Louise Smith

Louise was a driver, of the racing kind.  NASCAR, where she was the first or second woman to join that fast and, in my opinion, freaking-crazy bunch of crazy freaks. 

I cannot watch car racing.  Animal racing is heinous and I would avoid that on principle alone, but soft and juicy humans tearing around in circles or straight out are nightmares waiting to happen.  Same thing goes for contact sports or mountain climbing, climbing anything except a two step ladder.  Anything that carries the likelihood of any injuries greater than a skinned knee helps my stomach to clutch around my entire insides, heart, bowel and everything in between; then, my head aches in sympathy.

Oh, and amusement park rides that take you more than a few feet off of the ground and at greater speeds than, oh, like leisurely strolling.

Until I left that other life, I never connected the context of how I was living to be a factor in any of that, much less the reason that speed and even mildly violent stuff bothered me to the point of internal pain and discomfort and unease.  But, even though there are countless people who have decent lives and are still uncomfortable with those activities, that is the core cause for me.  So be it.

So, anyway, it came as a surprise that a quote by a woman who was a race car driver, and later owner of cars driven by other insane people, hit me today in a place in my anatomy that needed to be hit exactly like that, and exactly with that kind of power. 

I was at my soon-to-be former flat yesterday, cleaning and packing stuff, but mostly to throw stuff away.  There is a small agency in town, the old town, that said they would take any clothes or furnishings that I did not want.  There is a woman who works in the law office on the other side of the driveway that has already given a new home to a table that belonged to my grandmother, as well as a huge coffee machine that is really too huge for one person to use.

She knows that anything left on the porch is free to take, and I did leave some things she can use out there yesterday afternoon.  Being there yesterday was so difficult.  I need to just toss out all kinds of stuff and I was struggling whilst deciding what to take and what to leave.  Some things are easy to let go, others, like art supplies, is a bitch.  In the worst meaning of the common use of that word. 

I did my best, and just let the rest sit until next week, hoping that I would find the guts to do what needs to be done. 

Then, before I left, I called the moving guys place, to set up a date to move the last of that stuff.  I stopped at their office on my way out of the city and the estimate nearly knocked me off of my chair.  We negotiated it down, but not all that much because the trip from old place to new place is so long.

When I got home (stopping off at my favorite natural foods market in the city between there and here) I started thinking about why I still need to have all of those things.  They are great and useful things, but I have not touched most of it in the two and a half years since leaving that other life.  Not once have I gone into that craft room to even sort and put the supplies on shelves.  All I ever did was to dig through the boxes and totes to find items I needed to use in the art classes and to make gifts.

And, I began to think about how important it could be if I have not needed in it all that time.

And, I began to wonder if any of it was worth the cost of moving it to here, and later added that if I had not found a use for any of it, what was the point of going through the boxes and totes to decide what to keep hauling around me.  For the rest of my life?  Even if I never move from here?

And, even if there is the potential to use some of it, might it be less expensive to buy new items than haul them up here?

The answer is yes, and not just for the art supplies.  I am not bringing most of the furniture that is still there.  Sleeper sofa, hutch, books, bookcases and art supplies.  L-shaped desk.  Pressure cooker, microwave.  All will be staying there, to be fetched by someone who wants any of it and to be put out for the trash collectors.

I cannot believe that I was able to make that decision.  But, I have.  Man.

I will be moving a small curio cabinet and some of my spiritual stuff, herbs, oils and some books and crystals and stuff.  Two indoor drying racks, and the over-the-door ones.

One box of books.  One box of fabric, and the sewing machine.  Five totes of art supplies, and my french easel.  A few things left in the kitchen, maybe the table and chairs...maybe not, if I can find something really cheap here.

Should not take even an hour to load the truck, and, frankly, if I could move anything more than the couple of boxes I have brought here on my own, I would do that for the rest, but the stairway to this upper flat are old and steep, the risers high and the steps shallow, not even deep enough to fit my foot in shoes.

I was feeling so stressed about all of this that when I stopped at the natural food store, I bought a fresh bottle of Rescue Remedy.  I have yet to take any, but this decision is helping me to feel really great about this.

Louise's words pretty much say it all.

You can't reach for anything new 

if your hands are still full of yesterday's junk.

second to last day

working at the library. 

It was bittersweet.  So many people stopping me to say goodbye, when I arrived at work, that I was nearly late getting everything ready for the day's clients.  No rush was needed, because the first two clients never showed, nor did they call.  Both of them begged for one last appointment before I was gone.  My hope is that they missed today because they have found jobs or some other wonderful thing occupied them.

Third client arrived on time.  He is a challenging person.  Despite not knowing much about computers and nothing about employment documents, he is certain that he knows exactly what he wants.  His first appointment last month was interesting.  His second, a few weeks ago was, well, it was amusing.  He apologized for becoming angry with me when I tried to answer his questions and unfortunately stuck with a good process instead of agreeing with his notions.

He mentioned all of that this afternoon, and was able to share with him that he is my favorite kind of client, after young people who are applying for their first jobs.

I like having someone come in with ideas that have nothing to do with seeking a job.  Today he told me that one of the reasons he has trouble keeping a job is that he sees "problems" with how things are done, goes off to fix/change them on his own and then gets into trouble with his superiors when he implements his own ideas and processes, which often do not work and always much to the annoyance of his bosses.  I just smiled at him, no need to comment and he went on to assure me that doing all of that is on his list of things to stop doing.  It is impossible to not smile at that, yes?

He and my last client of the day...the fourth was also a no show/no call...shared how upset they are that I am leaving, which is kind of nice, but distressing to think that they share that they are unwilling or uninterested in working with anyone else.  Sort of crash-test-dummy version of the work we have been doing.  My goal (if I actually had goals) is that I help people move on with their lives so that they can do whatever they need to do, using the resources they happen to already have around them.  It is my hope that these two men are simply expressing their fondness for the work we have done and the time we have spent together. 

My experience is that men struggle with gratitude, especially if it is directed to a woman with whom they have only a casual or platonic relationship.

I have had several men thank me, not know where to go with it and then pat me on the head.  My inner puppy appreciates the effort.  It must be something about hair, because there was one man, during the second year of my gig there who asked if he could touch my hair.  I declined, but even in that moment I knew that he was feeling weird about saying thanks.

Women will just throw their arms around me, give a nice hug and share their thanks.  They never ask to touch my hair.  Good girls.  Who's a good girl?  Oh, you.  You're the good girl.  Oh, yes you are...

Some of my friends there asked me if they could throw a little going away party for me and I asked just for cake.  So, there was an amazing marble cake, with insanely good butter cream icing and vanilla ice cream with chocolate and butterscotch toppings. 

I received a beautiful scarf from my closest friends there, the reference librarians, with a matching pen (man, those had to be pricey) and a red tiara, which I promptly fastened to my head and wore all day.  I got looks of bewildered amazement, old babe in a child's, glittery crown, but I had a lot of fun with the couple of little girls I encountered in the lobby on my way back from lunch/cake/ice cream.

Besides, if someone gives you a tiara, it would be inexcusably rude to not wear it.  I am tossing out all kinds of cool and groovy but non-essential stuff, but I will be holding on to that crown forever.  I think I know exactly where I am going to poster-putty it on a wall in my new place.

Friday is my very last day of work there.  I have made certain that whomever follows me in this job can find any client, any information, any forms or tutorials or document formats as easily as I have been able to do.  Sometimes our process of organization works for us, although it can be less than useful or user friendly for someone else,  So, I went through every document, every file and every employment document for 5 3/4 years of clients.  And, they are all cool and groovy and anyone could use that computer to do any of the work I created there.  I also backed-up every bit of everything on a memory drive, will have that copied and give a copy to my boss for safe-keeping. 

I am especially concerned for the client documents, because you just never know when your dog is going to eat your homework, or your hard drive goes south or you can no longer gain access to your e-mail account, wherein a fresh copy of your resume, references and all the rest reside.

The cake was huge and I nearly grabbed a slice to bring home with me and then realized that eating it alone would make me too sad. 

I slept only three hours last night and so I am off to bed so that I will be fresh when I go do battle with the social security people.  If you mistype your password they lock you out and you have to visit your town's local office.  Is town with local redundant?  Probably.  Who cares.

Anyway, I am tired all the time and the least busy list of things to do exhausts me.  I am looking forward to six weeks of no jobs and hoping that it restarts my engines.

gratitude - the next day

Today I am mostly thinking about how grateful I am to not have to leave the house, for anything.  Sure, I could go and pay a bill or shop for fresh food.  Not going to, though; just staying here and packing and tossing and eating from the pantry, and playing mah jong on Facebook.

So, between games I was closing my FB thing and say a quote from one of the spiritual, quasi-spiritual, feel good, empowerment places I like.  Mostly platitudes (which I like very much anyway), but sometimes there is something so powerful and relevant to whatever is going on in my life that it makes me pause.

Truth be told, if you are paying attention to your life, practically anything you come across can fit into the stuff that fills our lives, especially if is something with which we are struggling.

So, anyway, this one struck me in relation to my community meal experience yesterday.

Do not let the behavior of others, destroy your inner peace.
Dalai Lama

I am hoping that is what I rose to then.  Yesterday.  I really tried to put myself into the shoes of those I encountered, especially the woman who spoke rudely to me, maybe only dismissively because she believed me to be a poor person, and whatever she assumed that to mean.  I was at least partially successful because it did not upset me, only sent me along to think about my life and my work.  Then, when I saw it happening to other poor people at our table and around us. 

Really pretty cool, coming across that quote.  I have a friend who has always believed that my life would be much better if I read the Dalai's writings; same thing for Thich Nhat Hanh.  I never got around to any of their books because I was not all that interested.  Truth is that I have come to think that I have been too absorbed in navigating my own life to read much of what other people have written about the higher elements of life. 

Regular self-help books, man, I have read so many of them, constantly searching for something that would help me to have a less stressful and dangerous life.  Perspective makes this so easy to see, although not so clear to make up for all those decades of looking in the wrong places.  Given the breadth of subject matter in those books, I never, not even once, even close came to choosing a book about domestic violence.  Interesting.

But, back to the Dalai Lama.  I know who he is, fairly familiar with the political aspects of his life and work, not so much anything else.  So, it was nice to find this quote today.  It helps me.

gratitude

Well, of course, one would be thinking on the theme of gratitude on Thanksgiving Day, even if it is only that you did not have to get together with some of your relatives.  You know the ones.

Our house, pre-leaving that other life, was where everyone gathered for all holidays.  All.

For the past oh-so-many-seasons, my daughter's home has been that gathering place.  I like it for tons of reasons, not least because I can arrive and leave as I wish.  Last year my intention was to volunteer for our city's free Thanksgiving meal.  That fell through when they did not need me and I stayed home and it was wonderful.  No driving.  No guests.  Nothing except staying home and lounging around.  I was especially busy that time last year and it was nice.

This year I decided on the community meal again, but only as an eater.  No volunteering all day.  When I got there I saw for myself that they have more than enough volunteer help.

It was interesting because I am usually on the side of the field of the helpers and to be, for all intents, a recipient was very interesting.  The meal was excellent, much better than most folk had for their own family and friends.

Volunteers at any place can be, perhaps often, the most interesting aspect.  Some are nice, but way too many of them can be at the best, condescending, and at the worst petty and mean.  I have seen this happen many times during the decades I have been volunteering.

I was kind of shocked to have it happen to me as soon as I entered the building.  I watched and saw how the admission lines were set up and how they worked.  I came to the end of one of the two lines and waited.  When I was the second next in line, the woman working at that table, looked up at me.  I smiled at her and she said something rude to me.  I continued to smile and when it was my turn to sign in, I asked her what she had said to me.  She got a little nervous and said that she had not said anything.  As I was writing my name, I replied that I was just checking, because I had heard what she said and apologized for having done something wrong whilst waiting in line.  She was flustered, and maybe thought she was dealing with one of the more crazy and possibly dangerous homeless people.

I am feeling very judgmental about this, and I would very much like to get over myself at this slight.  I am comfortable working with all kinds of people and it would be in my own best interest to pull up my big girl panties and get over myself.  Sigh.

Being treated unkindly is not the end of the world.  For anyone.  And, I am as certain as I am of anything that she came there to do something nice, to do good.  I have not the slightest doubt of that.  The problem is that she also came with ideas, notions and beliefs about the people who would be coming to the meal, and she felt inclined to chide me and keep me in my place.  I could be wrong, but I very well might not be.  I would like to be wrong.  This could be just an aspect of her regular behaviors and talks like that to everyone.

Perhaps she has only that one, single story about the kind of people who might find themselves in need of a meal on a holiday, or any other day where food insecurity might rear its ugly and ferocious head.  You know what a single story or belief is.  Everyone has them, even me.  I used to believe that all people who used, and mostly abused substances, illegal or otherwise, were similar.  As the oldest of eleven siblings, ten of us began with alcohol and marijuana and quickly moved on to other addictions.  And, each of them was stunningly similar in their addictive lives as they could be.  I thought that all people with addictive behaviors were like or close to my siblings, a narrow and not helpful belief.  I am smarter about that now.

Me?  I fall into my sad family in my own way.  My drug of choice is food.  Another story, but it illustrates how easily we find and cling to just the one story.  And, it happens in all kinds of ways.

And, despite knowing that there are always differences between individuals, 

we really do stick with that one story.  

Until we know better.  

Or, maybe not.  

Probably not.

We think we know about the Ebola victims in African countries.  Ebola victims and survivors came to contract that illness in ways unique to each of them, and their life and living conditions and lifestyles are just as unique.  Same thing goes for people and populations that live in countries and situations and circumstances different from our own.  Heck, look at what happened here when infected people landed on our own shores.

Whilst you might believe...or hope...that most people now understand how HIV/Aids transmits and that no one still believes that there is a good/not personally responsible way to get these viruses (i.e. via blood transfusion or by being an innocent crime victim) and a bad/personally responsible way to contract them (i.e. lifestyle), the truth is that many people continue to hold those notions.  Blaming people for their illnesses, just like we do with those who develop cancer. 

We think we know about poor people and how they got that way. Same process. 

Poor choices.
Addictive behaviors.
Bad money management.
Buying expensive things.
Not living within their means.
Too lazy to get a decent job.
Too lazy to get any job.
Entitled; want needs filled without doing their part.

Any of this sound familiar?  Anyone you know?  Anyone you are?  This kind of cultural, ethnic and economic prejudice is safely tucked away in every single one of us.

I know it exists because I have always been able to see it in myself.  I am a good person.  My best guess is that the majority of people who grasp their single story are good people, too.  And, when this stuff rears that energetic head, we need to pay attention and make the changes in the way that we view anyone who is different from ourselves, which, to be honest, is pretty much anyone else.

We cling to those who have similar lives and life practices to ours.  Most people hang with their economic and cultural peers.  We often choose to ignore or distrust people outside our group.  Sometimes we go to the extreme of demonizing them, denying advantages that we take for granted.  Sometimes we persecute them, a thing that has happened concerning the Affordable Care Act.

And, not to leave anyone out of the whole messy process, this not only trickles down to those less advantaged than ourselves, it trickles and steams upwards to those who benefit from more resources than we have.

An equal opportunity prejudice.

When that volunteer dismissed me as a lesser person, a less-deserving person than herself, she shared her one, single story with me.  I recognized it immediately and found a source of kindness and sympathy for her.  Had it been possible for me to have a gentle conversation about this, without embarrassing or shaming her, I might have looked for an opportunity to talk to someone about what happened, without identifying her, which is important because it happened several more times once I was inside and eating.

It happened to me one more time, but I noticed that kind of kindly condescension happening to other people at my table and two tables next to us.  It was clear that the other people I witnessed on being on the receiving end of that kind of exchange were more accustomed to being in that position than I was, am.  Seeing that stoicism took me by surprise. 

What that says about me is that I am more obtuse than I could have believed.  I have the training and certifications to prove that I am a caring, insightful and intuitive and supportive person, somewhat dedicated to be available to other people, and whilst I might have earned access to a few more hard won chapters than I had years ago, it is equally clear that I really do have a couple of those one, single stories.

I need to let them go.  I will never be everything I want to be , nor will I be able to do the deep work that my heart longs to perform, but after this morning, I am closer to learning more than single stories about a great many things.

To think that I had to be on the receiving end of that comment in order to learn all of this is, well, it is a bit shame inducing.  However, I will be using that shame and embarrassment to broaden my view and will improve my ability to see all of the stories.

Good and nice people, excellent intentions and great work, that is what I am taking away from today's meal.

It is important to admit that I have much greater resources than many of the people there today, both guests and volunteers and providers.  So, it slightly comforts me to share that I donated twenty dollars for my meal today. 

inertia

my happiest childhood memory

We lived in that little pink house.  Some kind of just starting neighborhood in a rural area.  I think the houses were built one at a time, or three or something, but instead of dividing the pasture with a road or two, all of the houses were built all around the perimeter, which left an enormous empty space in the middle.  And, because it was a pasture, it was not perfectly square or round; kind of like an amoeba shape.  I was much lower in the middle, much lower than any of the surrounding acres and I am guessing that because it flooded all the time, that that is the reason it defaulted to houses.  As more houses were built, regular roads were sketched in for the surrounding area and acres and in those areas there were actual blocks and intersections and like that.

In one area there was an empty space, where no house was built.  Maybe somebody owned it and the house plans just never were finished, or the owner died and the estate was not managed or maybe it was never sold to anyone, still belonging to the farmer who started selling off his land.

That empty space was to the immediate east of the little pink house.  We used to play in its untamed wildness.  It was so wild and natural that you could get lost, or at least become unobserved in that patch of weeds, grasses and wildflowers.

We played there, children's imagination fueled play.  I wonder sometimes what that playing must have been like and how much of an influence the madness in the little pink house had upon what we did out there. 

Did we play about all of the usual things or was our activity about how we would be in a different life, with different parents and with different madness?  Did we pretend that we had traveled miles and years away from there?  Was it ordinary play or a respite?

I have memories of laying deep in the greens and waving grasses, their plump seeds moving above me.  Watch clouds. 

That is my happiest childhood memory.  I am sure there must have been plenty more, but not quite so nice.

struggling with success

I am surely not alone in being disturbed by effortless success.  I think those of us who strive to be the best are unnerved when things fall into place too easily.  I am pretty sure of that.

So, anyway, in the span of six days I have a firm commitment for a gig with a very nice social service agency in the town of my future home. 

I have a possible volunteer opportunity working with children along the autism spectrum, and their families, although the agency's preference is a six-month employment commitment.  I never take on anything if I do not follow through and commit for at least a year.  I get their policies and process, but I do not think that I want a paid job right away.

Frankly, one of the vet clinics is looking for a part-time kennel staff member.  I would love to get back to working with animals in this way.  Feeding, walking, cleaning and surgery/treatment aftercare.  I miss that kind of hands-on, up to your elbows work. 

I looked at a few apartments and flats today.  I was running late and did the first one on my own, even though my daughter wanted to make a day of it for the two of us.  I called her afterwards and the four of us, me, she and the boys, viewed the other places where I had made appointments.

Oh, god, the first one was an eight-family building, four up, four down.  When we walked in, the smell of tobacco smoke was strong, and only got heartier the longer we were there.  At first we thought that the woman who showed us her apartment, as the sample, smoked and had sprayed some smelly cover up stuff, as we could smell that, too, but I think that the smoke smell was permeating her apartment from the smoking tenants on either side of her.  Maybe from the upstairs apartment, too, but we will never know because I would not get out of there quickly enough. 

You know, people can do whatever they like, smoke, drink, be stupid anyway they want.  But, I am pretty sure that my lungs are still tender from that brief experience.  I swear, it was like being in a restaurant before smoking was banned.  Ick.

The agent tried to make me take an application.  I did not.  I was polite and told her that the place was too far from the town center and she went on and on about how she finds her place convenient to everything, and although she is mostly correct, there is not any way that I could visit the place, much less live there.

The next couple of places were nice, but had deficits that I just do not have to accept anymore.  One was an upper flat, with a porch/balcony thing across the front.  That rental agent went on and on about the dangers of such a porch and told me that it was a jumping porch and was to be used only to escape a fire when it was not possible to flee via the door.  I had never heard of a full-scale porch being called that, just the wee and narrow ledges that you see outside a living room window or something.

So, I Googled it and cannot find anything of the sort.  Because this was a remodeled single family home, there was not room in the kitchen for a sink, so they installed it in a closet adjoining the kitchen area.  That actually was kind of cute, and I guess I could hide undone dishes that way.  Other than that, it was tiny, the two bedrooms were tinier and the agent kind of creeped me out.

The last flat was nearly perfect.  It is in an very old house.  The stairs to the basement are squeezed in a small area that requires you to turn backward and duck your heat to get to the bottom.  It does have an outside door, that kind that slants on the house and I could use that.  The basement is also small and the storage area is already full of the lower flat's people's stuff, but each unit has its own washer and dryer.  Nice, and especially nice in the winter to not have to drag everything to the laundromat.

The kitchen was huge, the bathroom was crammed under the eaves and kind of adorable.  There is a pretty small living room, but it has two decent sized bedrooms and a third room, only slightly smaller, that the agent called a den.

The kitchen has a full-sized refrigerator.  Nice, much nicer than the toy fridge here.  It has a gas stove and a new range hood.  New sinks, double and stainless steel.  Most of the cabinets are original to the house, with a nice attempt to match the newer cabinets to them.  There are nice windows, all brand-new, the energy efficient argon ones.

The only drawbacks are that each tenant pays all of the utilities, including water and sewer and garbage pick-up, in addition to the gas and electric.  But, the rent is a bit lower than I am paying here, and since I am so frugal that it should not be a problem.

I like it.  It is close to family and between the downtown and grocery/pharmacy/other stuff areas.  The landlord lives next door.  I am thinking that I will call him on Monday to let him know that I would like the flat.

So, two gigs and a nice choice of places to live, in just a week, less than a full week.  It is making me nervous.  It is like if all of this is so easy that there must be something I am missing or doing wrong, or maybe the Universe is just standing back, waiting to kick my ass.