you definitely know it. But I try my best to be happy and positive. For the last 10 months that has been my focus in life. Some days are more successful than others.

Fall is a difficult time of year for me. I’m coming up on the anniversary of my dad’s death and sometimes I feel guilty. For the first year I thought of him every single day without fail. And then I started to have days when I didn’t think of him and cry. I remembered things that made me smile. I have never stopped missing him. I’ve never stopped wanting to hear him call me “Red” but some days pass and I haven’t thought about him. And then I feel guilty. But the truth is that life goes on. It moves on. If we continue to dwell on the hard things then our life becomes hard. We stop growing. We stop living. The day we stop reaching for the next is the day that we just stop.

I have been very conflicted for a few weeks. I have so many things happening that at times I feel lost. I have a teenage daughter that spends more time screaming at me than she does anything else. My home has become a battle ground. I don’t know how to communicate with her. I print out therapist advice on communicating and being an enforcer but it never lasts. It is just one series of battles to the next. I can’t seem to win. I’m not being melodramatic. When your daughter is counting down the months until she can leave…it isn’t good. I cry because I can’t give her everything she wants monetarily. I cry because no matter what I do, I can’t teach her empathy for others. I can’t communicate that she MUST learn the difference between a NEED and a WANT. When we argue she blames me for bringing her to West Linn because it is West Linn that is demanding that she have everything all of her friends have.

I apologize to her for not being able to give her a new car. I apologize to her because I can’t just hand her concert tickets whenever she wants them. I apologize to her because I can’t buy her a brand new laptop simply because she thinks the other laptop is too big. And so when the screaming starts…I become a person I do not like. I yell back. I get tired and cave because I’m tired of the fighting.

No one ever told me that teens can be this way. And ultimately at the end of the day I blame myself. Somewhere along the way I pushed too hard or I didn’t guide her enough. Somewhere along the way she learned how to put up masks. That is what hurts me the most. She wears masks to hide the things that hurt her. A bright smile hides frustration, pain, and unhappiness.

See…that is what happens to us. We put up masks. It took me more than twenty years to learn how to get rid of my masks. How long will it take her?

So besides difficult teens, mourning, frustration at work, and a missing husband, I am also learning how to deal with a mom that is dating.

I kinda feel like a forgotten teen. She doesn’t call. She doesn’t write. She doesn’t text. Ugg…what am I going to do with her? I’m still dealing with those feelings regarding her moving forward with her life. Obviously I love her and I support her decision but I’m anxious. I don’t quite know how to talk about it because it is entirely new ground. I honestly feel like a teen dealing with separation anxiety and worrying that I’ll be lost in the shuffle of someone new.

Realistically I know that my mother loves me but she needs a new direction in her life. She can’t mourn forever and still be healthy. Life does go on. It is hard. It can be difficult but in the end you have to keep reaching forward. I think, with time, my conflicted feelings and general weirdness of the situation will mellow out. For as OCD as I am about rules and putting people into specific boxes with guidelines, I know that in the end I’ll just shrug and throw a Frake because it comes down to one very real thing: not my circus. Not my monkey.

That phrase has guided me intensely over the past 6 months and has given me some distance from problems that would have previously had me in a complete meltdown. I’ve forgotten it in the last three weeks but I am going to start writing it down on my hand until it becomes habit again. I really must because if I don’t then I’ll go insane. Way too much on the plate for me to take anything else on.

Boss being a dick? NMC.NMM (Not My Circus. Not My Monkey)

Other people throwing shit my way or throwing me under the bus? NMC.NMM. Okay wait…gotta take that one back because technically it is my circus but I’m not gonna let it get to me. In this circumstance I’m throwing a Frake.

OH? You want to know what “throwing a Frake” means? Picture it. You standing (or sitting, whatever floats your boat) and making that universal rolling the dice motion with your hand. Then you gloriously release it to the sky in an upward swoop! You might also think of the motion as a “catch and release” if ya get what I’m sayin…wink…wink…nudge…nudge. Ya know, pri-vat-e time with the one eyed monster.

Now apply the NMC.NMM throwing a Frake. It is the PERFECT hand accoutrement for the saying. When you can’t say it out loud then you can always throw the Frake.

I’ll get through this rough patch. I’ll guilt trip my mother into calling me more, or at least calling me back because now she will read this and feel guilty. (Yes mom…you should) but she’ll know that I love her. The Kennedy situation will resolve itself eventually. It may take 15 years but eventually we will be able to communicate effectively. I’ll have the surgery that I’ve avoided for months. It’s either that or eventually lose more and more muscle control. It will turn out just fine. Work will get better even if it means me having a “come to Jesus” meeting one on one with some folks. Or I’ll just throw a Frake and say “Fuck a duck” grab my sweet raspberry vodka and sit watching the rain. Win, Win either way.

Opinions are like...

Opinions are like….

Hello Kats and Kittens!

So I’ve been tumbling around some thoughts in my head lately about a few social issues, as well as some personal ones. I haven’t blogged in a while but at least I have gone back to editing Synergy and writing more on the 2^nd. But that is enough of that.

 

Strangely it was a song that has me thinking. It is “Rude” by Magic. Here is the link to the lyrics. I’m reasonably certain that at least three or four of you have heard it on the radio. http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/magic/rude.html

I get what the song is saying. It is about a man asking a father for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Noble and romantic right? Yeah. I get that. But if you sit and listen to the song a second time, without the romanticized notion that two young lovers want to be united in matrimony, you come to see a different aspect. And one, believe it or not, that is at the root of many social issues I currently have. The young man asks the father for his hand in marriage.

But the father says, “ You say I'll never get your blessing 'til the day I die
Tough luck, my friend, but the answer is 'No'”

The singer/writer comes back with:

“Why you gotta be so rude?
Don't you know I'm human too?
Why you gotta be so rude?
I'm gonna marry her anyway”

“Why you gotta be so rude?”

That, my dear kats and kittens, is where the song takes a southward turn for me and really becomes a marking point of things that have recently begun to bug the ever living shit out of me. The father says “No.” and yes, it is a bit harsh. Granted the listener (or reader) does not know the background between the father and the lover. We don’t have to know it. Here is what I fucking hate and is pretty prevalent in our society right now. If we say “No” to someone, or disagree with someone, then suddenly we are either: haters, rude, ignorant, -ist (as in racist, sexist etc.) or we are marked a liberal or conservative. STOP FRACKING LABELING PEOPLE WHO DISAGREE WITH YOU!

Now I shall take a deep and explain. I first heard the “you are being rude” and “stop bullying me” from my daughters. I’m quite positive they are just splattering out things they have heard and have not stopped to realize the meaning of the statements. Or I’m wrong and they do but just do not want to use them in the correct manner.

Let’s take another look at the song for a moment. The boy (because a grown up would not throw a hissy fit but I’m giving absent credit where no one is due any) thinks the father saying, “No” is rude. Why isn’t it just being truthful? OH I get it now. It’s to sell a song and make you feel like the father is being a ripe, old bastard. He’s standing in the way of true love. Ummm yep. Now in my family, our dad was greatly respected and taught all of his girls to respect others. Even when they do not deserve any respect. (Yeah it does kinda suck at times but stiff upper lip and all that jazz.)

Why is the simple fact of saying no to someone make them rude? Let’s put that in another context.

“Can I have a million dollars?”

“Uh I’m going with a no on that one. Earn it yourself. Ain’t no freebies in life.”

“Why do you have to be that way? Why are you being so rude? You could have just said “no” and been done with it.” (No, the person would not have been done with it. You see…they wanted a million dollars and it stings to be told NO. So the person is “rude” for telling them no.

I’ve often found that a simple “no” is truly not simple in any regards. People want an explanation of being denied. This is the point of many conversations where it becomes an argument. And enter in my next phrase that is wholly being used to death.

“Why are you bullying me?”

I abhor bullying in any way, shape, form or fashion. The definition of bullying is: use superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone), typically to force him or her to do what one wants.


 


No. The person is not bullying. There is no forcing. No intimidation. No use of strength. No. NO. NOOOONOOO.


 


Here is what all of the above boil down too: disagreeing with someone, saying ‘NO’, not liking someone else’s lifestyle, or having a difference of opinion does not necessarily come down to a label.


 


I simply hate labels. There. I said it. Anyone that knows me also knows I am a huge supporter of the LGBT community. I believe in equality for all and rights for all. But far too often lately I’m seeing reverse equality. A person states they do not agree with a lifestyle and suddenly they are bigots, haters or ignorant. Or they are conservative thinking drones. (Which is an oxymoron by the way.)


 


I am a believer in Freedom of Speech. I truly am. But, as I am learning, that does not mean Freedom from Reprisal or Consequence. But we, as a society in the whole, have missed the bulletin that states “Just because a person disagrees with something does not make them a: liberal, conservative, racist, feminist, nudist, bigot, idiot, genius etc. Just add and –ism or an –ist and it covers the gamut.


 


We have to stop. When can we get to the point where a disagreement, an opinion or a different set of beliefs can be met with, “Eh. I get what you are saying but I disagree.” No name calling. No labeling. Let’s clear some of the popular ones up. Okay?


 


*Belief in God and religion: does not make you an idiot, a sheep, or a zealot. You just believe in something different.


*Saying no to making a cake for a homosexual couple does not mean you hate them. You just believe in something different.


*Marching in protest for equality in marriage: does not make you a liberal, a radical or a heretic.


*Being against illegal immigrants: does not make you a bad person, a bully, a right wing conservative or have a case of feeling superior and immigrant-ist (okay I made that one up.)


*Saying no does not mean: you hate the person, you are a bully or an –ist. Or that you are being rude!


*Not liking a person does not mean you want to bully them. It does not mean anything. Disliking someone is a personal choice and should have nothing to do with how you feel. If someone doesn’t like me (and I admit sometimes I get anxious about this) it is their choice. It is not mine.


 


As I was driving into work this morning, and as I typically do, I had a speech going on in my head. There are 3 main camps for every opinion. 1) Yay! I like this. 2) Boo. I hate this. 3) I’m ambivalent either way.


I wish it were this easy. I truly do. But it is not. Especially online because after any one of the first two responses you will get name calling and pigeon holing. After the third you will be lazy or misinformed upon which both camps will continue to explain it to you and why you should take a stance. Even worse are the people who keep on saying the same thing. I just want to yell, “Listen…just because I don’t fecking agree with you does not mean that I don’t understand it.”


 


Here is essentially what I’m writing about all boiled down to a few sentences (or at least that is my hope.)

• Don’t like something? Don’t do it.
• Is it harming you? No? Then shut up about it unless you are asked for your opinion
• If you give your opinion then expect others to do the same. The secret to peace within is to understand that if something is true to you then the opposite of that is true as well. (Meaning that the other person believes in their own opinion.)
• Someone telling you “NO” does not: make them rude, that they are bullying you, that they deserve any label (liberal, sexist etc.). It is just a difference of opinion. Sure there are qualifiers such as being in a life/death situation.
• You are not entitled to a detailed explanation on a “NO.” It is just No and most times you just get that much. Don’t go around whining or bitching. If you do want to speak logically and address the NO in a polite manner then by all means, go for it. Just remember that you are not entitled to a reason.

 


I’d normally at this point end on a humorous note, or whatever. Instead I’m going to end it this way:


 


Don’t be a dick. Treat others with respect and you will soon find that respect comes your way. Be nice. Play nice.

 

 

 

At Summer's End

At Summer’s End

 

It has been a while since I wrote a blog. It’s really a shame because I actually have a couple of them stored in the old noggin. I’m letting one kinda mellow for a bit because it would definitely stir the pot, poke the hornet’s nest and goose the mule. Am I that worried about it? Neh. It’s my blog. It’s my viewpoint. And that is all it has to be.

This is the last hurrah of summer before we slowly begin our descent into fall. Now let me clarify for those that do not live in Portland. We have 4 seasons. I know my friends and relatives in the South may not know what those are because two of them pass so quickly that they can hardly be considered a season. Maybe a seasonish day? A micro-season? J You get my drift.

But here we have four seasons. We have our winter rainy season, a slow stretch of spring that makes sun worshipers bask like fat cats and has every outside seating area full to capacity. Then comes a lovely, warm summer that makes you want to hit the beach, bike, hike and just be outside with a cold beer or cider. It rarely is humid and there are many days when it is in the upper 90’s. The sun comes up early and it is still light out at 9:30-10:00. Then at the end of August we begin the slow descent into fall. The sun is still shining but the rain has finally arrived. And we have missed the rain. We are tired of 90 degree days and are basking in the colors that are arriving. We count down the days until pumpkin becomes the main flavor of anything from lotion to coffee.

This weekend Dave and I spent at the beach at Neskowin. It was wonderful. Lincoln City is just a few miles south and we spent some time at this wonderful glass blowing shop. I picked up some goodies that are absolutely brilliant.  We had lunch and shopped a bit. Then we did the thing that makes me the happiest. We walked out onto the beach at Proposal Rock and I played in the freezing surf.

Each time I go to the ocean, which I do far too often and entirely not enough, it is a new experience. I spent a week in the Gulf and each day the water was the same. Beautiful and warm. But it doesn’t change. The Pacific Northwest is a vastly different beast from that and only slightly similar to the Atlantic. Now granted, if you travel to the Northeast you get something akin. But if you can swim in the water without doing the “my feet and legs HURT” dance…you don’t know what the ocean can be like.

This time the waves were intense. Far bigger and crashing than I’ve ever seen. Wait….if you picture huge 10 foot swells cresting and crashing down then that is close to the beach yesterday evening as the tide changed. I was in awe. It is a tempting mistress. You long to wade out but when you feel the riptide suck you off your feet in just half a foot of water, you know that it isn’t just dangerous to go out there, it is suicide. And not a quick suicide either. A painful death in a beautiful grave.

I walked along the sand and kept venturing out until my legs were sufficiently numb enough to not feel the cold. I would stare into the water as tumbling shell fragments were shoved to shore and then ripped right back out. The waves would crash into me from the front, and then would swipe me from the side into a revolving dance trying to stay just one step out of reach towards the safety of the black sands. I turned my face into the sun and just inhaled the brine scented water. All along the beach kids teased the foam, dogs raced around the dunes and people just sat and stared. The ocean does that to you. It stops all thought processes. If it doesn’t do that for you…you are at the wrong place.

I’ll admit that I’m an ocean baby. I love the water but I want the water here. I want to laugh and squeal when the water hits me and I race back to the beach hot stepping to keep out of the frigid water. I love finding those small rivers that lead to the ocean and enjoy the warmer water. I think far more. Laugh far more and live far more in those hours staring into the ocean. Yesterday I simply sat on the sands with Dave and thought about all of the similes and metaphors this ocean has inspired. The stories it has told. The people it has kept. It is a terribly beautiful thing that is alive and lures you in. It invites you and then keeps you.

There is nothing quite so wonderful. Dave said he did not think I would like to live there all the time. I do not know if that is true. I guess at first the novelty of having it there daily would be liberating but perhaps…over time…I would crave a different scene. I would tire of the cold, chilly air. I would bemoan the frigid waters that always seem too good to be true. But. There is a part of me that doesn’t think that would ever happen. My entire life I have wanted to live in the mists and weather of Portland. I love it here. I don’t think I will be here for the rest of my life but it is a place that fits me. It is unique. It is weird and it is diverse. I hope like myself.

Labor Day is upon us and school starts this week. Life is beginning its transition into the glorious fall that we have all been waiting for patiently. We love the sun but have missed the rain. The leaves will start turning their riotous colors and then slowly drift to the ground. The mountains will turn completely white again and we will begin wearing our heavier layers of clothing. It is time. I will still return to the beach as usual, gaze out across the water looking for something that always seems to be there just out of reach. And life will be good.