We Want Things

People are worried about me. It's what friends do when they see you suffering. They would like to see me be OK, not be triggered by visions of rape.

They want me not to hear about children afraid of being deported and remember that I was often awakened from sleep to some scene my alcoholic father created. I was often afraid in my childhood too. Different reason; same terror.

They want me to once again be able to watch the news like the news junkie I was. They want to see me be able to put the bad news away and go about my business without toting fears of nuclear war with China or wholesale destruction of the planet my granddaughter will call home for 90 years.

My friends want me to find my joy again and rediscover my wicked sense of humor. They want me not to have to schedule extra sessions with my psychologist just to get through the month.

I want some things too. I want to not be an enneagram personality type 1 wing 9 (http://bit.ly/1wing9) who is driven to change things that hurt others. Not really, I just want everyone else to be one too so we'd simplify things and have the same goal.

I want my president to be smarter than me and humbled by the office.

I want legislators who have some semblance of decency, compassion, and shame.

I want everyone to treat others as they would like to be treated. No, better.

I want to hear that someone is a Christian and not have the wonder if they follow the example of the Christ who loves.

I would like just one person who voted for a man who bragged about sexually assaulting women and mocked a disabled man to apologize to me, a disabled rape survivor, and mean it.

I want to stop hearing "me, me, me" and overhear people say, "Can I help you with that?" and "You seem sad. Let's talk about what can make it better."

I want to wake up and find out everyone on the planet got woke. Woke AF. The kind of woke that makes you cry a little and then wipe tears on the sleeve of your work shirt and get after doing what needs doing to keep this world turning for us all.

Instead, I'm watching it all come undone. I can see it as clearly as I saw all the hours of the clock this 19 January 2017  night and 20 January 2017 morning.

If you are my friend, that will probably add to your worry about me because you know I need my sleep to keep the RA from making me sick.

I did some things during the night, though. I did some guided meditation and an 'examen' - a religious exercise where I look at what is in my life and think of what to do in response. I also prayed.

I don't have any brilliant answers or even smart ones, anyway none that I didn't have yesterday.

I'm going to get my hair cut later today. It's kind of a thing I do. When I make a major change, I cut my hair.

I'm going to make some things, do some sewing, and write in my liturgical journal.

I'm going to keep promises and become very acquainted with my legislators' staff members and learn their phone numbers by heart.

I'm going to take care of my animals and fiercely love my family. I'm going to love my neighbor, even those who are making my life a misery right now.

I'm going to follow my basic personality, but I'm more mentally healthy, and won't go off the deep end unless I am sure I have a life preserver. I'm going to fight back and wipe tears and give mini sermons to kids. And I'm going to finish the damn novel this year.

Don't worry, I'm gonna be OK, but I am going to suffer some while I do it because I will be seeing the suffering around me, the way my friends see mine.

This safety pin doesn't matter

I make jewelry sometimes.

"I made it," I might say, when someone asks about a necklace or bracelet.

"You made the beads?" they sometimes say.

No. I bought the beads and the findings. I guess I just designed it and put the pieces together.

These are some prayer beads I made, designed and put together.

I made so many. I didn't have anything to do with them all, more than in the picture.  I don't sell jewelry. I do give some away, so I did that, gave a few prayer beads away.

Usually, I just make things for myself. No one has to like them except me. If  I don't like them any more, I can take them apart and remake them, redesign them, into something else.

Today, I designed this.

There aren't four. I just liked the way it looked on different background colors.

I didn't make the elements of the necklace. The heart and brass ring were made by the brother of one of my best friends. He is a metal artist. I didn't make the safety pins either. I'm not sure who makes safety pins.

I simply slid the pins onto the leather thong that Jerry sent with the heart.

It didn't take much effort, although I did plan the way they would look. And I did have to hunt up a few extras of the same size, so that was effort, I guess.

I'm wearing it right now, the necklace. I'm not sure how often I will wear it. It's really for me, to remind me, to give me something tangible to hold onto.

So, I am not wearing a safety pin to show that I will stand in the way of anyone who would hurt someone because of their color, or race, or religion, or sexual orientation, or any other thing that folk use to separate out one from the herd to beat down. I will, but that's not the importance of the pins.

I could wear them inside my clothes where no one would see.

I am wearing a row of them, a chain of them, 24 of them. The number isn't significant. I could wear one or a hundred.

It doesn't even matter too much if I wear them at all. It only matters that they remind me of what and who and where my attention should be focused. When I see them, or feel them, when I put them on, or when I take them off, I remember what they stand for, who they stand for, and what is important.

Maybe you want to make a chain of them or pin a square of them onto your shirt. Use one to put your house key onto a keyring. String several together to hang on your coffee cup handle or to dangle down from your rearview mirror. Or perhaps put one inside the waistband of your skirt or inside your pants pocket, where only you will know it's there.

The pin doesn't matter. The people matter. Don't let us forget that.

Like That Woman in the Picture

I watched Sunday on CBS with Jane Paulie. A reporter (?) interviewed some hurting people who are "low class," as one woman described herself with not a bit of shame or artifice. She talked of her troubles. She's a young woman, 20s, who said the closing of the coal mines because of EPA and environmental concerns split families. Men go off to work as they can find it and women and children stay put in the "home where [her] family lived for generations."

Two things, neither promising:

1) No one in government is going to get those coal jobs (or manufacturing jobs) back. I don't think anyone who promised to meant a word. And the Democrats in congress can block a lot of votes to prevent environmental apocalypse. (The Rs don't have 60%.)

B. Any major shift in work life (early mankind adopting agriculture, the industrial revolution, the rise of .com and e-commerce) brings upheaval. Some changes are good. Some are bad. Some changes are split between good for one and bad for another. All changes have required some people to adapt to relocation, loss of livelihood, and great stress. Former hunter/gatherers didn't hire guides when they could now grow their own. Large numbers of farm workers moved from rural areas to get manufacturing jobs in cities, many women, many exploited. And now, like me, Adam, and Ariane, some work from home by computer rather than going into a job in town. And steelworkers and coal miners have no jobs near home.

The "low class" woman reminds me of myself. I needed to create a whole new way to be in the world, more because of bad family issues than national issues. I had few resources. The military got me the hell out of town. And the things that were untenable back home were improved. I had to leave my home and some dear people. But my daughter is in much better position than she'd have been in had I stayed.

The woman who faces a split family and hard times gets my sympathy and empathy. I want her to find a way to have a good family life and plenty. I'm willing to pay taxes to get her and/or her husband some retraining. I'd support tax breaks if they have to move.

But I won't give her what she wants. I won't support reopening those coal mines. It's wrong for more people than it is right for. I'm sorry. She's in for hard times to come this next four years.

Later this morning, I learned Elton John has the photo "Migrant Mother" by Dorothea Lange.

It seemed fitting to put her here.