Trump Doesn't Scare Me

Yesterday was the 75th anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack.  Other than the indirect implications of being born an American citizen long after the war ended, I boast no direct ties to that time, place or event.  Just like 9/11, I have no ties other than being an adult human who can remember that day.  But we all have the Pearls of our lives.  

My Pearl Harbor was January 27, 2014.  It was approximately 9am.  I got up, got the kids ready and drove them to school.  We were in the middle of a bad winter.  It was cold and snow was on the ground.  When I got home, I picked up my then-husband's cell phone and discovered texts to and from another woman.  That was my bomb, D-Day, and the moment my life came crashing down in a flaming heap of poo.  That was the day I was attacked by a foreign nation and outed a traitor in my own home.  Another way of putting this--my safe space was violated.  

I told that story to write about this one:  Trump doesn't scare me.  I've watched some of my fellow citizens tear themselves up at the seams and freak out.  I've watched other Americans try to justify this.  I've watched an elite press so angry that voters would actually elect a narcissist that they stuck their noses up in the air and became even more disdainful of fellow citizens who feel a lack and are willing to believe in a snake oil salesman because nothing else thus far worked for them.  I've watched hate and hateful groups unleash their fear as ire on those they considered minorities.  I've watched factions in our nation try to grip power.  The thing is, it isn't power.  It is fear at work.  Fear mongers have infected the traditional Left and Right.  Corporations, billionaires, and other elite people who control money finally managed to pit Us against Us.  Because as citizens, we're in this hell together.    While I'm just one voice blowing in the wind here, I'm not scared.  Why?  Because I've already outed one traitor. I've hit absolute rock bottom. Guess what? I'm still here!!!  The thing about my traitor?  He moved on to someone else before the ink was dry on the divorce decree.  Just like Trump will move on to something better/newer/shinier than the factions that elected him before any one job is created or life improved by the campaign promises he touted in his bid for marginalized votes.  

To those who want to provide a safe space for others by wearing a safety pin, I applaud you.  This is an excellent idea.  I don't think this is going to work.  I doubt outward symbols will make a significant difference.  When I look back on the dark days of flaming poo, the people in my life who were a "safe space" for me were those who I never expected. They were friends with an already established relationship ready to provide coffee and lend an ear. They were acquaintances who were there in the moment.  There were nice strangers who gave me a hug during a particularly ugly crying jag.  There were new people who didn't know me, my situation, or any of the other trials that I faced in my life.  But they were there in the moment.  The point is, I don't think we can predict when we will need or be called upon to help our fellow human.  In this case, it it is living with a spiritually open heart and mind.  It is the internal knowledge that the Universe/Force/God/Jesus/Zeus will sort it out and put one in the proper place and time to help. Help comes from the expected and the unexpected places in life.  I, personally, will not be wearing a safety pin.  However, I will return the favor to my fellow humans should someone be in need.   

How to wrap this up?  By heeding Yoda's words.  Fear leads to anger, and anger leads to hate.  Keep calm, meditate, and don't give into the fears of others.  Once you let go of the fear, the fear mongers can't control you any more.  Respect yourselves and respect others because none of us are leaving this world alive.  

Words of Yoda

Detritus Update

I have been talking about my grandma's stuff for years.  YEARS!!!  I've read about getting rid of stuff, keeping less to make more room in our lives.  I've studied cleaning methods for slobs like me (still having problems on that front).  But, I think I've had a breakthrough. I sold a set of Grandma's china that sat in a box for ten years.  Since Grandma owned several sets, parting with this seemed natural.  Though it took me several years of reflection and constant repeating of my mantra "I don't have to keep the detritus of other people's lives."  For some reason, getting rid of this china made me feel lighter.  Physically lighter like I've lost ten pounds.  Putting into words what happened emotionally when these dishes went to a new home where they would be used and loved made me feel better.  Physically lighter.  And, I don't have to worry about yoga money for the week.  That will make me feel even better.

Post Thanksgiving WrapUp

The biggest story of this year's Thanksgiving:  There is no story.  The turkey was juicy, the cranberry sauce came out of the can.  The boxed dressing dressed up nicely with some fresh vegetables and didn't taste out of a box.  People came to the table in their PJ's and that was fine.  It was relaxed, happy, and a good holiday.  The best holiday of all because there are no stories to tell, no drama to report.  It was the best of all the holidays.

Tactical Error

I may have made a tactical error.  Ok, I probably made the error, but what's done is done, and the only thing to do is move forward.

Last Saturday, my sister-in-law texted and asked what my kids want for Christmas. In the past Christmas meant so much crap.  I'm sure all the other mommie bloggers out there have this topic covered about the uselessness of so much stuff.  I'm not going there.  What really set me off about this innocuous text was that I found out on our vacation last July that they came and spent a couple of days within 15 minutes of my house.  They spent DAYS within my area, and not once did they reach out and ask for a meal/visit/or other time to visit and reconnect with family.  I didn't say anything at the time.  It wasn't the right time.  So I moved on.Several weeks ago, my brother asked for me to do some genealogy research.  I sent him an email and gave him all the information that I knew about the ancestor so that he could begin.  Genealogy is a time suck, and I don't want to be pulled back in the past while I'm trying to focus on the future.  After contemplating my sister-in-law's request, I texted back that my kids would like more time with their cousins for Christmas.  Because all of the kids are growing up too fast. Time is starting to march forward with a quicker beat.  I'd like to at least give my kids a chance at bonding with my brother's kids.  But like the vacation, email concerning genealogy, and this last text, I haven't heard a word from from them.  Not a thank you for the information, nor an obligatory "we'll try" text to at least acknowledge my presence.  I do know that I'm tired of the crap the comes in the door.  We're not for sale or beholden to gifts.  We want real expressions of love and caring, not something that they will forget about in a few weeks after the flurry of wrapping paper gets recycled.  So, we're always up for a new experience,  Because making memories and building familial bonds with family is a much better use of our time and effort.

One Red Carnation

"Patriotism is not dying for one's country, it is living for one's country. And for humanity. Perhaps that is not as romantic, but it's better." ~Agnes Macphail

In the wake of Veterans' Day, protests, and surprise election results, I have one red carnation sitting on my kitchen counter to remind me that there is good in the world, our election process is fair and just, and there is an army of volunteers that run elections to ensure that one voice and one vote is heard. I spent this election cycle helping out a friend who became a candidate for our state House of Representatives. (Since this is going out on the interwebz, I'm going to refrain from naming the candidate or our state, as a way of protecting my anonymity.) I canvassed neighborhoods, got my exercise leaving literature on doors, and even made phone calls at the 11th hour. The most important volunteer activity was that of Poll Observer. Until I volunteered for this task, I didn't know the position existed. I attended an hour training session, filled out a form, and was assigned a rural poll to go sit and watch people vote. The mission of this is two fold. First, this was a party-centered post. As people voted, I checked them off of a list so that HQ could take that list and call those registered voters in the party and remind them to vote. This is legal, and all of the paperwork for this post was duly completed and submitted in accordance with local law. The second part of this job was to ensure that everyone at the polling locations adhered to election laws. Before my shift began, I stopped by HQ to grab a sandwich and was in time to hear the horror stories from other polling locations of illegal signage and Poll Judges interfering with the Poll Observers' job. Needless to say, I was nervous concerning my reception at the location I was assigned to. My fears were for naught. I found four gracious, caring, and laudable women who took their position seriously and worked to follow the rules. When a rule was in question, they consulted notes to resolve the dispute and allow the person to vote. They made sure that I was comfortable then offered me treats and ice tea. When someone from the party that I never met before stopped by to check on the observations, I happily reported that they treated me well and that no issues needed resolving. That was before one particular voter. She was elderly, spry, and seemed excited to see everyone. She wanted to catch up on the local news and chit chat with the volunteers, but the volume of other voters precluded much visiting. She cast her ballot, and then like other voters, left the vicinity. She then came back. This thoughtful lady brought each one of us a long stem red carnation, wrapped in paper, and tied with red, white, and blue ribbon. I sat stunned, and don't think that I expressed my gratitude. This lady did not know me, but she included me with the other volunteers. By design of the system, I was supposed to be an outsider watching the process. However, this did not stop her from thanking me or including me with the rest of the volunteers. Since the election has concluded, I've been sniffing and thinking a lot about my one red carnation. This single flower represents the phalanx of volunteers who deal with disgruntled voters all the while making sure that the election process goes smoothly and legally. While these ladies never set foot on foreign soil to protect our rights, I want to acknowledge their contribution to one of the most basic and vital rights as an American--that as a voter. I'm sure all around the country, in rural and urban areas, a phalanx of volunteers ensured a legal vote. Thank you, Volunteers, for protecting our freedoms and showing an outsider respect and decency.

White Privilege?

In the wake of the election, I want to know what exactly is "White Privilege?" The tone of my skin is considered white. Does my skin tone mean there is absence of adversity that I have faced or will have to face? Does my skin tone lessen my talents? Have I been granted some sort of "hall pass" to not have to struggle as hard as others? Does my skin tone mean I have more opportunities than others? Does my skin color insulate me from trials and tribulations of life? Does my skin color make my story any less real? Do I have to feel guilty because of the way I was born?

"I'll keep my guns and money, you keep the 'Change'"

The title of this post was a bumper sticker seen after Obama was elected 8 years ago. It got me to thinking about the word "Change." It is bandied about in every campaign, called for on a international, national and local level. But what does it mean? According to Dictionary.com, the first definition is:

verb (used with object), changed, changing. 1. to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone: to change one's name; to change one's opinion; to change the course of history.

Of course, there are other definitions, however, this post is about the first. I find it ironic that Obama ran on a platform of "change." He was going to make America wonderful as well. Despite conservative fears, we still have our guns, the second amendment, and other than not having access to affordable health care as promised, I cannot report how much change has happened during the 8 years he was in office. My life changed radically on a personal level, however, I cannot attribute my life's course to the federal government's actions. Thus, I'm very skeptical about the sorts of changes that Trump can actually make. Except repealing Obamacare, because I really would like to have some sort of health care, but that just about the only positive thing I see happening. The tone of my Facebook feed altered as well. Folks who were normally quiet during the campaign process are now speaking up and urging everyone to get on board with this election. Those who were scared during the campaign and posting cat photos are still scared, and have up the cuteness level of their news feeds. I'm not sure if this is some attempt to soothe their followers or themselves. The number of cute cat paws is getting out of control. Those who were verbose and outspoken during the campaign have been silent. Haven't heard a word out of them. Normally eloquent people whose voice and opinion that I respect slipped out of social media, and I'm not sure what to make of this silence. What I want to say is that the election was legal. It was conducted in accordance with Federal, State, and local laws. Just like I had to eat a shit sandwich when Obama was elected, now others will have to eat a different form of the sandwich. Is Trump going to be a good president? I highly doubt it. Just like Obama wasn't able to fuck up too much, the same argument stands with Trump. There won't be very much change. Just a lot of hot air, broken promises, and the same ole tripe from our government. This isn't a freak out event. Just an event that we're going to have to live through for 4 years, and then hopefully get our head out of of collective asses and find someone who can actually lead.