Various and Sundry

I think on my last post I said I wouldn't be so serious.  Did I say that?  Let's start here:

That's Kim Jong-Un, the "Supreme Leader" of North Korea, AKA the demented son of Kim Jong-Il.  You know how I can tell he's demented?  His hair.  Check out that dude's hair.  Complete psycho.  Also, he's the son of Kim-Jong Il, so how could he not be demented?  Apparently, he enjoys basketball, drinking, and never admits defeat.  I posted this picture today after reading a news article on how North Korea has used "firing squads or traffic accidents" to eliminate North Korean officials that were working on uniting North and South Korea.  There is so much crazy going on in North Korea, but for some reason, the US - always so quick to come to the aid of others - doesn't seem to have made any attempt to end the "Supreme Leader" regime in North Korea.  I can only guess that there's not enough oil in North Korea to attract our attention.  And I wonder how Supreme Leader Un gets through his halcyon days of basketball and drinking while thousands of his country men are tortured and killed.  This is all naivete, though, isn't it?  There are countries and leaders all over the world making people suffer, and the US doesn't give a shit about them either.  But seriously, someone needs to talk to Supreme Leader Un about his hair.  I guess his hair is probably the least of his concerns.

Let's go back to "firing squads or traffic accidents".  All these highly intelligent North Korean officials, sitting around trying to figure how to off their counterparts and that's what they come up with
Official 1:  "We need to get rid of these pesky uniters!  Perhaps we should kidnap them from their homes under cover of night, take them out on a boat, shoot them, and drop their bodies in the ocean."
Official 2:  "No, no!  That's ridiculous.  Then no one would know what we've done.  Let's do firing squads."
Kim Jong-Un:  "Oh, you tiresome officials.  I need to get my drink on while I play basketball.  Here's what we're going to do.  Half get firing squads, half get traffic accidents.  Use some of our poor citizens to create traffic accidents, I don't care how many of them die.  Also, if they complain, round up their families and take them to the camps and torture them."

What a wonderful world it is.

Back in San Francisco, I took Boudreaux to have a pee in the grass near work.  After she relieved herself, I found a tiny twig for her.  After I finally got her attention, I gave her the stick and she ran off with it like I'd given her the greatest prize ever in the whole world ever.  Head held high, tail head high, she took the tiny twig away from me and found an excellent spot on the grass where she coveted the twig, bit the twig in two while she held it in her paws, and then rolled in the grass.  Not a care in the world but the grass and the twig.  I watched and thought of nothing, just felt her simple pleasure and remembered that I have the same feeling from time to time.  For a moment, I thought to envy her, but there's no need for that.  I have my simple pleasures, I don't have to shit in the grass, I don't get fleas, I can bathe myself, and I don't have to count on anyone else to feed me or keep me sheltered.  So, a dog's life may be good, but mine's just a little better.

Yesterday on the way home in El Granada, I waited at a stop sign while a VW van rolled through the intersection.  At wheel was a older Japanese man puffing on his pipe, wearing his navy blue sweater.  Clearly a local, clearly where he belongs, and clearly quite comfortable with himself.  I could imagine him as a character in a movie about a small coastal town.  Today, I pulled up to the house to retrieve my retriever and saw my neighbor across the street, sleeping in his driveway.  He sits in a chair front of his garage all day, every day.  The garage door is open, and his radio always has news or sports playing.  Sometimes he gets up and walks to the top of driveway, where he can look out to the ocean over the top of his roof.  A lot of the time, he nods off.  He has mastered the art of RETIREMENT.  The man could not be any more retired.  In fact, when he's dead, his wife could probably just perch the body in the chair every morning and take it in every night and not many people would notice the difference.  I admire his advanced level of retirement, in some way, but I also wonder how he can do that all day every day.  When I'm retired, I'll be drunk, that's my plan.  Drunk all day, every day.  So, I probably won't be driving anywhere, but I won't be sitting in one place all day every day.  I couldn't do it.  But huzzah to he that has mastered retirement so wholly.

This weekend promises to be exciting: train rides, swimming, pony rides, jumpy houses, a 5-year old's birthday party, creating a 5-tiered birthday cake for said party...and squeezing in some time for gardening or reading or painting somewhere in there.  Or just lying in the sun on the back porch, pretending to be retired and nodding off.

The Devil's Consorts

Eric, Peaches and I made the mission to Eureka this weekend to visit Laurel.  We left Boudreaux at home in the care of friends; upon our return we found that she may have been groomed in our absence.  Good friends, I guess.  The drive to Eureka was quick, hot, and beautiful.  We stopped at a McDonald's in some god forbidden overly hot town where we bitched about the weather.  Who chooses to live in a place that's so damned hot?  I chose to live in Texas once, where it's also so damned hot, but I don't live there anymore.  It's too damned hot.

I prefer to go to Eureka by myself for the long stretches of solitude and silence during the drive, and for the break from the constant demands of daily life while I'm visiting Laurel.  I like to be able to focus on Laurel, her house, her friendship, her garden, and Eureka.  But it's also fun to bring the family so that Peaches can know Laurel as part of her life forever and ever.  Saturday we spent many hours at Eel River with many other river goers.  It was also too damned hot there, but the river was cold, cold, cold.  The first time I jumped in the water I felt my body go rigid and my heart stop, suppressing the urge to suck in air under the water (since that's impossible as I'm not a fish).  That is one of my favorite sensations, the momentary loss of everything except my will to survive.  Intellectually, I know I will survive but my body does not know that so it enters into survival mode on its own.  After that first time, I soaked in the sun to the point of sweating and put myself back in that cold water, but wasn't able to get that initial sensation. 

We stopped in Loleta, a strange little town south of Eureka, with an amazing bakery where they do not use any machinery in their baking.  Residents sat outside the bakery shooting the shit, being friendly.  I instantly wanted to move there.  Loleta is both rundown and bucolic, similar to how Mendocino looked in 1985.  Mostly I want to move there because of the bakery and the meat market next door.  I probably won't move there, but it will be forever on my List of Places Where I'd Like to Live.

After the river, we headed back to Laurel's and Peaches laid down for a nap.  I wanted to get a tattoo while I was there and Eric decided he wanted one too.  Eric called the tattoo parlor and found that they could take both of us.  In true tattoo parlor fashion, only one artist was available and she was having her lunch.  So, we waited.  This was the recommended parlor, and they are closed on Sunday, so we stayed (tenacity...see last post).  The girl took 90 minutes just to draw Eric's rather simple tattoo, and I knew that there was no way she was going to be able to get Eric's tattoo done and mine even drawn before they closed.  Fortunately, another artist lost his customer, heard what I wanted and started to draw mine out.  Unfortunately, he didn't like his initial drawing and asked for more time to work on it.  So, I'll head back in August for that.  I'm sure by then it will be a great masterpiece.

I think it's obvious that I've had a lot of retrospection in my life lately. I have been very lucky in my life in that I have crossed paths with many people that have enriched my life in one way or the other, and a few very special people that have stepped into my life at integral times and helped me immeasurably, sometimes without even knowing it.  These people are my guardians, my eyes, and they are more than friends to me.  I don't mean that how it sounds.  I mean that their place in my life, and the way that they affected my life, goes beyond friendship into something less tangible, less describable.  I can follow the string of their time in my life and see how my life changed from when I met them to now, and how they affected me is obvious.  I had time to think on this yesterday, relaxed from a trip to Eureka, up too late and rearranging my house, rearranging my mind, reflecting on what a fortunate person I am to have many people in my life that care about me and love me.

And so ends the introspection and retrospection, for now.  Maybe.  I will play the Tooth Fairy tonight, as Peaches has lost her first tooth, and tinker in the garage, and think on nothing.  Just for a couple of hours.

Feet in the Air

Well, here we are, at 42.  So far, it's much like 41 but with a different number.  Happy Birthday to me!

Tenacity:

1. holding or grasping firmly; forceful: a tenacious grip
2. retentive:  a tenacious memory
3. stubborn or persistent:  a tenacious character
4. holding together firmly; tough or cohesive:  tenacious cement
5. tending to stick or adhere:  tenacious mind

Tenacity is the topic of today, the ups and downs that result from tenacity.  Funny that being stubborn is often frowned upon while being tenacious is often considered a valuable trait...the two words basically mean the the same thing.

Here's an example of my tenacious character in the workplace:

Co-worker 1:  "Would you tell Bob to go to the doctor?!"

Me:  "Sure.  Which Bob?"

Co-worker 1:  "Bob Frank."  (these names are made up)

Me:  "Why?"

Co-worker 1:  "Because he says he has a spider bite that's infected and has a black ring all the way around it.  He needs to go the doctor."

Me...now at Bob's cubicle:  "Bob, let me see your spider bite."

Bob:  "It's on my leg."

Me:  "Okay, show me your leg."

Bob:  "I don't have any underwear on."

Me:  "I don't care.  Your shirt will cover everything."  (Actually, I do care and I don't want to see any of Bob's business, but I'm tenacious so I'm already all in.)

Bob:  "Let's go into Shane's office."  (Okay, so Bob apparently doesn't care either.)

Fortunately, Bob manuvered himself well enough to keep himself covered while Co-Worker 1 and I inspected the spider bite on Bob's leg.  There was no black ring, though it is red and swollen.  I suggest he goes to the doctor anyway, but Bob's concerned they'll cut off his leg.  I don't think Bob's actually concerned about that - I think he just doesn't want to go to the doctor.  My final recommendation to Bob?  "I recommend that you wear underwear to work going forward.  I always wear underwear to work."

See how my tenacity came in handy there and allowed me to help my co-workers?

Sometimes, though, tenacity and stubbornness work against us stubborn, tenacious types.  Our tendency to "hold and grasp firmly" or "tendency to stick or adhere" gets us into trouble.  Stubborn people (I should just say "I" since that's the people I'm talking about) can get fixated on a particular outcome or result and will jump many hurdles - sometimes fruitlessly - to try to see that outcome through.  We will hold fast to dreams, ideals, desires, and ways of being that ultimately will never come to fruition or turn out the way that we want them to.  We will turn a blind eye to everything that runs counter to what we want and use the other eye to focus on obtaining the result we desire while everything that cannot be seen by those two eyes turns to shit. 

I guess this "quality" can be valuable, but I occassionally notice when it causes me to work against my best interest.  So, I guess 42 will be the year that I concentrate a little more effort on perfecting my use of my tenaciousness stubborness, to learn better when to reign it in and when to let it run free, trampling everything in its path while I barrel towards my goal.

The days are getting longer, the weather has been warm, and I've taken time on the weekend to tear tenacious weeds out of my yard and replace them with vegetables and flowers that are less tenacious and require more care and attention, but will recipcrocate with beauty and nutrition.  I'm sure that's a metaphor for something, but I'll leave it to you, wise reader, to decide what that is.

Impending

42 is just around the corner, waiting for me to catch up.  I am hoping that when I get there and meet 42, I will suddenly feel like a real, live grown-up, all growed up.  If not that, then just a little more sure of things, how things are supposed to work and be.  Or at the very least, to know that there are endless combinations of how things are supposed to work and be, and that only we know which ways are right for us.  Last night, my husband said we are all little boats out on the water, each of us alone in our boats.  I said that sometimes our boats stick together, and he said "like a flotilla".  Yes, my dear flotilla of friends and family, all together but separate, headed off into our sunset in our tiny boats.  A romantic little picture, no?  I think my flotilla has a pirate flag.  What does yours have?

Growing Up

I'll be 42 this year.  42.  42.  42.  42.

If you're over 42, or 40, you know how shocking this is.  Really, getting to be over 40 is shocking.  Sure, 40 is the new 30 or whatever, but 40 is when things start to change.  My perspective on life is vastly different, my body is different, my hair is different, my attitude is different.  When I look in the mirror, I see age coming upon me.  I know now that I actually know more than people who are younger than me.  I know that I have useful information to impart to people that are younger than me, and I know that most of them will ignore that information.  I know that soon I will be old and decrepit and sitting alone in a dusty room filled with ghosts.  Actually, I'm hoping to be old and decrepit and sitting in a bar filled with ghosts.  What I'm really, really hoping for is that I'm not alone.  That I have company besides all the ghosts that will be following me around when I'm old.

My daughter will be 5 this year and my son will be 26.  And me, I'm still trying to figure out what the hell is going on.  Sure, I know a lot more than I used to, but still not enough.  Sometimes I feel like I'm going through the days in a self-induced coma, going with the flow, letting life just carry me along without making a lot of concious decisions.  This is a slightly ridiculous notion, and somewhat cowardly, I think.  Of course I make a lot of concious decisions, but I also go with the flow.  I am realizing that most everything is out of my control.  But I'm also seeing that there's a fine line between releasing what I can't control and releasing control of everything.

There are many things that I've worked to control within myself in my life:  temper, jealousy, ambition, possessiveness, expectations.  Now I feel that maybe I've worked too hard to control those things, to tamp them down into submission.  I can do without jealousy and possessiveness, as they are useless.  But temper and ambition and expectations seem like normal things, in moderation, of course.  My temper now is a flash in the pan - here and gone - like a tiny tornado.  My ambition has found no place to live.  I used it to get to where I am, and some part of me said this was far enough.  But I think that part may have been wrong, for there's another part searching around for a place to put my ambition.  And expectations.  Having expectations definitely makes life hard and can lead to disappointment.  The key is figuring out when your expectations are justified, when it's okay to have them, and what to do when they're not met.

All this thought comes about with springtime, the time of longer days and birth and renewal and a sense of freedom, an impending birthday, a child going into kindergarten, my nieces and nephews growing up and moving out, my siblings aging and changing, my mother growing older, the knowledge that life is, indeed, a short thing that most of us blunder through.  I imagine those with religion firmly in their back pockets have a little less blundering to do, but I don't think that's always the case.  Sometimes the rules of religion can make for a little more blundering.

And I think of the fallacy of the mind, of how we think so highly of our selves, when our brains are really controlling everything.  The subconcious, as it's known, working its magic and crime behind your back, getting you to do things that even you don't understand and that you probably don't want to understand.  That's bothering me a lot these days:  my mind is living a life of its own and I'm just over here acting things out for it.

Life is short and then you die, right?  I guess springtime makes me a little morose.

The Witch and The Happy La-La-La

I'm the big boss lady at my work.  My business card doesn't say "Big Boss Lady", it says a lot of other words that together don't mean anything to people that don't work here.  There are a few employees that work here that I've worked with for a long time, the longest being 15 years.  This post involves one of those employees and I'll call this employee "Bowser".  That's not his real name, it's a nickname he told me to use a long time ago.

Speaking of this employee, he just came into my office to report that someone keeps moving his balls.  He keeps his balls on his desk, in a specific place, and every morning when he comes in he finds that his balls have been moved around.  I suggested that he put his balls away, because when you leave your balls out someone is bound to want to play with them.  You can't just leave your balls laying around and expect people not to play with them.  We were, of course, talking about his juggling balls.  I'm pretty sure the balls that he takes with him everywhere don't get as much attention as his juggling balls.  So, there you have an example of my working relationship with Bowser.  We get along well, we work well together, we joke around, I listen to his stories that never seem to end and often seem pointless, and he works hard and does his job well.

My sister also works here.  She doesn't work for me directly, but for another manager that reports to me, and she's a direct co-worker of Bowser's.  They also get along well, but haven't worked together nearly as long, and she's extremely unlikely to engage in a conversation with Jim about his balls and their locality.  My sister was out sick yesterday, and Bowser came over to my office to chat with me about a work-related question.  Then we talked about all the people that were out sick (my fault, I came in with a cold for a week and now 3-4 people are sick), and this conversation ensued:

"Are you sure she's your sister?  I can't believe you guys are related.  She's all happy and la-la-la and you're a crazed witch!"  He laughed.  I laughed, then stopped, and gave him the eye.

"Did you just call me a crazed witch?"  I stared at him, grinning maliciously.

"I, uh, no...it was...", he pointed out to the cubicle farm.  "I said: '...like a crazed witch.'"

"No, you said '...you're a crazed witch.'"

He laughed.  "I guess I did.  It's like a badge of honor!"

And then we changed the subject and I did a little post on Facebook about it, because I wanted my friends and family to see that, to know that they aren't the only ones thinking what Bowser was saying.  And I will wear that label like a badge of honor, I'm proud to be a crazed witch, the yin to my sister's yang; we balance each other out and our relationship works well that way.  People at work don't see that we are similar in so many ways, but we do.  We have that sisterly bond that keeps jokes private and gives meaning to looks and lets us talk about things we wouldn't mention to other people and understand each other.

People have mentioned before that we don't seem very alike, and I qualify this by saying: we are half-sisters, which is true.  She got the light half, and I got the dark half...(not literally, her complexion is darker than mine...I just mean personality-wise).  She got the sane half, I got the crazy half.  She got the content half, I got the restless half.

Maybe I'll change my title to "Crazed Witch Boss Lady".

Days Flying By

Oof, it's been a while since I've been here.  Where have I been?

I was thinking about deceit and human nature yesterday.  This was spawned by a school textbook (I'm back in school and hating loving it) about ethics in criminal justice.  The passage was about cognitive dissonace, wherein you do something your morals are opposed to but you keep doing it anyway because you like it, and then you justify to yourself in various ways.  One example would be eating a giant ice cream sundae in the midst of a diet, another example would be if you were a priest molesting little boys, another example would be doing 80mph in a 55mph zone.  We know we shouldn't be doing it, but we do it anyway, and then we lie to ourselves and tell ourselves it is okay.  At the end of the day, if you really think it's okay (I think it's okay to drive 80 in a 55 as long as I'm not endangering anyone's life), then it's okay.  But if that little voice in your head is actively reassuring you that it's okay, and telling you all the reasons that it's okay, then you probably should stop doing it.

And honesty, that valued trait.  I love this line:  "Honesty is the best policy."  We like to say that, don't we?  And a lot of us strive to uphold that little ethical morsel.  But as humans, it's nearly impossible.  We spend all day talking (or texting, or phoning, of Facebooking) to each other, and lies abound.  Lying by ommission, rewording to make honesty easier to give and take, outright lying, little white lies.  We lie constantly to make one another happy and comfortable.  Clearly, honesty is not the best policy.  I think a better motto is:  Honesty is the best policy when absolutely necessary and if it's worded correctly and someone absolutely must hear it.

All this thinking brought me around to my cynical self, the truth of me, which is that the only person I trust unequivocally is my daughter.  She is at the age where she can't lie.  Even if she tries to lie, her body language speaks volumes for her.  I trust my family and friends, and I know they have my best interests at heart, but I know that honesty is not always the best policy among family and friends, for we must keep the peace.  And when you love your family and friends, you can usually tell when they're lying, and they can tell when you're lying to them.  Right?  So, I don't really fully trust anyone except my daughter.  And I'm okay with that.  I love my family and friends, and I trust them as much as I can, and I am happy with that.  I have to trust that our love for one another is honest, and that it causes us to look out for one another, even when there's a little deceit involved.

The motto that was ingrained into me was this:  A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.  That was on a sign in our bathroom, and the sign had a picture of a fish riding a bicycle.  That helped me interpret the message, to fold into my tiny and expanding set of ethics.  I believe in that motto, and I live it, with my husband by my side while I assemble furniture and bicycles and he cooks.  And it's another example of when honesty is not the best policy: people like to be needed.  My dad taught me that.

What can you take away from today's post?  Probably not much.  Just remember that when that little voice in your head is really trying to talk you into believing that what you're doing is okay, then it's probably not okay, and you shouldn't do it.  Unless you really, really want to.