Kate & Anthony

     I don’t own a piece of Kate Spade branded merchandise. Not because the myriad of products to choose from aren’t attractive, as they certainly are, but because I’ve never been able to rationalize spending larger sums of money on myself. I tend to wear things into the ground and shop for bargains, but I can absolutely understand how a beautiful handbag or accessory can make one feel fabulous, can make the day seem a little bit brighter. I do own a couple of Anthony Bourdain’s books and have watched countless episodes of his myriad shows. I fancy myself a pretty good cook and would live vicariously through his adventures, his words, his love of good food and his wit. Knowing that I may never get to travel the world, I appreciated his effort at trying to get us to see our shared humanity and broaden our horizons.

     I will not pretend to have any enlightened understanding on the mental health issues that either Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain were dealing with. I’m not going to wax philosophically on suicide and any number of quaint pieces of bullshit theories that you’ve undoubtedly read over the last week and will read in the week to come. I will say that if you didn’t think that the way our country handles mental health issues sucked before, maybe you’ll open your eyes more to that fact now. Not because of their deaths, but because their deaths are making more people discuss their struggles and problems with getting and affording proper treatment.

     I would like to say that suicide is not selfish, nor is it a laughing matter. If you have never had to talk someone you love out of taking their own life, you should consider yourself lucky. You should also take a moment to consider how approachable you are if one of your friends or family was struggling in that way. It’s all well and good to say that you’re there if someone needs to talk, but you have to do more than offer empty words. You have to ask specifically how your struggling friend is doing, ask questions about their well-being, like health, appetite, etc. And then you have to listen. Don’t talk. Don’t interject with platitudes. If you’ve ever told someone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, or that it’s always darkest before the dawn, or that you can pray mental health issues away, or that your family/job/good health should be enough to change your mind then that’s why no one has seriously turned to you for help. You are part of the problem. You are perpetuating the stigma.

     I have discussed in the past that when I was eleven I went into the bathroom in my family’s home with the full intention of killing myself. I mixed a variety of things together, toothpaste and ear wax remover, odds and ends of things in the medicine cabinet. It probably would have resulted in a stomach ache at worst. But I was done. Done with my father’s anger, the way he abused my mother and belittled her daily, done with his drinking, the constant fear and worry. I was done with walking on eggshells, done with his racism, done with being told that I was just like my mother … stupid, ugly and nothing. For me, I had an epiphany. If I left, my mother and brother and sister would still be left with him; they would still suffer and I wouldn’t be able to be a buffer from the abuse. I dumped the mixture down the drain and went back to my “childhood.” I have always attributed this to divine intervention, but that’s my personal belief, so draw no judgements or directions from it.

     Suicide is about being done, being exhausted from pretending and fighting and hoping for something to be different, anything to be different. It’s not an easily made choice, nor we will be able to understand if we aren’t directly involved. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention estimates that there are 123 suicides a day in the United States, although stigma leads to underreporting, so they estimate the number to be much higher. Their statistics can be found here, https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/.

     Be an advocate for our society, and for those you love, for real change within our mental health care system. Don’t perpetuate the stigma. If you’re struggling, try to seek help or someone to talk to who won’t judge.

National Suicide Prevention hotline -  1.800.273.talk

Veteran’s Crisis Line -  1.800.273.8255 press 1

Crisis Text Line -  Text HOME to 741741

Like and Love

     I have always found it incredibly easy to fall into like with someone; the sound of their voice, the way a sentence is crafted, maybe the way their hair tips just down over the outside corner of one eye. These little nuances turn my heart so quickly that I can like you in the blink of an eye. Love takes longer, but sometimes, not too much longer. And when I love you, I love you for real and forever with no mistake. I won't tell you I love you until I'm really sure, as the words can't be returned to the shelf once the book is open.
     When I say I love you, I mean each one of those words. I will love you when we can’t see each other, and for some of you, even though we may never or have never seen each other in the flesh. I will love you if we have a fight or even if we are polar opposites on a topic of great importance, because we can’t all think the same. I might learn from you and you might learn from me and therefore we should love each other even more while we work through it. I will love you even if you leave me, if you turn your back and never talk to me again and pretend that I don’t exist anymore. Even then will I love you. I will love you if God takes you from me, physically or mentally, because I guess you’re just not supposed to be mine anymore in this time and space. And believe you me that when I say I love you, you are mine and I am yours and that is the way it is to be. It doesn’t matter if you’re male or female, human, cat, or even the occasional dog.
     In general, I can't turn it off. To be completely fair though, I have found a way to flip the switch in less than a handful of instances, most notably with my father. I'm sure that as a little child I loved him once, but fear and then anger at his actions and words made me realize that he was no longer deserving of my love. I have no recollection of a happy time with him, and if you know me well, you know I remember everything. It's a blessing and a curse.
     Some of you may be thinking that with all this talk of like and love, my dear sweet husband must not appreciate my thought process. But what does he care who I like or I love, being secure in the knowledge of his position in my Marvel universe? I am his shield maiden, his muse, the one who remembers where his good belt is. That’s a different playing field entirely.
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     I also write to you about love, because this morning I learned that Dan, someone I told you about last July, has taken a dramatic turn for the worse. One of my co-workers told me this morning, eyes not daring to look at me while she spoke, that he has been placed on life support. The family is waiting for a long distance grand daughter to arrive this weekend, and then they're going to say their good byes and unplug him. Knowing Dan, I'm 100% positive that he probably has all of his health care directives written to say no machines, thank you very much. He stopped by just a week ago. Hair wispy, cheeks sunken, his coat was perceptibly loose. But that's cancer and chemotherapy and radiation therapy for you. The people you love are eaten from the inside by a disease that's imperceptible until the end, as the treatment destroys the outside while it "works." Forgive my cynicism. This disease ends so many stories long before they should come to a close.
     I will not stop loving the overwhelming majority of you though, loving your faces, your strength, your skills, your craft, the way you smile or sing or move like water across my heart. I will love you even when you're grumpy or distant, or even if you break my heart. And I will most certainly love you when the machines go silent.

Goodbye, Roger

     2 years ago, I wrote here about a client named Roger. When he visited me that day in mid January 2016 he had recently put his dog Milo to sleep after a rather sudden and horrible illness was diagnosed. The vet had told Roger that this was really his only choice. You may recall that Roger had told me that as he held Milo in his lap while he died, that he had wished the vet would have put the rest of what was in the syringe in him.
     This morning I learned that Roger killed himself. He died maybe 2 weeks ago, but they just found his body. I had told you that Roger's partner of 25 years, Jane, had died several years before we first met. He had not recovered from her loss. Milo had given him strength for some time. We had talked over the last two years about a business venture he wanted to try and about him forming a better relationship with Jane's son. Now I know that the questions about protecting his assets and adding beneficiaries were not born from necessary estate planning from an overly-prepared and physically fit man in his mid sixties thinking about the future. He knew his future, and he was putting all  his ducks in a row.
     I do wish that he and I would have had the sort of relationship where he might have mentioned his intentions, although I know full well that there is precious little I could have done to stop him. It is trite and simple to say that suicide is never the answer, and it's always darkest before the dawn, and there's so much to live for and don't be so selfish ... but these statements are the sort that assholes make, and I try really hard not to be an ass.
     But I would have said, Roger, my friend, how can I help you? Would you let me get you some help? Make some phone calls? Can we get a cup of coffee and you can talk about what's going on, what you're thinking about. Please let me help you. For Jane. For Milo. To think that he lay there alone in his home, his last breaths unheard, his last thoughts unvoiced. He's not going to ever come into my office again and say, hey kiddo, with that crooked grin.
     I've never been very good at saying good-bye.

     If you or someone you love or care for or know in passing is in crisis, I urge you to keep the National Suicide Prevention Hotline in your phone. It's available 24 hours. 1.800.273.8255
They also have a online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/ 

Tits on a bull

     It's been a tough day.
     We're tightly staffed at work due to vacation season. Because of that, I've been literally running back and forth from my office to lobby to fax/copier to the teller windows. It's a fine line trying to balance appointments, walk-ins who want to be serviced immediately, the phones, breaks for my two co-workers (I didn't get one), all the management responsibilities and last minute staffing crises in other locations that I'm sort-of responsible for coordinating assistance.
     For those of you that know me well or have worked with me, you know that I'm not one to shy away from hard work. I've always believed that managers are supposed to work for their people, not the other way around. I take this very seriously. You won't find me sitting in an office while you're working your heiney off. We're in this together, and we're all trying to get home to our families, babies or cacti. If I don't take an active role, it's going to take longer to get to my babies and that's not going to work for me.
     This afternoon, in between two appointments, a well-known client needed some help and I was happy to oblige. Meanwhile, one of my co-workers was tied up with another client and my assistant manager was taking care of the teller line. It was a long line honestly, and as I ran back and forth to the printer and my client and then putting away his paperwork, I could hear the beginnings of rebellion being fomented by a woman who was less than pleased to be waiting. I will tell you that usually more than half the people that stand in line don't have to at all. They could use an ATM, online or mobile banking or transfers. They don't have to wait; they have options, but they only want to do it their way, and then they complain about waiting. Before you tell me that older people don't want to use computers, I have plenty of clients 70 and up who recognize how valuable their time is and want greater convenience.
     I was back in my office finishing up with my client when I heard the rabble-rouser raising her voice with my assistant. I only caught the tail end of the exchange, when my assistant said, "you don't know what you're talking about ma'am. She does more than the rest of us on any day. Good day." When everything had calmed and all the clients were gone, I asked her what the woman had said. She told me that the woman had continued to complain all the way up to her turn. I wasn't doing enough. I should be helping the line instead. On and on until it was her turn (and she had nothing ready, by the way) and as she was done, she looked at my assistant and told her I was as useless as tits on a bull. That's when I heard my assistant coming to my defense.
     Now before you think I fell all to pieces, I didn't. A - There's a ton of assholes out there. B - I've been called much worse, and C - I'm far from useless. But I will tell you, that no matter how hardened your exterior, and no matter how long you've worked in customer service, every so often someone will say something that gets you just enough to put the tip of the dagger under your doublet. You see, being of service to others is a big aspect of my existence. When I say I live to serve, I ain't kidding. It comes out of Romans 12: 4-8 and the great philosopher Uncle Ben from Spider-Man. Romans tells us there are seven spiritual gifts: prophecy, serving, teaching, exhorting, giving, organizing and mercy. I've always felt called to serving and mercy, and since Uncle Ben said with great power comes great responsibility, that's what I do.
     Thus the poke-y power of her blade, because no longer being of service to others or those I love and care for is a dark fear. Once I'm no longer of service, what use will anyone have for me. How easy then to walk away from me forever. (Akin to a common concern that many women grapple with once realizing that their childbearing years are over. If I can no longer have babies, what purpose do I serve in this world.)Then it's one small two-step to buying individual chicken breasts and small bottles of condiments at the grocery store. I'm fully aware that it's not completely about me outgrowing my usefulness. That sounds so callous. People change, have different needs and desires. If my service is no longer needed, I shouldn't take it personally. Someone else may need me along the way. I could be like David Carradine in Kung Fu, instead of searching for my brother I'd be looking for ways to serve. Or Dr. Banner, hulking out from town to town, one lone duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Alas, I'm not evolved enough for that yet. Maybe my next lifetime.
     So being called "useless as tits on a bull" has really capped off an unexpectedly bad week. Here's to hoping that that 2018 sucks a whole lot less than 2017 sucked.
       
     
       

Moore

     I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why Roy Moore hasn’t been run out of town on a rail. He hasn’t attempted even a half-assed apology with an I’ve-been-washed-clean-in-the-blood-of-the-lamb explanation. Instead he says he’s leading in the polls but the people who are trying to change this are, "liberals; they don't hold conservative values. They’re the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered who want to change our culture. They're socialists who want to change our way of life." So why hasn’t he stepped aside given all the decent humans who’ve denounced him? Why should he given the President has now decided to endorse him fully. The RNC in Alabama is now funding him again due to the President’s urging.

     I ask what’s at the root of the problem. Is it the potential for false allegations? This is a fallacy. 2% of all reported allegations of sexual assault, harassment and rape are false. It’s statistically impossible that all of Moore’s allegations are false, or all of Trumps are false for that matter, yet Weinstein’s and Conyer’s are true. That’s hypocrisy at its finest.

     I think the root of the problem is that women as a whole really aren’t believed, and teenagers and women of color are believed even less than that. I think there are some who believe these teenagers were Lolitas enticing Moore into his acts. They don’t view 14 as pedophilia. The age of consent is 16 in Alabama, by the way. (If you’re curious, here’s the rest of the country. https://www.legalmatch.com/law-library/article/age-of-consent-by-state.html)   

     There are some who believe that victims have a level of responsibility in all of it. While researching, I was shocked to learn that there is a segment of evangelicals that think older men have a responsibility to take young girls “under their wing.” http://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-oe-brightbill-roy-moore-evangelical-culture-20171110-story.html or https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/roy-moore-evangelicalism_us_5a05f4f8e4b0e37d2f37573d

     Just as those that voted for Trump were presented with the more than 20 women who allege sexual assault, harassment and attempted rape, as well as evidence of his misogyny, racism, xenophobia and lying, there will be people who will vote for Moore. He denies all the allegations, says he hasn’t met these women. They have seen multiple women come forward and present proof of contact even though he says he never met them. They have heard that he was allegedly barred from the local mall. [The Gadsden Mall doesn’t keep records from that time anymore although multiple sources have reported that he had a propensity to hang around there, met girls there and at least one former mall employee came forward to report him due to his behavior with her.] He called a teenager while in school and took her out of a class to ask her out on a date.  

     On top of these heinous allegations, he also thinks homosexuality is an inherent evil and should be illegal, thinks Putin’s right about gay marriage, thinks there are US communities under Sharia law, thinks 9/11 happened because we distanced ourselves from God by legitimizing sodomy and abortion, thinks President Obama wasn’t born in the US and that the first Muslim elected to Congress, Rep . Keith Ellison, shouldn’t be allowed to serve.

     There are going to be people who go to the voting booth knowing all these things, and they’re going to vote for him anyway for any or all of the above excuses or because they think anybody is better than a Democrat. I reiterate, there are people who will vote in Alabama on Tuesday for an alleged pedophile who assaulted a 14 year old, because they think that’s not as bad as a Democrat.  All the #metoo statements and truths don’t matter a hill of beans to these people. They refuse to believe facts, and I don’t know how we change that. There also people that believe the earth is flat, or that the holocaust didn’t happen or that lizard people are running the world. Those people vote, too.

     As more and more people continue to come forward with their stories of assault and harassment, more men, and some women, are becoming increasingly uncomfortable. They know they’re wrong and they don’t want to be called out for their behaviors and for what their future will mean. They won’t be able to have their perception of “business as usual.”  But we have to apply these standards to assault equally across the board, from the common man to the Senator to the business person to the leader of the free world. If you’re a pedophile, you don’t get a pass because you made it to 70 or your accuser didn’t or couldn’t come forward until they were 50.You also don’t get a pass if you’re the President.    

Thanksgiving Eve

On this eve of Thanksgiving 2017, I pause to think of all the things that I am grateful for:

• Three children and five furry babies who are in good health
• A smart, funny, prolific partner who loves me
• A warm, safe roof over our heads
• Food in the cupboard and the refrigerator
• Family & friends who love me, care about me and treasure me
• An inspected 2013 minivan without any warning dashboard lights on 
• Health insurance and good dental care that I can still currently afford to pay
• The ability to get out of bed and go to work
• A sharp brain and a quick wit
• Access to books, the Internet (for now), newspapers – and the ability to research and form opinions based on facts
• In all likelihood, I will not wake up any time soon and discover that I, or my family, will be deported or chased from our home
• I will probably never be targeted, assaulted or murdered for my gender identity, sexual orientation or gender expression … something that people I love will never be able to say
• No one in my family has died in a hurricane or its piss poor management aftermath, or from escaping an international crisis, or under military crackdown and martial law, or from political dissent. None of them have washed up cold and blue on the shores of a country that they hoped would shelter them.
• No one in my family has been harassed, belittled, spat on, ignored or taunted for the color of their skin or their religion. This is the benefit of privilege, and to deny this is ignorance.
• I am embarrassingly ashamed while still thankful that although I have talked with my children about being careful and respectful with every word when and if they have to interact with the police in the future, in all likelihood, there is little chance they will be harmed if they don’t heed this advice. No disrespect is meant to any one of my friends or family in law enforcement. There is a known truth that families of color worry about police interactions with their children and have conversations about staying alive.    

And hey, before you think I’m all doom and gloom, that the daily subversion of our rights and attempts at writing a “new normal” by the current administration and Republican led Senate and House have caused me to lose all joy in my life, fear not. I am thankful for chocolate and wine and the perfect dirty joke. I am grateful for sex, no matter how sporadic it may be, and the remembrance of every first and last kiss. I’m thankful I’ve made it 45 years, that I had my mom as long as I did, and in a note of pride, this year my first Amazon bestselling poetry collection was released from Nixes Mate Books. I could rattle through hundreds of other truths, but I’ll spare you.  As we enter this holiday season, one with more unease and stress than many of us have had in a long time, I hope that you can recognize all that you have, my loves. And how little so many others do.          

Country Songs

     As much as my mother liked to believe that I sprang from her thigh with no influence from my father, there is unfortunately, more of him in me than I care to admit most days. I can enjoy the hell out of an adult beverage when the kids are all in bed, although unlike him I know when to stop. I have a dark temper, but I have learned how to choke it back or at least kick things in private. But when I'm in a funk, and if we're being honest the funk is strong, every sappy, morose, shitty love song was written for me.

     My father tended to mix the alcohol with the music -- country being his preferred avenue of self-flagellation -- for a one, two punch for why we all sucked as wife and children. When in his cups with that radio on, the temper wasn't far behind, so you best be out of reach of his hands. On a side note, I think that's why I hold my anger in, because I imagine I know what I'm capable of so best to just direct it to my spleen.  Anywho ...

     He could transplant himself into any country song and take on their indignation or sadness. It was suddenly his pickup truck, his dog and his cheated heart. This may be why I've never really cared for country music. Oh sure, there's a song or two that's quite catchy, and I know a ton of the older stuff by default, but it's just not my jam. Tonight we grabbed dinner at the Texas Roadhouse, which for those of you who aren't familiar with that chain, is all about the yummy food, country themed decor, servers who line dance in the aisles during certain songs, a birthday saddle that you are serenaded to whilst sitting on it, and very loud country music. We haven't been in some, and usually I can ignore the other stuff and focus on the food, but as I mentioned earlier, I'm in a funk so that music needled its way into my brain.

     Nothing destroys the sweet joy of a loaded baked potato like thinking about all the boys that don't love you anymore. Like I'm sitting there trying to keep a jovial look on my face while the image of being dumped in the sixth grade is going through my head. Boys are my kryptonite, and I can fall in like/love with you at the drop of a hat. Craig Fuller of Pure Prairie League singing "Amie" ... check. Voguing to Madonna during the high school talent show ... check. Diving into the third base stands to catch a Trot Nixon pop-up in the 12th inning ... check. Multiple mix tapes filled with an interesting array of songs that oddly all fit together ... I'll probably marry you.

     We left the restaurant, saying goodbye to the stuffed armadillo on the way out, and once in the car I hoped to turn on some sweet loud rock to drown out those dumping images. Instead we talked about how the world was falling apart, that the people of Puerto Rico are dying and how different and safer everything felt just 11 months ago. Suddenly, thinking about all the boys who might have adored me a million years ago didn't seem so dreary. I'm still in a funk though. Maybe, I'll go kick something.