Wear Shoes and Give a…Whatever.

Here’s a tip: When using the brush roller on an upright vacuum (you know the one you use to suck up the stuff embedded in the carpet?), don’t run it over your bare toes. They will get sucked up into the roller.

I’ll spare you a photo, but the purple color is telling me that I probably bruised, in a fine manner, the tendons and ligaments along and under the first three toes, and I probably broke the toe next to the big toe. Nothing ER worthy, but walking has been interesting the last few days.

In any other year I’d say, “Gee, that was random.” This year, however, it seems fated that I’d crush a few toes in a vacuum cleaner.

Aside from that, I have much to be grateful for this year, and especially this Thanksgiving weekend. My family worked together to make Thanksgiving doable with masks, hand sanitizer, social distancing, and carefully planned handling and distribution of food. The weather helped out, too. If it hadn’t been a balmy 54 degrees, we would have cancelled.

Of course I would have preferred a full-on T-day with big hugs and hot kid breath in my face as they show me their latest school projects or coloring book masterpieces. But I have caught many viruses from them over the years and I do not want to catch this one. Just in case they were mini symptomless carriers, they stayed away from Grammy, which took more restraint than any of us is used to, but we did it.

I know many of you could not and did not see your families and friends over this long weekend, and some of you are mourning loved ones lost to the virus or other causes. I’ve lost a few, too, and it breaks my heart when I see someone without a mask in a public indoor space. Such a simple act of kindness, and yet…

I didn’t have to hug my grandchildren for them to know I love them. I got to see them and talk to them from a distance, and that was OK. I don’t have to know you in real life to love you, too. And I do love you because, like me, you need the same air as I do, you have family you care about and friends who love you, and in the end, you don’t want to leave this place angry, fearful, or filled with regret.

Right now, I regret vacuuming without wearing shoes. Don’t be like me. Wear shoes when you vacuum. And most of you reading this already know this and do this, but for those of you who are on the fence, who are consumed by politics and/or are unsure of the science, take a deep breath. Please take a chance and make the choice to give a whatever.

The yearly “olive eyes” photo was different this year.

Waiting

I’m not the world’s most patient person, god knows, but I’m pretty happy with how I’m handling my impatience this week. My checkbook is probably not so happy – I’m a stress shopper – but mostly I’ve been buying Christmas and birthday gifts and cards, candles and dog treats, so at least it’s useful shopping. 

I like to write in the kitchen when I’m stressed, and not because it’s where the refrigerator is. My kitchen has a lot of windows and some nice views. It’s cozy. There’s a bluetooth speaker on the baker’s rack and this morning I was vacillating between the 70s and the 80s stations on SiriusXM until I wandered over to The Coffee House when I saw they were playing a new Ray LaMontagne song, “Highway to the Sun.” Within a few notes I was leaned over crying into my hands, not for one particular reason and yet for all the reasons. 

Tea makes me feel better so I made another cup. Random recommendation: If you like loose leaf tea, I can’t recommend this tea maker enough. No more tea specks and dust lining the rim of your mug or floating at the bottom. 

Along with tea, I made a batch of suet for the birds because watching birds at the feeders is more calming than scrolling through news feeds. I also made marinade for fish tacos that I’ll have for lunch at some point this afternoon. The marinade is a combination of olive oil, spices, sriracha and lime juice. Another random recommendation: Like the tea maker, I can’t recommend this citrus squeezer enough. It’s easy on the hands and wrists.

Back to writing and finishing this short and wandering blog, I’m listening to Steve Martin & Steep Canyon Rangers’ new album The Long-Awaited Album. No tears, just reminding myself how lucky I am that I have a kitchen with windows, the means to make suet and a perfect cup of tea, and that I can cry at a song and feel pain and yet still hope that peace and empathy, and not anger and hate, dominate the days ahead.

To See, Change, and Unlearn: Confronting My White Privilege

In therapy, I was taught that the key to effective communication is through “I” statements. They are meant to relate the speaker’s needs and/or feelings to the listener, as opposed “you” statements, which are usually accusatory, blaming, and contain negative attributions about the listener.

Whites/people in positions of power have a long history of using “I” statements when communicating with minorities, but not in a therapeutic manner. “I need you to listen to me/do what I say/talk this way/behave this way.” And the “you” statements…oh, yes…the “you” statements. They continue to spew like spit off the lips of the ignorant and the hate-filled. As a nation, we really suck at communication with minority groups in general, and particularly people of color.

In the last ten days, I’ve heard a lot of well-intentioned white people using a lot of “I” statements, asserting their needs and feelings about the death of George Floyd, Amy Cooper’s ridiculous actions in Central Park, and, of course (and perhaps especially), the protests, riots, and looting. Mostly, they want people of color to know that they aren’t like those police officers. They aren’t like Central Park Karen. “I need you to understand that I have black friends, I had a black doll when I was a child, I work with black people…” and on and on, and people of color roll their eyes because they’re used to hearing how good we think we are, how we “get” it, when really, do we?

It was Breonna Taylor’s murder on March 13 that brought me back to the table, and by table I mean the place of learning about racism and white supremacy and acknowledging my role in it. It’s a table I never should have left, but because I am not a person of color, I have the privilege of forgetting about that table because I don’t live every day having to prove myself worthy of health care, justice, housing, or even my life because of the color of my skin.

I’ve learned more in the last three months by shutting up, listening, and reading than I ever would have defending myself with my personal experiences with the black community, and the only “I” statement I want to offer to people of color right now is: I was wrong. My silence equals complicity, and I am sorry.

My intention, when I speak of race, especially with people of color, is to be mindful of “I” statements that seek to assert my need for others to understand me. Instead, I will ask questions like “How can I…(help, participate)”, “What do you need me to…(understand, change)”, “Where can I…(donate, volunteer)” and “Who should I…(contact, read)”. I want to change what I didn’t know I needed to change, to see what I didn’t know was inside me to see, and to unlearn what my comfortable privilege has taught me.

A helpful resource for me has been the 1619 Project: “It aims to reframe the country’s history by placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of our national narrative.”

A friend shared this resource today from Smithsonian Magazine, “158 Resources to Understand Racism in America.” I’ve only had a chance to read through it briefly, but links to the resources and articles are embedded in the chapters: Historical Context, Systemic Inequality, Anti-Black Violence, Protest, Intersectionality, and Allyship and Education.

Today is Breonna Taylor’s birthday. She would have been 27. If you’re interested in donating money to her family’s Go Fund Me account, click here.

Please, join the table. Stay. Don’t leave like I did. I truly believe we are on the brink of positive change in this country. It’s been messy and violent, and it will most likely get messier, but please, please, don’t give up.

Hope is our only Hope

A disclaimer before I begin: As many of you know, I don’t usually write publicly about politics generally or about my political ideology specifically. Politics, especially in recent years, can be so divisive, and I truly believe we have way more in common than not, so I focus my writing mainly on common grounds rather than what could trigger irreparable divisions. But you also know, especially long-time readers, that when I feel strongly about something, I will say it and share it (and I never expect you to fall in line with my way of thinking), and right now, I really want to say and share my feelings about the current political climate.

Yesterday, after coming home from a one-night stay in downtown Youngstown (Ohio), I was pumped to write about how much fun I had spending time with my daughter, Carlene, and meeting comedian Brent Terhune. Then I heard that Pete Buttigieg was ending his bid for the Democratic nomination for President and I got stabby. I even cried. No politician has made me cry before. Well, at least not sad tears. I shed plenty of angry tears in November 2016.

I first learned of Pete early last year in an interview with Joshua Johnson (@jejohnson322) on the NPR show the 1A. I was not only impressed with what he said, but how he said it. Hands down, Pete is/was the most articulate and composed candidate, and he is a helluva debater, and his was the first political campaign I’d ever supported financially.

Openly gay and proud to be married to his husband, Chasten, Pete (and Chasten) restored my faith that kindness can exist in politics, that it must exist in politics. Hearing he’d dropped out made me feel so…lost. I’m not mad; I understand why he did it, and I support his decision. But I will miss his voice, his calm, his intelligence, his hope, and his vision of a united America. The paranoid, deceitful, and hate-filled America that has emerged in four years has left so many people marginalized, afraid, unheard, and – at least in my case – dumbfounded that that truth is almost always usurped by lies and that so few people seem to care. Pete’s message of hope gave me hope that one day, truth, genuine care for people, and common sense could reside in the White House.

I’m tired of angry. I’m tired of the shouting. I’m tired of the finger-pointing. I’m tired of the lying. I’m tired of old.

What Pete’s campaign did was to encourage our country to find its conscience again. We live in a capitalistic, democratic country, I get that. But how about those currently in power stop supporting racist rhetoric or rhetoricians and separating families who are seeking asylum? Stop voter suppression and allowing people to die because they can’t afford life-saving medicine? Start acknowledging that climate change is happening, and fast? That’s not socialism. That’s just plain morally right.

Political power is not the be all and end all in life. Death will come whether we have $$$$$, power, or a high horse. We have a responsibility to each other in life, despite of ideology, and I hope Pete’s message of hope is reflected at the polls in November.