Portrait of an Atheist

A friend of mine is agonizing over the idea of "coming out."

No, he's not gay.

He's an atheist.

And he's very nervous about exiting the non-believer closet.

You see, he fears judgment and rejection -- from family, friends, co-workers. And honestly? I get that. I've been rejected as both a friend and as a romantic partner. I've been judged and shunned (kind of rudely at times, too), by people who consider me not-worth-knowing because I don't believe in their god.

Meh. Their loss.

So, given this seemingly inevitable rejection, my friend thinks I'm brave for being able to announce to people that I don't believe in a god... their god... any god. And he asked how I came to be so brave.

Truth is?

It's not bravery. It's just part of who I am. And it's been a part of who I am for a good portion of my life -- since high school, really. Now, it's not all of who I am... it doesn't define me any more than any one thing about me defines me... but it's part of who I am.

I'm not ashamed of it.

I'm not proud of it either.

It just is.

But his questions and our discussions of late have got me thinking about it; about how we, as a group, are perceived by the world in general... by people who do believe in a god.

In my circle of friends (and in my extended [but definitely not my immediate] family), being an atheist is not really an unusual thing, though it's true that the majority (but definitely not the vast majority) of my peeps fall into the believers-of-something category.

I'm sort of non-discriminatory that way.

There are a whole lot of different types of atheists, just like there are a whole lot of different types of Christians and other people of faith... and while I've met most sorts, most of my atheist friends think more or less the way I do. And we laugh (and shake our heads) at the way we are sometimes perceived, so I figured maybe I could give you all a general picture of atheism from my point of view. Again, I don't presume to speak for all atheists, the same way most of my Christian friends wouldn't presume to speak for all Christians (since you all fall all over the Jesus Spectrum)... but this is the way I see it and the way I "practice" atheism...

• First and foremost, we do not eat babies or kick puppies. Or eat puppies and kick babies. Anymore. (That's so old school.)
• We do not worship the devil. See, the devil is part of religion... and we kind of reject that.
•  Even though some of us (and I'm mentioning no names here) might suggest to the Jehovah's Witnesses who knock on our doors that we sacrifice live animals to Beelzebub on a weekly basis, we don't. Really.
• I'd wager that for most of us (me included), atheism is not a way to piss off our mothers. No matter what our mothers think. (It might, however, be a nice little coincidence!)
• Lots of us don't actually claim to know beyond all doubt that there is no god (and yes, I know some of us do... and yes, I know they can quite arrogant about it. Arrogance falls all up and down the religious fence). But unlike people of faith who feel their god, we don't. So we rely on what we know and on what makes sense to us. And what makes sense to us is different from what makes sense to believers. And that? Is actually OK.
• Related to the previous point, lots of us don't even want to argue about it. Why would we? Here's the way I see it: many people more brilliant than I don't believe. Many people more brilliant than I do believe. Who am I to say any of them are wrong? And what can I bring up that they haven't already covered? So I'll just go with what I feel. You go with what you feel. You don't try to change my mind and I won't try to change yours. It's all good.
• Many of us fall into the Humanist category, which means we believe you don't need God to be a good person; we believe people are capable of choosing to do the right thing simply because it's the right thing and not because there could be divine repercussions.
• Given that Humanist thing, most of us have very strong moral compasses/senses of right and wrong, and we tend to stay the course we set for ourselves. When you have no one but yourself from whom to receive absolution, you kind of try to be a good person. Because I don't know about you, but I'm far tougher on myself than any god could be, that's why.
• There are some awful atheists out there, for sure. There are some awful Christians and other believers out there, too. In fact, our prisons are full of people who believe in God. There are a whole lot more believers in jail than non-believers (it's true, look it up). Bottom line? Awful is not confined to any one group of people.
• Lots of us work in service industries because we want to help people. We also volunteer in our communities, we work with kids, we start non-profits, we feed the hungry... we do all manner of good things. It's the moral compass thing. It makes us feel good to do good.
• We love our children. We just choose not to indoctrinate them into the church. And this might shock you, but many of us tell our kids that they need to travel their own spiritual paths (wherever they might lead) -- when they're old enough to understand what that means. In the interim, we teach them right from wrong (again, that moral compass thing).
• Believe it or not, lots of us know even more about religion and the Bible than many believers. See, most of us aren't born atheists; we don't just wake up one day and decide we don't believe. Lots of us were raised in church, right alongside you... but our paths went a different way.
• A bunch of us celebrate Christmas. Because we like presents, that's why. And because the holiday actually focuses on a boatload of traditions and symbols that have nothing to do with Christianity. Hell, Christ wasn't even born at Christmas. Oh, by the way, Happy Holidays!
• And on that note, loads of us believe Christ did live... and that he was probably a pretty great guy (some of us even try to live by many of the values and lessons attributed to him). We just think he was human... and that the Bible - a cool book with some interesting (and some bizarre) stories and lessons - was written by men.
• We don't worry about Hell. We don't believe in it. Well, not in the conventional sense. I figure there are any number of Hells right here on Earth and we each encounter - and sometimes live in - our own, while we're alive.
• We can be thankful without thanking a god (even if we do sometimes say, "thank God!" It's a habit. Sue us). Gratitude doesn't have to be given to any one entity to be valid. Just putting it out there -- just feeling it -- is nice.
• Atheists are not unhappy people who hate Life. Well, there are some like that, certainly, just as there are Christians and other believers like that. And honestly? In my life? I've met many more miserable Christians than I've met miserable atheists. Just sayin'.
• We do believe pretty strongly in the separation of church and state. See, we don't want to stop people from worshipping -- most of us really don't even care what anyone else believes; we simply don't want other peoples' religious views forced on us by our government. It's a freedom of and freedom from religion thing. I know that's one that raises a lot of ire (and it could be a 100-page post all by itself), but it is what it is.
• We know you don't really get us. We kind of don't get you either. But that's OK. It really and truly is. We love lots of you anyway. And we know you love us, too. It's OK. You can admit it.
• Lots of us actually worry about offending our believer friends by stating our views out loud. This seems silly, given that our believer friends don't tend to worry about offending us by stating their views. Go figure.
• We tend not to reject people as friends (or even lovers) because of Believer status. But lots of us have been rejected for being non-believers. Go figure.

I could go on and on and on, but the bottom line is that, like every group of people, our views are diverse and complex (again, I didn't speak here for all atheists, as that would be impossible. I spoke for myself and, I think, for most of the people I personally know who think the way I do).

In the end, we're just people. Most of us are good... some of us are jerks... just like every other group of people. We love, we care, we work hard, we give, we teach, we laugh and cry and bleed and yell and do everything else that everyone else does... except believe in God. We're not defective or flawed or evil because of our non-belief. We're not people to fear or loathe or pity. Our non-belief doesn't affect anyone else's beliefs in any way, shape, or form. Faith is in you... it's part of you... and it can't be taken or shaken or altered or threatened by anyone else's view.

And given all I've said, I think that my friend should have nothing to fear by stating his beliefs -- or non-beliefs, as the case may be. And I hope one day he feels safe enough to do just that.

Cynical Schmynical

I was hanging out with friends last night -- some of my most favorite people here in Pigsknuckle. They are a group of funny, warm, loving, and kind people (they are also all smart-asses, which is partly why I like them best). I trust them... implicitly... with my secrets, with my feelings, with my child.

They're good people.

They love me.

So imagine my surprise, when they all ganged up on me last night, attacked my character, clouded my sunny disposition, soiled my fresh-from-the-laundry view of the world, and agreed with each other that I am... cynical!

Cynical!

Me!

Me! Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm! Little Mary Sunshine! Me!

Cynical!

Pfffftttt.

I disagreed. Vehemently. 'Cynical' sounds so... negative... so... not very nice. And I'm nice. I'm a glass-half-full person. I'm an optimist, for crying out loud! I can't be cynical! I can't!

Now, I fully accepted the Sarcastic label with which I was also branded. I mean, that's a difficult one to deny, really, given every other word out of my mouth. But cynical? No sir, not me.

So I protested and protested and protested (shut up, you... don't even think about methinksing and dothing me!). They assured me this wasn't a bad thing and tried to make me feel better about being frigging Despicable Me. It didn't work. Finally, I just hung my head in very non-cynical sadness and went home...

... to look up the word 'cynical'.

Maybe I just don't really know what it means.

So, according to Wiki, contemporary cynicism is defined as such:

Cynicism is an attitude or state of mind characterized by a general distrust of others' apparent motives, believing that they are selfish in nature and/or displaying that themselves.

OK, that's pretty much what I thought it meant. And I don't think that's me. I mean, I think there are lots of selfish people in the world (hello! You do, too!), but that statement implies I think most people are like that... doesn't it? And I don't think that. Do I?

I read some more...

A cynic may have a general lack of faith or hope in the human race or in individuals with desires, hopes, opinions, or personal tastes that a cynic perceives as unrealistic or inappropriate, and therefore deserving of ridicule or admonishment. It is a form of jaded negativity, and other times, realistic criticism or skepticism.

Oh, dear.

That is pretty much how I feel about Republicans...

Heh.

Emphasis on the negative aspects of Cynic philosophy led to the modern understanding of cynicism to mean a disposition of disbelief in the sincerity or goodness of human motives and actions.

Now, that is not me! Mostly. I mean, I don't believe politicians when they try to sound sincere and say they're acting for the common good. I think they're full of crap. But when it comes to the ordinary person doing good? I believe good things come from good motives... and I believe there are a lot of good people with good motives, doing good things.

Modern cynicism, as a product of mass society, is a distrust toward professed ethical and social values, especially when there are high expectations concerning society, institutions, and authorities that are unfulfilled. It can manifest itself as a result of frustration, disillusionment, and distrust perceived as owing to organizations, authorities, and other aspects of society.

Well, shit.

Years ago, on my very first car, I had a bumper sticker which read, "The Moral Majority are Neither."

So it started early.

Sigh.

There was much more in the Wiki entry regarding cynicism, some of which sounded like me, some of which didn't.

So, I came to the conclusion that I'm not Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (I know, it was a shock to me, too)... but I do believe most people are good at heart and want to do the right thing.

I don't trust politicians and many people in authority and I don't believe they are in it for 'the people'... but I think those charlatans have earned my distrust and dislike.

I do believe there are many selfish people in the world, more concerned with themselves than others... but I am fortunate to know and spend time with many, many people who put others first.

I don't trust or think highly of people who try very, very hard to push their social and moral and religious views on the rest of us... but I am confident that over time, they will find themselves on the wrong side of convention.

So... I'm a cynic.

But I'm not full-blown.

I'm a Selective Cynic... a Partial Cynic... a Cynical Optimist.

That's it!  I'm a Cynical Optimist!

And I?

Am OK with that.

And now?

I'm going to write my own Wiki entry!

On Living Gracefully

According to Wikipedia, the concept of grace is present in many religions and "...has been defined as the divine influence which operates in humans to regenerate and sanctify..."

Now, I don't believe in divine influence. I don't believe in religion. I don't even believe in God.

But I believe in grace.

I believe we each have the capacity within ourselves to regenerate... to sanctify... to make whole what was broken in our hearts, minds, and spirits... to forgive ourselves our failings, no matter how egregious they seem... and to begin anew -- again. And again.

And again.

I believe it -- I do -- but I don't always put the belief into practice. I have lived for a long time, bogged down by the failures of yesterday and, at times even, the failures I see coming (which is nuts, I know).

(I've never claimed to be completely sane.)

One of my (newer) favorite quotes is from F. Scott Fitzgerald...

It's actually part of a larger quote from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, a beautiful short story-turned-movie (one of my favorites) about a man who is born old, and lives his life backward:

For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit. Stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

For me, this sums up the concept of grace.

I've started on a path this year that feels different to me from any path I've been on before. I'm not entirely sure if I chose it or if it chose me, but I'm on it, regardless. It's new, it's been startling at times, and it's requiring me to look at others, at myself, and at the things I've believed for a long time, in a new light -- from a new perspective.

It has forced me to start over in many ways.

It has caused me to see that, in order to move forward, I have to let go of the things that are holding me back -- the regrets, the failures, the criticisms, the judgments -- of myself and others.

It has made me realize how important forgiveness is -- not just forgiveness of others, but (and maybe more importantly) forgiveness of myself.

It is helping me to understand that when I fall, when I mess up, when I let myself or someone else down, it's not finished. I can start all over again. And again.

And again.

It is forcing me to live more gracefully.

And that?

Is a very good thing.

Lecherous and Lewd and Lascivious, Oh My!

This afternoon, I was telling a friend how poor my memory has been of late. And it has. I don't know if it's a focus thing or, you know, an early-onset dementia thing, or what, but I've been struggling to remember stuff I shouldn't be forgetting. But on the way home from work, while driving past a house ablaze with Christmas lights, I found myself traveling down a rather pot-hole-y part of Memory Lane... right to a holiday party I'd rather like to forget...

Several years ago, I dated this guy -- a college professor. He was very nice and funny and attractive... and he drank. A lot. An awful lot (which I didn't actually realize until several months in, as he was rather experienced at hiding it).

Anyway, for the sake of this story, we'll call him Buzz, 'k?

So, as I mentioned, Buzz was a professor and, as such, he had several professorly-type friends. I met them all at once, at a university function, and found everyone to be nice and very friendly; they all seemed to like me. Two of them in particular -- a married couple -- liked me quite a bit.

Quite a bit.

If you get my drift.

They were older than Buzz and myself by a few years, but not many. They were quick with innuendo and double entendre, quick to fill your glass, should you find yourself lacking a boozy drink, and quick to express how much they liked you...

They were both rather, shall we say...

Tactile.

For the sake of this story, we'll call them Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely, 'k?

Though the Touchy-Feelys were quite friendly and hands-on, they were not over-the-top. They let their fingers do the walking in fairly subtle ways -- not quite enough to make you feel really uncomfortable, but just enough to make you...

Wonder.

Fast forward from the start of the school year to December. There was going to be a big party at the Touchy-Feely house and Buzz was all abuzz (as normal) with excitement about it (open bar, natch).

So we got dressed up and we went. We socialized... we ate... we drank (some of us more than others)... we took a tour of the Touchy-Feely's house...

And in the bedroom was a photo of a slightly younger Mr. and Mrs. Touchy-Feely... all naked. All the important bits were covered, true, but they were naked. And it was a big photo. In a frame. On the wall. All naked.

Now, I'm no prude. I quite like photos of an erotic nature. I write stuff of an erotic nature. But I have to admit, I was not prepared to see a photo of our hosts... all naked. It threw me a bit. But I admired it duly, as you do, even when you're surprised by a picture of people you know... all naked.

Then we got to see the hot tub. And as I was commenting about how I wished I had a hot tub, Mr. Touchy-Feely put his arm around me, his hand dangerously close to my backside (and by 'dangerously close,' I totally mean, 'on'), and informed me that I could use their hot tub anytime I'd like. Mrs. Touchy-Feely nodded, with a wink and a lewd little smile, and Buzz just stood there, looking all boozy and very un-PhD-like.

Then Mr. T-F informed me that if I liked, we could stay after the party and have a soak. I said the first thing that came to mind, which was something regarding the fact that I didn't have a swimsuit with me... and I was informed immediately, by way of a decidedly lecherous, breathy little whisper in my ear, that swim suits were completely optional in their tub.

Hello! Of course they were. What was I thinking?

And so the party went on. And because Buzz wasn't keen to leave the open bar, we wound up the last couple still present at the end of the night. I was helping Mrs. T-F clean up a bit when Mr. T-F padded into the kitchen... in a robe and barefoot.

The robe? Not quite open. Not quite. Small favors, people.

But that man? Had some of the ugliest feet I've ever seen in my life.

They were troglodyte-esque, all knotted and gnarly and hairy, with thick yellow nails which needed trimming. Badly. They were like gory accidents affixed to the ends of his legs -- you wanted to look away, but you couldn't. They were feet that should have never seen the light of day, people.

Never.

I fought back the grimace... and the urge to throw up a little in my mouth.

Then Mr. T-F grinned a lascivious little grin and asked if we were all ready for our soak in the tub.

I laughed nervously and replied that I really needed to get Buzz home, as he was fading fast. Both Mr. and Mrs. T-F looked disappointed and protested. Buzz, thankfully, looked drunk and appeared incapable of putting up a fight (or he'd known me just long enough to understand the seriousness of the Stink-Eye).

I'd like to tell you I didn't stay because the Touch-Feelys were libidinous degenerates and they made me feel all weird, especially after seeing that picture of them... all naked.

I'd like to tell you that.

But honestly?

Honestly?

It was the feet.

Rest in Peace, Sir

His work is finished.

But there is still much to do...

And how many of us are under-utilizing our good heads, good hearts, and literate tongues and pens?

Rest in peace, sir.

And may your legacy inspire us...

To do better.

To do more.

To do good.

To use our gifts... to use our good.

And to be heroes -- whether to one small child or to entire nations.

Rest in peace, sir, and thank you.

Thank you for the way you used your good head, your good heart, and your literate tongue and pen.

What gifts you possessed. What gifts you left us. What a gift you were.

How the Light Gets In

I have felt broken many times in my life. At times, I've felt broken beyond repair... so broken that I was certain nothing I could do would ever make me whole again.

But I always heal.

Always.

My spirit, my body, my soul -- they are all resilient...

And scarred.

And for a long, long time, I believed those scars were ugly.

Then I learned about the Japanese art of Kintsukuroi...

... and I fell in love with the idea that a thing which is broken and repaired can actually be more beautiful than the original, unbroken thing.

There are times, though, when the repair seems just too difficult...

It's then that I remember Leonard Cohen's words...

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in

In the end, whether it's the gold or the light we see, we must remember that while there will always be pain in Life, there is also beauty in the aftermath of pain.

And that's what makes it all worth it...

Isn't it?

Mr. Right

I've been single for way longer than I expected I would be. It doesn't always seem that long... but when I think about how old Ryan was when my marriage ended (five), or how old Sundance is now (nine), it hits me.

Ages.

I've been single for ages.

I knew I didn't want to date right after the split, as I had some healing -- and some work -- to do. The way the marriage ended was on him, but the failure was about both of us, and I had to accept and fully own my part of it. It was really important to me that I figure out what I did to help create and perpetuate issues and to ensure that I didn't bring those things to another relationship.

So I saw a therapist for a year. I wrote a lot. I went inside -- deep inside. And after that year, I took another year, just to be sure I was ready.

And then I started dating.

And I found out I probably wasn't really ready after all. But I met some great men. And a few not-so-great ones (but I sussed them out pretty quickly, so I'd obviously learned something).

And I fell in love with someone I thought was Mr. Right.

And I got terribly, terribly hurt.

And I took some more time off. Again.

Then I started dating. Again.

And I met some great men. And few not-so-good ones. And a few downright strange ones.

Some of those great men turned into really great friends -- friends who are in my life still; friends I adore and wouldn't trade for the world. But no one turned out to be Mr. Right.

And then?

I just kind of gave up. And that's where I've been for the last two years or so.

Two years or so.

And it's fine. I decided that it was better to be alone than to be in the wrong relationship. And I decided that, at some point, I really do want the relationship, and not the casual thing. I'm not talking about marriage, though. I won't say never, but I don't feel the need to ever do that again. But I do like the comfort and the security and the fun and the romance and the mundane togetherness that comes with an exclusive, monogamous, loving relationship. I do.

I don't need it.

But I want it.

And I'm willing to hold out for it.

But Mr. Right? Well, he hasn't fallen into my lap in the past two years. Or the past seven.

And I'm guessing? He won't.

Damn.

So a couple of weeks ago, a friend asked me what Mr. Right would look like.

That's easy.

Hellooo, Mr. Butler (or as I like to call him, Ryan's New Daddy)!

Heh. I'm kidding. I mean, I wouldn't complain (who in her right mind would?!) but looks actually don't figure into it much at all. A person just has to be attractive to me.

Anyway, I made a list -- a list of all the qualities I'd like Mr. Right to possess. And I was going to include it here, but you know what? I'm guessing it'll look a whole lot like the list most women in their 40's would come up with -- women who have learned a lot about Life and aren't concerned with the superficial things that don't matter; women who want intelligence, humor, kindness, and commonalities.

So I won't bore you with it.

I will tell you, though, that of all the qualities I'd like in Mr. Right, one of the most important ones he can possess is the ability to generate that floopy feeling in my stomach. I want the butterflies. I do. I think they're important. They are what distinguish those amazingly wonderful friends from Mr. Right.

Chemistry? Is important. This I know for sure.

Also? Timing. Timing is incredibly important. This I know for sure, too.

Sigh.

And I've actually found them all, really -- all the wonderful qualities... the chemistry... the timing...

I just haven't found them all at the same time in the same person.

So here I sit. Single.

I figure all the planets will align someday.

And if not?

Well, dogs make great companions.

Hello, December

December is a difficult month for me for a lot of reasons (all of which are valid, to me, anyway, but none of which matter as far as this post is concerned). While most people are feeling all warm and fuzzy about the holidays, I want to just put my head down and plow through to January. I wind up dreading the whole month -- from Thanksgiving until New Year's Day, really...

And I don't like it.

I don't like feeling Grinchy or sad; I don't like struggling through 1/12 of the calendar, only to be dumped into the coldest, greyest part of the winter.

So today, I'm going to list my 10 favorite things about December... and for the rest of the month, I'm going to focus on those things.

And it's all going to be just fine...

Favorite December Thing #1: The Solstice

The Winter Solstice might just be my favorite day of the year. It's the day that marks the return of the sun... it's a day of new beginnings and renewals... it's my Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year all rolled into one, and I have several little traditions that take place on this day (which I'll tell you about later in the month). It's a very, very good day for me.

Favorite December Thing #2: It's a Wonderful Life

Christmas movies, in general, are not my thing, but I love, love, love this one. Jimmy Stewart is perfection. The story is, and will forever be, both beautiful and beautifully told. How many times have we all wondered what life would be like for others if we'd never been born? The idea that one life -- just one life -- can touch so many others in such positive ways makes me want to be a better person (you know, just in case I ever meet my Clarence on a snowy bridge in Pigsknuckle).

Favorite December Thing #3: The Lights

I love Christmas lights. I do. I love the simple, single strand along a porch railing and posts, mingling with evergreens and bows... I love how people light the trees in their front windows and leave their curtains open for passersby to see... I love the elaborate designs on storefronts and office buildings downtown... I love the houses with every tree in the front yard lit in brilliant glory (and the conservationist in me tries not to think too much about the waste of energy). I like to walk or drive around town, just looking. The lights light me up from the inside.

Favorite December Thing #4: Parties and Get-Togethers

Even if I'm not feeling very holiday-ish, I still really enjoy going parties and getting together with friends. My friends are my chosen family and being in a room with a group of people who not only love me but who genuinely like me and want me around (or so they say)? Well, that might just be the best tonic for all that ails me.

Favorite December Thing #5: The Worldwide Spirit of Giving

Now, this one is a bit of a double-edged sword for me... I love that people become more generous around the holidays... but I also get frustrated that their generous spirits often seem to disappear on January 1. However, since I'm focusing on the positives today, I will not look for or find fault. The bottom line is that I am very, very glad that people dig deep around the holidays, to make better what can be a difficult time for others less fortunate.

Favorite December Thing #6: The Thoughtfulness of Friends

I have been blessed with the most remarkable group of friends -- people who love me beyond reason. They understand how and why this time of year is difficult for me and over the years, they have gone so far above and beyond to make my holidays special, that I never feel worthy. Every year, they make me cry tears of joy and gratitude... and wonder how on earth I got so lucky to find them all.

Favorite December Thing #7: A Christmas Story

This is the other Christmas movie I never miss. I bought it for my dad years ago, because it reminded me of the stories he told about his childhood. We watched it together every year until he died. After that, it was about 10 years before I would see it again, as I couldn't bear the thought of watching it without him. But now I do... with Ryan. And I laugh all the way through it, the way I did with my dad.

Favorite December Thing #8: Holiday Cards and Pictures

I love getting holiday cards and photos from friends and family. I love to see their personalities in the cards they've chosen... I love seeing their family photos... I love to see their kids and how they've grown... and I love to see their furry 'children' in Santa hats and reindeer antlers.

Favorite December Thing #9: Ryan on Christmas Morning

I love that since Ryan was a tiny thing, she has always been more concerned with me opening my present from her than she has ever been about any package under the tree with her name on it. She won't even consider opening a present until I've gotten mine. It never fails to amaze me... or warm my heart.

Favorite December Thing #10: The End of the Year

While I'm always alarmed at the speed at which the year flies past, I have to admit that I love the feeling of renewal that comes with the start of the next year. It's a time for lists and planning and goal-setting and reflecting on what did (and didn't) work in the year past.

And there you have it. I didn't actually think I'd be able to come up with 10 things, but it really wasn't that difficult.

And now... onward December!

Less is More

As we're entering into the season of more, more, more (and since I've been really wordy of late), I thought I'd simply post what sounds like a near-perfect life to me...

To make it pretty much absolutely perfect, you'd have to add a big dog to that list. And maybe some red wine. And a pool/lake/ocean. And clean paper and a pen. I think that'd do it, really.

That Boy-Girl Thing



Last year, my daughter, who was an 8th-grader at the time, took an anonymous survey in school, to gauge attitudes toward drugs, alcohol, and sex. It was designed (assuming the kids answered honestly), to determine who was doing what right then... and who might do what in the near future. I asked if she'd be willing to share with me how she answered.

I should note here that we talk a lot... about a lot. I grew up in a house where a boatload of talking went on, but not a lot of real communicating, and I vowed to make sure that would not be the case when I had children (or, as it turned out, child). With us, no topic is off-limits, and even if it makes me feel ooky on the inside, I try not to let it show... and if it makes Ryan feel ooky, I make sure she knows it's normal to feel that way and we'll talk our way out of it. And we always do. In fact, she has let a few things fly with me that have left me with my jaw hanging open, flabbergasted that they came out of my kid's mouth. But let me tell you, I'd much rather be flabbergasted at what she did say than blindsided later by what she didn't.

Anyway, back to the survey. She gave me her answers. And it was very clear she didn't just tell me what I wanted to hear (which was that she'd never do drugs and wouldn't drink or have sex until she's at least 30)...

She said that she really didn't expect to ever be interested in doing drugs (whew).

Alcohol was another story. She said she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't ever drink in high school.

OK. Honest answer. And though we've talked about alcohol in the past, her reply simply opens up a new avenue of discussion. It's all good.

Her answer to the sex question opened up a few more avenues as well... she said that although she didn't figure she'd ever have a boyfriend, if she ever did, she couldn't say that she wouldn't have sex.

Gulp.

Again, an honest answer. And honest is way better than dishonest, even if if's not what you want to hear. I can work with honest.

So... fast forward to freshman year in high school.

One month in...

Boyfriend.

Gulp.

Now, when I mentioned this little turn of events during a break in a training meeting at work, two women spoke up right away, declaring that they would never let their 14-year-old daughters have boyfriends.

They wouldn't let them have boyfriends.

I understand not letting your kid have an iPhone. I understand not letting her go to a concert un-chaperoned. I understand not letting her have the second piece of cake after dinner...

But not letting her have a boyfriend? That one seems like not letting the tide come in. It'll happen, whether you want it to or not (did they never see Romeo and Juliet? Or Westside Story?). But while the tide will come in before your eyes, the boyfriend thing will happen behind your back, because at 14, your children are not with you every minute of every day. They are in school and at social functions and they are living a big portion of their lives without you watching.

So it never occurred to me to say 'no boyfriend.' But ground rules were established right off the bat, with regard to what she could do and what I wouldn't allow (no car dating until at least her sophomore year).

And then I met him.

And he's adorable. He's also a year ahead of her in school... and since my girl is one of the youngest in her class and he's one of the oldest in his, there are nearly two years between them age-wise.

Gulp.

But he's adorable. And he's so nice. And he comes from a really nice, really involved family. And he shook my hand - firmly - when he met me. And when I speak, even if it's not to him, he looks right at me and he makes eye contact and he smiles genuine smiles.

There is not one iota of Eddie Haskell in this boy.

I like him.

My girl really likes him.

And he? Really likes my girl. He tells her she's awesome. And smart. And funny. And pretty. All of which she is. And when she puts herself down, he hollers at her, just like I do. And he's kind and funny and he respects his parents.

He's a good one, I think.

So, we talk about him. And them. And the stuff that comes out of her mouth flabbergasts me. Not in a lord-this-child-has-no-filters-! way (which happens often), but in a lord-how-did-this-child-get-to-be-so-wise-? way.

She knew, right from the beginning, that his being cute wasn't enough. He liked her before she liked him. And when I asked why it took her so long to work out that she liked him, because he's so stinkin' cute (i.e. how could she not?), she informed me that his being cute wasn't enough. She had to know if she really liked him, too.

She knows that this isn't a 'forever love,' the way so many teenagers look at every romance. She understands that it will end eventually and when it does, it will feel really bad, but it won't be the end of the world.

She understands that public displays of affection will make the people around them really uncomfortable (because she's really uncomfortable when people do it around her) and there is a time and place for them... and she understands that time and place is not behind a closed bedroom door in a house where no parents are present.

She understands that the words, "If you love me" will never precede anything she should feel obligated to do and that if a person is using those words? He/she needs to check him/herself. Immediately.

She feels good about this relationship. She genuinely likes this boy and she can give you a list a page long of all the legitimately great qualities he possesses and things he does that make him so likeable.

She also worries for a friend who is in a situation that doesn't feel good to my girl, based on what she's observing. She's worried that her friend has not figured out some of those things listed above... the things it's important to understand when you're diving in to a teenage romance. She's worried that her friend is going to find herself in a situation she can't get out of and that she'll wind up doing something she'll regret.

Last night, she said to me:

"If you're going to be in a relationship with someone, you have to be friends. You have to have things in common. You have to be able to talk about all kinds of stuff with each other... and not just make out on the bus ride home."

She went on to say that if the only thing two people have in common is that they like to make out with each other? They're doomed.

She's 14. If I had been so wise when I was 14... or 21... or 26... or 42, my life would look far different than it does today.

So the conversations will continue - the ones about drugs and alcohol and especially about sex. I'll do everything I can to make sure she's armed with all the information she needs to continue to make smart choices. I will forever worry about my girl, because I'm her mother and that's my job. But I have to say, I think she's going to OK. I really do.

Yeah. She's going to be just fine.

Bright Copper Kettles...

Today is Black Friday. I don't shop on Black Friday. The last time I set foot in a store on the day after Thanksgiving, I was 16. It gave me anxiety. Thankfully, I'm not terribly 'stuff' oriented (or Christmas oriented) and my kid has never wanted anything so specific or so much that I simply had to rush into a store a 4am to wait in line with 2,639 other crazy people. Honestly? I'd rather pay the extra money. Or tell her she has to wait for her birthday. In August. When people are sane.

So, to celebrate my Happy-to-be-Off-Work-With-Nothing-to-Do Friday (which has, thus far, involved sleeping late, a lovely bacon-egg-and-cheese bagel from my favorite bagel shop [far from the mall], a walk in the park with my fuzzy boy, and, just now, a cup of tea), I bring you the 3rd installment of my Favorite Things...

Cottages... I love love, love little cottagey houses. Years ago, when my then-husband and I were looking for a house to buy, his ideal was a brand new, 3,000+ square foot monster on a golf course. I wanted a little old gem, like the one above, with a porch and a picket fence, in an established neighborhood, within walking distance to... everything. He said I didn't dream big enough. Well, I might not dream big, but I do dream beautifully!

Letters... Real, handwritten letters make me so happy, but they show up in my mailbox so rarely. Of course, I don't write as many as I used to either (I should really remedy that) but I still love (and collect) beautiful stationery and notecards, pens, and stamps. The idea that someone might sit down and take the time to express their thoughts to me in writing gives me the warm fuzzies. If anyone wants my address, let me know!

Camping... Being out in the woods, in a tent, is one of my most favorite places to be. It's one of the few places I can completely unplug and unwind for a few days at a time and do nothing but breathe. And camping with friends? When everyone is unplugged and unwound and breathing? Even better!

Hot Baths... I love to soak in the tub... in the dark... with a candle or two... and a glass of wine. It's got to be one of the purest forms of relaxation I know.

Swimming... The pool is my sacred space. It's where I meditate. It's where my head empties and all I think of is 'one breath in, one breath out.' I don't do it nearly so often as I should.

Calvin and Hobbes... This little boy and his tiger are so much more than a comic strip. They are full of such insight and wisdom, kindness and humor... of so much Life. I have all of the books... and I never tire of them. Recently, when I did a bloggy 're-interview' with my daughter (the first interview took place when she was 9), I asked what cartoon character she thought I was like. She said I was Calvin and she was Hobbes. That? Made me extraordinarily happy.

The UK... England and Scotland, and specifically London, are my happy, shiny places. The UK is the place I feel most at home... it's where some of my favorite people are... it's where I was born and it's where I shall wind up one day. When I visit, and I step off the plane, I just exhale, as if I've been holding my breath for months, and I know I'm where I'm supposed to be.

Watermelon... You know that story about Adam and Even and the apple? Well, if I'd been Eve, we'd still be nekkid in the Garden of Eden... unless that apple had been a watermelon. Because that is one fruit I cannot resist, that's why. I wish it was in season all year long, as I could happily eat it every single day of my life.

Inspirational People... I love stories about ordinary people who do extraordinary things. They give me hope for humanity... and for myself. The man pictured above? He ran a marathon... at 100-years-old... and he's still running. If that doesn't make you want to get up off the couch, I don't know what will.

My Dog... My dog is very often the best part of my day. I feel sorry for people who don't love dogs, because I know what they're missing (though I can't explain it in a way to do it justice... the feelings are just too big). I've had a dog (or more than one) in my life for the past 40 years... and I'll have one (or more) for the next 40. For me, Life is incomplete without one - it's that simple.

Fresh Flowers... They just make me happy. A big bouquet, from the garden or the grocery store, sitting on the corner of my desk? Well, that'll make me smile on even the busiest, most stressful day.

Writer's Workshop: The Thanksgiving I Almost Died

It's time for another Writer's Workshop post from Mama Kat's prompts...

I chose: A Thanksgiving Memory

When I was a kid, Thanksgivings were so much fun. We usually spent them with the New Jersey leg of our family. We would drive there from Virginia or they would come to us -- my Aunt Maisie and Uncle Jimmy (they were like my grandparents), Aunt Jean and Uncle Ernie, and the three boys – Michael, Stephen, and Richard. The boys were basically the same ages as my brothers and I, so we were sort of stair-step kids – oldest (Michael) to youngest (Richard) – all towheads, with me, the only girl, in the middle.

I loved being the only girl. I really did. We had a lot of fun, the six of us – we’d all crowd into the same bedroom to sleep in sleeping bags; we’d play games (and cheat); and oh, how we’d all laugh!

But the most memorable Thanksgiving I can recall with my cousins didn’t involve a whole lot of laughing. Not at first, anyway.

I was 10-years-old.

And it was the Thanksgiving I almost died.

 

It was the Thanksgiving I got shot.

That’s right.

Shot.

OK, so it was with a pellet gun. And OK, so I didn't really almost die. But it was a gun. And I got shot, people. Right in the chest.

I happened less than an hour after the whole NJ crew arrived. We were outside, down by the creek, and my brothers were showing off their pellet guns to our cousins. Stephen, the middle cousin (and the one closest to my age – just 6 months older), was handling one of them. My younger brother showed him how to load the pellets, how to ‘pump’ the rifle (10 times for maximum distance and power), and he demonstrated the ‘safety’…

And then Stephen hoisted the gun to his shoulder…

And, standing about four feet from me, pointed it right at me.

“I’m going to shoot you.”

I wasn’t askeerd of him.

“Pffftttt. You are not.”

“Oh, yes I am.”

“Yeah, well, you’d better not.”

You know what I learned that day?

I learned that boys? Never listen.

I heard the click of the trigger and the puff of air, as the bullet… er… pellet was released from the gun, right about the same time I felt the impact of the bullet… er… pellet in my chest, just below my collarbone.

“YOU SHOT ME!! OH MY GOD, YOU SHOT ME!”

I think Stephen was as shocked as I was. He thought the safety was on.

For the record? ‘Thought’ was the operative word in that sentence.

He dropped the gun like it was on fire and ran to help me, but I was half-way to the house by then. I cleared a 4-foot chain-link fence like it was 6-inches tall and barreled into the kitchen, screaming about having been shot.

The adults?

Were not happy.

All the boys came flying in behind me… and let me tell you, how they managed to concoct the biggest, fattest, lyingest lie that ever was, to save their behinds, in less than 60 seconds, is beyond me.

As my dad checked me out to see if any real damage had been done, and my Uncle Ernie was hollering about packing up and heading back to NJ, my brother stepped up to explain.

(And by ‘explain,’ I totally mean ‘lie through his 9-year-old too-big-for-his-face teeth.')

He said they’d only pumped the rifle 3 or 4 times… and that Stephen had been pointing the gun toward the creek… and that the pellet (bullet!) had ricocheted off a tree… and accidentally hit me… because I was standing in the wrong place.

It ricocheted off a tree and accidentally hit me because I was standing in the wrong place!

As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, incredulous, stunned at the enormity of the lie and the fact that he made it my fault, every one of those Fibber McGees nodded in agreement.

And then my Uncle Ernie looked at me.

“Diane, honey, is that true?”

I could smell the sweat and the fear from those five delinquents. See, my Uncle Ernie adores me and all I had to do was tell the truth and… and…

And he’d have loaded them all into the car and driven the six hours back to NJ.

Well, he might not have… but at that moment, I believed he would have. And that would have been awful.

So I glared at those boys and, through clenched teeth, I confirmed their story.

And they stayed. And our Thanksgiving was, as always, wonderfully fun and funny.

Except for, you know, the gaping hole in my chest.

And that bullet… er… pellet? It came to the surface (sort of) about a week later. But we couldn’t get it out, not even with tweezers. So I had to go to the doctor and have it dug out of my chest with a big needle and pliers. I kid you not. It hurt like hell.

I nearly 40 years later, I still have a scar.

Oh, and Stephen? The cousin who shot me?

Guess what he does for a living?

Yeah. He’s a police officer.

If I Lived Here...

If I lived here...

I would hang a whimsical little sign in the front garden, declaring the cottage's name Wit's End. That way, when people visited, they could say they were at Wit's End with Diane. And since the cottage is by the sea, we would be at Wit's End at land's end... and everyone would smile at the play on words.

I would paint the front door yellow, so everyone would know they were entering a happy, sunshiny place... and I'd plant peonies and Gerber daisies and yellow sunflowers along the stone path to the door, to greet all my guests with smiles straight from the Earth.

If I lived here, you could come visit... for a week... or a month... or a year. You'd be welcome, always, and for as long as you wanted to stay.

When you visit, we could sleep late, under cozy duvets (because even in summer, the sea breeze is quite cool). In the mornings, we'd have steaming mugs of tea at the kitchen table by the window overlooking the blue water, and bowls of fresh berries and clotted cream for breakfast.

On warm, sunny days, we would sit outside and listen to the sea... and the sea would listen to us, as we talk and talk to catch up on all we've missed in each other's lives.

 

And when the sun is settling a bit closer to the horizon, we could walk on the beach with the dog... and we could look for seashells while he chases gulls.

On rainy days, we could sit inside, by the fire, and read. You could lose yourself in stories of pirates and time travel and brave heroes who lived before... and I'll fall into a mystery set in a rainy North Sea village or in a story told in beautifully-written letters between lovers.

In the early evenings, we could stroll to the village, and stop by the pub for a pint or two. We'd have to stop to chat to the owner of the local cheese shop, of course, as he's a lovely man and always keeps a bit of Halloumi aside for me.

And at night, when all is quiet except for the sound of the waves lapping the shore and the fire crackling in the hearth, you could write letters home, telling everyone what a glorious time you're having... and I'll write in my journal about how I hope you'll stay for a long, long time.

If I lived here...

The Post in Which I Tell You 19 Sort of Random, Yet Completely True, Things About Me...

I am... known in certain circles as Princess Apostrophe. It might be my favorite nickname.

I’m not... known for my math skills. Mainly because I haven’t got any.

I will... laugh hysterically if you fall. Even if you’re hurt. I will also feel bad about it… but I’ll still do it.

I won’t... buy an automatic car until I’m really old and my knees stop working.

I have... and wear regularly, a Virginia Tech sweatshirt I got in 1995.

I haven’t... ever found a sweatshirt I like better than that one.

I should... probably go shopping more often.

I shouldn’t... ask the Jehovah’s Witnesses who knock on my door to come back later, because I’m in the middle of my weekly sacrifice to Beelzebub. I shouldn’t. But I do.

I can... recite the names of all 50 states. In alphabetical order. When I’m drunk. And sober. Just sayin’.

I can’t... poop at work. Ever. Not in the history of Ever. So that nasty smell? Yeah. It wasn’t me.

I do... use punctuation and capital letters when I text. Because I’m Princess Apostrophe, that’s why.

I don’t... judge people who get to, two, and too mixed up. Or you’re and your. Or their, they’re, and there. Or then and than. OK, that’s a lie. I totally judge. But I don’t like myself when I do it.

 

I once... ate a chocolate-covered cricket. On a dare. There might have been alcohol involved.

 

I never... watched Pinocchio again because seeing Jiminy Cricket made me feel guilty.

I love... Gerard Butler. Or, as I like to call him, ‘Ryan’s New Daddy.’

I hate... the fact that it’s entirely unlikely that I will ever marry Gerard Butler. Unlikely... but not impossible, people.

I believe... I might need a therapist.

I don’t believe... I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t need a therapist at some point or another… so I’m in good company.

And finally…

I wish... on stars and at wishing wells. Every single time. And if I’m at a wishing well? I throw in a quarter instead of a penny, because I figure it gives my wish 25x more power.

 

True story.

Project: Next Step

So, I mentioned that I got a new job recently. I was hired in September, as an Adult Career Coach, by a private company, contracted to manage a federally-funded workforce initiative. In that capacity, my job, in a nutshell, was to assist unemployed people find work, or get them the training they might need in order to find work. There is an eligibility component to the program, which mainly involves income (or lack thereof), so we work with a population new to me, as most of my previous resume and career coaching clients were not considered "low income" by state standards.

Our clients often have other issues, too. For example, my first client was a felon -- a felon who broke my heart, quite honestly, and made me fall all over myself trying to help him. I was a bit concerned, I'll admit, as the business community in general doesn't exactly embrace convicted drug dealers, but I was able to help him find a job and I wound up feeling crazy-good about the whole thing.

For the first time in a long time, I felt I might just be where I'm supposed to be with regard to work... that I might finally get to do work that feels worthwhile -- work that really matters.  

Things weren't/aren't perfect, though. My company was thrown into the contract, with little-to-no prep time. We've been cleaning up an enormous mess left by the previous contractors, too, and all of us -- all new to the company -- need training. The expectations are huge. The obstacles are many. Additionally, I was hired to work in an office 30 miles from home and after traveling less than 2 miles (or, you know, 20 steps) to work for the past 8 years, 60 miles a day was a rather rude awakening to the cost of gas and the wear a lot of travel can put on one's car.

Then a position came open here in town...

For a Youth Development Coach...

The position works with kids, 16 to 21, in school and out (drop-outs included), and helps them finish their diplomas, develop leadership and practical skills, and get into post-secondary education and/or find work.

And these kids?

These kids need help. They all have to fall into that income eligible category (which means they're in families that are really struggling) and they have to have another 'barrier' to education/employment (which could mean they're 'skills deficient', pregnant or parenting, disabled, in foster care, etc.).

This job?

Is an important one.

And I wanted it.

Nothing is ever easy, though. I had to apply... and interview... and wait... just like the other candidates.

But unlike the other candidates, I got the job! Squeeeee!

So I've spent the last couple of weeks just getting my bearings and trying to figure out what I need to do. There are issues, of course, as it's a federally-funded program, running out of a state building, in coordination with a state agency, managed by a private company.

Can you even picture it? Lordy.

But today, after a grueling 2+ hour conference call, during which objectives and goals were laid out (holy hell, there's a lot to do!), I spent the afternoon brainstorming a name for the youth program (which encompasses 3 offices/counselors in a 10-county region). With some help from my favorite co-worker (as you know, titles are not my forte), I settled on:

Project: Next Step

We're going to build an entire marketing campaign around it... and I think it'll be good.

Interestingly, this job and, indeed, this whole time in my life, feels like my Project: Next Step.

I feel like I'm finally pointed toward something I've been looking for, for a while, even though I'm not quite certain what it is. And I have this very strong feeling that on my way toward that something, I might just stumble across a few other things I need, even though I don't know what they are just yet either.

Time will tell, I guess. My primary objective, right at this moment, is to be open -- open-minded and open-hearted -- to whatever might come my way... to whatever my next step is going to be...

Wish me luck.

And you know I'll keep you posted...